17

Something was wrong. Vince knew it the moment he laid eyes on Cherise. There was agitation in her actions, and she had her bag slung over shoulder. Her car keys in her hands.

Her shift wasn’t over for another two hours; he’d confirmed that himself when he’d walked her in and promised to be there to walk her to her car after she clocked out.

So why was she leaving so early? He met her just outside the door, underneath the portico to the emergency department. “Cherise, honey? Is something wrong?”

“Max…Max found the door to the house wide open. The lock was broken. I need to get home.”

She barely looked at him, her fear and worry making her almost unaware of anything around her. He wrapped his fingers around her elbows. “Start at the beginning.”

She pulled in a shaky breath. One thin hand spread over his chest. “Someone broke into our front door. Max is at a neighbor’s. I need to go get him. He’s already called Madison at the TSP.”

“I’ll drive you.” He made a decision. Work could wait. His was a salaried position—he could make up the time lost later. Ray was perfectly capable of filling in for him the rest of the afternoon.

He wasn’t about to let her face whatever she’d find alone.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll drive you. You can pick up your car later.”

She pulled in another breath and nodded. “Thank you. I’m a bit too shaken up to drive, I think. I need to get to my son.”

Vince was a parent, too. He understood. He’d get her there.