Jerry folded his arms across his chest and sat on the edge of his desk. His tone softened. “How did your mom die?”
“Heart attack.” Sophie looked down. “I almost had a heart attack myself coming to your office today. I knew I was going back to prison.”
He gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry about your mom.”
His unexpected kindness, minutes after handcuffing her, started her tears anew. “Thanks.” She took a few breaths before asking, “How is your mom doing?”
“Not good.”
There was silence between them. “It gets easier,” she offered. Neither of them believed her words.
“Maybe you should try to make peace with your dad, Taylor. I bet he misses you.”
“He doesn’t,” she corrected. “He’s never approved of me, my whole life.” Sophie took a shuddering breath. “Jeez, I’m crying more than a psychotherapy client.” She flashed a wan smile. “You’re a pretty good psychologist, you know? You’ve got me telling you my family history, bawling like a baby. Your tissue technique could use a little work, though. It would be easier for your clients to wipe their own noses if their hands weren’t cuffed behind their backs.”
With a twinkle in his eyes, he said, “Well, I sure don’t want to wipe any more snot off of you, so you better stop the waterworks.”
“Sorry, I’ll try.”
Jerry could not believe what he heard himself say. “Maybe I’ll let you wipe your own nose. Maybe I’ll un-cuff you. If you go get a job today from your father.”
Sophie gasped. “But I can’t—”
“Taylor, don’t be an idiot! Tell him if you don’t get a job, you return to prison. I’m sure he won’t refuse you. No matter what’s happened in the past, no father could send his daughter back to prison.”
“You – you—you’ll give me another chance?”
“Against my better judgment, yes. But if I don’t get verification that you are employed by five o’clock today, I’m putting a warrant out for your arrest.”
She gulped. Getting released from the damn handcuffs did sound pretty good. After considering her less-than-stellar options for several moments, she finally gave in. “Okay.”
“Stand up.” He extracted a set of keys from his pocket and expertly unlocked the cuffs. Once she felt the cool metal leave her skin, she sobbed with relief, weeping into her hands.
*
“Jesus, Taylor, you’re crying harder now that I’ve let you go?” He shook his head disdainfully. “Women.”
Nervously jiggling his leg in a seat outside Jerry’s office, Grant’s eyes widened as two uniformed police officers brushed past him and entered the office. What was happening? Was that woman going back to prison? No, it couldn’t be! He hadn’t even had a chance to talk to her.
Grant heard raised voices in the office. Then the voices quieted, and the officers bustled out the door.
“Can you believe that shit?” one hissed to the other as they strode past him.
“As if we’ve got nothing better to do!”
Grant rose, wondering what the hell was going on as he watched the departing officers dash down the hallway. He turned back to the PO’s office, and suddenly she was there. She had just come out the door, and she was crying.
Her blond hair was swept up high on her head, accenting the splotches of pink on her alabaster cheeks and nose. A few tendrils had loosened from her ponytail to softly frame her face.
A small whimper escaped her lips when she noticed his expression of pure sympathy. Sharing such an intimate moment of emotional vulnerability, despite being virtual strangers, neither knew what to do.
Instinctively Grant gathered her in his arms. Sophie gratefully folded herself into his strong frame. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, feeling the comforting cotton of his navy-blue hoodie on her skin. His body was warm and solid and—God, he smelled good. His strong arms soothed away her tension and gradually slowed her tears.
Only then did Grant realize how inappropriate it was to just scoop an unknown woman into an embrace. She seemed to lean into him, creating a cocoon of coziness, but he had a fleeting worry that she might think he was some kind of aggressive pervert for mauling her with a hug. He was suddenly aware of her breasts pushing into his chest, and he abruptly let go of her for fear that parts of his anatomy would also be pushing out.
He glanced at his watch and shook his head. “Wait for me?” he pleaded.
She stared and then seemed to come to her senses. “Oh! You must want your jacket back.” She patted her bag, “I have it in here.”
“My jacket? No, I don’t care about my stupid jacket. You’re crying. You’re upset, and I want to talk to you. Wait for me?”
Sophie nodded. “I’ll wait for you.”
With one last glance in her direction, he disappeared into the office.
“You’re late, Madsen!” Officer Stone yelled as the door closed. Sophie hoped he wasn’t in too much trouble. It was no fun to be in trouble with their parole officer.
Wiping her eyes, Sophie sank into the metal chair in the hallway. She realized how tired she was after her emotional freakout. She unzipped her bag and peeked in on the White Sox jacket folded neatly inside.
She sighed. That had been a close one in there, but she was determined to stay in the prison-free forty percent. Her mouth tightened as she thought about going to see her father. But first she would speak to the crystal-eyed parolee, and she did not dread that at all.
She drew her shirt collar to her nose and inhaled deeply, drinking in the transferred smell of his aftershave. Sitting up a little straighter, Sophie eagerly anticipated a real conversation with the man. There seemed to be a mystery behind those gorgeous blue eyes, and she couldn’t wait to learn more about him.
9. CONvocation
After what seemed like an eternity, Grant finally exited his PO’s office and was relieved to find the woman still outside, just as she’d promised. Her tears had stopped, and her cap-sleeved white blouse and beige skirt seemed less disheveled than they had ten minutes ago.
His face lit up. “You waited.”
“Of course. I didn’t want to steal your jacket two weeks in a row, ‘cause then you might have to report me for a parole violation.” Hearing the man chuckle, she added, “I hope I didn’t get you in any trouble with Jerry.”
Grant raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so you two are on a first-name basis now?”
Sophie smiled. “We ought to be after what we went through today.”
“I was worried when I saw two bulls go in there.”
“That was a close call. Fortunately, Jerry let me go after I started bawling like a baby.” Shrugging sheepishly, she continued. “Sorry for subjecting you to that cry-fest. I must look like a mess.”
He did not believe this strawberry-blond beauty was calling herself that. She could never look a mess. “Not at all,” he reassured her. Clearing his throat nervously, he added, “Speaking of Jerry, of, um, first names … I’m—I’m Grant.”