Page 51 of Freeing Savannah

With a sigh, Voodoo followed McNabney out into the corridor, the man already muttering about optics and liabilities.

The long corridor outside the stage door felt dark, empty, and strangely hollow, echoing with an unnerving silence. Voodoo could see why the ghost light was a necessary tool. The floors of the Dubai Opera House echoed with the sharp staccato of the Senator’s polished shoes as he led Voodoo down the short hallway and into an empty dressing room.

The moment the door clicked shut, the mask was off again. McNabney turned, jaw tight, eyes hard with something between rage and calculation. “You listen to me, sailor,” he said, voice low and sharp. “You may think you’re some kind of hero after Baku, but don’t mistake dumb luck for competence.”

Voodoo didn’t react. Didn’t blink. He knew this kind of man. Had taken orders from a few of their like before. But this time, he wasn’t some green kid on his first deployment.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Voodoo said evenly. “Pretty sure I remember dragging your stepdaughter out of a hostage situation you helped create.”

McNabney’s lips curled. “You arrogant little—” He cut himself off and straightened his tie with a practiced flourish. “Remember, if it hadn’t been for me and my connections, that SEAL team wouldn’t have been deployed to assist you.”

That was a blatant lie, and they both knew it. That SEAL team’s assistance had been because of Flynn Condor andhisconsiderable connections. Voodoo didn’t bother to call the man on his lie.

“This tour is a diplomatic miracle,” McNabney went on. “It took years to line up the right partners, the right optics. Savannah is the centerpiece. And if she breaks down, or worse, gets caught up in more political fallout, then everything I built burns.”

There it was. Not fatherly concern. Not worry for Savannah’s safety or well-being. Only damage control.

Voodoo folded his arms. “You’re not worried about her. You’re worried about your portfolio, your press coverage, your reelection. She’s not a daughter to you—she’s a goddamn press release.”

McNabney’s eyes darkened. “You’re out of your depth, son. Whateverthingyou think you have with her . . . it won’t last.” He smiled then, a revolting tilt of his lips as if he knew something no one else did. “You’re a tool, a hammer, if you will. Useful in a fight, but clumsy everywhere else.”

Voodoo took a slow step forward, calm and steady. “Maybe. But I’d rather be a hammer than a coward who hides behind diplomats and disposable daughters.”

McNabney’s jaw twitched. “I could have you sent home,” he said. “One call. She’ll be forced to go on without you.”

“You could try,” Voodoo said, voice low. “But if you think I’ll let you leave her exposed after what happened in Baku, you don’t know me at all.”

For a long moment, neither man moved. Then McNabney let out a short, bitter sounding laugh. “She won’t choose you. Not in the end. When this is over, she’ll realize she’s meant for more than . . . whatever this is.”

Voodoo said nothing. He didn’t need to. Because deep down, the Senator knew he was already losing her. And there wasn’t a power suit or press conference in the world that could fix that.

McNabney straightened his cuffs. “Stay out of my way. Or I will bury you.”

Voodoo tilted his head. “You should worry less about me . . . and more about the people who may be coming for you. If they use her again to get to you, so help me . . .” he left the threat hanging watching as McNabney flinched—just slightly.

Then he turned and strode out, the door swinging shut behind him with a sharpclick.

Voodoo exhaled slowly and ran a hand down his face. The man was worse than he’d imagined. Dangerous not because of what he did—but because of what he refused to take responsibility for.

He headed back toward the stage, one hand already reaching for his phone. He needed to check in with Haley. That moment with Brian earlier was still gnawing at him.

Whatever this next chapter held, he wasn’t letting Savannah walk through it alone.

Not now.

Not ever.

CHAPTER 20

Savannah saton the piano bench center stage, her fingers lightly tracing the ivory keys. The sounds of the crew bustling around onstage as they set up for the orchestra that would accompany her a needed distraction from her dissident thoughts. More than anything, and not for the first time, she wished she could run away from it all. Disappear from the public eye. From the Senator’s harsh scrutiny. But she knew that was an impossibility that would never happen. Too many people were involved in this tour. Too many people were counting on her. She couldn’t let them down.

Oliva stood nearby, and a quiet had settled between them. Her mother looked older tonight. Not in the way of fine lines or weary posture, but in the heaviness behind her eyes.

“I always thought you were so brave,” Olivia said softly, her voice barely rising above a whisper. “Even as a child, you had this . . . quiet strength. Your father saw it too.”

Savannah glanced over. Olivia stood in her Gabardine navy blue sheath dress that probably cost more than half a month’s rent for most people. Her fingers were wrapped around the strap of her Louis Vuitton shoulder bag, her knuckles turning white with her grip.

“I should’ve protected you better,” she added, voice cracking. “God, Savannah. I stood by and let him speak to you like . . .like a campaign manager correcting a staffer. Not a stepfather. Not even a human being.”

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