Frankie’s world had shrunk to the narrow trail and to Bull who was in front of her. Thank heavens she’d become proficient at hiking while wearing her night vision monocular. Using her jo as a walking stick also helped.

As she’d learned on her previous forays, the trail at night was vastly different than during the daytime. The scents of spruce and damp undergrowth were more pungent. There were noises—owls hooting or worse, the whap-whap sound of big wings overhead. Startled animals crashed away through the bushes. One big animal could sound like a whole stampede.

Overhead, the tree canopy was dense, giving only glimpses of the three-quarters-full moon.

Everyone wore night vision equipment. Bull and his brothers had their own and handed out extras to the volunteers who needed them. Not many did. The guys who hunted had their own, as did JJ as part of her cop gear.

When Bull offered Frankie a pair, she’d pulled out her own along with the head mount—and shown she was familiar with it all. She was gifted quite the measuring stare.

Near the beginning of the path, she received another long look from all four of the guys when they saw the line of glowing spots that marked the trail to the compound.

That reflective paint worked well.

Nevertheless, it was still a long hike. Her legs were tired. Her neck ached from the weight of the NVM that pulled her head sideways. She was relieved when Gabe halted the line.

They were still far enough in the forest to remain hidden from the compound but much closer than she’d dared since the first time.

Bull came to stand beside her and gave her a warm squeeze around the waist. He bent to whisper, “Rest and I’ll be back soon,” then disappeared down another trail with Gryff at his heels.

Waiting time.

Being patient really sucked. Especially alone. Only, she really wasn’t, not with all the others around her. Now that she’d stopped, she could feel the fine tremor in her hands. Her lungs felt constricted; her heart was beating too fast.

We’re coming, Kit.

She squeezed her paint-darkened staff. No firearms for her. Not after Hawk mentioned that people unused to combat tended to hose down everything around them—including their team.

She’d stick to the non-lethal jo. I don’t want to kill anyone. But she would if it meant keeping her people alive.

Rifle in hand, Hawk moved silently away, his objective a tall tree across from the corner watchtower. Bull called him a sniper and said he was the finest shot of any of them.

Good luck, Hawk.