Page 7 of Perfect Pitch

I rest my forehead against the steering wheel. More to myself than him, I mutter, “I’ve barely entered the academy. I hardly have enough money to support myself.”

Bravely, in my estimation, my brother offers, “I can make it on my own.”

I growl, “The hell you can. I just have to figure out who to ask for help.”

Then, an incoming call interrupts us. “Hold on a second. I want to make certain this isn’t Mom and Dad.”

“I’ll be here,” he says faintly.

I flip over to the other line and bark out, “Clifton.”

“Well, don’t you sound chipper, son. Are they working you too hard at the academy?” a familiar voice drones in my ear.

I breathe, “Uncle Charlie.” Charlie Henderson was my aunt’s husband for about ten years. Even when they divorced, they remained friendly enough that Charlie never left our lives though his work for a Manhattan investigations firm has kept him busy in recent years.

“How’s it going?” Charlie’s warm voice surrounds me just as a tidal wave of panic was about to wash over me.

“Really crappy if you want the truth.” I give him a brief rundown of what I know.

Soon, Charlie’s barking out orders to people I can’t see on the other end of the phone. The only words I understand are, “And don’t leave a damn thing of his behind!”

“Charlie, what are you doing?”

“We’re rescuing your brother. What the hell does it sound like I’m doing? Those contemptible, motherfucking ass—‍”

I interrupt. “Charlie, Trevor’s on the other end of the line. Maybe I should tell him to expect a team of commandos in the next thirty minutes?”

“Check. Where are you now?”

“Still in Queens.”

“Come to my office in the city in an hour. We’ll figure out a game plan then.” Charlie disconnects, whereupon I promptly switch back over to Trevor. “Hey. Sorry that took so long.”

“Was it them?” he asks tremulously.

“No, it was something better.” Quickly, I fill him on what’s about to happen.

His tears make his voice warble. “Uncle Charlie to the rescue.”

“Yeah, buddy. But get ready, the cavalry is coming. I’ll see you at Charlie’s in a bit.”

Disconnecting, I put my car in gear and begin the pain in the ass drive into Manhattan. What should normally be a forty-minute drive takes closer to the full hour with a couple of accidents that route me onto Grand Central Parkway.

After passing through security with a visitor’s badge around my neck, I use the keycard to make my way to Uncle Charlie’s office on the executive floor of Hudson Investigations. I’m greeted by the executive floor admin, Tony—a man who could likely still take down the youngest street fighter with one hand tied behind his back. Tony doesn’t waste time with platitudes. “He’s waiting for you.”

I’m escorted past the closed doors of the company’s owners, Caleb Lockwood, Keene Marshall, and Colby Hunt, into my uncle’s domain. And I come up short.

Because Trevor’s whole body is shaking with the force of his sobs. “Why couldn’t I be more like Mitch, Charlie?”

“Because you’re you, Trevor. You don’t have to be anybody but yourself,” Charlie soothes him.

“He’s right, you know,” I announce. My brother’s tear-streaked face swings in my direction.

Trevor’s composure starts to come together, and then whatever demons are fighting in his head cause him to break again. “But where am I going to live.”

Charlie pushes to his feet and clasps a hand on his shoulder. “That’s easy. With me.”

My body falls against the jamb to stay upright at our uncle’s incredibly generous offer. “Charlie.”

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