She’d have to remember when she visited the hospital tomorrow. Earlier, she’d called, and the nurse had said the swelling in Kit’s brain was going down, and she’d probably be allowed to wake up tomorrow some time. That she was doing all right.
Kit was going to live. Frankie clung to the door a minute and blinked away the blurriness in her vision.
As Bull came around the vehicle, she noticed the uniformed state trooper at the back door was frowning at them. The building was well guarded. When they drove past on Main Street, there had been a couple of troopers barring the way to the front door.
The trooper came down a step. “I’m sorry, people, but only authorized persons—”
“I know, I know.” Bull took Frankie’s arm, lending support as they moved closer. “As it happens, the Chief of Police asked us to bring food for everyone…including the support staff.”
The trooper blinked, then hope filled his face. “Food?”
“Lots of food. Can you give Gabe a ring to get his ass out here and identify us?”
“Hell, yes. I’m starving.” The young man talked into his radio for a moment, laughed, and said, “I’ll let them through.”
Frankie blinked. “You’re not going to make Gabe come out here?”
The trooper shook his head, his gaze on Bull. “He gave me a description.”
Gabe had probably said something like huge and muscular, with a shaved head and goatee. There weren’t many like Bull.
“Good.” Bull grinned and headed back to the pickup. “If you draft people to carry in the coolers and boxes, I’ll get an area set up for food.”
“I’m on it.” The trooper lifted his radio again.
After lowering the tailgate, Bull handed her a sack. “You can take that one in.”
Full of bread, it weighed almost nothing. She wrinkled her nose at him. So over-protective. “Thanks, Skull.”
Chuckling, he grabbed a cooler, then left the hand trolley sitting beside the back for whoever would bring in the heaviest of the coolers and boxes.
Once inside the wide reception area, Bull slowed. “We should probably find Gabe or Caz.”
There were people everywhere, mostly law enforcement and health professionals, including social workers, as well as the survivors of the PZs. Caz had said the women and children would be interviewed, then if they had no other family, would go to shelters in Anchorage where they’d get counseling and help. If a child appeared abused—or if the woman wanted to return to the PZ, more evaluations would be done.
What a mess. At least, the news media hadn’t sniffed this out yet.
“Bull, Frankie.” At the receptionist counter, Audrey beamed at them. “Gabe said you were bringing in food. We cleared a space over there.”
Next to the police station doors, Chevy and Knox were already setting up a long table against the wall.
“Did you get any sleep at all?” Frankie asked, noting the dark circles under her friend’s eyes.
“A couple of hours.” Audrey sighed ruefully. “Gabe wouldn’t take a break unless I did, so we sacked out together on a couple of the police station cots. He made JJ take a nap, too, once we got up.”
“Oh, that’s good.” The police station had showers, so Gabe and JJ would’ve had a chance to clean up.
When Caz took Gryff back to the Hermitage, he caught some sleep there before coming in.
Audrey’s mouth twisted. “You know, I’ve been attacked, kidnapped, shot—and I’m not sure if it wasn’t worse waiting here, all safe and sound, and worrying about you all.”
Especially Gabe, Frankie knew. If I’d had to sit in this place, waiting for word about Bull? She shook her head. “You’re braver than I am, Audrey.”
Across the reception area, a clatter came from the stairs as several people descended. A state trooper, a gray-haired woman and two skinny, terrified children, followed by a man in a black suit. The trooper herded the woman and children toward the rear, while the man headed for the health clinic.
Beside Frankie, Bull inhaled sharply, then called, “Zachary Grayson, how the hell did you get here so quickly?” Taking Frankie’s hand, he crossed the room, pulling her with him at a pace too fast for comfort.
Cavolo, his legs were just too long. Normally, he didn’t forget that hers weren’t.
The man in the suit turned toward them. Tall and leanly muscular with silvering black hair and gray eyes, he held out a hand. “Bull, it’s good to see you.” His voice was rich and deep, almost compelling.
“And you. I didn’t expect you until tomorrow at the earliest.”
Laugh lines crinkled at the corners of the man’s eyes. “I have a friend with a jet.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Bull grinned. “Thank you for coming.”
“Indeed, how could I refuse when every single one of you phoned?” The man tilted his head at Frankie, then lifted an eyebrow at Bull. “I also heard a rumor that you had a partner in your endeavors last night.”
“So discreetly phrased.” Bull squeezed her hand. “Frankie, I’d like you to meet Dr. Zachary Grayson, a psychologist who works with traumatized children and an old friend of Mako’s. He’d fly up from Florida to make sure the sarge wasn’t in over his head with the four of us.”
A corner of Grayson’s mouth lifted. “Mako was in over his head the moment he met you all.”
Frankie almost laughed, because the four guys were impossible now. As children…? That poor sergeant.
Chuckling, Bull pulled her closer. “Zachary, this is Frankie Bocelli, who’s taken over managing the roadhouse—and my heart.”
Frankie’s own heart simply melted.
Dr. Grayson held out his hand. “It’s good to meet you, Ms. Bocelli.”
“It’s Frankie, please.” Frankie took his hand, surprised when he didn’t shake and let go, but held it for a moment as he studied her with a disconcertingly perceptive gaze.
When he turned to Bull, his smile transformed his face from handsome to lethally gorgeous. “I not only approve—although you didn’t ask—but I’m very pleased for you.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Bull’s own grin was just as devastating and still made her feel all gooey inside. And…he didn’t contradict Zachary’s assumption that they were together. Would be together. Wow.
Frankie cleared the thickness from her throat. “Um, Dr. Grayson. Zachary. My friend’s son—Aric—my godson isn’t here. He’s at the Hermitage, and he’s…had a rough time. Could you speak with him, too?”
Zachary’s eyes softened. “Bull and Hawk called me for exactly that purpose. Caz and Gabe asked me to check on the survivors here, too, but I’ll be heading for the Hermitage in an hour or so.”
Bull smiled slightly, dimples appearing. “You should check on Hawk, too. He’s pretty freaked out—the kid won’t let him out of his sight.”
The psychologist nodded. “Indeed. We’ll be having a chat.”
The way he said that, as if he had no doubt that Hawk would cooperate, reminded her of Gabe. Both men were commanders, used to giving orders and being obeyed.
Bull wasn’t like that, and without thinking, she moved closer to him. He didn’t have any driving need to be in charge, yet had no problem taking the reins if it was needed. And he’d decimate anyone and anything that threatened the people he protected.
He was simply amazing. Was it any wonder how much she loved him?
Hawk was damned grateful the kid had slept most of the day. So had he…in between getting up and pacing now and then.
He had no fucking clue what to do with a rugrat, especially one that was… “How old are you anyway?”
Aric was sitting at the kitchen table munching on a carrot. Hopefully, the snack would tide him over, since Gabe wanted everyone together for a late supper at Mako’s.
Aric held up four fingers. The kid didn’t speak if gestures could be used, and if he did speak, it was in a whisper. Yeah, the kid was a mess.
Four years old. Would he be in kindergarten this year? He s
ure seemed awful small.
“C’mon, let’s go feed the chickens and collect eggs.” Hawk held his hand out, because otherwise the boy would latch onto his leg.
Walking with a kid wrapped around his leg was not happening.
Aric grabbed his hand, and Hawk felt a pang inside at how tiny the fingers were. On Caz’s orders, he’d had Aric take a bath before fixing him a bed on the couch. And again following Caz’s advice, had dumped in enough shampoo to make bubbles. While the kid played—with worried glances at Hawk between each splash—he had a chance to check the damages.
The pale little body was covered in bruises and gashes.
Hawk scowled. It’d brought back too many memories of his childhood.
He’d been a brave rugrat, though, taking the soap and scrubbing down. And he’d let Hawk wash his hair. Whoever’d beat the shit out of the child probably hadn’t been a pedophile.
Thank fuck.
They fed the chickens and left a basket of eggs outside Gabe’s door. It was Gabe and Audrey’s day to tend the chickens, but they were in town with the rescued women.
On the way back to the house, Hawk glanced over his shoulder to see Gryff trailing them at a short distance. Earlier, the dog had been heartbroken when Aric backed away from him.
Hawk was betting the mutt would eventually win the kid over. Gryff had a way about him.
The sound of cars coming up their road made Hawk stiffen until Gryff gave a happy woof. Only Bull’s pickup got that greeting.
Looking up, Aric was studying Hawk’s face in an all-too-familiar way.
Decades ago, Hawk had watched Pa like that to catch the first hint of his mouth tightening, or eyes hardening, or muscles tensing. Anger had signs—and kids who wanted to stay alive learned to read them.
“You’re a survivor, kid. I approve.” With a half-smile, Hawk slowly set his hand on Aric’s head and ruffled his hair.
The boy didn’t dodge.
As two garage doors sounded, Hawk automatically noted the locations. Bull and Frankie. But who’d opened the sarge’s garage? Surely, they wouldn’t let the PZ women come here. Talk about a security disaster.
Lights came on in Mako’s house. Yeah, someone was there.
“Son of a—” Shit, the kid. Stop swearing, asshole. That meant he’d have to kick out whoever was in Mako’s house without any colorful language.
Aric’s face was scrunched up anxiously, and Hawk winced. Way to scare the boy. “Sorry, kid.”
“Hawk.”
What the fuck? Hawk froze as the sound of the dark smooth voice brought back memories of long walks in the forest. Of the one person he’d ever let see him cry—and the one who’d taught him how to rein in his anger…at least most of the time.
The tension drained out of him in a rush. Of course, Gabe had offered Mako’s cabin to Doc Grayson. Mako would have it no other way. Despite the difference in their ages, he’d considered Grayson a good friend.
Hawk turned. “Doc.”
The psychologist hadn’t changed much over the years. He still looked like he could make it through basic training without breaking a sweat. He had more gray in his hair and a few more lines on his face. Not surprising. People unloaded a lot of shit on a psychologist. Hell, cleaning latrines would be easier.
Grayson came down the steps off the deck, and then a smile flickered over his face as his gaze dropped to…Hawk’s legs?
What the hell? Hawk looked down and snorted. Aric was hiding behind him with a firm grip on his jeans. “Hey, kid. That’s Doc Grayson. He’s okay.” Hawk rested his hand on Aric’s shoulder, feeling only bone. No meat on the boy at all. “I liked talking to him when I was little.”
That was a stretch of the truth. Under the guise of searching for herbs, Grayson had taken Hawk out into the forest for long, long walks. On a later visit, the shrink wanted photographs of the bald eagles—because he’d learned that Hawk loved the big predators.
More long walks. Sneaky bastard.
“It’s good to see you, Hawk,” Grayson said. “You appear well.”
Hawk shook hands and ignored the way the doc studied his face. “And you. This is Aric. Frankie’s godson.”
“Ah.” Zachary nodded at Aric…and didn’t press further. “Join me on Mako’s deck? I could use something cold.”
“Sure.” Hawk hadn’t considered when he made the early morning call that maybe Grayson’s conversations would include him as well as Aric. Fuck.
Still, he wanted Grayson’s opinion. Surely, the doc would say the kid would be better off with women. With someone nice. With anyone but a fucked-up, antisocial vet.
With Aric not venturing more than a few inches from his side, Hawk went into Mako’s kitchen and brought out sodas for all three of them. He took a chair beside Grayson.
Any other kid would crawl up on a chair. Aric remained standing. Yeah, it was a lot easier to flee that way.
With a snort, Hawk lifted the boy onto his lap, opened a can, and handed it to him. “Use both hands.”
Watching Grayson with wary eyes, Aric took a sip.
His shocked expression made the doc chuckle. “I doubt your religious militia allowed carbonated beverages.”
“Seems not.” Amusement roused as Aric took another sip, so very carefully, and blinked. “Like the bubbles, kid?”
Aric looked up with eyes the clear blue of an autumn sky. His lips tilted barely upward as he nodded.
Grayson leaned back in his chair with a tired sigh—and Hawk felt a twinge of guilt. The man must’ve jumped a plane right away to get here so fast. It would help that Rescue was four hours later than Tampa. Still, long fucking flight, long fucking day.
“I spoke with the doctors at Kirsten’s hospital and—”
“Kirsten?” Hawk frowned.
“Kirsten Traeger—Aric’s mother. I believe Frankie calls her Kit.” Grayson disliked nicknames. He could be almost as stubborn as the sarge.
“Got it. What’d the docs say?”
“The brain swelling is coming down adequately, and they’ll let her wake. However, even if there’s no neurological damage, she’ll be in the hospital for a while, then need a stay in rehab after that. Quite simply, she’s taken too much damage and will require treatments she can’t get at home.” Grayson’s gaze darkened.
Hawk grunted. He turned his gaze toward Aric and lifted his eyebrows.
“That’s the question, yes,” Grayson agreed.
For a minute, there was quiet.
Grayson smiled at him. “You know, back when I was Aric’s age, my mother would read to me every night.” The psychologist was watching the lake as he continued, “I remember Goodnight, Moon. And Red Shoe, Blue Shoe and…”
Hawk felt a tiny bounce, and Aric’s wary expression disappeared.
Grayson glanced over and nodded. “Ah, your mom likes to read to you, too.” And he continued with a rambling, easy discussion of things his mother had done with him. The doc never asked a question, just…talked.
With Aric on his lap, Hawk could feel the tension come and go in the little body. The kid reacted to a lot of what Grayson said. But…if Hawk was reading things right, it seemed like Kit was a damned fine mother.
Or she had been before she was sucked into the PZs. What about then, Grayson?
Before Hawk could think of a way to ask that, the doc glanced at him, then Aric. “Now Hawk, his parents could be mean. His dad hit him. So did his momma.”
Aric’s eyes widened, and he gave Hawk a horrified look and patted his chest.
Grayson leaned forward and set a hand on Aric’s shoulder, capturing his attention. “I know the mean man hit you, Aric. Did your momma ever hurt you?”
Aric shook his head vehemently and scowled at the shrink. Then he flinched, obviously remembering that grownups would hit children who glared at them.
Releasing Aric, Grayson leaned back.
Hawk nodded. That was the question he’d worried about. It seemed as if Aric could go back to his mom when she was a
ble to care for him. Good. It would have broken Frankie’s heart if her friend had turned abusive.
But…what the fuck was Aric going to do until Kit was up to caring for her kid?
The sound of garage doors rising came from Caz’s place this time. And Gabe’s.
Hawk glanced at Grayson. “Sounds like everyone’s home.”
A couple of minutes later, Regan walked out of Caz’s house. The girl had grown since coming to live with Caz last fall.
Grown in other ways, too. For the first month or so, she’d been as timid as Aric was now. She sure wasn’t timid any longer. Spotting Hawk, she came running. “Hi, Uncle Hawk!”
Climbing the steps, Regan eyed Grayson then smiled at him before turning to study Aric who still sat in Hawk’s lap. “Who’re you?”
After a moment, he whispered, “Aric.”
“Aric, this is Regan. She lives in that house.” Hawk pointed to Caz’s place.
“So, where do you live?” Regan asked the boy.
There was no pause this time. Aric pointed right at Hawk’s house.
Oh, fuck.
All evening, Frankie watched how the psychologist managed to put almost everyone at ease. Even Regan.
Aric, though… No matter the enticement—games or food or even the cat—the boy never moved farther than three feet from Hawk. When Hawk used the bathroom, the kid waited outside the door. If Hawk went into the kitchen for something, he had a tiny escort.
Aric’s fearfulness simply broke Frankie’s heart.
And, hard as it was to admit, she was maybe a little jealous of Hawk. She’d thought she would be Aric’s support.
Yet it was a miracle that the child could trust anyone other than Kit, and Frankie was profoundly grateful that he had Hawk.
Hawk might not feel the same way.
Following Frankie’s gaze, JJ studied Aric. Sleeping, he was curled up on Mako’s huge sectional. Half on Hawk’s lap, the boy hadn’t let go of Hawk’s T-shirt. “I haven’t heard him speak above a whisper.”
“He did once.” Hawk lay his hand on Aric’s shoulder in a way that melted Frankie’s heart. “Then he hid under the bed.”
What You See: Sons of the Survivalist: 3 Page 31