Chapter 28
The SUV curved along the sleek drive, approaching what looked, at first glance, like something from a dream—a giant glass-and-titanium egg floating atop a shimmering pool.
The National Centre for the Performing Arts shimmered in the late afternoon haze, its futuristic dome catching the pale Beijing sun and reflecting it in every direction.
Savannah sat forward in her seat, her breath catching in her throat. “It’s . . . beautiful,” she murmured.
Sawyer glanced at her from beside the driver, eyes watchful. “Like something out of a sci-fi movie.”
“No,” Savannah said softly, a hand pressed to the window. “Like something sacred.”
After the SUV stopped, Sawyer assisted her out of the vehicle, the humid air brushing her skin as they crossed the short footbridge. The surface of the manmade lake rippled faintly around them, a moat guarding one of the most iconic concert halls in the world.
Inside, the temperature dropped into a cool, pristine calm. Marble, gold leaf, and rich woods curved elegantly along walls and staircases, every detail whispering grandeur. The architecture felt more like a living instrument than a building. Every angle was fine-tuned for sound, light, and drama.
As she entered the main concert hall, she had to stop.
It was cavernous, yet intimate. Red velvet seats rose in sweeping tiers around the golden stage. Overhead, the acoustic panels hovered like silent sentinels. She imagined her music rising, filling the space, reaching the highest balcony and beyond.
Her fingers twitched with anticipation.
“Savannah?” Daphne’s voice called from downstage. “They’re ready for you to rehearse.”
She turned, suddenly grounded again. Nerves fluttered low in her belly, but they were quiet compared to the awe. She took one step, then another, heels tapping faintly as she made her way to the center of the stage.
The light inside the National Centre for the Performing Arts, otherwise known as the NCPA, was cool and diffused, filtering down from the layered ceiling in pale silvers and soft blues.
On stage, the piano sat like a coiled animal—polished, powerful, and waiting, surrounded by the China NCPA Orchestra.
Savannah exhaled slowly, placing her iPad, which digitally held her music, on the music stand.
Normally for such a performance, she’d have memorized the music.
But since this tour was so extensive, she thought it would be better to have music on hand.
Flexing her fingers once, she then placed her fingers on the keys and began the first movement of the piece she’d be opening with tonight.
The acoustics in the dome carried every note with a haunting clarity.
Near the piano, Brian stood with his tool case in hand.
He’d checked the instrument already, said as much when she’d arrived.
Still, he lingered, fidgeting with something inside the soundboard or polishing the already-clean frame.
He’d been with her for so many years, she was used to his fiddling while she rehearsed.
But today he seemed a little more high-strung than usual.
After the rehearsal, Savannah caught his reflection in the glossy black lid. “You seem off today,” she said gently, not accusing, just observing.
Brian blinked, startled, then gave her a half-hearted smile. “Didn’t sleep much. The flight . . . and all the lockdown protocols coming in. Makes my skin crawl a little.”
She nodded, reading between the lines. He wasn’t a man who rattled easily. Usually, he was methodical, private, and always laser-focused on the piano. Today, though, his eyes kept drifting to the wings.
Before she could ask anything more, Henry sauntered in, sharp suit and snake-oil grin firmly in place. “Savannah, I hope you’ll play something just for me tonight.”
Savannah forced a polite smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s a public performance, Henry. You’ll have to share.”
“Still,” he said, stepping too close, “a girl like you on a stage like this. Makes a man wish for encores.”
Brian stiffened. Savannah glanced at him and saw his eyes flick toward Henry, then to her, then down. His jaw was clenched, his knuckles white around the frame of the piano. He wouldn’t look directly at Henry, but every muscle in his body was on edge.
“Henry, I need a moment to finish my rehearsal,” Savannah said, her voice cool.
Henry smirked and gave a small bow. “As you wish.”
Once he disappeared backstage, Brian muttered, “That guy gives me the creeps.”
Savannah touched his arm lightly. “You and me both.”
“Promise me . . .” he started then paused.
“What,” Savannah prodded.
"You should be careful," he mumbled, the words so low they were nearly swallowed by the people moving around them. “Take it as a warning or whatever. Just . . . watch yourself.”
He sent her a quick look before he turned away, mumbling something, about what she couldn’t discern.
Savannah stood and watched him go, the knot in her chest tightening.
The eerie warning Brian had given her clung to her, a persistent, unsettling feeling that shadowed her every step as she proceeded down the backstage corridor to the dressing rooms. The corridor was dimmer here, with crew members hustling between tasks, radio chatter echoing faintly in languages she couldn’t begin to interpret.
As she rounded a corner, a figure in the typical black stagehand vestments ducked abruptly into a storage alcove.
Odd. Most crew didn’t skulk, and fewer still flinched like they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t.
Savannah slowed her steps, eyes narrowing.
The man had something clutched in one hand.
A square device, half-wrapped in gaffer’s tape.
Not the standard comms unit she’d seen the crew use so many times on the tour. Her pulse stuttered.
He turned, and for a second their eyes met. She didn’t recognize him. No nametag. His expression flickered before he disappeared deeper into the storage area.
Deciding she’d better report what she’d just observed, she turned and walked back toward the stage.
Out in the house, she spotted Sawyer down in the orchestra seating, backlit by stage light.
He was clasping hands with two men she hadn’t seen before.
One tall and lean with strawberry hair, the other thick-set whose hair was buzzed short, glasses perched on his nose.
Both wore the muted casual manners of military types, trying not to look like military types. His team. Reinforcements.
Sawyer glanced up, sensing her gaze. Their eyes locked across the stage.
Savannah’s heart thudded once, hard.
Something was wrong. They hadn’t had a minute to talk since she’d gotten up so late this morning.
She’d been running behind ever since. The Chinese media had insisted on interviewing her, and with the pauses for the translators, the meeting had gone on forever.
It had made her late for her own rehearsal, which she always tried to avoid since so many people were waiting on her.
Now, she wished she’d taken a few more minutes to talk with Sawyer.
Savannah stepped down from the stage, the vastness of the hall swallowing her footfalls until they softened against the rich red carpet of the center aisle.
Sawyer stood near the back of the house, arms folded, a black T-shirt stretching over his chest, looking utterly out of place in the grandeur of the venue. And yet, somehow, like he belonged everywhere.
She felt her breath slow just seeing him.
“There she is,” he said, voice low but proud. “You sounded great.”
She offered a wry smile. He always made a point of encouraging her, showering her with heartfelt compliments that boosted her confidence. “Thank you.”
He nodded to the two men flanking him. “Savannah, meet Hoot and Eggs.” She startled for a moment, not expecting the strange names.
The taller of the two, lean and wiry with sharp eyes and a crooked grin, gave her a short nod. “Don’t worry. We get that reaction all the time to our nicknames.”
She should have recognized they were nicknames. Sawyer went by Voodoo, after all. She must be more tired than she realized, having not caught that sooner.
The other, broader, with a calm, grounded presence and a face that looked like it had seen too much and still kept going, smiled. “Ma’am,” he said simply.
She shook their hands with Eggs holding on a little longer than necessary as he said, “I’ve become a big of your work on the way over.”
“Oh . . . um . . . thanks.”
“Even bigger fan of keeping you alive.”
Savannah blinked, and in her peripheral saw Sawyer roll his eyes. “Well . . . that’s good to hear.”
Sawyer gestured for them to give her a little space, and Eggs finally released her hand.
“They’re gonna act as an internal sweep team,” he explained quietly.
“We think some more of the crew, staff, or maybe even security could be working for your stepfather. Hoot and Eggs are here to help flush them out, track patterns, listen in, disrupt if necessary.”
Savannah’s stomach twisted. “Then I should probably tell you what I saw backstage.”
Sawyer tensed immediately. “Go on.”
She glanced toward the stage, making sure no one lingered.
“There was one of the lighting crew. I’ve seen him a few times.
Today, he was in the far wings, alone. And he had this device.
I thought it was a walkie at first, but it wasn’t.
It was smaller. Sleeker. No accompanying headset like the crew usually wore, just this odd blue glow. He seemed a little squirrelly.”
Eggs snickered. “Squirrelly.” Hoot smacked him on the back of the head.
Sawyer’s jaw tightened. “You know his name?”
She shook her head. “No, but I could point him out.”
He pulled out his tablet and brought up the crew records, complete with pictures. They swiped through a few pages before she spotted him. Matt Simpson. From Virginia. Sawyer turned and signaled subtly to Hoot, who gave a slight nod and stepped out to make a call.
“We’ll run it,” Sawyer said, already shifting into operative mode. “And you stay close tonight. Don’t go anywhere alone. I want you in arm’s reach, just in case.”
Savannah looked at him—her protector, her friend, the man who kissed her like she was more than a mission.
“I’m not afraid,” she said softly.
He drew her into his arms, unafraid to show his affection in front of a teammate. “I am. I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Sawyer replied. “But I’ll make damn sure they’re more afraid of me.”
And in that moment, with the weight of the auditorium around them and danger creeping closer, she believed him.
Down to her bones.