Bull’s eyes narrowed. “I go inside; you go around.”

“Roger that.” Hawk jogged to the corner to scan down the fence line. He could… Yeah, a tree at the far corner had branches overhanging the fence. Perfect.

Bull disappeared into the house.

Time to move.

Hawk sprinted down the outside of the privacy fence, jumped, caught a branch, and swung himself up.

A PZ was already in the tree, pistol in hand, trying to get a good angle to shoot at the women. He saw Hawk and fired.

Missed.

Dropping onto his belly over the branch, Hawk swung his legs around, nailed the asshole’s shoulder, and knocked him into the trunk. Hawk followed up with a fist to the PZ’s jaw and sent him nighty-night.

One down.

After far-too-fucking-gently dropping the man onto the ground, Hawk drew his Glock. The whole area held the sulphuric stink of gunpowder, and men dotted the contained space inside the fence.

Target-rich environment for sure.

He snapped a bullet at the farthest one out, then another. Two down.

Bull’s big Colt .45 cracked loudly.

In the distance, police sirens wailed.

“Call for pickup.” Nabera yelled. “Head out.”

As the chickenshits jumped the fence, Hawk swung down on the branch and kicked the nearest in the head with a solid thunk. The man dropped, out cold.

The rest sprinted away and piled into two vans that had drawn up to the curb.

As the vans peeled away, Hawk holstered his Glock and scowled. The vans’ rear license plates were covered with mud and unreadable. They’d be on the Spenard Thruway and gone before the cops made it here.

Not his concern. He needed to check on Bull—and get the women to safety. Fuck knew if the bastards had finished planting the explosives.

On the roof, the women were moving the ladder. On the other side of the house, Bull’s voice boomed, directing them to put it out in front.

Good enough. He’d join them there. After tying up the two unconscious PZs, he dragged them closer to the fence and away from the house, then glanced around. The two he’d shot were dead.

Back over the fence, he jogged to the front of the house.

At the foot of the repositioned ladder, Bull was helping the women off and directing them to the house across the street. The shelter’s staff and other residents were already clustered there.

The sirens were closer now. The PZs wouldn’t risk returning.

Where was Kit? His gut clenched when he didn’t see her.

No, there she was, still on the roof, waiting for the others to go down. Face dead white, eyes wide. He scanned her quickly. Scratches, mostly. Right sleeve was bloody.

She was upright and moving, though. His gut unclenched.