Savage Ending (Savage Trilogy 4)

“Agreed,” Adam replies.

Opinions I don’t make them defend or drive home. I’m on board like a motherfucker. I dial Max. He doesn’t answer. I text him: You have ten minutes to give me the drive location or I’m on a plane home. I flash the message at Adam and Asher. The cell rings in my hand. I answer on speaker and he says, “You’re at the cabin, aren’t you?”

“No,” I say. “Elon Musk gave me a ride to the moon, where I’m going to sing zip-a-dee-doo-dah to the stars, man.” I scowl and snap, “Where is the fucking data drive?”

“From the right side of the cabin, walk two hundred steps into the woods, then right another hundred steps. There will be a cluster of birdhouses. Right to left, count to the fourth birdhouse, and it’s in a plastic bag, buried at the front of the post.”

“Text me that fucking maze,” I say and hang up, eyeing Adam and Asher. “Let’s get this done. Cover me,” and when I have their agreement, I head right, deeper into the woods, not about to stand by that cabin and count flipping footsteps. That’s like saying “Here I am. Shoot me.”

It’s not long until I find the bird feeders, but I perch behind a thick tree trunk and just watch the clearing, waiting for something, I don’t know what. Something. It feels like something is going to happen. And yet, I can’t sit here like a damn bird watcher gazing at all the pretty birds, either, and there are plenty of them, all of which will scatter and make noise the minute I, or someone else, steps in their direction. And as much as I’d like to wait this out and see who shows up to kill me, and kill them first, my future wife might not like that idea.

Time is critical.

Now that Max knows we’re here, so could someone else. Even him. For all I know, Max is here, waiting on me. And Max is a damn good killer. Not as good as me, but good enough to ruin my damn wedding.

CHAPTER TEN

Candace

I’m already in my pajama pants and a tank top with a TV dinner and wine in front of me on the kitchen island when the doorbell rings.

Since we're in a high-security building, that means my guest is someone on my approved list. That means it’s someone from Walker Security and suddenly my heart is in my chest. If something happened to Savage, someone would come here and tell me. I run for the door, literally run, my heart in my throat as I force myself to pause and call out, “Who is it?”

“Julie, and nothing is wrong besides you being alone.”

Relief washes over me and I open the door to find her standing there, looking as gorgeous as always with a bit more pink in her cheeks than usual. “You’re sure he’s okay?”

“No,” she says. “I have no idea where Savage is, so I can’t say I’m sure. But what I am sure of is my craving for pizza and ice cream. Go get dressed. Feed me and pray for me. If I’m not pregnant, the test lied and I’m just getting fat.”

“I thought we already knew this was the real deal.”

“That’s what the line on that little stick declared. What if the stick lied?”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“Probably. I’m just afraid the bubble will burst.”

“It won’t. Have you told Luke? What did he say?”

“He’s working tonight with some new client Walker took on. I’ll tell him soon, probably at Sunday brunch in bed.” She waves me onward. “Hurry. Dress yourself, woman. I’m not taking you out like that and Lord help us all, some people would.”

I glance at my watch. “It’s late. You know that, right?”

“It’s nine o’clock in New York City. It’s practically lunchtime. And when they’re off saving lives, we have each other.”

She’s right. New York City never sleeps. And since I’m not likely to either until Savage is home, I allow myself to be convinced to get out of the house. I hurry upstairs, toss on jeans, a lacy burgundy top, and boots. A hint of makeup and a brush through my hair completes the look. A few minutes later, Julie and I are headed down the elevator. Thirty minutes later, we're sitting at a pizza joint we both love, one that just happens to have an ice cream parlor next door.

Once the pizza is piping hot and on our table, Julie and I dig in, but one slice in, she pauses and studies me. “Savage leaving is hard, right?”

“God, yes,” I say, setting down my soda. “Brutal. And I don’t want you to think I’m going to be difficult every time he goes on a job, but right now it’s more about the timing, I think.”

“Of course it is,” she says. “And Savage has made a crapload of money doing high-risk jobs. He already asked to stay local as much as he can and take the less risky jobs.”