Savage Ending (Savage Trilogy 4)

We organize the time and location, and I return to my home drawing. I don’t actually do residential architecture, but doing ours would be special. We need a porch to reenact Savage’s story, I think, smiling. The doorbell rings, and I stand and head in that direction. When I open the door, I expect Julie. Instead, I find Blake, with what looks like a two-day stubble shadowing his jaw, and bloodshot eyes.

My heart falls and I can’t breathe. “Tell me he’s okay.”

“Of course he’s okay. He’s not missing his wedding. This is not about Savage. It’s about you. I grabbed the camera footage from your night out, and just wanted to talk to you about it. Can I come in?”

“Oh,” I say surprised he came over here for this and suddenly apprehensive all over again. “Yes. Okay.” I back up to allow him to enter. “You want coffee?”

“Hell yes,” he says. “I’d kill for coffee. I’ve been up all night working on a project for a new client.”

“And you came here without sleep?” I ask, walking to the pot with a frown on my face. That apprehension just notched up a level. “This must be a serious visit.”

“We take the safety of our team and their families seriously. So yes, it’s serious.”

Having been around Blake quite often, I know how he takes his coffee, so I fix it up and set it in front of him, leaning on the island to his right. “Am I in danger?”

“I’m actually here to put your mind at ease.” He scrubs a hand through his dark hair. “I guess I should have said that out of the gate. No sleep. I suck. Sorry, Candace. All is well. I found a street camera that captured the man who was across the street from you last night.”

“And?”

He grabs his phone and pulls up a video. “I lightened it up, so you can see it well.” He punches the play button.

I watch as an old man smokes a cigarette and then quickly puts it out when a couple of kids run up to him and hug him.

“His grandkids,” Blake informs me. “He’s lived in the apartment behind where he’s standing for years. He goes outside to smoke so his wife won’t know.”

I let out a breath and laugh. “Now I feel silly.”

“Don’t. You had a bad feeling. Sometimes those bad feelings are real and for a reason, even if they don’t match up to where you connect the dots. I don’t want us to totally dismiss this. Stay alert. Carry your gun. Savage will be home soon and, in the meantime, if you want an escort—”

“No. No, I wouldn’t take resources that could be used to save lives. I’m nervous over Savage being gone. I’m nervous over this entire Max situation. I don’t trust him.”

Something flickers in his eyes but disappears before I can figure out what. “Savage is safe. I know that for a fact.” He sips his coffee, eyes my drawings, and says, “What’s this?”

“A dream house on the island. Maybe. We’ll see.”

His lips curve. “Savage and a dream house on the ocean. Never thought I’d see the day.” He winks. “But it’s a good day.” He glances at his watch. “Thanks for the coffee. It will keep me awake until I go to bed, which will be soon.”

I walk Blake to the door and once he’s gone, I return to the island and refill my coffee, but when I sit down, I’m unsettled. When I’d said I don’t trust Max, he’d had that look in his eye and changed the topic. I should have pushed for more. And he’d told me not to ignore my gut feelings. Somehow that feels like it ties together.

My instincts, my gut, were screaming last night.

I decide right then, that while I won’t ask for an escort tonight, I will make sure Blake knows where I am and when I’ll be there. I text him the details. Just to be safe.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Candace

Savage still hasn’t returned when it’s time to get ready for my meeting.

I’m nervous for him again, my normally steady hands a bit jittery. I can’t shake this feeling he’s in trouble, and I don’t know how I’m going to focus tonight, yet I have to do just that. This is basically a job interview, and not just for me, but for everyone involved in the project.

With that motivation in mind, I shower and take my time with my makeup, listening to an audiobook as I do. It turns out to be a mistake, as it’s a thriller that only sets me more on edge. I decide silence is a better option.

Not too much later, I’m ready early, probably because I’m high on adrenaline and those nerves. But I’ve at least managed to dress appropriately, I believe—I hope—in a black sweater dress and boots. My portfolio is on the kitchen island waiting for me and I sit down in front of it, planning to review my ideas I’ll be presenting to the investor, just to be fresh.