Page 2 of The Bodyguard

He picked the file up again and flipped to the final page. A press photo—Andi Donato in a tailored navy dress, arms folded, chin lifted. She looked straight into the lens like she dared the world to underestimate her.

“She looks like trouble,” Mitch said.

“She is.”

He snapped the folder shut.

“Fine. I’ll take the job.”

Royce raised an eyebrow. “That easy?”

Mitch gave a short, humorless laugh. “She’s not just trouble. She’s a target. And if someone’s lining her up in their sights, I want my hand on her shoulder before the trigger’s pulled.”

“You understand what you’re walking into?”

“I do now,” Mitch said. “I want full operational control.”

“Granted.”

“I don’t negotiate on protective protocol. If she’s in, she follows my rules. Period.”

“Agreed, and Cerberus has got your back.”

Mitch grabbed his gear bag from the corner, the one he hadn’t even unpacked from the last mission. The familiar weight of it steadied him more than the conversation ever could.

“She’ll fight you,” Royce said.

Mitch snorted. “She’ll lose.”

Mitch left Cerberus and headed back to his studio apartment. Once there, he spread the contents of the Donato file across the long granite counter beside his weapons case.

He studied her movements in the security stills, analyzing the way she held herself—confident, yes, but not reckless. Not clueless. There was something careful about the way she placed her hands. The way she smiled like it was armor.

He liked that; he also hated it. He’d worked with too many public figures who pretended they didn’t bleed until the bullets flew. Something told him Andi Donato would stand in front of a sniper’s scope before she admitted she was afraid.

That made her brave, foolish or both. It also made her a liability.

Mitch loaded fresh rounds into his Glock, pausing only when his phone vibrated.

Cerberus Dispatch: Assignment approved. Activation immediate. Primary residence coordinates uploaded. Donato not yet informed.

He swiped the message away and looked at the last photo in the file again.

She didn’t know he was coming… had no idea how much her life was about to change. Andi Donato might think she was the one in charge. She’d soon learn she was wrong.

1

ANDI

Andi Donato hated red ink.

It reminded her of every high school essay she’d ever written—bleeding with critiques and underlines from her AP English teacher, Ms. Larson, who always seemed to find flaws in what Andi thought was brilliance. But the envelope on her desk wasn’t a grade. It was a message.

And the ink didn’t look like any kind she’d ever bought at Staples.

“Is that blood?” Maya Ramsey, her chief of staff, asked, leaning over her shoulder with a mug of coffee clutched between her hands.

Andi didn’t answer. She stared at the jagged letters scrawled across thick cream stationery—fancy, like the kind used for overpriced wedding invitations.

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