A few minutes later, Gryff started howling again. Again, there was a cacophony of barking from the PZ’s guard dogs.

Frankie checked the watchtower. The silhouette of the guard had disappeared. Way to go, Hawk! He must be as good a sniper as the guys had claimed.

In front of Frankie, Gabe headed for the fence, crossing the open area between the tree line and the PZ fence. Branches inserted in his jacket broke up his silhouette, and the two huge bolt cutters he carried were painted black and wrapped in dark mottled fabric. The Hermitage had one set of bolt cutters. She contributed the other.

Moving slowly, somehow, he disappeared right into the shadows. That camo stuff was really effective. At the fence, he met up with Hawk, the two men creating a slightly darker spot against the silvery fence wires. They would be using the bolt-cutters now, the sound covered by the barking and yelling.

When the noise died, the two crouched and went motionless.

Gryff set off the dogs two more times.

“Put the fucking beasts in their kennels. I am done with this shit.” Someone yelled from inside the compound. A chill ran through Frankie at the sound of Nabera’s voice.

“Yes, Captain!” one of the guards shouted.

Frankie exchanged grim nods with JJ. Goal achieved. Gryff, you are such a good dog. There would be no dogs running loose in the compound. Perfect.

A few minutes later, Bull and Gryff ghosted back, getting silent nods and approving grins as they squeezed past the line of men.

When Bull put his arm around her shoulders, she leaned against him, and a knot in her stomach relaxed. He was all right. After giving her a squeeze, he nudged Caz, then made a soft sound like one of the birds she’d heard by the lake.

Letting Gabe know he was back.

No one moved.

They waited.

Soon, soon.

The sound of approaching cars from the other side of the compound was the first warning of the main diversion. Brakes squealed. Metal screeched and clanged. Glass broke. People were shouting.

“Time to party,” Bull whispered and moved out. He’d already put on a camo balaclava with the night vision goggles over it.

Unless they found Kit and thus had proof she was held against her will, the rescuers would keep their faces covered. Since they were, after all, breaking and entering.

Slow and silent, she reminded herself, rolling down her own balaclava and following him toward the fence. Balance on one foot, set the other down, adding weight while feeling for anything that might snap. Rinse and repeat. Squint eyes to hide the whites. At least, the balaclava hid her white teeth.

The guard in the watchtower was tranked, but there might—probably would be—people moving around inside the compound. Probably even some guards to keep the women inside, if nothing else.