Page 4 of The Bodyguard

They arrested her while she was trying to drag him out of there. The file was supposed to be sealed. But sealed didn’t mean buried. Not in this world.

The rest of the debate passed in a blur of forced smiles and biting rebuttals. She stepped offstage with damp palms and a mouth feeling as though sandpaper had scoured it clean.

She peeled off her mic and handed it to an aide, ignoring Maya’s wide-eyed look as she approached.

“You saw?”

“Everyone saw,” Maya muttered. “Social media’s already dissecting it.”

Andi grabbed a bottle of water, twisting the cap off with too much force. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“Not the time, Maya.”

“You need protection, Andi.”

“I’ve got a great team.”

Maya leaned in, voice low and urgent. “No. You need a bodyguard; this could get ugly.I know people at Cerberus and have already been in contact with them.”

“What’s the old saying about sticks and stones?”

“That wasn’t just dirty politics, that was a targeted strike and combined with the message in blood…”

“We don’t know that it was blood, Maya,” said Andi, trying to placate her assistant.

“Someone is coming after you. I’m not convinced that ignoring some of the more veiled threats like the slashed tires is in your best interest. Your life could be on the line.”

Andi’s laugh was hollow. “I think you’re over-reacting. I don’t think some hunky bodyguard is going to make it better.”

“Ignoring it will not make it better either. But someone who’s trained to kill for a living might be the only reason you’re still breathing next week.”

The letter. The note at the debate. The way Rick hadn’t needed to speak her name to slit her throat in front of a camera.

“Fine,” she said, the word bitter in her mouth. “Call Cerberus. I will meet with them, but that’s all I’m agreeing to.”

“Andi…” started Maya, obviously frustrated with her.

Holding up her hand, Andi said, “Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it.” Maya’s shoulders dropped in relief.

Andi turned away, but not before muttering to herself. “God help the man who thinks he’s going to tell me what to do.”

* * *

By the time Andi left the campaign office later that afternoon, the sky had turned the color of an old bruise. Streetlights blinked on overhead, casting yellow halos on the damp asphalt. She slid behind the wheel of her hybrid, clutching the steering wheel like it could offer something resembling clarity.

Her phone buzzed in the passenger seat. Maya, again. A dozen missed calls since the debate, probably to say ‘I told you so’or demanding she eat something other than coffee and political adrenaline. Andi ignored it.

She needed quiet. A moment where the only sound was her heartbeat, not reporters screaming for statements or donors whispering warnings about electability. She was tired of playing chess with knives—tired of being the one who played by an ethical rulebook—tired of everything. But what was her choice? Politics as usual? Let the guy who was willing to play the dirtiest win? Chicago deserved better than that.

The campaign SUV followed her out of the garage, as always. A junior staffer behind the wheel, Maya in the passenger seat and some intern texting from the backseat. They’d keep a cautious distance, just close enough to follow protocol.

Andi opened the moonroof. She had two absolute extras she insisted on having—a moonroof and heated seats—everything else was negotiable. The evening air poured in, cooling her skin and softening the frayed edges of her nerves. She might convince Maya she wasn’t concerned, but she was.

The light at the intersection turned green, and she pulled forward. A second later, the hum of tires behind her grew louder—then louder still.

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