“Damn.”
He nods and gently raps his knuckles against the desktop. “That one is a long story, I’ve heard. Anyhow, they asked if I had any strong officers here who would be qualified and willing to step in as a parole officer temporarily until they can recruit some replacements.”
“A parole officer?” my brows bunch as I realize what he’s proposing and why.
He nods. “Yes. The department in Louisiana shared during your transfer that you’ve taken special rehabilitation courses while working on their force including de-escalation and case management classes.”
I had, but that wasn’t something I had shared with the Whitewood Creek police department when I joined. I wasn’t even aware that chief Allister had called my old department. Those were things I’d left behind in my past just like my ex-husband. The de-escalation class was taken because I thought there might be a day where I’d be put in a position to de-escalate my own living situation, and case management because I wanted to help support children who might be caught in dangerous situations like I’d been where I had no one to save me.
“That’s true…”
He smiles, leaning forward with a confidence that tells me he knows I’ll say yes. “So, will you do it? It’ll be just for a few months until they can staff up. You’ll have a client list, schedule appointments, check in on their progress, do home visits—basically make sure they’re meeting the terms of their parole. No certifications needed; we’ve already secured a special exception from the courts due to the staffing shortage.”
I bite down on my lower lip, suppressing the urge to tell himno.I like the chief, and I like my job working here, and from what I’ve heard, he’s much better than the sheriff that was running this town previously and had a hand in getting Colt sent away.
He notices, of course, his smile only widening like he knows he has me. “When it’s over, I’ll make it worth your while. All the good cases. Guaranteed.”
I laugh easily and shake my head because he knows what I really want.
“Oh, and did I mention the ten-thousand-dollar bonus?”
My jaw drops open. “Ten grand?” The words come out in a squeak, and I immediately hate myself for how desperate I sound but that kind of money would be life changing for me right now.
He nods knowingly. “Might be enough for a down payment on that house you’ve always wanted in town.”
He’s not wrong. I’ve dreamed of buying a place of my own for years. The duplex I rent now is fine for now, but it’s cramped, not in the best neighborhood, and worst of all—it’s notmine. I’ve always wanted something I could call my own, something I could customize to my heart’s content. Growing up in a rundown trailer on the outskirts of town, I spent more time dreaming about having my own space where no one could barge in and steal from me than living in the one I had.
Dammit. He knows exactly what strings to pull.
“You drive a hard bargain, chief.” I grin. “I’ll do it.”
“Excellent. Then I’ll let the courts know. Here’s your first five clients,” he says, handing me the folder. “Their appointments are already scheduled, so just give them a call or text to confirm. For now, stick to the locations set by their previous case manager—she already lined up this week’s meetings. Once you get a feel for things, you can adjust.” He pauses for a moment to smile at me with a nod. “Thanks for stepping up, Molly. I mean it. It won’t be forgotten.”
“No problem, sir.” I give him a polite nod, clutch the folder to my chest, and head straight back to my desk. Sitting down, I take a deep breath before flipping it open, ready to dive into the profiles.
The first file belongs to a young man, barely in his twenties, recently released after serving time for minor drug-dealing charges. The next scheduled meeting with him is in two days at a coffee shop in town.
I make a note in my phone so that I won’t miss the appointment and send him a reminder text.
The second file is for a young woman, just turned twenty-one, on parole for shoplifting from multiple thrift stores in Charlotte. The next scheduled meeting with her isn’t until the weekend.
I do the same, sending her a confirmation text and making a note on my schedule.
And then, the third file stops me cold. My eyes lock on the mugshot of inmate #808—Colton Marshall.
Parole for assault.
My fingers hover over the photo, brushing lightly against the paper as I pull it from the folder. His mugshot is from almost five years ago. He looks younger, his face softer, almost boyish. There are no tattoos on his neck like the ones he has now. His expression is heavy, his eyes carrying a sadness that draws me in, even through the grainy black-and-white image. And his frame? Lean, not the solid wall of muscle I saw earlier this week.
I stare at the picture longer than I should. My pulse quickens and tears fill my eyes as I look at the young man who was at one time full of hope and life.
Of all the people I could have been assigned to...Though I suppose it makes sense. How many parolees are there in Whitewood Creek, a place that boasts being one of the safest small towns in North Carolina?
I push back from my chair and walk back to the chief’s office on autopilot before knocking once again. “Sir?”
He glances up, his brows bunching. I hate to bother him more than once, but I have to know if I’m breaking any rules by being assigned to Colt as his parole officer.
“I know one of the individuals in this file. Is that a conflict of interest?”
