Page 199 of Perfect Pitch

“Almost?” she asks.

Colby smirks. “My agents should feel grateful it’s not winter.”

Paige frowns, but Kane and I groan in unison. It’s me who translates, “Guarding the fire escape.”

Caleb and Colby launch into the new security layout they have in mind—including shutting down the elevator shaft at night. Austyn plops back into her seat as the conference room listens to how Beckett Miller’s home is about to become a fortress.

At the end of the rant, Austyn holds up a hand. Caleb points at her. “Yes, Austyn?”

“Since you won’t listen to my request that Mitch is not on this assignment, I demand he stays with my family. He’s secured with us each night.”

Paige smooths her hands over her daughter’s head. “Whatever you need to heal, darling.”

Austyn shocks everyone with her bluntness when she says, “I’ll heal in time. Right now, I need the people I love alive.”

Someone begins to clap. Much to my shock, the person making the obnoxious sound is my uncle. I skew him with a filthy glare. And Beckett? His arms are crossed akimbo, and his lips are curved in his daughter’s direction.

“Mitch?” The question comes from Colby. “It’s your call. You have to decide if you can do the job being this vested in the outcome.”

My eyes don’t waver from Austyn’s when I reply, “It won’t be a problem.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

After all, it’s not a job if it’s something you love.

* * *

CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN

Watching television has been shown to lead to a more active but less-focused brain. Then how is this, “chilling out?”

—Moore You Want

“Welcome back!” Trevor exclaims. We chat for a while before he asks when he can, “finally see what you’ve done with your new place. If I didn’t know better, Austyn, I’d think you were ignoring me.”

I give big eyes to my father, who shakes his head. He mouths, No.

I yawn. “I’m sorry, Trev. I’m exhausted.”

“You just got back from a spa, Austyn. And we haven’t seen each other in forever,” he scolds.

“I know. I must have caught a bug—a bad one.” I cough lightly.

Trevor immediately turns remorseful. “Do you think it was on the plane home?”

“It must have been. Hey, I ran into your brother at the airport.”

His voice flattens, “Are you kidding? What was Mitch doing in the Med...”

I stare down at the scripted French and curving sheet music on my wrists before managing, “No idea. I didn’t see him on the plane, so it could be he was doing some scouting?”

“Maybe. Is Beckett planning a tour overseas? I didn’t hear any mention of it at work.”

“Who knows?” Then I get us back on track. I yawn deliberately. “Maybe in a few days we can catch up.”

“Rest. Then in a few days we’ll pick things up again,” he reasons sweetly.

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