He reached for his gun while he dove to the right where there was some small cover behind the laurel bushes. Nothing solid to stop a bullet, but maybe enough to give him time to fire back. He had just put his gun in hand when the whoosh of a sniper rifle echoed in the still morning.

The bullet hit his left thigh, and he grunted as he stumbled off the small porch into the bush. The shooter was in the tree—in the fucking tree!—in the middle of his front yard. He couldn’t see him in the faint light, the yard still dark. He immediately turned his gun on his porch light and fired; glass shattered, dark fell. He didn’t need to make himself an easier target.

He fumbled for his phone as blood flowed down his throbbing leg. His vision blurred as the unrelenting pain flowed through his body.

Focus, soldier!

He’d never been shot before, not in the military, not in the Marshals Service. He was trained in how to handle being wounded, under attack, learning to take cover, to call for reinforcements, to survive until help arrived. He dropped his phone, couldn’t unlock it, hit the emergency button, then refocused in the direction of the shooter.

He could see nothing in the near dark, he couldn’t see the tree through the bushes. He scrambled up, put too much weight on his leg and grunted. The blood was coming out too fast; his head felt light, woozy.

He heard a bullet hit the brick behind him. Another.

He couldn’t fire at what he couldn’t see!

Where are you, you bastard?

A bullet ripped into his shoulder, another into his neck, and he knew then that he was a dead man.

Nelson Lee didn’t hesitate: as soon as Granger shot out the light, he’d reached into his small bag and retrieved his night vision goggles.

The distance was child’s play; he could have hit a target twice as far back when he was ten and shooting cans in his backyard. Granger had moved suddenly, surprisingly quick, diving for the only potential cover.

But leaves couldn’t stop bullets.

The clean one-shot kill eluded him, but Nelson hadn’t lost. Granger was wounded, bleeding, and Nelson had the high ground, training, and patience.

He adjusted the goggles, looked into the bushes. Saw the large man stuck between the house and the hedge. He fired. Saw flecks of brick when the bullet hit the wall. Adjusted his sights, fired four times in rapid succession, moving the barrel down slightly to compensate for the different angle.

The third bullet hit the target, shoulder. The fourth in his neck. His body slumped and Nelson didn’t have a clear shot of his head.

Granger would bleed out in less than a minute, but Nelson left nothing to chance.