Page 69 of The Bodyguard
“You listen to me,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “You don’t go dark on me now. You don’t shut down. You don’t build walls I can’t get through. Because this—” his thumb brushed the edge of her jaw, “—isn’t over. We’re just getting started. And when I find out who pulled the trigger? I burn them down. Every last one of them.”
Andi nodded once, slow and deliberate. “Then we end it.”
He kissed her—quick, hard—re-focusing them both.
The war wasn’t coming. It was here. And Mitch Langdon didn’t lose wars. Not when the woman in his arms was the one they wanted most. Not when shetrusted him to end it.
Outside, the wind howled across the steel bones of the city.
Inside, Mitch opened the encrypted message Cerberus had just pushed to his phone.
New lead identified. Crosscheck confirms international origin. Possible intelligence asset embedded in donor ranks. Codename: Kestrel.
Connected to primary Wexler backer. Threat level escalated. Awaiting orders.
Mitch stared at the screen, blood going cold. This wasn’t typical dirty politics; this was calculated and covert.
16
ANDI
The crowd in Jefferson Park pulsed with energy. Hundreds of people packed shoulder to shoulder, banners waving, voices rising, the hum of collective defiance thick in the air. The makeshift stage had been erected that morning, backed by a string of campaign signs and flanked by portable speakers borrowed from a nearby community center. Nothing slick. Nothing polished. Just raw, unfiltered presence. Exactly what she needed.
Andi stood center stage, palms gripping both sides of the podium. Her heart pounded beneath her loose-weave jacket, the heat of the early evening sun mixing with the fire burning in her chest. Sweat trickled down her spine, but she didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Her voice was steady when it cut through the mic.
She started to move into the speech she had planned and then thought better of it.
“Do any of you mind if I take off my jacket? It’s a bit warm.”
Andi removed her jacket with a flourish, revealing her toned arms and jade green silk tank top spilling over the waistband to her black silk pants to the roaring approval of the crowd. She shook her shoulders. “That feels a little better. Now, let me tell you what I want not only all of you to hear, but my detractors and opponents. They want me to back down. To be afraid. To run."
A murmur spread across the crowd. Not confusion. Agreement. Anticipation.
She leaned in, voice rising.
"But I didn't build my career on fear. I built it on the truth. On showing up. On fighting for every person who's ever been told to sit down and stay quiet."
Cheers exploded from the front rows. Behind her, the Cerberus security detail tightened their formation, eyes scanning every angle. And just off to the left, partially hidden in the shadows of the rally tent, Mitch stood like a monument.
He was in all black, arms folded across his chest, his sunglasses reflecting the crowd like armor. But his focus never left her. She could feel the weight of his stare like a current against her spine. Watching her. Measuring her. And beneath it, she knew what he was thinking.
He hadn't wanted her to do this. Too public. Too vulnerable. Too soon after the shot at the museum. But she’d insisted, and Maya had been all for it. And now, as she locked eyes with the audience, with her city, with the people who believed in her because they saw themselves in her, she didn’t regret it.
"Let me make this clear," she said, her voice sharp now. "I'm not going anywhere. Not until every vote is counted. Not until every neighborhood has a seat at the table. Not until every developer who thinks they can buy this city is reminded that we don't roll over for bullies."
The roar that rose from the crowd nearly swallowed her whole. Signs waved. Hands clapped. Somewhere, a drumbeat started up. Andi stepped back from the mic, her heart hammering, her breath shallow. She felt alive in a way she hadn’t in weeks.
When she finally stepped down from the platform, grabbing her jacket and flanked by her team, sweat clinging to the back of her neck, she caught the look in Mitch’s eyes as he approached. Approval, but more than that, pride. Oh, it was muted and controlled, but it was there. Etched in the set of his mouth. In the way he walked straight to her without scanning the rest of the area first.
"That was a calculated risk," he said.
"Yep, and it paid off."
He didn’t argue. He didn’t need to.
Before she could say more, someone stepped between them. A girl. Maybe nineteen, maybe twenty. Her jeans were too big, her sweatshirt had cut-off sleeves and was oversized. She had a campaign flyer clutched in one hand and fear etched into every corner of her face.
"Councilwoman Donato?"
