Page 3 of Freeing Savannah

Because if anyone could find a way to save her now, it was Sawyer Graves.

CHAPTER 1

The humof jet engines outside the hangar windows was a distant, yet familiar, murmur. Inside, the waiting lounge smelled of over-polished leather and expensive coffee. Outside the hangar’s towering doors, a private jet idled on the tarmac, its sleek frame gleaming under a hazy Virginia sky. Sawyer “Voodoo” Graves sat alone in the terminal’s waiting lounge, back straight, one boot resting across the opposite knee. A paper cup going cold in his hands, untouched.

His Condor-issued tablet was perched on his thigh, locked until a quick swipe of his thumb gave him access. No news alerts. No mission pings. Just one flagged briefing under the heading:PRIORITY CLIENT – OPERATION: SYMPHONY SHIELD.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. The title itself spoke of Condor’s Overwatch’s resident computer genius, her sharp wit and quirky sense of humor shining through. Haley Lamb, known online as Halestorm, was an essential part of the Condor’s Overwatch team, a brilliant computer whiz whose skills were legendary among her peers. In Voodoo’s opinion, her remarkably sharp mind, combined with her extraordinarily quick coding and hacking skills, was unmatched.

With a sigh, he set his lukewarm coffee to the side before proceeding to open the file with a tap of his finger. It paled in comparison to the exceptional coffee his teammate’s new girlfriend made, anyway.

Name:Savannah McNabney

Occupation:Concert Pianist / U.S. Cultural Ambassador

Tour Duration:21 days – 14 cities, 11 countries

Threat Assessment Level:Elevated (details redacted)

Protective Detail Lead:Voodoo (Sawyer Grant)

His eyes were drawn back to the name at the top. Savannah.

The name punched straight through his professional detachment the moment he read it. Savannah McNabney. Concert pianist, art ambassador, stepdaughter of a U.S. senator. Condor’s Overwatch had taken plenty of high-profile protection gigs before, but this one had come with an unusual set of parameters. Her itinerary read more like a diplomat’s than a musician’s. Performances followed by receptions for dignitaries, cultural outreach in tense territories, tight international security.

Her stepfather insisted she needed a shadow. A weapon with a heartbeat. And Condor’s Overwatch was one of the best.

But it was the name that bothered him more than the logistics. Savannah.

It’s just a name,he told himself.

Except it wasn’t. Not to him.

He leaned back against the stiff leather chair and stared at the name like it might shift if he looked long enough.

Savannah.

He hadn’t heard the name Savannah in two decades.Not like that. Not attached to someone he was supposed to keep safe. And now it looped through his mind like an old song he still knew the words to.

He hadn’t thought of her in years. Not really. The little girl with scraped knees and cherry popsicle lips. The neighbor who’d dared him to climb the oak tree out back and then cried when he fell. His neighbor and his best friend.

His first heartbreak. Even at fifteen-years-old.

Savi.

She’d hated being called by her full name. “Sounds like a rich lady with six poodles and no soul,” she’d told him once, back when they were just kids running wild through their Pennsylvania neighborhood like they owned it.

She was five when he’d met her. Barefoot, sunburnt, and eating a blue raspberry lollipop that stained her mouth like war paint. He was seven, and he thought she was an angel. White-blond hair like sunlight on snow, and bright blue eyes that never blinked when they should’ve. She’d walked right up to him in her front yard like he was already hers.

“Wanna play?” she’d asked.

And just like that, he did. Every day. For eight years.

He’d promised to protect her. Crossed his heart and pinky-swore it. He’d even made a little wooden pendant shaped like a shield for her, carved sloppily with their shared initials—SG—because he thought if she wore it, nothing bad could touch her. She’d worn it like it was magic.

They’d always secretly delighted in the shared initials, a quirky coincidence that felt special. Savannah Gaines and Swayer Graves.

Then one day, she was gone.

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