“Yeah, that PZ guy’s in really bad shape.” A medic was telling a state trooper as Hawk walked past. “My partner’s watching him till an ambulance returns.”

Hawk sighed, then turned. “Got a plane. I can fly—”

“No mames, güey. No, you cannot.” Caz’s voice came from behind.

Hawk turned, feeling relief. The Fed had said that none of the Hermitage group was seriously wounded, but hearing wasn’t seeing.

Lines of exhaustion showed in Caz’s brush-scratched face. But none of the blood on his clothing appeared to be his.

Hawk glanced at the medic, then Caz. “Bro. The floatplane’s—”

“No.” Caz threw his hands up in open exasperation. “Can you say concussion? You were unconscious. You fly nowhere until I say otherwise.”

Next to the state trooper, the Soldotna first responder tilted his head at Caz and told Hawk, “What he said. A crash landing doesn’t improve anyone’s health.”

“Fine.” To be honest, he was exhausted. “In that case, got anything for a headache?”

Caz’s grin flashed. “Come, ’mano. I was looking for you anyway.”

They went through the garage into Caz’s house and out onto his deck. Audrey was there, sitting next to a table with an assortment of medical shit.

“Hawk!” Over on Bull’s deck next door, Aric scrambled off Frankie’s lap.

Worry stabbed at Hawk, sharp as a stiletto. Kit should be with her son. “Where’s Kit?” Had she been hurt worse than he thought?

“She’s fine.” Frankie smiled. “She’s still being questioned by some Feds.”

Hawk nodded his thanks for the info, then bent to catch the incoming rocket of a kid. His head throbbed in pain, his ribs stabbed, and damn, it still felt like he’d had a belt of pure happiness. “Hey, Aric.”

Caz sat down and pointed to the wider deck chair. The one he called a loveseat. “Sit.”

With the kid curled up next to him like a puppy, Hawk glanced at Audrey. “Anyone get hurt at your roadhouse party, blondie?”

“Raymond. But I talked to him. He has bruises and a headache—probably like yours—but nothing major.” Audrey shook her head. “The rest of the women, well, we’ve got bruises from banging around in the van. Everyone who was shooting got cuts and splinters, but nothing worse.”

Mako had carefully designed the sniper roosts. The narrow rifle openings and steep angle from the ground decreased the chance of catching a bullet. “Splinters?”

“When they couldn’t tell exactly where the shooters were, the PZs turned loose with machine guns.” Caz checked Hawk’s midsection and scowled. “I’ll need you to lie down for that one. Let me get your arms first.”

Moving one blood-drenched sleeve out of the way, the doc started cleaning the slices on Hawk’s wrist