Page 8 of Protected

Chelsey sat forward and propped her forearms on the worn, oak desk. “I’m really proud of you, Gwen. You have accomplished almost everything you set out to do when you first got paroled. Including joining the peer support group.”

“It has helped a lot. Glad you suggested it.” Pride radiated in her eyes, and there was an independence about her that hadn’t been there when they’d started working together. “I couldn’t have accomplished anything without your help and belief in me. Chelsey, I’ll never be able to thank you enough for your constant encouragement.”

At thirty-six, the five-foot-four, hundred-and twenty-pound mother of two had served five of a six-year prison sentence for involuntary manslaughter. With olive skin, hazel eyes, and a timid smile, she didn’t look like a former criminal. She looked more like a college student. Not a woman who’d been in an abusive marriage before accidentally killing the father of her children.

According to Gwen, her ex-husband had been drunk. When he backhanded their youngest daughter, Gwen lost it. It had been bad enough that he thought it okay to knock her around in front of their kids. But she drew the line at him laying a hand on her girls. She hadn’t meant to kill him when she struck him on the back of the head with a baseball bat. No, Gwen had only been trying to get him away from her daughter. Still, she ended up serving time for the act.

Gwen was the type of client who Chelsey wished she could work with all the time. All things considered, the woman was thriving. The first time they’d met, Chelsey knew Gwen wanted to get her life back on track and was prepared to put in the work. She had vowed to do whatever necessary to create a better life for her and her daughters.

“I hate that I’m being reassigned to a new parole officer, but I’m glad you were my first,” Gwen said on a chuckle, and Chelsey smiled. “I wish you could stay until my parole is up, but I understand the need to move on to bigger and better things.”

Chelsey was confident that the move to Supreme Security would be better. Even working in the office with Egypt, the pay would be more than she was currently making. But it wasn’t just about the money. She was also looking for the variety the job would bring. More than anything, though, she was confident that she’d soon become one of few women security specialist at the company.

“We’ll meet one more time before you leave this place behind, right?”

“Yes, same time next week.” Chelsey decided to do something she’d never done. She jotted her personal telephone number on a slip of paper and slid it across the desk. “Keep that in a safe place and stay in touch. Let me know when you’re off parole and how the new job is going.”

“I will, and thanks again for the job referral. The people at the printing company are great, especially my supervisor. Did you know that he worked my schedule so that I can drop my girls off at school and pick them up? On top of that, with what they’re paying me, I’m able to save a little money. Hopefully we’ll be able to move to a better neighborhood within the next six months.”

“I have no doubt you’ll make it happen.” And Chelsey planned to make some inquiries with people she knew whoowned rental properties. Any assistance she could give this woman to help her get ahead, she’d do it.

Chelsey dealt with all types of parolees. Her favorites were those trying to become a better person and create a new life for themselves, like Gwen.

But she also had to deal with those who didn’t give a damn. From gang members to murderers, she’d had to work with them all, but the position shined a spotlight on something she hadn’t considered. Many of her clients were products of the environment they grew up in. Some had grown up with drug-addicted parents or in foster care, and some had even lived on the streets, raising themselves.

So when Chelsey worked with parolees trying to help them get back acclimated into society, she kept that in mind. When she was a cop, there were many days when she felt like she didn’t make a difference. At least in her parole officer position, she felt like she did.

She and Gwen talked a few minutes longer about the woman’s current living situation, her kids, and the new job. Gwen spoke animatedly about all of it, her happiness pouring through her words. Before her husband died, she’d been a stay-at-home wife and mother. Now she was getting a chance to try new things and figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.

Chelsey and Gwen were standing in the center of the office when the door flew open.

“Chelsey, I was thinking…” Victor McGill, her coworker and another parole officer, said before pulling up short inside the door.

“Haven’t you heard of knocking before you enter someone’s private office?” she snapped. He was one of her least favorite people and a person she wouldn’t miss even a little when she left.

Victor didn’t respond; his attention was solely on Gwen. From the top of her curly reddish-brown hair to the flats she wore on her feet, he didn’t miss anything as his gaze strolled back up her body.

He moved forward and extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Victor McGill, and you are?”

Gwen didn’t move nor did she respond. Still leery of some men, especially the slick talkers who could be spotted a mile away, she just looked at Victor’s hand.

Chelsey stepped between them, forcing Victor to move back. “It’s none of your business who she is.” Thankfully, Gwen scurried out of the office without introducing herself but promising to see Chelsey soon.

“What is your problem?” Victor bit out the moment Gwen left the room. “I was only introducing myself.”

Yeah, that’s how it would start, but then he’d flash his attractive smile highlighted with twin dimples. He would then pour on the charm. The charm he had mastered and used on unsuspected women.

Chelsey couldn’t deny he was a good-looking man despite being a tad bit overweight. At forty years old, his short hair was mostly black with a little graying near the temples. Average height at around five-foot-ten, he had at least fifty pounds on her. Still, Victor could probably turn a few heads. At least until he opened his mouth and started talking.

Considering how inappropriate he could be around the office, the man-whore should’ve been fired years ago for being a narcissistic, misogynistic jerk. Chelsey would be surprised if he didn’t have at least a couple of warnings in his personnel file. His behavior and some of the things he’d said to coworkers, as well as clients, was often inappropriate. Most women around the office ignored him, or waved him off as a flirt.

In Chelsey’s eyes, he was a predator.

Weeks after she had become a parole officer, he had found her in the staff lounge. She wasn’t positive, but she was fairly sure he’d been high on something that day. Not high enough to be overtly noticeable, but high enough to step to her the wrong way.

She’d been reaching in one of the upper cabinets for sugar when he thought it was okay to grind against her ass. Out of reflex, she jammed her elbow back as hard as she could, catching him in his ribs. Then she punched him in the jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor where he had laid stunned.

“If you ever put your hands on me again, I’ll beat your ass, and then I’ll report you,” she had said to him.