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“No problem, Jeanine. I know we’re shorthanded right now.” Not even remotely true, but Jeanine is young and new to the workforce. I can’t bring myself to explain the inner workings of office politics and how easily they can crush adolescent dreams. She deserves at least a few more months of blissful ignorance.
After a rushed “Thank you,” Jeanine flits out of my sad excuse for an office. Leaving me to my excessively full caseload and the incessant background noise of a phone that never stops ringing.
Flipping the file open, I thumb through the previous caseworker’s notes, whatever bullshit Gary has managed to add, legal documents, and photos acquired from the school and hospital.
Fuck.
My head throbs as I read through the details, the words starting to blur the more I get through. Evidence of abuse, child neglect, addiction. I want to cry at the hours of work ahead of me, the bone-deep exhaustion overtaking my system, and the knowledge that sleep isn’t coming for me any time soon.
I know this isn’t sustainable, but right now, I don’t have a choice.
I have a job to do and children who need to be cared for. But first, I need a quick caffeine hit, or I won’t be a help to anyone once I arrive. Deciding to call in backup from my cell, I get ready to leave, jotting a quick note of the address and estimated arrival time.
Packing up my notes, I place the file on my laptop and shove everything inside my messenger bag. I pull the strap over my head and flip off the small desk lamp before heading out the door.
I cut through the office and take the stairs to avoid running into my colleagues in the elevator or lobby. I exit the building onto Main Street, hoping the brisk walk will help clear my head.
Stopping in the alley, I dial our agency’s local police department number and wait for someone to pick up.
“ECPD, this is Shelia.”
“Hey, Shelia. This is Tanner Morgan with ECCPS. I’m calling in a late-night check-in.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Morgan. Let me get the details and confirm the squad car in the area.”
I place her on speaker and open my notes app on my phone before rattling off the address and names of the adults I suspect will be in the home. Shelia verifies my estimated arrival time and rattles off the squad car and officer contact information should I need it while I’m there. I save the note and end the call.
Checking the time, I confirm I have at least twenty minutes to grab some coffee.
The biggest coffee.
All the coffee with a shot or two of espresso.
Checking both ways for cross-traffic, I dodge a taxi and sprint across the road to my favorite diner, which is miraculously now open late. Rise & Shine has some of the best coffee in the state, and I would likely burst into tears if I had to trek across town and into a Starbucks for my caffeine fix right now.
It’s past the typical hour for dinner patrons, and the late-night partiers looking for grease-soaked food to sop up the alcohol haven’t started pouring onto the streets yet. The perfect time to get in there and place an order to go.
If I’m a really lucky boy, there may even be a cookie or something I can buy to snack on. A little extra sugar can’t hurt at this point, and I deserve a cookie simply for taking on tonight’s case without throwing a fit.
Determined to treat myself, I grab the metal handle and whip open the door, the bells jingling to announce my arrival. I’m so damn excited that I completely miss the large mass blocking the entrance and run full speed into someone.
Their body is so hard that I stumble with enough force to tip backward. I prepare for the pain—and embarrassment—of landing on my ass when a thick hand wraps around my forearm and pulls me in the opposite direction. Another hand steadies me by my shoulder.
It’s a little disorienting to be moved around so rapidly. I have to blink several times to get my wits about me. When I can fully stand on my own and open my eyes, a familiar voice grumbles above me.
“Tanner, sweetheart, are you okay?”
“Daddy?” I ask, my stupid and mushy brain completely forgetting we don’t really know this man. That no matter how enchanting he is in my dreams, he’s not anything more than a casual acquaintance.
An acquaintance staring at me with more concern than even my family can manage on their best days and holding me so tightly I’m afraid I’ll collapse if he lets go.
I take a chance and glance at the man towering above me. “Sorry. Um. Hi, Dean.”
His scowl breaks slightly, the threat of a smile twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Hi, sweetheart. Want to tell me what has you running in here so late? Or why the bags under your eyes look even worse than the last time I saw you?”
Uh-oh.
NINE
