Marcus covered the mouthpiece with his hand and signaled to Officer Ramirez, who had been dozing in the corner, to get the patrol car ready. Then he returned to the phone. “Are there any other adults with you? Grandparents, maybe a babysitter?”
“No. It’s just me and them,” she replied.
“All right. I need you to tell me your address so we can come check everything out.”
She gave it slowly, stumbling over the numbers. Marcus wrote it down quickly, recognizing the neighborhood: a row of older houses near the outskirts of town. He kept his tone steady. “You did the right thing by calling. Now listen carefully. Stay in your room until we arrive. Don’t go wandering around. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” she murmured.
Ten minutes later, the police car rolled to a stop in front of a modest two-story home with peeling white paint. A porch light glowed faintly above the door. To Marcus’s surprise, the front door opened before they could knock. A little girl in a nightgown stood there, her eyes wide and frightened.
“They’re upstairs,” she said simply, pointing down the hall.