Page 35 of Freeing Savannah

A pause.

“I’ve got a ping on his schedule,” she said slowly. “He’s not in D.C. anymore. Took an unscheduled flight to Prague three hours ago. No press coverage, no official statement.”

“Prague?” I echoed. “That’s our next stop on the tour schedule.”

“I know. There’s no clear reason for him to be there. His itinerary went dark as soon as he landed.”

Voodoo’s gut twisted. “He’s not a spontaneous man.”

“No,” she agreed. “Which makes this extra interesting. SYBIL found out that the last time he deviated from his schedule, also in Prague, Savannah ended up at an embassy event with a security breach no one wants to admit happened. They covered it up, keeping it hush hush.”

That got his attention. “What happened?”

“A man got past security. They are calling it a crazed fan incident. He’d cornered her outside the bathrooms and wouldn’t let her pass.”

“The bathroom again,” Voodoo murmured, hating that she’d had to experience something like that.

“Security got to him quickly before anything could happen. Savannah was fine, just shaken up.”

“Yeah, I bet.” If he’d been there, something like that would never have happened. But then he realized that he had already fucked up when she’d been locked in the restroom in Paris. He hadn’t prevented that scare, and he hated himself for it.

He clenched his jaw. “We’re missing something. Someone’s playing a long game.”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “But we still don’t know what the prize is.”

A swell of strings poured from the orchestra, and Savannah hit a series of chords that made the hair on his arms stand up.

“I’m tired of chasing shadows,” he said in a low voice.

“Then we shine a light,” Haley replied. “One lead at a time.”

He tapped the earpiece off and stepped back toward the edge of the stage, eyes locked on Savannah.

Whoever was moving behind the scenes, whether it was the Senator or someone he answered to, they were about to learn that when you tried to play games with the Condor team watching, you didn’t get the last move.

Savannah stepped into the wings, and his instincts flared. She looked ill. Sweat beaded her forehead, more than just from the stage lights. Her complexion was far too pale. She stumbled as she made her way to him. He reached out a hand to steady her.

“I don’t feel so good,” she murmured.

“What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she lurched to a nearby industrial sized trash can and emptied her stomach into it. She continued to heave as he tried his best to offer her comfort. This came on so suddenly, it was unexpected. And more than a little suspicious.

“Oh, God,” she cried and heaved once more. When he didn’t think there could possibly be anything left, she collapsed againsthim almost too weak to stand upright. He swept her into his arms and strode down the hall to her dressing room. Daphne was there and when she spotted Savannah, she exclaimed, “Oh no. What happened?”

“She’s sick. We need a doctor,” he said, laying her down on the couch.

“I’ll call for one,” Daphne said as she rushed around the room. She picked up a bottle of water and a small trash can, subsequently placing the trash can on the floor near Savannah.

Voodoo sat on the coffee table next to her prone body. Her breathing was shallow and way too fast. He placed a cold washcloth on her forehead, then held her hand as he waited for the doctor. Her stillness concerned him more than anything.

“I’ll go meet the doctor at the stage door,” Daphne said, breaking through his quiet vigil.

“Daphne,” he said, and she paused before leaving the room. “Find her water bottle.”

Her eyes widened, but she nodded, then walked out the door.

His instincts were screaming at him. This wasn’t just a stomach bug. He was pretty sure of that. And he was confident the answer would be found in her water bottle.

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