Page 23 of The County Line
He barks out a laugh, tossing his glasses on the table. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t know all five. In most cases, they want you to avoid the appearance of impartiality on parole cases, but in small towns like ours, it’s expected that you might know someone. Just disclose the relationship to Lydia so that she can make a record of it on file. As long as you’re not married to them, it won’t be an issue.”
I bite down on my lip to avoid divulging anymore details. “Thank you, sir,” then I nod and head back to my desk, before studying the photo of Colt again.
I wonder if he already knows that he’s been reassigned to me.
I flip open the schedule tucked into his folder to confirm his next appointment and realize that it’s today, in just one hour, at a private office address situated across town. I grab my purse and keys and move to stand up.
“Heading out already?” Lydia calls out with a smile. She’s now seated at her desk, flipping through a stack of laminated papers with fingerprints on them.
“Yep, going to meet with my first case.”
“Have fun!” she calls back.
I will.I just hope that he isn’t disappointed to see me.
Chapter 11 – Colt
“Fucking move, people,”I grumble, weaving in and out of the small town bumper to bumper traffic while I try not to be late to my weekly meeting with my parole officer.?
Not only am I in a piss poor mood because I had to pause pouring the foundation of my new home for this appointment, but she’d texted me last week saying that our meeting today would be all the way across town in a random office space she occasionally meets with her clients for check-ins.?
The timing couldn’t have been worse—lunch hour traffic in a small town, where every light seems determined to make me late. And being late isn’t an option, not with this woman. Even if I can tell she wants to sleep with me, I’m not about to risk her running to the judge to complain if I don’t show up exactly on time.
My truck lurches and sputters as I slam on the gas.
“Come on…” I mutter, gripping the wheel so tightly that the leather cracks underneath my fists.
I cut sharp off the main road, taking a side street to shave off precious seconds. Finally, the office building comes into view, and I barrel into the parking lot with just a minute to spare.
Throwing the truck into park, I jump out and dash through the front doors, heart pounding as I race into the lobby.
Well, there’s an emotion that I haven’t felt in a while, panic.Though I’m certain I felt that one a few times behind bars.
“Hello,” the receptionist greets with a wide smile.
“Here to meet with Isabel,” I grunt out, hardly giving her a glance.
She looks down at her chart then nods. “Room 617.”
I round a corner, weaving left and then right, taking in the variety of people scattered throughout the building. It seems like this space is used for everything—business meetings full of men in suits, a birthday party, and who knows what else. I can’t help but wonder how they’d feel if they knew a former convict, charged with assault, was wandering these halls.
Finally, I spot Room 617. Taking a steadying breath, I knock firmly.
“Come in!” a familiar voice calls from the other side.
I twist the doorknob and step inside, expecting Isabel—but it’s not her. Instead, it’s the one woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.
“Molly?” I ask, startled. “What are you doing here?”
She’s standing there in her police uniform, a snug pair of green cargo pants and a neatly tucked green polo withOfficer Patrickstitched across the front. Her jet-black hair is pulled back into a tight, low bun, and her piercing blue eyes are practically dancingwith mischief. She looks like she’s been waiting for this exact moment to catch me off guard.
“Surprise.”
I turn my head to the side, completely confused.
She laughs. “It’s a long story, but guess who’s Whitewood Creek’s newest parole officer.”
“Well, no shit.”
