Shiver

thing about remote monitoring is it’s remote. By the time we got to the scene, you were gone.”
    “I could’ve been killed.” Ordinarily he wouldn’t have bitched about it—the possibility of death was part of the job description in deep undercover ops like this one—but his internal censor was doing backstrokes in the sea of feeling-no-pain meds. “I would’ve been killed, if it hadn’t been for this girl.”
    Crittenden gave a curt nod. “Samantha Jones. Age twenty-three. Single mother to Tyler, age four. Owner-operator of Sam’s Towing, which consists of one wrecker and a contract with A+ Collateral Recovery. High school grad, a few college classes, now studying to be an EMT. Product of the foster care system. One arrest at the age of nineteen for shoplifting. Baby formula. No other record.”
    Danny gave Crittenden a long look as that information fit itself in with what he already knew about Sam. The shoplifting-baby-formula thing did a slow spin around his mind, but couldn’t find a place to settle. Reason? It bothered him. In what kind of financial straits did a young mother have to be to shoplift baby formula? “You did a background check on her.”
    “Hell, yeah, I did. What if she was a plant?”
    “She’s no plant.”
    “And you know that because—oh, that’s right, she’s a real hottie.”
    “Nothing to do with that. She saved my life. If she hadn’t shown up to tow away the car Veith had thrown me into the trunk of, this conversation wouldn’t be happening because I’d be dead now. I owe her. I mean to make sure nothing happens to her or her son, you got that?”
    Crittenden held up both hands in a gesture of innocence. “You say that like I’ve got a problem with that. I don’t.” His expression turned wry. “Beautiful young woman, though, I have to say. You always were the luckiest son of a bitch I ever met.”
    Danny fixed Crittenden with a look. He went for hard and purposeful but he wasn’t exactly sure how that worked out, because he was feeling about as intimidating as a marshmallow. But still, he meant what he said. “Nobody’s cutting her loose. She and her kid stay with me, get protection just like I do. Or you can take this assignment and stick it up your ass.”
    “No need to get testy.” Crittenden’s tone was reproving. “Actually, adding them to the mix works surprisingly well for us. Since they know about the girl, and they’ve already shown a willingness to go after her, it just lays down a heavier trail for the hunters to go sniffing for. Keeping them busy until Marco fingers every mule, supplier, and dirty agent he’s worked with is the name of the game.”
    “So make sure it happens.”
    “I will. You have my word.”
    “Unless something goes wrong, huh?” The recent debacle being a case in point.
    “Now that’s just cynical. The girl will be protected, okay?”
    A memory made Danny squint hard at his boss as it unfoldedat a maddeningly slow pace in his too-sluggish-to-survive mind. “Veith asked me where the money was. Right before he blew my leg to shit. When it looked like he was getting ready to do the same thing to my arm, I told him Santos had it. He seemed willing to believe me.”
    Crittenden’s gaze sharpened. “What money?”
    “Don’t know. But Veith seemed to think there was some. From how bad he wanted to know where it was, I’m guessing it’s a substantial amount.”
    “He didn’t say—” Crittenden looked up sharply. A sound from outside the room penetrated Danny’s consciousness a split second later, like his senses were on tape delay or something. Someone was coming. Maybe several someones.
    “I need a weapon.” Danny’s tone was urgent. It was clear that his one-on-one with Crittenden was getting ready to be history.
    Crittenden glanced down at him. “I’ll see you get one. Not here. Later.”
    A metallic clunk, followed by the opening of a narrow door at the far end of the room, refocused Danny’s attention in a hurry. He hadn’t noticed the door before, probably because until that moment it had seemed to be part of the mysteriously curved wall. It rose up toward the outside like a lifting wing, letting in a burst of fresh warm air and a glimpse of what appeared to be dawn’s early light. The slice of sky he could see was pale gray touched with pink. Blinking lights on a tower threw red flashes against the metal roof of a long, low building with giant garage doors: a hangar. That’s when it hit him: