Page 10 of Freeing Savannah

This time, however, the embers of her anger flared, hot and bright, and with a sharp jerk, she pulled her arm free. “I was speaking with Sawyer,” she said, sharper than she meant to. It was a tone she’d never used in front of the Senator before. One she knew she’d pay for later. Despite the mortification of being belittled in front of her old friend, that small spark of rebellion ignited within her.

Harlan arched a brow, the twitch in his jaw a clear sign of his irritation, his eyes narrowed in a dangerous glint. “About what? Childhood nostalgia? That won’t keep you alive in Azerbaijan.”

Sawyer took a slight step back, subtly reinforcing an invisible boundary, a clear indication of his intention to maintain the distance. Professional. Detached.

It stung more than she wanted to admit.

“Savannah,” her mother called, interrupting the tense moment, her voice echoing slightly in the hangar’s waiting room as she walked through the door. The subtle click of her heels, a rhythmic counterpoint to the almost silent tread of her protection detail, was the only sound as the room fell silent, and everyone watched her approach her daughter.

There was no question that Olivia McNabney was a beautiful woman. She possessed an alluring presence that caused heads to turn and eyes to follow wherever she went. The sharp angles of her statuesque profile provided a stunning counterpoint to the smooth lines of her husband’s high-profile image. Together, they were a picture of sophisticated power.

With a powder blue skirt of modest length, a matching jacket, pearls adorning both her neck and ears, and her blonde hair elegantly knotted, she was the very picture of a senator’s wife, a vision of understated elegance. With her practiced charm and stunning looks, she was the envy of all.

But Savannah could see beneath the perfect façade. She had witnessed the slow, agonizing transformation over the years; the loving mother was gone, replaced by a stranger hiding behind carefully constructed fake smiles and hollow gestures of affection. The Senator had done that to her. He’d molded her into a Stepford wife, her smiles now plastic and her opinions carefully curated.

Savannah replied, “Hello, Mother,” her voice taking on a cold and distant tone that she immediately disliked as her mother came near, a tone that felt wrong and unnatural in the context of their relationship.

As she reached for Savannah’s hands, Olivia offered a smile, though as was typical, the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ve come to see you off. Are you ready? Have you double-checked that you have everything? Passport? Medications? What about your music?”

The rhythmic click-click-click of cameras filled the air as Savannah glanced over her mother’s shoulder, seeing photographers snapping pictures. Annoyance flared. Naturally, a simple family moment couldn’t escape the ever-watchful eyes of the media. The Senator, as always a master of political maneuvering and self-promotion, would never pass up the opportunity to exploit such a compelling occasion to further enhance his public profile.

With a stifled sigh, Savannah answered her mother, “Yes. I’m all set.”

“Good. That’s good,” Olivia said, but there was a tone in her voice that was unusual. The sound was very close to what one might consider being worry. But that couldn’t be. Savannah couldn’t remember the last time her mother had worried about her.

Olivia’s gaze flicked over her shoulder and widened. “Oh,” she whispered, her shock at seeing Savannah’s childhood best friend evident.

Savannah turned slightly, pulling her hands from her mother’s and indicated Sawyer, who still stood behind her. “Mother. You remember Sawyer Graves?”

So slight as to be almost unseen, a shift in Olivia’s posture occurred, a relaxing of her shoulders, signaling the release of a weight she’d carried for much too long. “Sawyer,” she breathed out extending a hand to the man.

Giving her a courteous handshake, he addressed her with a respectful, “Ma’am.”

“It’s lovely to see you again, Sawyer,” Olivia replied, having obviously remembered the ever-present media and collected herself.

“Ms. McNabney,” a photographer called. “Can we get some pictures of you and the Senator?”

And so it began. Suppressing a tumultuous array of inner emotions, Savannah adopted her carefully constructed public persona as she posed for photographs, first with the Senator, and then with the other prominent performers joining her on the tour. It was going to be a long three weeks.

CHAPTER 3

The cameras clickedlike cicadas on a hot summer night. Endless, rapid, and irritating. Voodoo kept his stance neutral, earpiece tucked, black sunglasses hiding the flick of his eyes as they scanned the crowd.

Savannah stood at the center of it all, poised with a steady gracefulness. Her shimmering top caught the light as she smiled beside the ever-slick senator and a collection of extravagantly made-up performers. The overly garish Kandy,with a K, vied for the attention among them.

The press swarmed the group like hungry flies. Savannah smiled for them. A mirror-polished thing that he could tell was fake as hell.

To the cameras, she appeared distinguished, gracious even.

To him, she looked cornered.

Although she projected an image of calm confidence, her slightly trembling hands betrayed her to Voodoo. As he watched, she slipped her hand into her pocket. The fabric concealed her actions, but he could still make out the subtle movements of her fingers within. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was playing with. Was it something that brought her a sense of peace during moments of extreme pressure and stress? It pained himthat she might need something external to provide her with a grounding sense of stability.

He remembered the girl she’d once been. The girl behind the glitter and fake smile. The same girl who used to sneak into the woods behind his house barefoot, who used to cry over broken birds and hum classical pieces of music no one taught her.

This girl, this woman, presented a beautiful façade, a deceptive illusion of perfection he was positive fooled everyone except himself.

Because when she laughed too brightly under those lights, his instincts stirred. The sound carried an undeniable quality of brittleness.

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