It had been a fucking long walk back to Chevy’s place, Bull thought.

In the back of Hawk’s helicopter, he helped Caz strap Frankie’s friend down on the cushioned stretcher. The trip out hadn’t done her any good, and she was still unconscious, dammit.

What would Frankie do if her friend died?

“Hang in there, Kit,” Bull murmured.

“Sí,” Caz agreed. He turned to Hawk in the pilot’s chair. “Get her there quickly. She’s bleeding inside.”

Already doing the preflight, Hawk simply showed a thumbs-up.

After a last glance at the IV he’d started, Caz slapped Bull’s shoulder. “Later, ’mano. JJ and I’ll make sure Gryff gets back safe.” He jumped out to deal with the minor injuries incurred during the retreat through the forest.

In the passenger seats, Frankie had Aric buckled in beside her. Neither she nor Aric would leave Kit. Although the kid had been cooperative enough until Hawk had set him down.

Bull eased down on the seat beside them and strapped in. A couple of the bullets had hit his vest in the back. Nothing penetrated, but Jesus, he hurt. Then again, the sarge used to tell them if you’re hurting, you know you’re alive, and it sure as hell beats being dead.

After donning headphones, Bull put a set on Frankie. It was the only way to hear anything in a noisy copter.

“Good to go back here,” he told Hawk who already had the rotors spinning.

He got a typical Hawk answer—a grunt.

Bull put protective earmuffs on Aric. Half-asleep, the boy had snuggled as close as possible to Frankie who had her arm around him.

As the helicopter lifted off, Bull saw Dante matching up the rescued with transportation. Clipboard in hand, Lillian was designating escorts, ensuring that each woman and child would be accompanied until the proper authority took charge of them.

Cars were slowly moving down the dirt road, and yes, more of them were on Dall Road, heading for Rescue’s municipal building. By now, the municipal building would be swarming with health professionals as well as the FBI and Alaska State Troopers.

Yeah, the survivors would be handled. For the moment, Bull could focus on Kit, Aric, and Frankie.

“You all right?” Bull stroked his hand over Frankie’s hair. He’d have to make sure someone checked her leg—all of her—while they were in the hospital.

“Sure.” She looked up at him. “You’re moving funny. How about you?”

“Just bruises.” He half smiled. “You did good, woman. And you were right to insist on coming with us.”

“I know. But it helps to hear it from you.” She rubbed her head against his shoulder with a sigh. “Thanks.”

He kissed the top of her head. She was pale, scratched, shot, battered, but still upright. Still watching out for her godson and her friend.

And him.