Meta Marshal Service 2

time, Cassie accepted on his behalf. The time off was good. He couldn't remember the last vacation he took. It was probably two years ago when he was sick with the flu, and then he had only lasted for a few days before he came in anyway. For so long, the marshal office had seemed like a haven for him, a fortress of silence and solitude where he could lose himself in the mindless bureaucracy of the metadepartment. He leaned forward, typed in his password, and logged in. The computer made a little chirping, whirling sound, and he smiled and patted its head. Good girl, he said. As he went to sip his coffee, his phone buzzed. Cassie. How's my man? Working hard? Jared. I'm just logging in now. Cassie. I'm so proud of you. You're the best marshal they have. You know that, right? You're perfect. Jared. Stop. Cassie. You're a prince. We're rooting for you, baby. He smiled and put his phone down. Once his computer fully booted, he took one more sip of coffee, turned to the mountain of paperwork, and got started. The search for Farrick had left a lot of fallout. The metadepartment had to go in and repair almost an entire city block up in the Kensington neighborhood of North Philadelphia, not to mention all the bystanders they had to memory wipe. It had been a huge undertaking, and Jared envied them one bit. Wyatt said there were grumblings from some higher-ups about docking his pay for months to help cover the expense, but of course that would never happen. He had gotten back a dangerous escaped convict, after all. He wasn't going to receive a commendation, but they couldn't exactly punish him either. Of course, he had to do the paperwork on it, since it all happened on his watch. The day slipped past like honey. He got about halfway through the stack by the time Wyatt decided to show up at his desk around four in the afternoon. His captain was a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair, a trim beard, and a gruff attitude. His skin was tanned, and his muscular physique suggested he kept himself busy. His clothes were always a little worn, always a little baggy. But he took no bullshit and did his job well. Wyatt was a former Marine sergeant, but now he was a captain in the Meta-Marshal Service, one of the highest-ranking members of the Philadelphia office. Marshall Bechtel, Wyatt said. Jared looked back at him. Captain, come to my office, son. He turned away and gestured for Jared to follow. Jared got up and walked along the padded carpet. Wyatt's office was more like a closet shoved in the corner of the building. Even though he was the captain of the Marshal Service here, it was still the Marshal Service. There were no perks, and there were no extras. The Marshals existed on a shoestring budget and had to make do with that. Wyatt sat down behind his desk while Jared lingered next to a chair. There were barely enough rooms for two chairs to face Wyatt's desk, and Jared wondered if another human could even shove himself into the space. Sit, Wyatt said. Jared sat and stretched out his legs, his toes bumping into the steel frame of the desk. Wyatt kept his office about as spartan as Jared did, though there was one family picture propped up in a frame next to his phone. Otherwise, the room was dominated by filing cabinets, drawers half open and overflowing, and stacks of folders on the ground that took up precious space. Wanted posters hung on the wall like in some old Western film, and neat stacks of blank forms were scattered along every other free surface. How's your first day back? Wyatt asked. Not bad, Jared said, just trying to make a dent in all the paperwork you left me. Wyatt snorted, like I was going to touch it for you. I wouldn't have it any other way, sir. He grinned. Well, then, consider that my welcome back present. Wyatt leaned back and studied him for a moment. You seem good. I am good. Physically? Better than a hundred percent, Jared said, which was true. The Medlar healer had put him back together, and three weeks off-