Page 42 of Freeing Savannah

Voodoo clenched his jaw and glanced across the ballroom. Savannah stood near the far wall, flanked by foreign dignitaries and staffers, her back straight but her eyes scanning. She looked beautiful, regal even, but he could see the strain in the curve of her shoulders. Her anxiety had grown since Paris. And now here she was in another gilded prison, surrounded by politicians, all under the illusion of peace.

His gut twisted.

A loud boom erupted through the vast space. The ballroom doors slammed open like a thunderclap, crashing against the marble walls. In stormed a few dozen figures clad in black, rifles raised, and eyes hidden behind masks. Screams erupted as guests dropped to the floor. Security froze like mannequins in a mall storefront.

Voodoo’s world narrowed to Savannah.

She turned sharply at the sound, but too many people were between them. Too many bodies, panicked and pushing toward exits that no longer existed. He surged forward?—

“Savannah!”

But she was gone in the crush. Swept into the sea of stunned, crawling humanity.

He didn’t hesitate. He pivoted on his heel and slipped through the hidden door to the service hallway he’d scoped out earlier. The moment he cleared the ballroom’s perimeter, he spoke to his team back at the Condor’s Overwatch headquarters through his comm.

“Tell me you’re watching,” Voodoo hissed.

“I’m here,” Haley replied, breath clipped. “We lost visual for ten seconds, but I got it working again. We can see what’s going on.”

“Talk to me.” Flint’s voice, strong and confident, sounded in his ear, bringing Voodoo a bit of calm.

“Terrorists. Two dozen, maybe more. Semi-automatics. Savannah’s in there. So is half the diplomatic corps.”

“Jesus,” Hoot’s voice cut in.

“One just unmasked himself. Seems he’s leading the charge,” Haley informed. “Running facial rec.”

“Shit. I need eyes on that room.”

“Down the hall, to your left,” Haley instructed. “The security room. The tablet on the desk will have what you need.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Halestorm.”

Voodoo made his way to the room and ignored the bored-looking guard sitting behind the bank of computer screens as he grabbed the tablet. The guy didn’t even seem concerned that his hotel had just been taken over by terrorists. Another failure to add to the list.

In his hands, the tablet lit up, and a vivid, high-definition live video feed immediately filled its screen.

You.The man said while pointing to one of the senior U.S. diplomats. You helped fund the regime that butchered our fathers. And you.Voodoo watched as his eyes snapped to Savannah.Daughter of the man who smiled and shook hands with the tyrant who signed our brothers’ execution orders.

“We need to figure out what this is all about,” Flint stated.

“Working on it,” Haley replied.

The man continued to speak about music and murder, mentioning the Senator several times. When he spoke of the country paying for its sins in blood, several distressed cries rang out in the room.

Voodoo’s heart then lodged itself in his throat as he watched the terrorist crouch directly in front of Savannah. “Fuck.”

Daughter of the man who sold our country’s soul for oil and silence. You come here in the name of peace?

Shit. He needed to get back in there. But he was only one person against dozens. There was no way he was coming out of there alive if he attempted a rescue.

“Anything on this guy yet?”

“Working . . . wait,” Haley said. “Him again.”

“Jester?” Flint asked.

“Hm-mm.”

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