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MITCH

M itch Langdon didn’t believe in coincidences. Not when it came to politics. Not when it came to death threats. And damn sure not when it came to suspicious packages dropped in plain sight, under security cameras, by a staff member wearing catering whites.

He uploaded his full report to Cerberus via the encrypted field tablet resting on Andi’s kitchen counter. His notes were clinical. Precise. No emotion, no assumption, just the facts: visual confirmation of a tampering attempt, photographic stills of hand-off outside The Alder Club, successful evac, no active detonation device. Conclusion: message, not execution. Yet.

He included timestamps, behavioral data, and movement logs. His tone was pure SEAL—brief, blunt, and locked down. But under that calm surface, something itched.

The perimeter at the club had been secure. Security had cleared the route to the car twice. His backup team was on site early. Even so, someone had made it past all of it. Either the bastard was a ghost... or someone had handed them a map, which meant only one thing.

Mitch stared down at the final field note, then erased it with a swipe of his thumb. He didn’t write suspicions into a permanent record until he had proof.

Still, the theory coiled through his brain like a wire pulled too tight. The leak is internal.

He closed the file and locked the screen, then moved toward the loft’s wide bay windows, gaze sweeping the street below. He didn’t expect to see anything. That wasn’t the point. Surveillance feeds were running. The sensors were armed. The real threat wasn’t coming from the street anymore.

The real threat was closer.

He turned just in time to see Andi emerge from her bedroom. Her hair was damp, pulled into a loose knot, and she was wearing a thin navy tee and soft-looking gray joggers that rode low on her hips. No makeup. No armor. Just her.

Mitch’s pulse kicked. Not because she looked vulnerable—because she didn’t. She carried herself like she was holding the line against the world. Chin high. Shoulders straight. But he saw the tremor she tried to hide when she reached for her laptop. The way her hand paused on the edge of the table just a beat too long before she sat.

They were paying him to protect Andi Donato, the toughest woman anyone had ever asked him to protect—and he’d worked with diplomats under fire in Mali and heiresses with bounties on their heads in Monaco. But this woman? She was fire wrapped in silk.

She was everything dangerous and beautiful and proud—and she was still fighting a war on two fronts: the public one she showed the press, and the private one she wouldn’t admit she was losing.

Mitch moved back toward the kitchen, retrieving the mug of coffee he’d left steaming beside the tablet. He crossed to her desk and placed it gently on the corner, within reach.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she murmured, eyes on her screen.

“I know.”

She looked up at that. “You always do things without being asked?”

“No. Only when it’s necessary.”

A small smile curled at the corner of her mouth. “So says the man who took over my building, my loft, and now apparently my caffeine intake.”

“I’ve saved your life once already. Don’t make me add to the list.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to rearrange it.”

“I’m not rearranging it, Andi. I’m fortifying it.”

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the subtle shift in her posture. The way her shoulders relaxed slightly. She wanted to fight him. She didn’t want him to stop fighting for her.

He leaned a hip against the desk, arms crossed, watching her scroll through policy documents like the attempted sabotage hours earlier hadn’t even touched her.

“You’re back at it.”

She didn’t look up. “The campaign doesn’t pause because someone decides to threaten me. That’s the point, Langdon. If I stop moving, they win.”

“You could have died.”

“Key words: could have . ”

Mitch didn’t respond right away. He just watched her.

She was fast. Efficient. He saw the way her fingers danced across the keyboard—navigating campaign calendars, social media metrics, polling data—absorbing it all like it fed her. This wasn’t just her job. It was her identity.

“You love this,” he said, more to himself than her.

She paused. “Yes,” she said softly. “I do.”

He nodded once. “Even when it’s dangerous?”

“Especially then.”

That answer should’ve annoyed him. It didn’t. It just made him want to pin her down and make her feel what it was like to let go . Just for a second. Just long enough to remember she didn’t have to carry it all alone.

“You ever trust anyone else with it?” he asked.

“With what?”

“The weight.”

She didn’t answer.

Mitch pushed off the desk and paced to the windows again. He could see his reflection faintly—broad shoulders, black shirt clinging to muscle, the profile of a man who looked more like a weapon than a bodyguard. Maybe that was all he was. Maybe that’s all he was supposed to be.

But watching Andi at that desk, stubborn and stunning and trying so damn hard not to flinch—he wanted to be something more. Not instead of. But for.

The silence stretched too long. He turned back to her. “Your campaign staff. Your inner circle. You trust all of them?”

She hesitated. That was enough.

“I need a list of everyone with access to your schedule.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You think someone on my team?—”

“I don’t think. I verify . ” He walked back to her, voice low and even. “Someone got your route. Your vehicle. Your timing. That’s not a lucky guess. That’s insider intel. And until I know who’s feeding it to them, we assume it could be anyone.”

“You can’t think Maya?—”

“Maya’s not off-limits.”

She stood, lips parted in protest.

He stepped in, cutting the space between them in half. “Don’t ask me to protect you and then tie my hands.”

“I’m not asking you?—”

“You are . ” His voice dropped. “You want me here. If you want this to end, then let me do it the way I know how.”

She looked up at him. There was fury in her eyes. And beneath it, something hotter. Sharper.

Need. Not just physical… deeper than that. He felt it like a hook behind his ribs.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered.

“No.” He brushed his fingers down her arm, deliberately. “I’m necessary.”

The silence between them stretched again. But this time, no argument charged the silence. It buzzed with everything unspoken.

Mitch saw it in the way Andi’s pupils flared just slightly when he touched her arm. In the way her body tensed—not in rejection, but restraint. She remained coiled. Electric. Ready to spring. He’d seen that posture before. On battlefields. In club scenes. In the moments right before a woman surrendered—not from weakness, but from the choice to stop fighting.

She wasn’t there yet, but she was close.

The encrypted phone in his back pocket vibrated. One buzz. Cerberus code for a developing situation. Mitch stepped back, fingers brushing hers one last time before pulling the device free.

FIELD UNIT REPORT: PRESS ALERT – UNAPPROVED ACCESS. REPORTERS brEACHING ENTRY PROTOCOL AT BOTH DONATO HQ AND LOFT BUILDING.

“Stay here,” he said, already moving for his holster and earpiece.

“Why?” Andi asked, eyes narrowing. “What’s happening?”

“Media ambush. Here and at the campaign office.”

She started forward, brushing past him toward the coat rack. “I need to be out there. If someone…”

His hand landed flat against the door before she could open it. She turned slowly, eyes flashing.

“You’re not walking into a trap just to score points on tomorrow’s headlines.”

“I’m not hiding either.”

He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to.

“You want to address the press, fine. But you do it my way. Understood?”

Her lips parted. Then closed again.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He grabbed his jacket, weapon already holstered and checked the building’s perimeter cams. The vehicle he’d staged for fallback was still out front. Good. Fastest route.

She followed without arguing. That silence told him more than words ever could.

They moved quickly, Mitch keeping Andi close as they exited the loft and made their way down to the waiting SUV. The moment she stepped outside, the flashbulbs started. Cameras. Shouting. Not just one outlet. Not just one reporter. A full-blown media blitz. Someone had tipped them off.

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.

But not a single person in sight. He made a quick call to Cerberus HQ, speaking softly and then ending the call.

Andi stepped in behind him and immediately froze. “Where the hell is everybody?”

He keyed the door shut and activated the new deadbolt. “Gone.”

“Gone?” she repeated, pivoting to face him. “What do you mean, gone? They can’t be gone. This is a workday.”

“Someone pulled them.”

“But who?”

He moved toward the center of the room, scanning every shadow. “Cerberus protocol. Maya confirmed evacuation with HQ ten minutes before we left the loft. Someone directed your staff to a secondary location.

She followed him, voice rising. “And nobody told me?”

“You were already dealing with a press ambush and a compromised route. They were prioritizing containment.”

Her lips parted, but no protest came. Only the sound of her heels tapping across the polished concrete floor as she crossed to her desk.

That’s when he saw it. Three glossy photos, laid out side-by-side on the long table in the center of the room. Each image showed Andi—blurred, zoomed in, but unmistakable. One outside the Alder Club. One on the loft balcony. One from the campaign trail weeks earlier. Someone had drawn a single red line diagonally across each image. Deliberate. Clean.

“Back up,” he snapped.

She looked at him, startled.

He was already moving, circling around her, snapping photos with his encrypted phone and carefully picking up each surveillance still with latex gloves he kept in his pocket. He slid them into an evidence bag and sealed it shut.

Andi folded her arms, watching him. “They knew we were coming.”

“Yeah,” he said grimly. “And they wanted you to see this.”

“Do you think... this was Maya?”

“No,” Mitch said, too fast. He trusted his instincts. Maya hadn’t flinched when Andi had nearly been killed. She hadn’t shown even a flicker of evasion when he’d questioned her security details. If anything, she’d been overly transparent. Protective.

But he was convinced it was someone else. Someone with access to the building. Someone who knew the timing. Someone who used the cleared space to deliver a threat without confrontation.

“They used our evacuation against us,” he said. “Dropped this while the staff was gone. No entry breach. No cameras tripped.”

“Which means it was someone with a key,” Andi said quietly. “One of my own.”

Mitch watched her shoulders straighten. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. She didn’t crumble. She hardened.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “This changes how we move. From now on, all campaign communications run through Cerberus encryption. No exceptions. Every person on your staff gets vetted again. Private interviews. Travel logs. I want names, habits, and hours.”

“You’re assuming they’ll cooperate.”

He met her eyes. “They won’t have a choice.”

She hesitated only a beat. Then nodded. “Do it.”

There it was again—that fire in her that refused to be snuffed out. It made him want to wrap her in his arms and lay the city at her feet. But for now, he would have to settle for keeping her alive, and finding the son of a bitch who’d dared to mark her.

Andi didn’t speak again until they were back in the SUV.

“You think this is about intimidation?”

“No,” he said. “I think someone’s escalating.”

“You think it’s one of my people?”

“I think someone inside your orbit is feeding them intel. And I’m going to find out who.”

She didn’t nod. Didn’t argue. She just stared out the window, lips parted, jaw clenched like she was holding in a scream.

Back at the loft, he keyed them in. They entered without a word. Andi dropped her clutch on the counter and crossed to the windows, looking out over the city like it might offer her an answer.

He watched her from the doorway. The way her shoulders lifted and dropped with each breath. The way her hands curled against the sill.

“You’re too close to this,” he said softly.

“I have to be. It’s my life.”

“You’re allowed to let someone else protect you.”

Her laugh cracked like glass. “I wasn’t raised that way, Langdon.”

“Maybe you should’ve been.”

She turned. “You know nothing about how I was raised.”

“You’re right.” He stepped closer. “I just know what I see.”

“And what’s that?”

“You’re falling apart, and you’re trying so damn hard not to show it.”

She opened her mouth to fire back. Closed it again.

He moved to her, stopped just short of touching. “I gave you an order today,” he said.

“I followed it.”

“You did. But you hated every second.”

“Of course I did. I don’t follow orders. I give them.”

“That’s going to be a problem.”

She lifted her chin. “Then fire me.”

“I don’t fire clients,” he said quietly. “I restrain them if I have to.”

Her breath hitched. He saw it. He stepped closer.

“If I told you to go to your knees right now, would you do it?”

Silence stretched between them. Long. Breathless.

Then she said, “I don’t take orders from bodyguards.”

“But you want to.”

Color rushed into her cheeks.

That was the moment. Right there when Mitch knew he was in deep—past the job, past the rules, past every professional line he’d ever drawn.

He didn’t just want to protect her; he wanted to possess her.

As Mitch reached for his gear to follow up on the lead from the photos, Cerberus HQ sent him a flagged update:

Unusual surveillance signature detected. Traced to one of Donato’s staff IPs. Possible mole confirmed.