He settled into the prone position with arms outstretched and a Glock 19 in his hand. He was slightly on his side, resting on his right lat, elbow in the dirt, cheek on his biceps. Good stability. Nice elevation. No wind.

Just in time.

Three bearded men carrying AR-15s jogged out of the forest, spotted the helicopter, and came to a full stop.

“What the fuck!” With angry shouts, the three brought their AR-15s up.

Hawk held his fire. Because good guys didn’t shoot first. Dammit to hell.

Something banged and rattled on the stones near the cave. Bull had tossed a rock to keep the bastards’ attention focused there.

The militia bastards simply opened fire. No talk. No warning.

Fuck.

Bullets peppered the cave and terrain around it. Anyone inside would’ve been torn to ribbons.

Hawk gritted his teeth. Mustn’t kill the assholes. Gabe’d get pissed. He’d go for shooting arms rather than head shots.

Acquiring a target, he breathed out, fired, acquired the next, fired. The two men dropped their rifles with shouts of pain.

With the deep boom of Bull’s Redhawk revolver, the third asshole went down. Yeah, the fist-sized hole from a .44 Magnum would do that.

One of Hawk’s targets proved stubborn and pulled an automatic with his other hand. The fucking asshat aimed for the helicopter.

Not. Happening. Hawk’s next shot destroyed the guy’s arm. Still pissed-off, Hawk considered shooting again and taking him right out of the gene pool.

But their courage broke. Two PZs fled back down the trail, carrying the third between them. If they were smart, they’d stop to bind up their wounds before they bled out.

Not his problem.

Knowing Hawk would remain on guard, Bull ran over to the trail opening. “Sounds like they’re still running,” he called to Hawk, then shouted loud enough for Caz to hear, “Clear, bro.”

Hawk holstered his Glock, slid off the ledge, and jogged to Kit’s boulder.

Brown eyes filled with fear, she still crouched where he had left her, watching his every move. Shaking, dead white, but maintaining position. He’d known soldiers who would’ve run.

He waited, letting his presence register, letting her get control. Wanting so fucking much to sweep her up and hold her. Let her know he’d protect her with everything inside him.

That would be a dumbass thing to do. “The bastards are gone.” Slowly, he bent and offered a hand.

Kit was shaking so hard it was hurting her ribs—and her knees felt like the joints had turned to pudding.

Hawk said something, and it took a few seconds for the words to make sense. Gone. The PZs were gone.