“From what they told me today, he had it rough in the system. Heard you talking to Bettina about my visit, was afraid I was taking you back... Why don’t you let people show you what they can do before you automatically assume they’ll disappoint you?” He’d said the same to Bill Heber in his most recent conversation. That parolee was one he knew better, one who’d passed every single one of Jayden’s tests, being where he was supposed to be, doing what he was supposed to be doing, on every surprise visit. And Heber’s response had been pretty much the same as Wallace’s was then. Complete silence.
“I’ll be by in the morning,” Jayden said. “Same time. You going to be there?”
“Yeah.”
It wasn’t any kind of assurance that life would go well for Wallace. Or that he’d manage to not join the statistics of repeat offenders. But it was a start.
Jayden was all about new starts.
Chapter 2
Jayden studied the beer in the refrigerator as he contemplated dinner. Opted for store-bought cookies and milk instead. Mostly he went for the cookies because it was one bend, a grab, and he could take a seat.
He’d listened to his messages—tended to the one call that had come directly from a client. A parolee who wanted to visit his daughter in another county over the weekend. Unfortunately, he’d been unable to allow Luke Lincoln to leave the area and hoped his refusal didn’t have adverse effects on the man’s progress.
When he’d made a couple of calls to check the man’s story, he’d found that the little girl wasn’t actually in the hospital, nor had her mother given permission for her father to see her. She’d said something about apparently needing to take out another restraining order against him.
Jayden called for an extra drive-by on Lincoln’s house that night, penciling in a time in the morning to make a surprise work visit. And he called police in the county where the mother and daughter resided, alerting them to the possibility that one of his clients might break parole. There was nothing more he could do. Not until the guy actually did something wrong. In the end, everyone had the right to make their own choices. Even bad ones. And if he didn’t believe in second chances, he might as well be dead. The system he believed in, and worked for, had a process by which a man was given a second chance. He could help some, but in the end, he had to let that system work, or fail, according to the parolee’s individual choice.
That brought him to the return phone call he’d been putting off. He had to make it. Just didn’t trust himself not to answer any other types of signals the beautiful prosecutor might put out while they talked business. She never crossed a line or did anything overtly flirtatious. He never would, either. But the tension between them simmered there, ready to ignite if either of them gave it a chance.
According to his take, anyway. And when it came to women, and matters of consensual sex, or even consensual attraction, he could pretty much rely on his take. The one thing he’d always gotten right.
Even when he’d done everything else wrong.
Emma Martin... He hardly knew her. Had only had a few brief conversations with her. And she turned him on like none other.
Weird.
He didn’t like it when things—even spontaneous attraction—happened out of the ordinary. When he didn’t completely recognize what was happening.
Too hard to control things like romantic connections.
But he made the call. His job required it, and one thing was absolutely certain. Jayden was all about the job. Because it was his own second chance.
* * *
He was still hot.
Maybe hotter.
Shut up!
Emma’s internal monologue didn’t bode for a good meeting as she strode toward the probation officer standing in the reception area of the newly established Santa Raquel County prosecutor’s office.
She’d been out with friends when he’d called the night before. She’d also been halfway through a glass of iced tea at a wine bar and defending herself against their constant barrage in her ongoing fight against giving in and getting a cat. She’d mentioned one night over wine that she hated going home sometimes because there was nothing there but furniture and things. She’d been trying to confide in them about something hugely personal. They’d been certain her solution was a self-sufficient pet.
Growing her family was already in her plans—but not with a cat. Because of her friend’s earlier reaction, she wasn’t yet sharing that tender and fragile news with anyone. Her friends also had no idea she was prone to thinking that the man in front of her in jeans and a light-colored polo shirt, with a weapon on his hip, was Hunk of the Month material. And good for all twelve months.
“Officer Powell.”
“Call me Jayden.”
She met his gaze because it would be churlish not to. Took his hand, started to shake it and stopped when he gave a little start. His ribs...he’d told her the night before he was fine, just a bit of bruising, but she figured he’d been making light of his injury.
“How did you sleep?” she asked, trying to ignore the shot of awareness that burst through her as the warmth of his palm connected with hers. And even resisted the urge to wipe her hand down the hip of her slim-fitting black pants—anything to stop the tingling as she stood there next to him.
“In my recliner,” he said with a slight chuckle. “Once I got settled, I was fine.”