Page 4 of Freeing Savannah

When her mom remarried, it was like the world split at the seams. A new husband. A new city. A new life that didn’t include the boy next door who swore on his dog tags made of aluminum foil that he’d always be her shield.

He remembered the day she left. Her mom’s new husband had pulled up in a black sedan, and he’d known the minutethe man got out of the car that he was the kind of guy who didn’t belong in small-town Pennsylvania. The smell of freshly cut grass had hung heavy in the air as Voodoo—known as Sawyer, then—watched from his driveway. The weight of the man’s importance was palpable in the hushed efficiency of his entourage loading luggage into the car.

She’d cried.

He hadn’t.

He’d just watched, jaw clenched, fists balled up in the pockets of his cargo shorts, memorizing the way she looked with her forehead pressed to the backseat window.

And then she was gone.

He remembered standing in the empty driveway the morning after the moving truck rolled out. Her swing still swayed in the breeze like she might come back for one last push.

She never did.

Voodoo blinked hard and refocused on the screen.

He never let himself wonder. Not usually. But now, with her name in his file, echoing in the back of his mind like a melody he couldn’t quite place, he couldn’t shake the feeling.

His Savannah was Savannah Gaines. Not McNabney. Two decades had passed since she’d moved away that he couldn’t remember the name of her new stepfather. He’d always known he could find out, but the fear of the unknown had always held him back. The image of her married, perhaps with children and a life that he was not a part of, would undoubtedly cause him to regret not having found her sooner. If that happened, he knew he’d feel a profound sense of loss.

But the Savannah in his file couldn’t be her. That would be too much like fate, and Voodoo didn’t believe in fate.

Still, his gut was twisted, and that meant something.

A message popped up on his screen.

She’s five minutes out.

He stood, stretching the tension from his shoulders. His hand drifted to the small of his back, where the weight of his concealed weapon rested like a second spine. He didn’t know yet what kind of danger Savannah would face on this tour, if any, but if someone was making threats against a U.S. Senator’s stepdaughter, it wouldn’t be hollow. The senator’s request for a protection detail had been rushed. Haley was still working on gathering the information he needed to successfully conduct his mission.

He turned toward the runway windows as a sleek black car approached the hangar. His pulse slowed, sharpened.

The door opened.

And the woman who stepped out?—

His heart plummeted. She didn’t resemble his Savi in any way. This woman had straight black hair, not the blonde curls he remembered. She came strutting in like the floor was a runway and the terminal was lucky to have her.

And unfortunately, she was heading straight for him.

Bright red heels. Tight black miniskirt that was so short it was practically indecent. Sunglasses indoors. Loud perfume. Louder attitude.

Her cropped top revealed her navel ring, a small flash of silver against her skin. The fabric was so sheer that he could clearly see her lacy bra underneath. Ten years ago, when he’d been a wet behind the ears SEAL, her look might have stirred something in him. But time and experience had changed him.

As the women made her way across the room, Voodoo could clearly see, despite the layers of makeup, that she was young. Probably early twenties. His dossier on Savannah McNabney hadn’t mentioned her age.

As soon as the cloying perfume of the woman enveloped him, Voodoo groaned. If he had to spend the next three weeks with this woman, he feared for his sanity.

“Well, well, well,” she said, her voice smooth as silk and laced with a predatory confidence. A crimson fingertip traced a slow path down his chest with audacious disregard for propriety, the touch unnerving. “You must be waiting forme.”

The touch made his skin crawl. Seizing her wrist, he pulled her hand away from his chest, the action causing her lips, painted a vibrant shade, to purse in a childish pout.

The burden of protecting her, this girl who couldn’t be more than twenty years old, pressed down on him. It was his job to maintain her safety, but who was going to protect him from her? He already felt the tension building, a headache forming at the mere prospect of resisting her advances for the next several weeks. Suddenly, he felt all of his thirty-two years.

Though internally he recoiled, he effectively concealed his flinch. “Savannah McNabney?” he asked.

Her laugh barked out so hard people two rows down looked over. “Excuse me?” she snapped, pulling off her sunglasses with flair. “Me?Savannah McNabney? Are youkidding me?”

---