Page 43 of The Bodyguard

That didn’t mean they were in the clear.

They reached the steps of the old courthouse just as the flashbulbs started. Local press. National cameras. A few political sharks in borrowed blazers trying to look neutral. The team had announced the event as a community development pitch, but the crowd smelled like bloodhounds sniffing for scandal.

Andi squared her shoulders. He saw it in her body—the moment she stepped into the role. Her voice shifted. Her smile turned on like a light switch. She wasn’t faking it, but she was building a wall.

The first ten minutes were fine. Predictable. A few questions about zoning reform. A long-winded local columnist asking about permit extensions and union bid compliance. Mitch kept his eyes moving, cataloguing threats, watching every shift in the crowd.

Then a woman with a side ponytail and a mic from a digital outlet shouted over the others. “Councilwoman Donato—can you comment on the recent rumors about a security breach inside your campaign?”

Andi’s eyes didn’t flicker. “As you know, we don’t comment on unsubstantiated rumors.”

“But the photos…”

“Were delivered anonymously and are under active investigation,” Andi said. “And I trust the people around me to do their jobs while I do mine.”

Another reporter jumped in, younger, louder. “Is it true you’re under twenty-four-hour protection from the private black ops security firm, Cerberus?”

Mitch stepped forward before she could speak. His body slid into place in front of her like a gate locking shut.

“That’s enough,” he said.

He didn’t raise his tone. He didn’t have to. The crowd stilled.

“I’m sorry, and you are…?” the woman asked, mic still raised.

“Leaving,” Mitch replied. “Along with the rest of you. Councilwoman Donato has finished her statement.”

“We weren’t finished…”

“Yes, you were.”

The press flinched at the sound of a single, clipped syllable.

Behind him, Andi placed a hand gently on his back—two fingers only, a silent message. I’ve got this. He ignored it. Instead, he stepped in tighter and laid one hand flat on her hip. Not possessive. Not aggressive. Just steady. Andi’s inhale was sharp, audible to no one but him.

The crowd surged again with flashbulbs. Someone caught the touch. Someone would post it. Good. Let them speculate. He held his position until Maya stepped out of the building, flagged the car, and gave a signal.

Mitch took them out the way they’d come—Andi never breaking stride, never dropping that perfect press smile—but he could feel the difference. She walked a little closer to his side now. Leaned slightly into the pressure of his hand on her waist.

By the time they reached the SUV, the cameras were still snapping.

He opened the door and waited for her to climb in. She did—but not before glancing up at him with a look that was equal parts gratitude and warning.

“Your hand,” she said.

“What about it?”

“It was a statement.”

“I don’t whisper,” he said. “I speak, so people listen.”

She didn’t argue. But she didn’t look away, either.

Back at the loft, night settled over the city like a second skin. Mitch locked down the door, looped the perimeter cams, and swept the digital logs again for anomalies. Andi disappeared into her room for a shower, and he used the quiet to get ahead on his Cerberus brief.

Coop’s field report on the press event uploaded clean. No flagged data spikes, no signal interference.

But when he checked the system alerts, he found a message waiting.

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