Chapter 3
The cameras clicked like 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 him that 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 facade, 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.
“She’s good at pretending,” came a voice to his right.
He turned to find Olivia, Savannah’s mother, emerging from the edge of the crowd like a ghost stepping out of fog.
She wore the sleek blue suit and dark lipstick like armor.
Her smile was fixed, but her eyes told the truth.
And they were locked on her daughter like she expected her to vanish at any moment.
“I can see that,” Voodoo replied, voice low.
“You’ve always watched her like that,” she said softly, eyes flicking toward the chaos. “I need a moment of your time.”
Voodoo nodded. “Figured as much.”
They stood in silence for a second, the hum of jet engines and distant voices barely muffled by the walls of the hangar.
While his eyes scanned the crowd, searching for any sign of danger, he kept Savannah in his peripheral vision, always aware of her presence.
Just as it had been when they were children.
Olivia exhaled and stepped closer, her voice lower now, strained at the edges. “I’m glad you’re going with her,” she said. “I couldn’t rest if it were anyone else.”
Olivia’s hands twisted a delicate ring on her finger.
Voodoo crossed his arms and waited, studying her closely.
Olivia wasn’t the type to show nerves. She’d raised Savannah alone for years before marrying into Washington’s elite circles.
From the brief news clips of her that he’d seen, she consistently demonstrated exceptional composure and a cool head, even when faced with intense pressure.
But tonight, her hands fidgeted with her ring, her expression unguarded in a way that made Voodoo’s instincts bristle.
“You’re not just glad I’m going,” he said slowly. “You’re relieved.”
She didn’t deny it.
“She’s always been strong, but . . .” Olivia trailed off, then gave a shaky breath. “She hides everything. From the press, from me. You . . . she never could hide from you.”
“So, she hasn’t changed that much,” he murmured. “Still ducks the truth with that quiet charm of hers.”
Olivia’s eyes met his, softening with a memory. “You used to sit under that oak tree in our backyard and tell her you’d beat up any shadow that came near her.”
Voodoo gave a small smile. “Still would.”
“She was never the same after we left. It was like a vital piece of her was missing. I knew what . . . I just didn’t know how to help her. Harlan was . . .”
“Difficult,” he supplied. “Controlling.”
Olivia hung her head low, as if completely overwhelmed by the crushing weight of guilt stemming from the harsh realities of her marriage and the devastating consequences it had inflicted upon her daughter.
“She’s missed you. All these years . . .
she’s never been able to let you go, although she’ll never admit it. ”
“I’ve missed her too.” It didn’t hurt to admit the truth. He had missed her. There wasn’t a day that had gone by in the last twenty years when he hadn’t thought about her.
“She’ll put on a good act of indifference. Don’t let her. You are the only one she will trust,” she said, looking up at him. “Always did. She needs you, Sawyer. Not just some bodyguard. You.”
“I’m not the same boy who used to chase her barefoot through the creek,” he said. “And she’s not the girl who used to draw birds on my arms with Sharpie.”
“Your history together . . . that’s exactly why she’ll trust you.” Olivia’s voice broke slightly. “And why I trust you.” She rested her hand on his arm, and he looked down to see the worry etched into the depths of her concerned eyes. “And Sawyer, she needs someone she can trust.
Her eyes darted toward the Senator and the cameras. Savannah was laughing again, too wide, too perfect.
Voodoo took a half step closer. “You’re worried. Why?”
“I’m a mother. It’s my job to worry.” Her throat worked with something unsaid.
“And it’s my job to know when something isn’t right.” He paused, voice dropping. “Is she in danger?”
A shimmer, not quite tears, filled her eyes. “I don’t know.”
That answer unsettled him more than anything else she could’ve said.
“This tour . . .” she hesitated. “There’s a lot at stake.”
“There always is,” he said evenly. “Money. Politics. Image.”
“No,” she snapped, then caught herself, smoothing a hand over her hair even though nothing was out of place. “Not that. I mean her. There’s a lot at stake for her.”
Voodoo studied her. The tightness in her shoulders. The way she didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“What aren’t you telling me, Olivia?”
She looked up at him then, and for a breath he saw the cracks in her composure. Saw the woman behind the pearls and power. The one who made sure there were always popsicles and Band-Aids readily available, especially for the two of them.
She glanced toward Savannah and the Senator, then back at him, visibly struggling with what to say.
“There’s nothing specific. Just . . . whispers.
A few odd things I’ve overheard. I suspect Harlan has ulterior motives for pushing this diplomatic tour, but I can’t pinpoint them.
If he knew we were having this conversation . . .”
“He’s too busy preening for the cameras to notice us,” Voodoo stated, his voice dripping with disgust. A derisive snort escaped Olivia’s lips, and Voodoo’s eyes widened, startled by the sudden break in her calm demeanor. “What else can you tell me?”
Voodoo stood still, watching Olivia twist that ring around her finger like she was circling a decision she didn’t want to make. From what he knew of her, Savannah’s mother didn’t rattle easily. But right now? She looked like a woman holding onto a secret with barbed wire.
“Last week, I passed Harlan’s office late at night,” she said. “He was on the phone. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. But I heard him say, ‘Make sure she’s kept in the dark. She must never know.’”
Voodoo blinked. “You think he was talking about Savannah?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice wavered. “He said something about not wanting it traced back to the administration. Then he noticed me and ended the call. Brushed it off. Said it was about diplomatic travel.”
“And you didn’t believe him.”
“I tried to. I don’t know. I’ve tried to ask about the possible security risks, but no one will give me a straight answer.
” She looked up at him, eyes full of something he couldn’t name.
Fear, guilt, maybe both. “That’s when I insisted private security was hired for her.
I told Harlan in no uncertain terms that my daughter would not be participating in the tour unless she had a bodyguard. ”
“How did that go over?” He figured Senator Harlan McNabney would not take kindly to such an ultimatum.
“Better than I thought. He relented quickly. Almost too quickly.”
“And that made you even more suspicious,” Voodoo guessed.
“And that’s why I made sure Harlan hired Condor’s Overwatch.”
“What?” To say Voodoo was shocked by this revelation was an understatement.
“I’ve followed your career for some time. Discretely. Always with the hope I could bring the two of you together again. When Harlan relented, I made sure Condor’s Overwatch was at the top of his list of choices. A private conversation with your boss ensured you were chosen for this assignment.”
There was more to Olivia McNabney than met the eye. She’d expertly manipulated her husband and even Flynn “Flint” Condor, Voodoo’s boss. What else was she capable of? And why go to all this trouble?
He felt it then—that gut-deep pull, the quiet tension he hadn’t been able to name. There was something coming. Something bigger than crowded concert venues, diplomatic relations, and propaganda. Olivia’s next words made that knot in his gut tighten even further.
“Sawyer, he keeps referring to Savannah like she’s a . . . tool. A distraction. He told someone on the phone she was ‘more valuable on this tour than she’ll ever be on a stage.’”
Voodoo’s voice came out low and sharp. “Valuable to who?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice cracked. “He talks in riddles. Half of it sounds diplomatic, the other half like a damn spy novel.” Olivia’s voice was flat.
“I think something bigger is going on, and she’s being used as leverage or bait, or God knows what.
And I think Harlan knows more than he’s admitting. ”
Voodoo leaned back, jaw tight, heart pounding with something cold and dangerous. He thought of Savannah out there. Smiling for the press, trusting the team around her, trusting her stepfather, walking into a spotlight that might be a sniper’s bullseye.
“She doesn’t know any of this, does she?” he asked.
Olivia shook her head. “No. I couldn’t do that to her without proof. This tour is going to be hard enough on her. She’s never been able to adjust well to life in the spotlight.”
A smile touched Voodoo’s lips, pleased to find that certain things never changed even amidst the passage of time.
Olivia rotated the ring on her finger once more, its large solitaire diamond sparkling brilliantly as it reflected the bright overhead lights. “These doubts . . . they are all I can think about. I don’t want to believe Harlan would do something to hurt my baby girl, but . . .”
“But you don’t trust him.”
“I used to. Now I watch him lie to my face with a politician’s smile and I wonder if I ever knew him at all.”
Voodoo shifted his stance, falling back into his military training. Controlled, alert, ready.
“I know it’s not much to go on. Maybe I am just a worried mother. But my instincts are screaming at me that something more is happening.”
He nodded, mentally filing away every detail. “Never ignore your instincts.” That was the first lesson he’d learned in the SEALs. A gut feeling about something could be the difference between returning home in one piece or in a body bag.
“You should’ve told us sooner. You should’ve said something to my boss when you spoke with him.”
“I’m telling you now.” She stepped forward, eyes fierce. “Because I remember who you were when she was five and you were seven and you punched a bully for pulling her braid. You’ve always protected her. I can see you never stopped.”
His chest tightened. “I never wanted to.”
Olivia’s voice softened. “I don’t know what this is. But I don’t trust the people around us. Around her. And I trust you. I just . . . I needed to know you’ll keep her safe.”
Voodoo let out a breath. “You don’t need to ask.”
“I’m asking anyway.”
He glanced back toward the group, saw Savannah laughing for the cameras, but her eyes weren’t smiling. Not really.
He turned back to Olivia. “She’s safe with me,” he said. “Whatever this is—you have my word.”
Olivia reached out and touched his arm again. “Thank you.” She stepped back, exhaled like it hurt, then turned toward the crowd again. She was already slipping the mask back on. Like mother, like daughter.
Voodoo lingered in the shadows for a moment longer, eyes on Savannah. She was posing with Kandy on one side and the Senator on the other. Her laugh still rang clear, but her body language didn’t match it. Too rigid. Too calculated.
He tapped his earpiece. “Halestorm, did you get all that?” he murmured to Haley “Halestorm, Lamb, Condor’s Overwatch’s resident computer expert. If anyone could uncover what the hell was going on, it was her.
“Copy. SYBIL’s already digging,” she answered.
SYBIL, which stood for Surveillance Yield-Based Behavioral Intelligence Lattice, was the program that Haley had spent years developing and had recently launched for Condor’s Overwatch.
Engineered to work in the shadows, it could slip undetected through encrypted channels, hack devices, and intercept whispers in digital shadows.
It gathered everything: voices, videos, metadata—building invisible profiles across continents.
What really made SYBIL extraordinary was its predictive engine. An almost prophetic, digital sentinel that turned raw data into foresight. By analyzing behavioral patterns, anomalies, and context, it could forecast threats before they could materialize.
SYBIL didn’t just monitor. It understood.
“I want complete background re-checks on each and every individual involved in this tour. Performers, crew members, media personnel, assistants . . . everyone. By tomorrow morning.”
“You’ll have it,” promised Flint who’d been listening as well, his voice firm and reassuring, and Voodoo felt the tension ease in his shoulders knowing his boss had heard and was acting on the new intel.
Voodoo turned, scanning the room again. Savannah was still smiling for the press, that too-perfect smile on display.
Despite a lack of clear evidence, he felt something significant was taking place. Something about this tour wasn’t right.