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And the venue needs securing.

The estate itself is already locked down pretty tight. Carter employs a small army of private security, but most of them are glorified gate guards.

Not protection specialists.

Sigma sent me because the threats against Amanda were specific.

And personal.

So while she rehearses, I’m running through the mental checklist.

Entry points.

Sightlines.

Emergency exits.

The arboretum wing has three main doors, all reinforced glass. Good visibility, bad for defense.

The ceiling panels could theoretically be accessed from the roof if someone really wanted to get creative.

Not likely.

But not impossible either.

The trees add atmosphere, but they also create blind spots.

I should have two guards posted in here during the performance. Minimum.

But I’m here solo.

The pianist finishes the rehearsal piece, and Amanda steps off the stage, wiping her hands on her travel jacket.

She catches me staring.

Again.

“Well?” she says.

Her tone is sharp, but there’s curiosity in her eyes too.

“I need to change for tonight.”

Right.

Showtime is only a few hours away.

I nod and gesture toward the hallway.

“This way.”

She walks ahead of me.

Which turns out to be a tactical mistake.

Because now all I can see is her perfect ass swaying in those fitted travel pants.

Jesus Christ.