The Savage President

er's bike, and Cade Rourke knew before the glass

n both sides. Down the slope to his left the Ohio slid by, wide and slow and indifferent. To his right the hillside rose in a wall of suma

s that did not connect. Danny's shoulders jerked. His front wheel wobbled. The big Harley slewed tow

hoarse, already moving. "E

machine at the shoulder, felt the heat of the exhaust sear his shin through the denim, and ran. Gravel bit his palms. A third shot cracke

ht that did not exist, because there were no streetlights on the river road, only the headlamp of a

aid. He said it

is collarbone, and felt the warmth go through his fingers faster than any man could stop it

ou said it

n and told eleven men that the route was clean, that the only people who knew it were the people in that room, and e

e said. "I

of cooling metal, and somewhere up the slope the unhurried crunch of boots on leaves, mov

re cold already. "Don't let it be Hatch," he

it, had not let the thought come within a mile of his skull, and yet here was

y would yo

black hillside and the stars beyond it, and whatever he saw there made his mouth soften in

e said. "

utched in one fist. He did not say anything. He did not have to. He laid two fingers against Dan

p of it. He closed Danny's eyes with his thumb. He eased the body down onto the cold road with a care that was almost tender. Then he stood, and the ot

es one at a time. He l

there was blood on his sleeve that Cade could not account for. Hatchet met his eyes. Whatever pas

ow and level and utterly without mercy. "Somebody in this club. I don't care how long it takes.

horn sounded, long and lonely, the way

d a pair of binoculars, thumbed a number into a phone, and