Page 34 of Freeing Savannah

But it felt like one. Itlookedlike one.

The silence stretched between them.

“I should get back,” Daphne said quietly, brushing past him toward the hotel. “Savannah’s probably worried.”

Voodoo watched her go, every SEAL instinct thrumming with unease. He looked down at his phone.

Nothing from Haley.

He didn’t like unanswered questions. And he especially didn’t like them this close to Savannah.

Later that evening, The Weiner Musikverein was a cathedral of gold and sound. Light pooled from a thousand crystal angles in the chandeliers, and Savannah sat at the gleaming black grand piano in the center of it all like she was born from stardust and silk. Her music carried through the hall, pure as firelight, commanding every breath in the room.

Voodoo stood in the shadows just off stage right, arms crossed, comms silent for now. Her dark blue gown shimmered like a night sky caught in motion, imbedded silver threads glinting under the lights with every graceful sway of her body. The audience didn’t breathe as they listened. And he was just as mesmerized.

He’d always loved listening to her play. Even as a little girl, barely visible behind the enormous piano, he would patiently sit nearby and listen to her practice while she worked to master the fundamentals. He’d been in awe of how she’d been able to combine certain notes to create the most beautiful music. When she’d left, it was as if his world had gone silent.

But now, the music was back. His Savi was back.

His phone buzzed with a short vibration against his leg. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the notification from Haley.

Got something. Facial match confirmed. You’re gonna want ears on.

He shifted a few steps deeper into the wings, further from the edge of the velvet curtain. The shadows swallowed him up as he activated his comms earpiece. “Voodoo on.”

Her voice came through with a breath of static. “The alley meet was as Daphne said.”

Frustrated by yet another dead end, Voodoo clenched a fist at his side, the muscles in his arm tight with anger. “You’re sure?” He had to ask.

“Really? Have you met me?”

A ragged breath, filled with dissatisfaction, escaped his lips. “Sorry, Halestorm.” She was right. He shouldn’t have questioned her. She was the best at what she did, and she’d never steered the team wrong.

“Man’s name is Anton Bischof. Assistant production director at the Musikverein. He’s worked there for almost a decade.”

He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “What were they doing?”

“They were having trouble with the recording equipment. With the Senator’s strict requirements for complete video and audio documentation of every performance, they were frantic to replace the damaged equipment. He was checking with Daphne to make sure what they planned to use would work.”

“The equipment was damaged?”

“Yeah. That’s the weird thing. The stuff is usually locked up tight. I’m working on finding out how and, more importantly, why it was damaged.”

He scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “And the phone?”

“God, that phone,” Haley groaned. “It’s a fossil. GPS has never been updated, and her texting app is unreliable. It’s practically one step up from a flip phone. I don’t know how she was managing with something so out of date. It would drive me crazy if?”

“Haley,” Voodoo interrupted her rant, knowing if he didn’t, she could go on and on.

“Sorry. So, she’s not dodging Savannah. She’s just living in 2007. Flint’s having a newer model delivered to her hotel suite tomorrow morning.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration loosening a fraction. “That explains the radio silence, then.”

“Yeah. Daphne’s clean. I’ll keep tracking, but nothing suggests she’s anything but loyal.”

Voodoo glanced toward the stage again. Savannah’s fingers flew over the keys like the music belonged to her.

“Haley,” he said, shifting his weight, “what about the Senator?”

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