Page 50 of Freeing Savannah

“Why?”

“Well, the obvious reason is so that employees can see where they are going if they are working late.”

“And the not so obvious reason?” he asked, liking the fact that he was learning more about her world.

“It is said that every theater has a ghost. The ghost light provides a constant and steady light for any spirits to be able to see and even ‘perform’ on the stage. It sounds spooky, but there have been many stories about the sightings of these spirits that have allegedly happened.”

“Huh,” he uttered then glanced around the theater as if looking for something. “Do you think the ghosts are watching us right now?”

“Most definitely,” she answered with a soft laugh, and Voodoo kissed the side of her head.

Something tugged at his instincts, sharp and unwelcome and not ghost related. He looked up and spotted Brian, standing off to the side with his equipment case in his hand, watching them.

That wouldn’t be a problem normally, but it was the way he was watching. His eyes were narrowed in a fierce glare. If Voodoo didn’t know any better, he’d say the guy looked angry. But why?

Brian quickly looked away and walked off the stage, acting like nothing had happened. Still, the air shifted in Voodoo’s lungs.

Savannah stepped away to take her place on the piano bench. Her fingers settled on the keys and melodic sounds spilled into the empty auditorium. But even the beautiful and precise music couldn’t smother the tension crawling up his spine.

That’s when the doors at the back of the house banged open.

The Senator, ever the showman, stormed down the aisle, flanked by Olivia, who looked like she’d been sprinting to keep up. The click of her heels echoed like gunshots in the silent space.

“Savannah!” the Senator called, voice full of overacted relief. “Oh, thank God. My sweet girl.”

Savannah stood slowly. “Senator,” she said carefully. “I’m fine.”

He swept in and pulled her into a dramatic embrace. Voodoo watched with clenched teeth as the press—yes, of course there was press—filed in behind him, cameras already rolling.

The Senator kissed the side of Savannah’s head and gripped her arms like a concerned parent assuring himself his child was unharmed.

“This brave young woman survived something unimaginable,” he announced, voice perfectly modulated for the cameras. “And still brings beauty and diplomacy to the world through her music.”

Voodoo fought the urge to roll his eyes.

He didn’t miss how Savannah stiffened in the Senator’s grip. Didn’t miss the way Olivia stood nearby, wringing her hands, eyes flicking between Savannah and the press with open concern. The Senator prattled on for nearly half an hour, eating into Savannah’s rehearsal time.

Eventually, the media lost interest and were ushered out by aides and theater staff.

The second the doors clicked shut, the Senator dropped the act like shedding a costume. He turned on Voodoo, his expression cold. “You hadonejob,” he snapped, stepping close enough that Voodoo could smell his cologne. “Protect her. And you let her get dragged into the middle of a goddamn terrorist siege.”

Savannah stepped between them. “He saved me.”

The Senator’s gaze narrowed. “I wasn’t talking to you, Savannah. Mind your place.”

Voodoo held his ground. “You wanna talk blame? Maybe take a look at the list of enemies you’ve made. The kind that don’t forget.”

The Senator’s nostrils flared. “You think I give a damn what some third-world radicals believe? They don’t touch American diplomacy. But you—you’re expendable.”

Voodoo gave a tight smile. “Try me.”

“Enough,” Olivia said sharply. “Not here.”

The Senator exhaled, regaining his political composure. “Walk with me,” he ordered Voodoo. “Now.”

Voodoo hesitated, glancing at Savannah, who looked beaten down and resigned.

“I’ll be okay,” she murmured to him. “Go. Get it over with.”

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