Page 59 of Freeing Savannah

Savannah snuggled deeper into his arms. Shereallydidn’t want to move. But her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Sawyer groaned. “Leave it,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough from sleep.

But the screen lit up with a second buzz.

She sat up, dragging the sheet to her chest, frowning. Sawyer reached for the phone first, checked the screen, then passed it to her without a word before getting out of bed and walking in all his naked glory to the bathroom. Savannah stared after him for a moment before shaking out of her stupor and looking down at her phone.

The ID was an unknown number, and the message was short.

It’s not just the Senator you should be asking questions about.

A link followed.

Heart in her throat, Savannah tapped it.

A grainy video loaded, clearly captured from CCTV. It showed a dark hallway. A man, partially hidden, tampering with something. The footage sharpened enough to catch a side profile as he turned.

It was Sawyer.

Standing in front of the women’s restroom in the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées. when the lights had gone out, and she’d been locked in.

She dropped the phone just as Sawyer came back into the room and stepped into a pair of boxers. She stared at the man across the room. The man she had trusted with her life and her heart.

“Savannah—” he started, stepping forward.

She clamored out of the bed, taking the sheet with her and wrapping it around her.

“Tell me that’s not you,” she whispered.

His jaw clenched. “What?”

At his utterly confused expression, she hesitated. But the image in the video was unmistakably him. She didn’t know what to believe. Her mind raced, and for the first time since the tour began, Savannah felt terrifyinglyalone.

Savannah’s fingers trembled as she bent to retrieve her phone from the middle of the bed that now seemed too ostentatious. The video had looped, playing over and over again. Sawyer’s face in a low-resolution frame as he glanced over his shoulder, half in shadow. Every logical bone in her body screamed that this had to be a mistake, a trick of the light, a deepfake,something.

Yet she couldn’t help feeling the gut punch of dread in her chest.

“Savi?” Sawyer questioned quietly, still across the room. “What is it?” He took a few steps toward her.

She held up a hand to stop him, her voice a whisper. “Don’t come any closer.”

His brows furrowed. “What’s going on? You think I would hurt you?”

“I don’t knowwhatto think,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. “That night in Paris . . . I thought I was losing my mind. I was locked in that bathroom, in the dark, reliving things I’ve spent years trying to forget. You were supposed to be outside, guarding me.”

“Iwas,” he said firmly. “I didn’t leave that hallway.”

She stared at him. “Then why does the video show you doing something to the door?”

Sawyer’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t do anything to it. Not until I got worried and went to check on you. That’s when I found the lock had been jammed.”

“But this . . . This makes it look likeyoutampered with the lock.” She held up the phone and he hesitantly stepped closer. Savannah watched him as he viewed the video. She could discern the subtle shift in his emotions. Initially, his brows furrowed with confusion, then his jaw ticked rhythmically as a manifestation of his rising anger.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “This really isn’t what it looks like. This is me, yes, but the timestamp is all wrong. I did take a closer look at the lock before breaking down the door. It had been tampered with. I had no choice but to kick it down. That’s what you’re seeing.”

Savannah’s head spun. “So, you think the timestamp was edited?”

“I think someone wants you to doubt me.” His tone was calm—too calm. And that scared her more than if he’d been angry or defensive. “Haley pulled footage from every angle available. I can have her send it to you. She can confirm.”

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