Page 49 of Freeing Savannah

Two days had passedsince that day at the Four Seasons in Baku. Now, the sun burned bright outside the Dubai Opera House, glass and steel gleaming like something out of science fiction. Designed to resemble a traditional Arabian sailing vessel, Voodoo couldn’t help but think it looked like a hat as they drove up to it. Its curved, hull-like exterior glowed against the skyline with a striking silhouette.

Stepping inside, it was just as breathtaking. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered panoramic views of the Dubai Fountain and mega-tall Burj Khalifa building. After stopping to admire the view for a moment, Voodoo then escorted Savannah into the main auditorium. He looked around the intimate yet grand space. It was full of warm wood accents, rich velvet seating, and tiered balconies that wrapped around the stage where Brian, Savannah’s tuner, sat alone at a piano.

As she chatted with the man, he scanned the theater, unable to shake the tension in his shoulders. Danger didn’t punch a clock and he couldn’t escape the feeling that more was coming.

While Brian worked on the Steinway in meticulous silence, he and Savannah walked into the wings. Savannah paced in the dim space, one hand in her pocket, and he could clearly seeher fingers fidgeting with something. He was worried about her. She hadn’t been sleeping well. Neither of them had. The horrors from that day in Baku were still front and center in both of their heads.

Voodoo’s mind flicked back to their departure from Azerbaijan. The farewell with the SEAL team at the airstrip had been quick but solid, with firm handshakes and quiet nods. He’d been beyond grateful for the assist and said as much. Mustang had clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Take care of your girl, Voodoo.”

He hadn’t corrected him. Because that was exactly what Savannah was. His girl. Whether they’d said it out loud or not.

He couldn’t help but watch her. She drew his eye no matter where they were. Today, she was dressed down, or at least as dressed down as a senator’s daughter could be. Her slacks were navy, long and straight. Her top was a striking red that complimented her complexion. She looked sexy and poised, despite the fact that her fingers continued to move subtly in her pocket in a way he’d come to recognize. Fidgeting.

He tilted his head, curiosity tugging at him. “What do you always play with in there?”

Savannah blinked, surprised. Then, without a word, she pulled her hand free and opened her palm. Resting in the center was a small, smooth wooden shield pendant, darkened with age and worn at the edges. His breath caught.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he murmured, reaching out slowly. “You kept that?”

She gave him a small, shy smile. “You made it for me. Back when we thought we could make anything with duct tape and tree branches.”

“And aluminum foil,” he teased.

“Like the dog tags you made yourself,” she said with a laugh.

He took the pendent gently, running his thumb over the surface. It was warm from her touch. He could barely make out the letters he’d carved with a pocketknife all those years ago. SG—tucked inside a crude heart. The once-sharp grooves had been softened by time and, apparently, years of nervous fingers.

“You wore it down,” he said softly, glancing up at her. “You’ve been carrying this all this time?”

She nodded. “It reminded me of a time I felt like me. Of you.”

Something heavy and quiet settled in his chest. Not sorrow. Something warmer, heavier. Reverence, maybe.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he pulled his knife from its hidden sheath in his boot. Savannah gasped. “Holy cow. I had no idea that was there.”

He smirked. “Can’t reveal all my SEAL secrets.”

Holding the pendant in one hand and his knife in the other, he began to re-carve the heart and initials. As he pressed his knife harder into the wood to etch deeper, more lasting marks, a wave of reverence washed over him. What did it say that she’d kept it all these years? It was obvious the item was important to her. Its constant presence in her pocket spoke volumes. It also gave him hope that he was just as important to her.

Finished with the carving, he replaced his knife, then took her hand. He lay the pendant in her palm and closed her fingers gently around it, holding her hand a beat longer than necessary.

“I’ll get you something better someday,” he said, voice low, and he couldn’t help but imagine the diamond ring he’d slip onto her finger one day. “Maybe something that’s made out of stronger stuff and will last longer.”

Savannah smiled, but her eyes were glassy. “This one’s already strong. It’s lasted this long, hasn’t it?”

And in that moment, Sawyer realized she hadn’t just carried the pendant. She’d carried him with her all along.

Daphne arrived, and they met with the stage manager while a translator interpreted for them. They went over the details for that evening’s concert, Daphne proving she was well organized and good at her job. The new phone helped considerably.

With their meeting complete, Savannah turned toward him, rubbing her arms like she felt a chill. He stepped in behind her, wrapping her in his arms. She leaned back into him, head tilting to his shoulder, and for a moment, the world fell away.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low.

“Trying to be.” She smiled faintly. “I always forget how quiet theaters are before a performance. It’s like they’re holding their breath. It’s kind of eerie. The ghost light doesn’t help.”

“What’s a ghost light?”

She pointed to a floor lamp with a single exposed light bulb. “That’s a ghost light. Theaters all around the world have them. They are supposed to be lit when the theater is empty.”

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