Page 14 of The County Line (Whitewood Creek Farm #2)

“Good morning, Molly!” Lydia, the Whitewood Creek police department’s records clerk calls out to me over a file cabinet full of folders.?

Lydia stands next to her desk, flipping through the piles of paperwork with an intensity that makes the bun holding back her dark blonde curls look like it’s ready to give up. Her black-rimmed glasses slide down her nose as she works making her look like some sort of librarian.

Despite her current scowl, Lydia has been one of my first and dearest friends since I joined the police force in Whitewood Creek. She’s a rare find—sunny, kind-hearted, and completely free of judgment about my family’s less-than-sterling reputation in town.

Her own background may be the reason behind her immediate acceptance of me: the reverend’s daughter, the quintessential good girl with a spotless record.

I’ve never heard her swear, and though she occasionally sips a cocktail during our department happy hours, I’m half-convinced her favorite drink—mojitos—are always made virgin.

Our department is small just like our town, but we’re busier than you’d think.

With drugs creeping into the area from Charlotte and small-town crimes bubbling up here and there, keeping Whitewood Creek the safe, picturesque place it’s known for takes more work than it seems. Still, our community holds tight to its charm.

It’s been featured in magazines and online as one of North Carolina’s most beautiful towns to visit.

It’s the host of the North Carolina State Fair, our claim to fame and draws visitors every fall in the thousands.

It’s a world away from what I left behind in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. There, I was just one officer among hundreds, competing for promotions and dealing with violent criminals and high-profile cases. Respect was hard to come by, and I was just another badge in a sea of blue.

Here, I’ve earned recognition and a strange, almost redemptive respect that feels new based on my experiences down south.

People see me as experienced—someone they can rely on—not just the daughter of the town’s infamous illegal gambling kingpin.

It’s a welcome change, one I didn’t think I’d ever have the chance to see or embrace.

“Hi Lydia,” I slide a cup of the new, seasonal coffee from the cafe down the street across her desk towards her. “The spring blend.”

“You’re the best, have I told you that lately?”

I smile.

She leans forward like she has a secret, and I lean in. “Did you hear the mayor is stepping down?”

“No way!”

She nods. “Apparently, Troy Marshall’s new governor position has all of our local government in disarray.”

“Probably a good thing for him to get out before he’s kicked out against his will.”

She nods. “Definitely. I think we all knew it was coming when the sheriff retired. Plus, the State fair is coming up at the end of October and with the mayor out, they don’t know who will help coordinate the whole thing.”

“Don’t they have a planning committee for that?”

“They do, but the mayor usually oversees it.”

“I see...”

“I’m guessing they’ll hold an emergency election at the end of this summer to swear in a new one. We’ll probably see an uptick in small crimes until then. Gotta be on guard.”

“Great,” I respond sarcastically as she nods.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you, the chief said he wants to see you.”

My stomach sinks because an unplanned meeting with the chief of our PD is never a good thing. He stepped up when the previous, corrupt sheriff retired just a month ago. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“No, I promise you’ll like this news.” She pushes her glasses up higher on her nose with a warm smile. “Pretty sure he’s got an interesting assignment for you.”

“Oh… okay.” I nod, swallowing the urge to spiral. My mind jumps straight to worst-case scenarios—getting fired from the job I just started because of my past. Because of my ex-husband.

Divorce has a way of clinging to you long after the ink dries.

And my ex? He made sure his shadow would follow me wherever I went.

When I walked away from him in Louisiana, he swore I’d never work as a cop again.

Not in that town. Not anywhere. He promised to ruin me, just like he tried to back then.

The truth is the brotherhood in the department only extends so far.

They put on a good show—camaraderie, loyalty, unity—but I learned the hard way that the women they are involved with aren’t included in that bond when things get messy.

For years, I played along, trying to fit in, trying to make it work.

But when I finally found the courage to leave, I realized something: if he was going to destroy me no matter what, I’d rather take my chances running than stay trapped.

And now, here I am. Back in my hometown.

I drop into my desk chair, setting my iced matcha down with one hand while wiping my sweaty palms on my uniform with the other.

It was supposed to be an easy patrol day—a quiet drive through our small town looking for speeders and trespassers, enjoying the warmth of early spring.

This is my favorite time of year. The world feels alive again, everything blooming and vibrant after a long, cold winter.

People are out, shaking off the gray months, and for once, crime takes a bit of a backseat.

It’s a small blessing in a job where chaos can pop up at any time.

Today, I’ll take that peace wherever I can get it, but it sounds like that won’t be happening today.

I brush my black hair back into a tight, low bun and then smear on some lip gloss before walking around the permitter of white cubes towards chief’s office.

“Hi, Chief Allister, heard you wanted to see me?” I knock gently on his door.

The chief glances up from something he’s reviewing on his computer with a warm smile.

He’s a nicer, older gentleman in his fifties now.

Grew up with my dad and understood the situation that I’d been put in as a child which is why he was willing and understanding about hiring me despite my family’s reputation.

Plus, I’m a damn good officer and had proven myself as such during the decade that I spent working in Louisiana.

“Hi Molly. Come on in and close the door behind you. How are you doing today?”

“Fine…” I turn to close the door then slide into the seat across from him. He smiles, immediately putting my nerves to rest.

“Don’t be nervous, this is a good meeting.”

“Okay...”

He sits back in his chair and folds his hands over his stomach. It smells like coffee and cigarette smoke in here. A testament to the years where you could smoke in the PD offices.

“The Department of Corrections reached out to me late last night. They’re struggling to find parole officers who are willing to travel to Whitewood Creek or already live in town.

They’ve had some turnover, one just went out on maternity leave, another quit and a third has been put on administrative leave while they investigate her for misconduct with a parolee. ”

“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 him no. 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 not mine .

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?”

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.