Shiver

of his tongue, only to be instantly dismissed. For the kid’s sake, he absolutely needed to keep the phone connection going. He said, “Whatever you do, don’t hit the end-call button. You hear?”
    “Uh-huh.” The kid’s barely there voice had a catch in it. Danny thought he might be holding back a sob.
    “We’re coming to get you, Tyler. Where are you? Do you know the address?”
    “It’s 237 C-Clark Street.” Danny could hear a kind of slithering noise that he couldn’t identify.
    He asked, “Tyler, what are you doing?”
    “Hiding under the bed.”
    “Good plan.” Danny’s pulse hammered. The kid was obviously frightened out of his gourd. Danny could almost feel the icy pulse of his terror through the phone. He was only four years old. For how long would he be able to keep quiet and out of sight? “Okay, 237 Clark Street. I got it. Hold on. Stay real quiet.”
    Danny covered the mouthpiece and looked at Groves, who was frowning as he listened in. Danny could no longer hear thewoman in the background, which wasn’t a good thing for many reasons.
    “Groves. Get on the fucking radio and tell whoever’s on the other end to call 911,” Danny said. “Tell them to send the cops to 237 Clark Street. Do it right now.” The harsh growl of his voice was a testament to how much the idea of a little boy falling into the hands of the Zetas terrified him.
    “What the fuck?” Through the rearview mirror, Sanders looked at Danny like he’d just grown a second head.
    “The woman in the truck. This is her kid on the phone. The Zetas are there where the kid is, looking for me. Trying to torture information out of another woman. The kid’s there, too, scared out of his mind.” At the expression on Groves’s face, Danny barked at him, “Goddamnit, man, do it.” He would have snatched the radio out of Groves’s hand and done it himself except he had a damaged finger on one hand and Sam’s phone in the other, quite apart from the fact that in his present condition he was almost certain to lose the fight that such an action would start. Just managing not to shout, he looked at Sanders again. “We need to head for 237 Clark Street. Fast.”
    Sanders said, “Hey, Marco? Guess what? You don’t give the orders here.”
    “So give the fucking orders.”
    Sanders’s face tightened. He glanced into the rearview mirror. “Groves. Tell Morrison to call 911. You got the address?” Groves nodded. “And tell ’em to haul ass.”
    “Okay, 237 Clark,” Groves repeated, pressing a button on the radio. “I’m on it.”
    “Trey. Are you still there?” Tyler whispered.
    Danny uncovered the mouthpiece. “Yeah, Tyler, I’m still here. We’re on our way. How many men are there?”
    “Two. Or maybe three. I can’t tell.”
    “Okay. Just stay cool.”
    While he had been talking, Danny had been eyeing their progress on the portable GPS that was stuck to the dashboard by some sort of suction device. He covered the mouthpiece again. “Abramowitz, type in 237 Clark Street. Let’s see where it is.”
    Abramowitz, who was tall, thin, bald as an egg, and currently extremely nervous looking, hesitated, glancing at Sanders, who to Danny’s relief gave a curt nod of permission. Even as Abramowitz started to key in the address, another agonized “Please . . .” followed by unintelligible syllables and a soul-shattering scream shivered through the phone. When the scream was abruptly cut off, Danny realized that he was sweating. They’d gagged her, he figured. That was how they operated: give the victim a chance to spill the information they wanted, then if the victim wasn’t forthcoming gag and torture her some more before removing the gag and giving her another chance to talk. They’d never been known to leave a torture victim alive, either. How long did Cindy Menifee have? How long before she gave up the kid? Answer to both: the way the cartel worked, not long.
    “They put something in her mouth,” Tyler said. “They’re hurting her.”
    “Wait a minute.” Danny uncovered the mouthpiece. “How are you seeing all this? I thought you were under the bed.”
    “I got out to look.”
    Jesus Christ, the kid was scaring the life out of him. “You get back under the bed, right now, and stay out of sight,” he ordered, using the tone he would have used to an errant nephew. At the thought that if the kid was somewhere where he could see what was going down, he could also be seen, Danny felt his heart