Page 14 of The Bodyguard

“I never am.”

His gaze dropped to her legs. Just briefly. But she felt it—hot and assessing.

The dress had been a calculated choice. Pale ivory. Strapless. Cut perfectly to skim curves she usually tried to downplay. It made her feel strong. Sharp. Unapologetically visible.

It also made her feel like a lamb surrounded by wolves.

She turned toward the club’s interior, catching her reflection in the mirrored panel beside the doorway. Her hair was in an updo; her makeup was elegant but bold. A politician’s mask with a woman’s mouth beneath it.

And Mitch, a few feet behind, watching every man in the room who looked at her for too long.

“Try not to kill anyone,” she muttered under her breath.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Inside, the ballroom was already buzzing with donors and dignitaries. Jazz played softly from a trio near the stage. Servers circled with silver trays of cocktails and canapés. Her campaign team had worked for weeks to put this together. Even Maya looked momentarily impressed, standing near the bar, coordinating with the press liaison on last-minute details.

Andi made her rounds. Smile here. Handshake there. She thanked supporters, greeted city officials, leaned in when needed and pulled back when appropriate. Her feet moved automatically, the campaign mask fitting as snugly as her heels.

Mitch didn’t hover. He shadowed. Distant enough to avoid attention. Close enough to shut down anything that tried to get too close.

She was halfway through a conversation with a state rep’s finance chair when she felt it. The air shifted. Not because of Mitch. Because of silence.

For one small, unnatural moment, the buzz of conversation around the bar faltered. Glass hit the floor, shattering discreetly. A waiter whispered something sharp to another, who immediately disappeared behind the rear curtain.

Mitch was suddenly beside her. She didn’t see him move. He was just there.

“Don’t turn around,” he said quietly. “Keep talking.”

Her mouth moved, but she couldn’t remember what she was saying.

“There’s movement by the service corridor. One of the back staffers just made a drop.”

“A drop?” she repeated, too quietly for anyone else to hear.

“Something small. Hand off to a second person. Near your car.”

Her pulse kicked.

“You said my car was secure.”

“It was. Until thirty seconds ago.”

Mitch touched her elbow. Barely. But the contact buzzed straight through her spine. “We’re leaving. Now.”

She turned to follow him, but the man she’d been speaking to—a portly donor with onion breath and a walrus mustache—put a hand on her shoulder.

“Andrea, dear, I have one more question…”

Mitch’s hand closed around the man’s wrist. Not tight. Not cruel. Just enough to be noticed. “She’ll be in touch.”

Andi didn’t wait for a reaction. She was already walking.

He moved beside her, keeping her body between him and the crowd as he guided her through the ballroom toward the hallway leading to the coatroom. His hand hovered near the small of her back—never touching. Always ready.

“I have a backup vehicle two blocks down,” he said. “Cerberus is scanning the feed now.”

“What do you think it is?”

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