Page 72 of The Sniper

MITCH

Mitch Langdon stood in the dimly lit hallway outside Andi Donato’s loft, arms crossed over his broad chest, listening for any signs of movement inside. He’d just finished sweeping the entire floor, making sure no one had managed to slip past the security team downstairs. But his instincts told him somethingwas off. Not a physical threat. No. This was something else entirely—something more dangerous.

His charge.

Andi.

He knocked once. A sharp rap that echoed against the silence. When no response came, he pushed the door open, careful to make just enough noise to announce his presence.

The moment he stepped inside, he felt her.

She stood near the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows, bathed in the moon’s silver light, her back to him. Her silhouette—strong, unyielding—was outlined against the cityscape beyond, but something in her posture told him she wasn’t feeling as invincible as she usually projected.

Mitch closed the door behind him. Locked it. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

Andi didn’t turn around. “And you’re supposed to be outside.”

His lips twitched. There she was. Always a fight on her tongue.

“I was. But I don’t like it when you get quiet.” He took a measured step forward, watching the way her shoulders stiffened. “It means you’re either plotting something reckless or thinking too much.”

A soft laugh. But it lacked its usual fire. “God forbid I think.”

He moved closer. Close enough to see the tension coiled in her arms, the tight set of her jaw. He’d known this woman long enough now to recognize when she was on the verge of snapping. And Andi Donato didn’t break. She detonated.

“Talk to me.”

“I don’t need a therapist, Mitch.”

“No.” He stopped a foot behind her, his voice a low murmur. “You need a firm hand.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. He saw it—felt it—in the way her body responded to his words, the way her fingers clenched at her sides. It was in the way she didn’t turn to face him, as if she already knew what she’d see in his eyes.

Mitch had been patient. He’d spent weeks at her side, shadowing her every move, keeping her safe from the growing threat that lurked in the dark. But there was another battle waging between them, and Andi had been fighting it just as fiercely as she fought everything else in her life.

He wasn’t the kind of man to push where he wasn’t wanted. But he also wasn’t blind.

“I see you, Andi.” His voice was like gravel, rough and sure. “You’re unraveling. You’re burning at both ends, and you won’t let yourself stop long enough to feel it.”

She swallowed. “I can handle myself.”

“Of course you can.” He stepped closer, his chest almost touching her back. “But you don’t have to.”

A war raged in the silence that stretched between them. The air thickened, charged with something neither of them had the will to name. Andi breathed, slow and uneven, her head tilting slightly, as if she were debating whether or not to lean into him.

Mitch made the decision for her.

One hand came up, skimming along the curve of her waist before settling at her hip. He felt the shudder that ran through her at his touch. “Let me take the weight for a while.”

Her head dropped forward, just a fraction. “Mitch…”

“I know.” He squeezed, firm and reassuring. “You don’t have to say it.”

But then she did turn, and when their eyes met, there was nothing cautious about the way she looked at him. There was fire there. Frustration. Hunger.

“Then stop making me.”

He didn’t wait for more. Didn’t give her a chance to second-guess herself. His hands came up, cupping her face as he backed her against the cool glass of the window. His mouth crashed against hers, swallowing the moan that escaped the moment his tongue met hers.

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