The CEO'S contract bodyguard: No feelings, No touching

Chapter 5: The mole's exit

The service stairwell smelled like concrete and old air.

Aurora hit the door at a run. Two flights down, then three. Each landing had a crash bar and a red exit sign. None had cameras. Titan didn’t put cameras in stairwells. “Privacy,” the board called it. “Blind spots,” Aurora called it.

Damian’s voice came through her earpiece, calm as steel. “Briggs has Level 12 sealed. No one exits the building.”

“She’s not using the elevators,” Aurora said, breath steady. “She’s going down.”

“Then meet her at the bottom.”

Aurora took the stairs three at a time. Her pistol stayed holstered. Not yet. You don’t draw until you see hands. Policy. Her policy.

At Level 7, the motion sensor above the door flickered. Fresh heat. Maris had passed through less than 40 seconds ago. Aurora pushed through.

Level 6. Then 5. Then 4. The stairwell narrowed. Older section of the building. No card readers here, just push bars and time-locked exits.

Her phone buzzed once. Unknown number. 2:17am text sender. Same pattern. Three words: _She’s not alone._

Aurora didn’t answer. She deleted it and kept moving.

At Level 2, the door at the bottom swung open an inch, then eased shut. No sound. No rush. Professional exit.

Aurora slowed. Professional exits meant backup. She drew her pistol, muzzle down, and used her shoulder to push the door.

The Level 2 corridor was empty. White walls. Maintenance carts. A fire extinguisher cabinet. The air smelled like bleach.

Footsteps echoed from the left, toward the freight elevator. Heavy boots. Two sets. Not running. Walking with purpose.

Aurora flattened against the wall and peeked around the corner.

Maris Cole walked ahead, laptop case gone, hands empty. Behind her, a man in building security uniform. Briggs’ team jacket. Face down, cap low. He wasn’t restraining her. He was escorting her.

“Exit’s clear,” the man said. Voice muffled. “Thirty seconds to the loading bay.”

Aurora stepped out. “Hands up. Both of you. Now.”

Maris didn’t flinch. She turned, slow. “You’re fast, Ms. Lane. I’ll give you that.”

The security man didn’t raise his hands. He shifted his weight. Hand near his belt. Not a weapon. A badge.

Aurora’s eyes flicked to it. Level 12 clearance. Briggs’ division.

“You’re not Briggs,” she said.

“No,” he said. “I’m the guy who replaces Briggs when Briggs is busy.”

Damian’s voice in her ear: “Audio feed’s live. Who’s with her?”

Aurora didn’t look away. “Unknown. Security uniform. Level 12 clearance.”

“Hold position,” Damian said. “I’m coming down.”

Maris smiled. Same thin, sharp expression from the boardroom. “You think you can lock a building and catch everyone? That’s not how this works.”

Aurora kept her pistol level. “Then explain it to me. Who hired you? Who paid for the transmitter? Who sent the texts to my phone?”

Maris tilted her head. “You figured out the code. Undercover op, three years ago. You were good. You still are. That’s why they wanted you in this room.”

Aurora’s finger didn’t move on the trigger. “They wanted me watching you.”

“They wanted you watching the wrong person,” Maris said. “I’m the noise. I’m the distraction. The real move happened at 9:58am, when the doors sealed.”

Aurora processed it in a second. The lockdown. The lights out. Three seconds of black. Everyone had been looking at Maris. No one had been watching the table.

The tablet. Damian’s tablet. Still on the conference table upstairs.

The security man moved. Not at her. Past her. He hit the fire alarm pull station on the wall and yanked it down.

Klaxons screamed. Sprinklers sputtered, then opened. Water hit the corridor in sheets. Red lights pulsed. Emergency doors began to cycle.

Protocol. Fire alarm meant all interior doors unlocked for 90 seconds. Evacuation priority.

Maris turned and ran. Not toward the freight elevator. Toward the maintenance corridor. The security man followed, pulling his cap lower.

Aurora didn’t chase. She pressed her earpiece. “Briggs, pull your Level 12 team. You have a mole wearing your uniform. Level 2, maintenance corridor.”

Static. Then Briggs: “My team is accounted for on Level 12. That’s not my man.”

Copy,” Aurora said. She holstered her pistol and ran.

The maintenance corridor was narrow, lined with pipes and cable trays. Water from the sprinklers ran down the walls. Her shoes slipped once, then found grip.

At the end, a door marked _Service Exit - No Entry_. It was propped open with a fire extinguisher. Cold air from the loading bay beyond.

Aurora hit the door and rolled into the bay. Trucks lined the dock. Rain outside. The city was gray.

Maris was already at a van, back door open. The security man stood guard, watching the corridor Aurora had just left.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said.

Aurora raised her pistol. “Neither are you. Hands on the van. Now.”

The man didn’t move. “You’re not going to shoot me in a loading bay full of diesel trucks, Ms. Lane. You’re smarter than that.”

He was right. One bullet, one spark, everyone died. Including her.

Maris climbed into the van. “Tell Damian he held the meeting. He won the vote. He lost the data. That’s the trade.”

The van door slid shut. Engine started.

Aurora fired once. Not at them. At the tire. It blew with a flat crack. The van lurched, then rolled forward on the rim, sparks flying.

It didn’t stop. It limped toward the exit ramp and vanished into traffic.

Aurora stood in the rain, water dripping from her hair, pistol still raised at nothing.

Damian appeared at the bay entrance 20 seconds later. Suit soaked, tie loosened. He didn’t ask. He looked at the flat tire tracks, then at her face.

“They’re gone,” Aurora said.

“I know,” he said. “Briggs is sweeping the building. No one leaves. No one enters.”

“Too late,” Aurora replied. “The data’s gone.”

Damian walked to her. He didn’t touch her. He looked at the van tracks, then back at her. “The data on that tablet was encrypted. Military grade. Even if they have the drive, they can’t read it without the key.”

“The key is in your head,” Aurora said.

“And in the server,” Damian said. “Which means they’ll come for me next.”

He turned back toward the building. “Come on. We’re moving locations. This building’s compromised.”

Aurora fell into step beside him. “You knew she’d run.”

“I knew someone would,” he said. “I needed to see who.”

“You used me as the tripwire,” she said. Not angry. Just fact.

“I used the situation,” he corrected. “You’re not a tripwire, Ms. Lane. You’re the only reason I’m still breathing.”

They walked back through the stairwell in silence. The alarms were still screaming. Staff were evacuating, following protocol, unaware that the real fire had been upstairs at 10:03am.

In the penthouse elevator, Damian finally spoke again. “The unknown number texting you. You’ve been deleting the messages.”

Aurora didn’t deny it. “They’re not threats. They’re intel.”

“You’re reading them,” he said.

“I’m using them,” she corrected. “Same as you used the board meeting.”

The elevator doors closed. The numbers climbed. 2… 12… 28… 40.

Damian looked at her reflection in the steel doors. “Who’s feeding you information, Aurora?”

Aurora met his eyes in the reflection. “Someone who wants you alive.”

“And who wants you watching me,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “Same person.”

The doors opened. The penthouse was dark. Aurora swept it anyway. Habit. She cleared the living room, the hall, the guest suite. All clear.

Damian set his jacket on a chair. Water ran off the shoulders onto the floor. “New protocol,” he said. “You don’t leave my sight until we find who’s inside my company.”

“That’s not safe,” Aurora said.

“That’s the point,” he replied. “If they want me, they’ll have to go through you first.”

Aurora checked her phone. No new texts. The unknown number was quiet.

For now.

She pulled a chair to the window and sat. Back to the wall. Eyes on every door.

Damian poured two glasses of water. Set one in front of her. He didn’t drink his.

Outside, the city kept moving. Inside Titan, the mole was still breathing.

And Day 2 was only at 10:17am.