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ANDI

A ndi woke aching in every possible way—her body sore, her muscles tight, her throat dry. And her heart? It was a mess of confusion and certainty she wasn’t ready to untangle. The loft was quiet, the hum of the city outside just background noise, but inside, everything had shifted.

Sunlight filtered through the east-facing windows, catching on the exposed brick. She blinked once, then twice, trying to remember how long it had been since she’d felt this kind of tired—not politically tired, not burned-out-campaign tired. No, this was the kind of tired that came from surrender. From fire. From being stripped bare and rebuilt by hands she couldn’t stop thinking about.

She reached for the pillow beside her. Still warm. Mitch had already gotten up, but not long ago. Her body ached in the best kind of way—thighs sore, her hips marked from his grip, her lips slightly swollen from the way he’d kissed her like she was the only thing that could keep him sane.

Last night had been a line in the sand. A turning point. She’d seen the edge he kept so tightly leashed. She’d tasted what it felt like when he let go. And she’d reveled in every second.

But now, with morning creeping in and no sheets tangled around her to shield her from the real world, the loft felt smaller. Tighter. Every footstep echoed. Every breath carried weight.

She dragged herself out of bed and moved through the space on autopilot, pulling on her favorite oversized, slouchy sweater, which was loose knit, and came to her knees. It wasn’t his, but she’d seen the way he looked at her legs. She left the bedroom, headed toward the kitchen. She needed coffee and a reset. Preferably in that order.

Mitch was already up. Dressed. Black T-shirt, button up Levis, pacing in front of the window like a panther waiting for a reason to strike. He didn’t look at her when she entered, but she felt the awareness in his body, the way he tracked her without turning. Always aware. Always ready.

“You slept,” he said, still facing the glass.

“Eventually.” Her voice came out scratchier than she expected. “You didn’t?”

“I never do when someone puts a bullet through my night.”

Andi didn’t answer that. She just went to the counter and poured herself a cup of coffee. The silence stretched long. Not tense—but charged. Like the air was still humming with the echo of last night’s storm.

When she finally turned to face him, he was watching her. Not just her face. Her stance. Her choice of her favorite sweater, which she suspected was fast becoming his. There was an absence of any tension or fight on her shoulders.

He said nothing about it. Just nodded once. “Maya wants a meeting this morning. I took a look at your schedule and approved it.”

Andi snorted as she took a sip from her mug. “I take it Cerberus cleared her?”

“No traces. No anomalies. She’s clean.”

“Good.” A beat passed. Then, “She’s going to have questions.”

“Let her ask them.”

Andi raised an eyebrow. “About you. About last night.”

Mitch’s jaw twitched. “Let her ask them.”

Andi didn’t push further. It wasn’t the time. She walked over to him, rose on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek before heading back to the bedroom. She showered, changed, and pulled her campaign face on like armor. By the time Maya arrived, she was almost ready to act like her world hadn’t exploded under her feet less than twelve hours ago.

Maya stepped into the loft, sharp in her navy cardigan over a print tee-shirt, tucked into light-colored jeans, her tablet already pulled up. Maya’s eyes scanned Andi’s face like she was looking for cracks.

“You okay?” Maya asked.

Andi nodded. “I’m fine.”

Maya gave a dry little laugh. “Sure. That’s why you look like someone just hit you with a sledgehammer and then kissed it better.”

Andi didn’t answer.

Maya didn’t let it drop. “You and Langdon.”

“I don’t know what you think you saw?—”

“I saw the way he looked at you last night. The way you didn’t look away. That’s new.”

Andi didn’t deny it.

Maya set her bag down on the counter. “Look, I don’t care who you sleep with. But that man? He’s not just your bodyguard anymore. And whatever this thing is between you two—it’s not casual.”

“No,” Andi said, quietly. “It’s not.”

“Good,” Maya said. “Because I don’t need you distracted when someone’s still out there with sniper-grade rounds and a grudge.”

That pulled a half-smile from Andi. “You’re all heart.”

Maya grinned. “And you’re all reckless. So we balance each other out.” She glanced in Mitch’s direction and lowered her voice. “And he’s gorgeous.”

They moved into the living room, Mitch hovering near the security feed in the corner, silent but listening. He didn’t interfere, but his presence shifted something in the room—like a gravitational field that bent everything around him.

Andi turned to Maya. “So. If you’re not a suspect, and Coop’s not—then someone else is.”

“I’ve been working with Coop. We’ve narrowed it down to six possibilities,” Maya said, pulling up the list. “All of them had access to the schedule changes and internal routing. Cerberus has already started digital surveillance on them. But we need a better way to flush the traitor out.”

Andi crossed her arms. “What are you thinking?”

Maya hesitated. Then looked at Mitch before answering. “Use me.”

“No,” Andi said, instantly. “Not a chance.”

But Maya was already shaking her head. “Andi, it makes sense. I still have full access. I can plant a breadcrumb—something small. A fake route, a decoy schedule. Something only someone close would see. We track who touches it. Who leaks it.”

Mitch finally spoke. “You’d be putting yourself at risk.”

Maya met his gaze, steady. “That’s the job, isn’t it?”

Andi cut in. “It’s not your job to take bullets for me.”

“No,” Maya said. “It’s his to find out who’s pulling the trigger, and yours to make this city a better place to live by becoming Chicago’s third woman mayor.”

That landed hard.

Andi sat down on the edge of the couch. The truth was, Maya was right. Whoever was leaking information wasn’t guessing. They were inside. Embedded. And now, more than ever, Andi needed control back.

She looked at Mitch.

His answer came after a long pause. “We do it my way. My route. My eyes. If Maya’s being used as bait, we don’t leave a single inch of that plan unsecured, and we make sure she’s protected.”

“Done,” Maya said, already tapping notes into her tablet. “I’ll draft a schedule that looks just real enough to sell. But we need it to be believable.”

“I’ll make sure it is,” Andi said. “Let’s see who takes the bait.”

Mitch didn’t argue. But he didn’t look happy about it either.

As Maya packed up to leave, she paused at the door and looked back at Andi. “One more thing.”

Andi tilted her head.

“Whatever’s going on with you and Langdon—just don’t wait too long to figure it out.”

Andi blinked. “Why?”

“Because when this ends—if it ends—you don’t want to find out too late that the thing you needed most was already standing right in front of you.”

And with that, Maya walked out.

Andi turned, and Mitch was right there again. Watching. Waiting.

“I’m not going to pretend this is easy,” she said.

“I’m not asking you to.”

“But I’m not walking away from any of it.”

“I know.”

Andi stepped in closer. Her voice dropped. “Just…don’t disappear on me again.”

Mitch’s eyes darkened. “I’ll be right behind you. Always.”

Andi nodded once. She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t have to.

The loft was too quiet after Maya left and made the place feel smaller. More contained. The kind of quiet that forced you to listen to yourself.

Andi sat on the edge of the couch, legs curled beneath her, still wearing the oversized slouchy sweater she’d put on when she first got up. The couch smelled like him—subtle, clean, masculine. It shouldn't have made her feel comforted and exposed at the same time, but it did.

She tugged the sleeves over her hands and watched Mitch pour coffee into the mugs, his movements crisp, economic. Nothing wasted. Nothing extra. He had said little since the planning session this morning. He hadn't pushed, but he hadn't softened, either. That careful command set of his shoulders had gone nowhere.

He passed her the coffee in silence.

“You’re angry,” she said finally.

Mitch didn’t look at her. “Not necessarily; I’m calculating.”

“Is there a difference?”

He took the armchair opposite her, elbows resting on his knees. “One makes you dangerous. The other makes you reckless.”

The words landed hard, but she didn’t flinch. She took a sip, let the heat of the mug center her. “You don’t trust me to make this decision.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t trust you to make it without factoring your safety in last.”

Her chest squeezed. Not from guilt. From recognition. He wasn't wrong.

“I’ve had control over every aspect of this campaign,” she said, slow and even. “Every message. Every donor. Every goddamn comma in a press release. And now…” She trailed off, staring at the surface of her coffee.

“Now, someone’s trying to kill you,” Mitch finished, voice quiet but edged in steel.

She nodded once. “And you think that means I’m no longer qualified to decide how I fight.”

“I think it means I’ve seen what happens when people decide from inside the blast radius.”

They sat with that. She looked at him then, really looked. He’d pulled on a simple black T-shirt, jeans buttoned at the waist, barefoot. Casual. At ease. But only on the surface. Beneath that was the man she’d met in the hallway weeks ago—dangerous, focused, unflinching. Only now, she knew what he tasted like. What he sounded like when he lost control. What it felt like to let him have hers.

The mug warmed her hands, but it didn’t touch the burn under her skin.

“I’ve never submitted to anything in my life,” she said. Mitch didn’t blink. “I’m not weak. I’m not some fragile piece of glass that needs to be put on a top shelf until it’s safe again.”

“I know that.”

“But I’m tired, Mitch.” She swallowed hard. “Tired of running toward everything and pretending like I don’t see what’s coming from behind. Tired of being brave for everyone else and pretending like it’s all strategy and optics.”

He stayed silent. Waiting. Letting her give it to him in her own time.

“I’m choosing this,” she said. “Not because I have to. Not because I’m broken. But because I trust you to take the wheel when I need to sit down for a second. I want to fight. I will. But I want to do it as a team. And you—” she let out a quiet laugh, “—you don’t know how to be anything but the one in front.”

Mitch didn’t speak. He set his mug down, stood, and crossed the room in three strides. He didn’t touch her, not yet. Just looked down, eyes locked on hers like he was seeing something new.

“You think this is easy for me?” he asked.

“No.”

“Every instinct I have is about control. About containment. But with you…” His jaw flexed. “With you, it’s never been about command. It’s about responsibility. You’re not a job anymore, Andi. You’re the line I won’t cross. Even when it kills me.”

Something in her throat burned.

He reached for her then, one hand sliding beneath her hair, curling at the nape of her neck. The other traced her jaw, steady and sure. “You give this to me, you don’t get to take it back the second it’s inconvenient. You hand me your safety, you don’t get to argue in the middle of a firefight.”

“I won’t,” she whispered.

“Say it.”

“I trust you.”

His eyes darkened. “And if I say stay down, you’ll stay down?”

“Yes.”

“If I say run, you run?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He kissed her then—not like earlier, not like the wall and fire and possession. This was slower. Deeper. But no less claiming. No less hungry. When he pulled back, her hands were fisted in his tee-shirt, and her heartbeat had thundered up into her throat.

He said nothing else. He didn’t need to. Because at that moment, it wasn’t about power. It was about permission. And she’d given it.

* * *

Maya returned to the loft, and the message went out at 3:18 p.m.

Andi watched it go out from the corner of the screen. A simple calendar ping. A last-minute location change for a fictional donor meet—flagged urgent and unlisted, sent through an encrypted channel only a handful of staffers had access to.

The bait.

Maya leaned back in her seat across from her, folding her arms. “And now we wait.”

Andi nodded, the unease curling in her stomach like a live wire. “This feels… wrong.”

“Welcome to intelligence work,” Maya said dryly. Andi arched an eyebrow. “I read a lot of political and espionage thrillers. You wait. You watch. And you hope your trap’s more tempting than the target’s pride.”

Andi leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled beneath her chin. “You’re okay being the bait?”

“I volunteered.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Yes, I did.” Maya met her gaze. “Because you’re not the only one they’re coming for now. And because if someone on this team is dirty—I want to be the one who flushes them out. I brought these people to you. I vetted them. If one of them is bent, it’s my responsibility.”

There was a reason Maya was her chief of staff. The loft was quiet except for the low hum of the computer and the faint tick of the wall clock. They sat like that for a long minute, neither speaking, both watching the screen as Cerberus’s surveillance overlay tracked pings and messages bouncing across the city’s encrypted data net.

Mitch stood in the corner, silent, arms folded across his chest. Watching. Andi felt the burn of his gaze like a brand against her skin.

She was trusting him to call the shot. To pull the trigger—figuratively or otherwise—if someone bit.

The moment dragged. Stretched.

Then, a ping.

Mitch moved first, already beside the monitor as a string of unrecognized data lit up the upper right-hand feed. A sync. Unscheduled. Unauthorized. And coming from a name she knew.

Brian Lennox.

“Got him,” Mitch said.

Andi stood slowly, heart climbing into her throat.

Maya didn’t say a word. She just reached into her pocket and thumbed her Cerberus-issued comm. “We’ve got a fish on the line.”

Andi’s eyes met Mitch’s.

Game on.