Ranger scampered to the next tree, Pete on his tail, and finally the last bunch of palm and jasmine.

The shouting grew as their posse streamed out of the house, the yard lighting up with the movement.

Perfect. Now they’d have to run to the mangroves under the football lights.

“See the break in the mangroves? That’s our exfil.”

“Roger.”

Ranger took off, no need to crawl anymore, running hard for the break. Shots sounded behind him, and a bullet seared the air close to his ear.

Behind him, Pete had fired off a shot, then another.

Ranger launched into the cover of the mangrove trail, crouched, and kept running. Dragging out his bag on the way to the water, he dove in.

Pete wasn’t behind him.

He turned and spotted the man on shore, crawling. Ranger bit back a word when Pete collapsed, hard, rolled into a ball.

Ranger scrambled back out and dove for him, grabbing his collar. “Where’re ya hit?”

“My leg. Just get me out of here.”

In the wan light, Ranger made out the dark wash of blood streaming from his upper leg. A quick look said it wasn’t the femoral artery, so they had time.

Ranger fitted on his fins, the rebreather and mask, and pulled Pete into the water even as he shoved the rebreather into his mouth. Pete clamped onto the mouthpiece and fitted on the mask.

Nodded.

Ranger took Pete down, just as a man broke through the path to the shore.

He fired a shot into the darkness.

But they were already in the grasses, Ranger’s NOD attachment lighting the way. Blood from Pete’s leg clouded the water. Perfect.

He kicked hard away from the mangroves, and the neighborhood nesting gator, and towed Pete farther out and down. And there, parked at the bottom, in the wan green light, Ranger ripped apart Pete’s pants leg.

Not the femoral, but a through and through in the lower part of his thigh. He signaled Pete to hang on to him, and then, with Noemi’s father gripping his vest, Ranger towed the man through the water, into the open river.

Six minutes later, he surfaced some three hundred yards from shore, at a buoy designated for pickup. Pete had lost a lot of blood, and Ranger held him aloft around the chest, kicking hard.

A motor sounded in the distance. In the starlight, Ranger made out Colt standing at the helm, his hair blowing back. Dodge sat on the bow, searching the water with his night vision scope. Ranger waved, and the boat slowed, then the motor cut and it drifted toward them.

Ranger swam over, his arm around Pete. “Get him up. He’s been shot.”

Colt and Dodge leaned over and pulled Pete from the water. Ranger threw his gear in, then grabbed his brothers’ hands and let them haul him into the boat.