Savage Ending (Savage Trilogy 4)

“But does it have hotdogs on sticks and cotton candy?” I ask from the passenger seat. “Because if it does, I’ll bring Candace back, take her sightseeing, and then wrap her in cotton candy, and lick it off.”

Adam eyes me and says, “That sounds really messy.”

“And fun,” I say, eyeing the mountainous terrain beginning to take over the scenery and wishing like hell I was here with Candace and not on a mission.

Ten minutes later, the Gatlinburg city limits sign comes into view, and my gut clenches with the anticipation of what will follow, which is the unknown. I don’t like the unknown.

Almost immediately, we're right in the center of a typical small-town downtown, lined with little shops and restaurants, as well as people milling about. But we don’t see much of it. Adam cuts us right and heads down a country road and then another, which leads up and up some more.

Another ten minutes later, Adam parks the sedan in a cluster of trees about a mile from our pick-up destination. The three of us, armed and ready for trouble, mic up and split up, looking for an ambush. I get up close and personal with the windows of a cabin, confirming there is no one home. I take a moment to admire the hillbilly dream shack, complete with puke orange and yellow furniture, with plaid thrown in for style.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re on the outskirts of the cabin, with an all-clear agreed on between us, staring at the shit-hole of a cabin that is our destination. It would be an insult to the stunning beauty of the Gatlinburg mountain terrain if it wasn’t hidden away off a country road.

Asher is leaning against a tree in a squat position with his MacBook on ready and Adam and I join him before I punch in the redial for Max on speakerphone. He answers on the first ring. “Holy fuck,” he says. “You really came through. You’re in Tennessee.”

“What am I?” I ask. “A snake-eyed liar? Of course, I’m in Tennessee. Clear my path.”

“You know it, man. How far out are you?”

As planned, I play like I’ve just hit the runway. “I’m starving. An hour and a half. I need food before I play like your superhero.”

“You really are my damn hero for this, man.” There’s a rasp in his voice, sincerity to the words, and yet they ring hollow. “You're headed to a small cabin in the woods,” he says. “Call me when you get there. The hiding place is tricky. I need to walk you through finding it.”

“I thought I was picking up from the guy who owns the cabin? Explain this to me like I’m a two-year-old. What the fuck am I doing?”

“A pick-up with no contact,” he says. “The cabin is owned by the godfather of a guy I served with in the army. I visited with him years back with that buddy. He has no idea I left something behind.”

In other words, if this is a legit threat, he made the enemy hunting him a long fucking time ago. And yet, I never heard about any such threat. “Where’s that buddy and how does he fit into this?”

“Dead. Long dead. And don’t ask a name. You don’t need it. He’s not a part of this.”

I don’t like his secrecy and I exchange a look with Adam as I ask, “Then why is he dead?”

“Iraq war.”

“Then this problem is not a new problem,” I say, circling back to my prior assumption.

“No,” he confirms, “but it was a problem I thought long dead.”

“All right,” I say, aware he’s not giving me details on the phone or probably ever. “How are you going to get rid of the godfather?” I ask.

“He works for the tramway there in town. If I call in a fire sighting on the cable, he’ll rush to work and be tied up for hours.”

It’s a good answer. As good as it gets, considering how wrong this feels. “I’ll call you when I get there,” I say, and hang up and slide my phone back into my pocket.

“I’m dialing into the tramway,” Asher informs us. “I’ll know if there’s a fire alert.”

“He sounded legit enough,” Adam says, vocalizing my own thoughts. “It matches what Asher found out about the owner. Can you find the friend, Asher?”

“We’re talking godson,” he says. “That could be one of hundreds, even thousands of men, but I’ll try. And we have the fire alert now.” He punches in a series of keys and adds, “The man who owns the cabin has a daughter and she was never in the military.”

“Is the daughter married?” Adam asks. “Could the husband be the connection?”

“Divorced. I checked the ex earlier. He’s a chef. No military background.”

“Is the daughter here in Gatlinburg?” I ask.

“Texas,” Asher says, shutting his computer. “Which is a link to you, not Max. Max is from South Carolina. I don’t like this, Savage. The cabin is vacant at the moment. Call him back now. Get the data drive and let’s get the fuck out of here before some shitheads show up and attack us.”