Chapter 11
The polished marble floor echoed with each heavy step as Voodoo moved down the corridor of the Grand Hotel Vein, a chill running down his spine, his every sense alert.
Things were escalating, and not in a good way.
Daphne’s disappearance on the heels of his pleasant morning with Savannah pissed him off.
Determination fueled him. He had to figure out what the hell was going on before something worse happened.
His phone in hand, the tracking app glowing on the screen, but Daphne’s still dark icon had him clenching his jaw. No signal. Location turned off.
Not good.
To avoid the inevitable complications and headaches that would have arisen from attempting to convince hotel security to grant him access, he’d requested that Haley review the security camera footage instead.
Daphne had left the hotel that morning, alone, in a black town car.
She should’ve been at the Musikverein by now.
But Savannah had already called the theater three times. No answer.
Voodoo took the back stairs to the service exit, slipping into the streets of Vienna with muscle memory rather than conscious thought. The cobblestones beyond the hotel were damp from a recent rain, the scent of exhaust and fresh bread blending in the air.
Making his way onto the Ringstrasse, the circular grand boulevard that served as a ring road around the historic city center, locally known as the Innere Stadt, of Vienna.
The Grand Hotel Wien loomed behind him, its ornate facade glowing gold in the encroaching dusk.
Voodoo stood with one hand on the back of his neck, the other tightening around the phone in his hand as he made the two-block trek to the Musikverein.
He had to double check even though he knew she hadn’t shown at the Musikverein. Savannah was worried but trying not to show it, trying to be the professional everyone expected. But Voodoo saw the way she kept glancing at her phone like she was hoping Daphne would contact her with some wild story.
She didn’t.
Voodoo didn’t believe in coincidence. Not anymore.
He moved through the city like a shadow, blending into the foot traffic along K?rntner Stra?e, scanning faces and alleyways as he moved. It wasn’t until he rounded the quiet curve past the café where a handful of people from the tour had eaten the night before that he saw them.
There.
At the far end of a narrow alley, half-swallowed in shadow, Daphne stood.
Her posture was tense, shoulders hunched like she was either bracing or apologizing.
She was facing a man who stood before her.
Tall. Angular. Dressed in dark clothes but trying to look casual.
Voodoo instinctively pulled back into a recess between two buildings, out of sight.
Too far to hear. But close enough to feel the off-ness.
The man leaned in, and Daphne stiffened.
Not fear exactly, more like discomfort she was trying to swallow.
Voodoo snapped three quick photos with his phone.
One of the man’s face, one of the interaction, one of the small black car idling a few feet away.
He sent all three to Haley with a quick message:
Need ID.
The reply came seconds later.
On it.
Down the alley, Daphne said something. The man paused, adjusted his sleeve like a man sealing a deal, then turned and walked away toward the waiting car. She lingered a beat too long, still facing the retreating car, then slowly turned—and froze.
She saw him.
Voodoo stepped into the open, arms crossed over his chest. She approached with a sheepish smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“There you are,” she said brightly. “Sorry. I dropped my phone earlier this morning, and it’s been dead all day. I thought I could find a charger at the venue, but got sidetracked. Total mess.”
Her laugh was forced.
Voodoo didn’t smile. “Who was that?”
She blinked. “What?”
“The man in the alley.”
“Oh. Just . . . someone from the Musikverein. Tech side. He said the audio guys were switching out some equipment needed for the recording of tonight’s performance and wanted clarification.”
Her answer came a little too fast. Her gaze slid past him.
Sawyer stared at her a beat longer. “And that required a secret meeting in an alleyway?”
“I—it wasn’t secret. I just . . . It wasn’t a big deal.”
But it felt like one. It looked like one.
The silence stretched between them.
“I should get back,” Daphne said quietly, brushing past him toward the hotel. “Savannah’s probably worried.”
Voodoo watched her go, every SEAL instinct thrumming with unease. He looked down at his phone.
Nothing from Haley.
He didn’t like unanswered questions. And he especially didn’t like them this close to Savannah.
Later that evening, The Weiner Musikverein was a cathedral of gold and sound.
Light pooled from a thousand crystal angles in the chandeliers, and Savannah sat at the gleaming black grand piano in the center of it all like she was born from stardust and silk.
Her music carried through the hall, pure as firelight, commanding every breath in the room.
Voodoo stood in the shadows just off stage right, arms crossed, comms silent for now.
Her dark blue gown shimmered like a night sky caught in motion, imbedded silver threads glinting under the lights with every graceful sway of her body.
The audience didn’t breathe as they listened. And he was just as mesmerized.
He’d always loved listening to her play.
Even as a little girl, barely visible behind the enormous piano, he would patiently sit nearby and listen to her practice while she worked to master the fundamentals.
He’d been in awe of how she’d been able to combine certain notes to create the most beautiful music.
When she’d left, it was as if his world had gone silent.
But now, the music was back. His Savi was back.
His phone buzzed with a short vibration against his leg. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the notification from Haley.
Got something. Facial match confirmed. You’re gonna want ears on.
He shifted a few steps deeper into the wings, further from the edge of the velvet curtain. The shadows swallowed him up as he activated his comms earpiece. “Voodoo on.”
Her voice came through with a breath of static. “The alley meet was as Daphne said.”
Frustrated by yet another dead end, Voodoo clenched a fist at his side, the muscles in his arm tight with anger. “You’re sure?” He had to ask.
“Really? Have you met me?”
A ragged breath, filled with dissatisfaction, escaped his lips. “Sorry, Halestorm.” She was right. He shouldn’t have questioned her. She was the best at what she did, and she’d never steered the team wrong.
“Man’s name is Anton Bischof. Assistant production director at the Musikverein. He’s worked there for almost a decade.”
He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “What were they doing?”
“They were having trouble with the recording equipment. With the Senator’s strict requirements for complete video and audio documentation of every performance, they were frantic to replace the damaged equipment. He was checking with Daphne to make sure what they planned to use would work.”
“The equipment was damaged?”
“Yeah. That’s the weird thing. The stuff is usually locked up tight. I’m working on finding out how and, more importantly, why it was damaged.”
He scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “And the phone?”
“God, that phone,” Haley groaned. “It’s a fossil. GPS has never been updated, and her texting app is unreliable. It’s practically one step up from a flip phone. I don’t know how she was managing with something so out of date. It would drive me crazy if―”
“Haley,” Voodoo interrupted her rant, knowing if he didn’t, she could go on and on.
“Sorry. So, she’s not dodging Savannah. She’s just living in 2007. Flint’s having a newer model delivered to her hotel suite tomorrow morning.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration loosening a fraction. “That explains the radio silence, then.”
“Yeah. Daphne’s clean. I’ll keep tracking, but nothing suggests she’s anything but loyal.”
Voodoo glanced toward the stage again. Savannah’s fingers flew over the keys like the music belonged to her.
“Haley,” he said, shifting his weight, “what about the Senator?”
A pause.
“I’ve got a ping on his schedule,” she said slowly. “He’s not in D.C. anymore. Took an unscheduled flight to Prague three hours ago. No press coverage, no official statement.”
“Prague?” I echoed. “That’s our next stop on the tour schedule.”
“I know. There’s no clear reason for him to be there. His itinerary went dark as soon as he landed.”
Voodoo’s gut twisted. “He’s not a spontaneous man.”
“No,” she agreed. “Which makes this extra interesting. SYBIL found out that the last time he deviated from his schedule, also in Prague, Savannah ended up at an embassy event with a security breach no one wants to admit happened. They covered it up, keeping it hush hush.”
That got his attention. “What happened?”
“A man got past security. They are calling it a crazed fan incident. He’d cornered her outside the bathrooms and wouldn’t let her pass.”
“The bathroom again,” Voodoo murmured, hating that she’d had to experience something like that.
“Security got to him quickly before anything could happen. Savannah was fine, just shaken up.”
“Yeah, I bet.” If he’d been there, something like that would never have happened. But then he realized that he had already fucked up when she’d been locked in the restroom in Paris. He hadn’t prevented that scare, and he hated himself for it.
He clenched his jaw. “We’re missing something. Someone’s playing a long game.”
“Yeah,” she murmured. “But we still don’t know what the prize is.”
A swell of strings poured from the orchestra, and Savannah hit a series of chords that made the hair on his arms stand up.
“I’m tired of chasing shadows,” he said in a low voice.
“Then we shine a light,” Haley replied. “One lead at a time.”
He tapped the earpiece off and stepped back toward the edge of the stage, eyes locked on Savannah.
Whoever was moving behind the scenes, whether it was the Senator or someone he answered to, they were about to learn that when you tried to play games with the Condor team watching, you didn’t get the last move.
Savannah stepped into the wings, and his instincts flared. She looked ill. Sweat beaded her forehead, more than just from the stage lights. Her complexion was far too pale. She stumbled as she made her way to him. He reached out a hand to steady her.
“I don’t feel so good,” she murmured.
“What’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she lurched to a nearby industrial sized trash can and emptied her stomach into it. She continued to heave as he tried his best to offer her comfort. This came on so suddenly, it was unexpected. And more than a little suspicious.
“Oh, God,” she cried and heaved once more.
When he didn’t think there could possibly be anything left, she collapsed against him almost too weak to stand upright.
He swept her into his arms and strode down the hall to her dressing room.
Daphne was there and when she spotted Savannah, she exclaimed, “Oh no. What happened?”
“She’s sick. We need a doctor,” he said, laying her down on the couch.
“I’ll call for one,” Daphne said as she rushed around the room. She picked up a bottle of water and a small trash can, subsequently placing the trash can on the floor near Savannah.
Voodoo sat on the coffee table next to her prone body. Her breathing was shallow and way too fast. He placed a cold washcloth on her forehead, then held her hand as he waited for the doctor. Her stillness concerned him more than anything.
“I’ll go meet the doctor at the stage door,” Daphne said, breaking through his quiet vigil.
“Daphne,” he said, and she paused before leaving the room. “Find her water bottle.”
Her eyes widened, but she nodded, then walked out the door.
His instincts were screaming at him. This wasn’t just a stomach bug. He was pretty sure of that. And he was confident the answer would be found in her water bottle.