She should be terrified. Anticipation filled him to overflowing, and his dick shot to attention.

The woman was Obadiah’s wife. Kirsten. No matter what they negotiated, she wouldn’t be returning to the Hermitage. Not alive.

Caz silently opened the tunnel door and exited into an area of thick underbrush. Only a week or so ago, he and Regan had been out here, cleaning up the area, after he’d shown her how to use the tunnel system and locks.

Crouching in the darkness and bushes, he looked around. Behind him was Gabe’s house and past it, one of the SUVs on the road. Farther to the west, toward the forest was the white van. Ya valió madres.

Sí, no doubt about it, their plan was fucked. There was a good chance he wouldn’t return from this. Wouldn’t see his little girl or JJ again.

At least his women would live. JJ loved Regan and would raise her.

From shadow to shadow, from cover to cover, he eased away from the buildings toward the white van. The area around the lake held a fair amount of reeds and bushes, but closer to the road? Just short shrubs and grasses. Too short.

In the quiet night, Bull’s deep voice boomed, even louder than normal.

Kit’s higher tones were clear and understandable even where he was. “You are the stupidest person. How did you ever get to be captain?”

Caz saw her gesturing emphatically, making herself the center of attention. Risking herself for Frankie…and for Hawk.

You found a fine woman, mi hermano. Now, let’s get you free to have a lifetime to love her.

As the guards turned to watch Bull and Kit confront their captain, Caz gained another few feet.

Reaching the last decent-sized clump of bushes, he went down on one knee and paused.

There was no cover, and the quarter moon was high in the sky. Even with Kit and Bull drawing attention, the guards would eventually remember to scan the area.

However, the floodlights didn’t reach this far and watching the brightly lit negotiations would destroy the PZs’ night vision. Quickly, he mapped out a possible route that’d require him to belly-crawl for part of the way.

A stealthy movement in the stubby brush close to the van caught his attention. Was that a raccoon?

No, no. It was a small boy crawling through the thicker clumps of grass in the drainage ditch beside the dirt road. On the same route was a girl.

His girl.

As terror swept through him, his jaw clenched to prevent his curses from spilling out like a furious fountain.

Following the plan, Regan finally reached the road and crept beneath the white van. She was trying to breathe without making any noise, and her hands were scraped and burned like fire. Her camo jeans were all ripped up.