“I like it,” Nabera said. “Set it up, and I’ll call in the men.”

“Maybe we can get the children back.”

“Perhaps.” Children would be a pain in the ass. But some of his men wanted their offspring. “We will for certain make an example of the women.”

A spectacle of the horrifying, gory deaths of the Alaska PZ women would ensure the Texas women would be too cowed to testify.

Nabera smiled. “Our Prophet will be pleased.”

And there would be all the screaming a man’s vindictive heart could desire.

Holding the oversized tote that Frankie lent her, Kit shut her emotions down tight as she waited in a side room for the shelter worker to finish talking to her aide.

Instead, she gazed out a window at a tiny children’s playground. It would be nicely safe. Before entering the shelter, she’d seen the corner lot was completely enclosed by an eight-foot privacy fence.

“Ready to go?” The staff worker joined her.

Kit motioned to the playground. “I see you used privet hedges to make a dedicated space for the children?”

The volunteer said, “We have plenty of small private spaces with the hedges to divide them up. Like here, the only way into a space is through a house door.”

“Other spaces outside?” Kit tilted her head. The little children’s area was adorable. What else might they have?

“You bet. We have a couple of secluded garden meditation rooms, a small veggie garden and greenhouse, and a big lawn area for kickball and games.”

“That’s awesome.” When using the tiny garden in the rehab facility, she’d always wished it had been more private. “Your residents are lucky to have you.”

“Thank you.” The worker smiled. “Let me show you the room where your friends are gathered.

“Right.” As memories of the PZs filled her, Kit shivered, wishing she could have stayed with Hawk, Aric, Bull, and Frankie. They’d dropped her off and gone to have lunch at Bull’s restaurant here in Anchorage. They’d be back later to pick Kit up.

Kit followed the woman to the back of the huge two-story house. The hallway held the strong scent of a cleanser—and the lingering stink of vomit. Not a surprising smell.

How often had she puked as she’d tried to process everything that’d happened to her?

“Everyone is in here.” The volunteer waved Kit into a spacious room filled with armchairs and couches. Children played quietly in one corner.

The center of the room was filled with women. Standing in groups of three and four, they stared at her. No one was familiar.

No, wait.

Slowly, she recognized features.

Miriam’s big nose.

Serena’s brown eyes. But she was wearing makeup, and the eye shadow and mascara made her eyes huge.

Mary’s gray hair. Rather than to her waist, it was now in an attractive short bob.