Page 95 of Perfect Pitch

“Thanks for coming in.” Colby stands and makes his way around his desk. He extends his hand for me to take, which I do.

“Kane understood the summons.”

Colby gestures to the small conference table on the far side of his office. I take a seat while he reaches back for his mug. Lifting it, he asks, “You want one? I can ask Tony to snag one for you before we start.”

“That’s okay. I’ve hit my limit for today.”

“You’re a stronger man than I. Corinna sends me off with a travel cup in the morning. She claims it’s so I’m not a beast to the employees here before I’m fully loaded but really it’s because I’m addicted to her homemade caramel sauce.”

My lips twitch. “It’s a good thing I was there yesterday. My uncle feels the need to share photos when your wife sends him home with goodie bags.”

Colby shakes his head. “Charlie can be a royal pain in the ass, but he was our conscience when he worked here.”

“He’s the best. Neither my brother nor I would have turned out to be who we are without his influence.”

Colby leans back in his chair. “You entered the academy right at twenty-one.”

I cross my arms over my chest, wondering where he’s going with this. “I took the test at eighteen. Became an MTA cop at nineteen until I received my official appointment. Spent my first year after the academy on foot deterring robberies and trying to stop people from selling drugs in the hood they tagged me with.”

As if he likely has this memorized, Colby asks, “Then?”

My hands rise and fall. “I was on patrol for the next two years, and I’d say the majority of my cases were domestic violence. It didn’t take long to realize the only thing predictable about those kinds of cases is they’re unpredictable.” And heartbreaking. Every single one.

“Then you earned your shield,” Colby concludes.

“I had it for less than two years before I turned it back in.

“Why?”

“It’s always a challenge to explain the horrors of domestic abuse, the terrors the victims suffer, and the complete inadequacies the laws have to protect the victims.”

“So, you left.” I hear the censure in Colby’s tone.

“No, I found balance. I still volunteer what time and resources I can to organizations like Send Me an Angel.”

His jaw falls open. “That’s not in your file.”

I shift uncomfortably. “It’s personal.”

“Nothing’s personal when Sam pulls your profile,” he counters, referring to one of Hudson’s co-owners, Sam Akin—computer hacker extraordinaire.

I bark out a laugh. “True.”

“Why do it?”

I decide to lay it out. “Because you’re right. I left the victims. It was my choice because I couldn’t handle one more case where a stalker turned into a more violent offender.”

Colby pinches the bridge of his nose while I continue. “I became a cop because I always wanted to be one. But I fast-tracked it and burned out.”

“That makes sense,” Colby agrees slowly.

“When our parents abandoned Trevor, I never would have had the means to raise him. Had it not been for Charlie, I can’t predict how different our lives would have been.”

Colby nods before he takes a sip of coffee. His expression is thoughtful. “One thing I’ve learned over the course of my career—both my years in the military and then here at Hudson—is things happen unexpectedly to us that may not make much sense at the time. Ultimately, life has a way of making course corrections we don’t recognize we, ourselves, need to make.”

Colby’s eyes are telling me something much more than his words are. Lightly, I ask, “Are you sharing this with me because it’s useful information or because my life is about to be upended?”

Colby doesn’t insult me by beating around the bush. “Both.”

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