Page 9 of Freeing Savannah

Behind him, two aides trailed like shadows, tablets in hand.

“Step away from him,” the Senator said, coolly. She’d never called him anything else other than “the Senator.” Not by his first name. Not by father, and certainly no dad. He’d never even bothered to ask her to call him that. Cool indifference, as always. Unless he was scolding her. Then he turned his full attention to her. And not in the simple, fundamental way a young girl needs the comfort and security the father figure in her life should offer. “We need to go over protocol before wheels-up. And youmustmeet with the media.”

Inwardly, she cringed. She hated the meet and greets with the media. Her life since moving to D.C. had been all about the image she portrayed to the media. The photo ops. The incessant questions thrown at her. The introvert wanted to shut down when confronted with those situations. But the Senator wouldn’t have it. If she didn’t perform properly, she’d hear about it later.

The warm fuzzy feeling that filled her from her reunion with Sawyer disappeared, leaving her as empty as always. Twenty years of experience allowed her to effortlessly put on her senator’s daughter’s mask and smile, a practiced expression disguising her true feelings.

Sawyer’s expression shut down like a door slamming shut. His face flattened. Shoulders squared.

He was the bodyguard now. Just a job. Just another post. Savannah could feel him retreat behind the role, brick by careful brick. It left her with a heavy heart and a profound sense of loss, a sadness she had to carefully camouflage.

She pulled her hand from her pocket, the pendant dropping to the bottom like a secret. The Senator’s dislike for her fidgeting with the object had been a long-standing and consistent battle between the two of them. He’d once spat the words “sentimental bullshit” at her, as if it was something dirty. His tone had been filled with such disdain that it made it abundantly clear to her he considered her emotions not merely worthless, but also repulsive, something tainted and unworthy of even the slightest consideration or respect.

The moment indelibly marked a turning point in her life; from then on, she’d developed a practiced skill in masking her feelings, carefully shielding her emotions from her the Senator’s view. It was a protective measure born out of necessity and self-preservation. Where once her natural openness had been, a chilling silence had settled in its place, profoundly altering her demeanor.

Her mother, completely intimidated and subdued by her husband’s domineering and overbearing personality, chose to disregard the significant changes she had witnessed in her daughter’s character. Savannah had long since stopped hoping for more from her.

His eyes narrowed with suspicion, the Senator’s gaze locked onto Sawyer, who had moved a step closer to her. “You from Condor’s Overwatch?” he asked in his gruff manner that always annoyed Savannah.

“Yes, sir,” Sawyer answered.

“Name?”

The sharp sting of her stepfather’s rudeness made Savannah want to roll her eyes, but she forced herself to remain composed. “Sawyer Graves. My friends call me Voodoo.”

She smiled at that. Voodoo seemed fitting. From what she knew of the Voodoo culture, with its focus on intricate protection charms and rituals, she’d always felt the pendant he’d given her possessed an almost mystical aura, shielding her through the years.

The Senator’s nose wrinkled, a look of distaste clear on his face as he angled his brows in rejection of the nickname. “Sawyer Graves,” he said slowly. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“He was my neighbor before we moved to D.C. with you,” Savannah explained.

A spark of something, maybe annoyance, maybe anger, briefly shone in the Senator’s eyes, quickly replaced by his usual controlled demeanor. The politician in him would never allow his true emotions to show. Even to his wife and stepdaughter. He had always shown them a cool indifference, never offering them more than the bare minimum of attention or consideration. Savannah had never understood how her mother could’ve fallen for a man so cold.

He leveled a question at her, laced with disdain for her past emotional vulnerability, “So, you’re telling me that’s the boy you spent months crying over?”

Heat flushed her cheeks as her gaze dropped to her polished boots. “Yes,” she mumbled.

“Speak up, Savannah. You know how much I dislike it when you mumble.”

Mortification swamped her as the Senator scolded her like she was still a child. The powerful need to retrieve her pendant from her pocket grew stronger, causing her shoulders to tighten and her hands to clench into fists at her sides as she fought back the intense urge. But then, she felt a fleeting touch, like a feather, brush against the back of her hand. The light graze of Sawyer’s fingers against her skin offered more comfort and support than she’d known in a very long time; a silent promise of strength.

Her chin lifted, she met the Senator’s intense stare, a subtle defiance in her posture. The silence was punctuated only by the rapid beat of her heart. “Yes,” she answered more confidently. “He’s the friend you forbade me from staying in touch with.” She felt Sawyer stiffen beside her, his muscles tensing like a coiled spring, as those words spilled out unbidden.

“As I explained it to you back then, you didn’t need that baggage from your old life holding you back. I was doing you a favor.”

Savannah glared at the man who had controlled every aspect of her life for far too long.Whatever justification you need to ease your conscience about separating a young girl from her friends.The ache of missing Sawyer had been a daily torment. She’d desperately wanted to reach out but didn’t know how. Twenty years ago, she’d been thirteen. She didn’t have her own email account. Smart phones and texting had been in their infancy. Besides, a device like that was deemed inappropriate for someone her age.

And then there was the Senator. Controlling everything. His consistent belittling whenever she expressed her emotions had conditioned her to suppress them, creating a barrier between her feelings and herself. Eventually, she’d given up hope of ever seeing Sawyer again.

Amazement washed over her again as her peripheral vision registered the man standing beside her, a silent testament to the incredible reality of his being there. As she felt a crack in the emotional wall that she had built around her heart, a wave of excitement washed over her at the thought of reconnecting with the one and only friend she had ever had, a prospect that filled her with happiness and anticipation.

The Senator’s scoff brought her attention back to him. His gaze raked over Sawyer, a silent appraisal, his eyes sharp and critical, taking in every detail from his worn boots to his bearded face. Sawyer’s attire consisted of a black T-shirt, emblazoned across the chest with a striking logo depicting a bird, sword and shield, a design that was likely his employer’s insignia. It was apparent that the combination of black cargo pants and boots paired with the T-shirt constituted some kind of uniform, and from the sneer twisting the Senator’s lips, the ensemble did not meet with his approval. His own security men wore dark suits and crisp white shirts in contrast. She’d always wondered how the men would be able to maneuver freely in such stiff attire should an emergency arise.

She wanted to argue, she really did. History, unfortunately, had taught her the harsh reality that challenging the Senator directly would be an exercise in futility. But still . . .

“Come with me,” Harlan demanded, grabbing her arm. “You need a reminder of your responsibilities.”

Humiliation stung, a bitter contrast to the furious anger that threatened to consume her. He’d always had that devastating effect on her. Stripping away the confidence of the thirty-three-year-old woman and leaving her a cowering child once again with only a few harsh words.

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