Emily reached the door.
Her hand hovered over the knob.
She glanced back at Caleb.
He nodded once.
Permission.
She opened it.
A woman stood on my porch. Mid-thirties, dark hair pulled back, wearing jeans and a police jacket. Behind her, a patrol car sat at the curb, lights off.
“Emily Harmon?”
Emily’s voice broke. “Yes.”
“I’m Officer Rachel Mendez. We spoke on the phone four hours ago.”
The air went out of the room.
Caleb stepped forward, smooth as water. “Officer, I’m Caleb Torres. Emily’s boyfriend. Is there a problem?”
Officer Mendez didn’t look at him.
She looked at Emily.
“You called the non-emergency line at 3:47 this afternoon and said you needed someone to check on you during a family dinner. You gave this address. You said if you hung up suddenly, it meant you weren’t safe.”
Emily’s knees buckled.
I caught her.
Caleb’s face didn’t change, but his hand moved toward his jacket pocket.
“This is a misunderstanding,” he said. “Emily’s been under a lot of stress. She’s—”
“Step back from the door, sir.”
Officer Mendez’s voice was ice.
Caleb stopped moving.
“Emily,” Officer Mendez said quietly, “do you want to leave this house with me right now?”
Emily couldn’t speak.
She nodded.
Once.
Sharp.
Clear.
“Then come here.”
Emily moved.
