Page 81 of Freeing Savannah

“Where did you come from?” Eggs asked.

“I never left. I wanted to wait here until Savannah got out.”

“Okay,” Voodoo said, rising to his feet again and letting Savannah’s feet drop to the ground. He steadied her before taking a reluctant step back. He gestered to a nearby police officer. “Protect her,” he ordered before turning back to Savannah. “I’ll be right back.” He gave her a brief kiss then, “Let’s go hunting, guys.”

Voodoo headed for the underground garage, moving like a shadow, his footsteps silent against the concrete. The echo of distant traffic on the nearby interstate was muffled by the reinforced ceiling as he entered the structure. Down here, under the symphony of culture and power, the air felt colder . . . and thicker.

He descended the ramp into the garage. The hum of fluorescent tubes buzzed like insects. Rows of high-end sedans and SUVs loomed in the dim overhead lights, all waiting to exit the garage as soon as possible. The sheer number of cars made it clear this wouldn’t be an easy task.

But he wasn’t deterred. This wasn’t a sweep.

This was a hunt.

His hand settled near the small of his back where the pistol rested, exposed since he’d long since shed his tux jacket. Not drawn. Not yet. He wasn’t here to make a scene. He was here to finish something.

The man who’d nearly killed Savannah had made a mistake. He’d pissed off Voodoo. And now the hunt was on.

Voodoo reached a concrete column, pressed his back to it, and exhaled slowly. He peeked around the edge. Voodoo’s heart rate slowed. Focused. He didn’t care if the man was a merc, a spy, or a senator’s pet weapon.

All that mattered was that this was the bastard who’d tried to hurt her. And Voodoo was done playing defense.

A dark SUV sat idling alone in the underground space. Engine running. Lights off. Tinted windows black as night.

His gut coiled.

He didn’t hesitate. He strode up, weapon now drawn, and yanked the front driver’s side door open?—

Unlocked. Surprising. And incredibly stupid.

Inside, bathed in the cold blue wash of a tablet screen, sat Brian.

Voodoo froze, momentarily stunned by the surreal sight. Brian’s face was pale, lips parted in shock, like he hadn’t expected to be found so quickly—or maybe at all. The glow of the tablet illuminated the last message on screen:

DON’T FORGET TO BOW!

Voodoo’s fury detonated.

He reached in, grabbed Brian by the collar, and ripped him out of the SUV with a strength fueled by pure rage. The tablet clattered to the concrete.

“What the hell did you do?” Voodoo growled, slamming him against the doorframe. “What did you do to her?”

Brian sputtered, panic in his voice. “Wait—just—just let me expl?—”

“Yeah. You’ll definitely provide an explanation.” Voodoo snarled.

Hoot and Eggs rounded the corner at a sprint, both freezing at the sight before them.

“Is that the piano tuner?” Eggs breathed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Voodoo tightened his grip, resisting the burning urge to snap the man’s neck. He forced himself to breathe. “Restrain him.”

Eggs moved in quickly, binding Brian’s wrists behind his back while Hoot picked up the tablet.

He fiddled with it for a few moments. “Still hot,” Hoot muttered. “He was transmitting. Live feed. Last commands came from this exact location.”

“Why?” Voodoo growled, jamming his forearm against Brian’s throat, pinning him against the frame of the SUV. “You were supposed to be her friend. She trusted you.”

“I loved her!” Brian gasped, eyes wild with a twisted mix of panic and desperation. “I’ve always loved her.”

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