Amy felt lightheaded. He meant it. He had killed children in the past. Trust me: he loved saying it. “Now, where is the car? He sighed. “Start walking away.” Chino disconnected, gave the telephone back to Gregory and told him where the car was. “Tell Rosario to pick it up.” Gently he rubbed Amy’s back. “End of crisis,” he said quietly, with a sly little grin. He took her elbow, eased her off the stool, brought her close and stroked her bottom. She was so sick with terror she thought her knees were going to buckle. He pulled the bottle of champagne out of the bucket. “Come. Take your glass with you. I want to answer your questions about all this. Some of your questions, anyway.”

What the hell was happening now? The car was stopped on the side of the road, on a slant. The two kids kept yelling at each other. A few minutes ago the telephone had rung and they had pulled over and set the handbrake. And listened to their caller. Then, immediately, the argument had started. In Spanish. Merrill hadn’t understood a word.

The engine was still turning. His heart thumping, Merrill was trying to stay as quiet as possible. Motionless. The trunk lid popped open, started to swing upward. Merrill grabbed at the inside of the lid and held it down. The kids meant to look in the trunk. He still didn’t know if they had found his bag under the blanket behind the driver’s seat, whether they had guns now.

What time was it? At least an hour, maybe more, had passed since he had been stuffed in here, his legs bent up under him. He couldn’t be sure how well his legs were going to work. His eyes were adjusting to the dim light entering under the bottom of the lid. Moonlight. They were out in the country somewhere? The car’s doors opened and closed. His only hope was to get the two kids as close to him as possible before he saw them. Another door opened and closed. His only hope was to get the two kids as close to him as possible before they saw him. Another door opened and closed. The arguing resumed, got closer, clearer. Fingertips appeared inside the bottom of the lid. Merrill tightened his grip on the tire iron…