Pete had his hands up, rattling off fast Russian, but from the expression on the man’s face, the look in his eye, it wasn’t working.

Yikes. Ranger had seen those looks before, something dark and unhinged and—

The man held cuffs up toward Pete.

Shoot. Yes, Pete could have taken him, could have hit the floor, taken out the man’s legs on his way down, and brought the fight to the ground.

Instead, the old SEAL held up his hands in surrender.

A heartbeat. Two. C’mon, Pete.

Whatever hand Pete was playing wasn’t panning out because the guy pushed Pete to the wall and shoved the business end of the gun to his head. Nice, now Ranger got a front-row seat to his father-in-law’s execution.

Nope. Pete wasn’t dying on his watch.

It took two steps—he could do it with his eyes closed, really, the way he’d worked it out in his head—and the man was on the floor, Ranger’s knife slicing his carotid artery.

Pete stilled, his gaze on the man. He let out a word.

“It’s done,” Ranger said. “Let’s go.”

Pete just blinked at him. Then in three steps he was across the room. He grabbed his cell phone and handed it to Ranger. “Put it in your waterproof pouch.”

Ranger slid it into the pouch inside his wet suit.

Pete pulled his P226 Sig out from a side table. “They’re in the hallway. We’ll need to go over the balcony.”

He flicked off the light before he pulled open the French doors. Heat slicked into the room like a furnace. Ranger stepped out into it, after Pete.

Darkness bathed this side of the house, and it took a second for Ranger’s eyes to adjust. “We’re on the balcony, north side. Make some noise, Colt.”

Seconds later, Colt’s engine revved. Shouting followed, and in his mind’s eye, he could see Colt spinning in circles, or maybe he’d plowed right into the dock. Whatever. Ranger just needed enough time to get back in the water with Pete.

Pete had thrown a leg over the balcony railing, shimmied down, and now dropped to the ground. Ranger followed, dropping softly.

Motion lights flicked on in the distance, and Ranger grabbed Pete’s shirt and pulled him into the balcony shadow. He pointed to the path where he’d come in, and Pete nodded.

Ranger went first, his memorized route kicking in. Along the balcony edge, to the front side of the house, leapfrogging landscape bunkers all the way to the mangroves’ edge.

Above them, shouting came from the room where Ranger had dropped Pete’s attacker.

“Ready?” Ranger asked.

“Go,” Pete answered.

Ranger ran along the wall, then fell to his knees and crawled through the dark grass to a spray of dwarf palms.

Seconds later Pete edged in beside him. “Keep moving.”