Page 20 of The Bodyguard

He scanned the edges of the crowd, memorizing faces, noting anyone who didn’t look like they belonged. He spotted him—a man with a camera rig too clean to be freelance. No outlet badge. No visible ID.

He slid his hand around Andi’s waist and angled her into his side, shielding her body with his own as he guided her down the steps. She stiffened for half a second—then leaned into the contact.

Another camera snapped. Another shout. “Councilwoman Donato, is it true you’re under protection because of a criminal investigation?”

She flinched. Just barely. But he felt it—her armor cracked.

He lowered his voice. “Head down. Stay to my left. I’ve got you.”

To her credit, she didn’t argue.

He opened the passenger door, blocked the camera view with his body, and placed his palm on the top of her head as she ducked inside. A subtle gesture. But grounding. Controlled.

By the time he rounded to the driver’s seat, she was already pulling her seatbelt on with quick, clipped movements. Her hands were shaking.

He started the engine and pulled into traffic, weaving through a side street that would get them to the campaign HQ while avoiding the bulk of the press.

Minutes passed.

Finally, she spoke. “That man—outside the loft—he had a press badge tucked in his pocket. Not pinned. Just visible enough.”

“Fake?” Mitch asked, glancing her way.

“Could be.” She exhaled slowly. “It was too clean. And he didn’t shout like the others. He was filming the building, not me.”

Mitch nodded once. She noticed things. Even under pressure.

“Security footage will confirm it. I’ll have Cerberus review facial rec.”

She clenched her hands in her lap.

“You handled it well,” he said after a beat.

She laughed once, bitter and low. “I looked like I was about to cry.”

“No,” he said. “You looked like you were thinking about breaking someone’s jaw.”

She didn’t respond. But the faint, fleeting curve of her lips told him the compliment had landed.

They reached the campaign HQ in under fifteen minutes. It was quiet—too quiet. No staffers waiting outside. No cars in the rear parking lot where they usually parked. The lights were on, but the building looked... still.

He parked in the shadow of the back entrance and cut the engine.

“Stay close.”

Andi nodded, reaching for the door. He stopped her with a glance.

“Wait for me to clear it.”

She frowned, but let her hand fall back to her lap.

Mitch stepped out and scanned the alley. Nothing unusual. No movement. He approached the door, tested the knob—still locked. A quick check inside the mail slot. No tampering. He signaled her out.

Mitch kept his body between Andi and the alley entrance as he opened the back door to her campaign headquarters. The electronic lock clicked beneath his gloved fingers. He pushed the door open, eyes sweeping the interior.

No chatter. No footsteps. No staff.

He stepped inside, hand hovering near the grip of his sidearm. The familiar layout of the open-plan office came into view—shared desks, print station, Andi’s whiteboard, full of polling numbers and speaking points.

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