Meta Marshal Service 2 Read online

  Meta Marshal Service 2

  BN Miles

  Copyright © 2020 by BN Miles

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  About BN Miles

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  1

  Jared sat down at his desk with lukewarm coffee. His worn, black office chair, with its high round back and padded seat, let out a sigh as he relaxed into its patched and stained cloth back. It felt like settling into a warm nest, one he’d missed for a long time. The dull gray computer whirred to life as he surveyed his sparse desk.

  Notebooks stacked on one side, keyboard and mouse in the center. He didn’t keep personal pictures in his cube, didn’t keep anything in the way of decoration. He liked to keep things simple and professional at work. And besides, he didn’t have much in the way of family that he wanted to remember, although now he could probably get a picture of his girlfriends tacked to the corkboard on his cloth-wrapped cube wall. It’d look good among the requisition forms, prisoner release forms, and handwritten notes he had hanging all over.

  The Marshal on his right, an older guy named Harold Monroe, had family photos, his kids’ report cards, and old movie stubs tacked up along the wall of his cube. But Jared kept his personal space neat and orderly. Nothing leaked from home, and nothing leaked from work. It was nice and separated.

  Although Jared had to admit, for years his personal life had been nonexistent. As he moved in closer to his desk, his coffee sloshing in his hand, he wondered if maybe he’d gone from no personal life to way too much personal life in a very, very short timeframe. He was going to have to adjust to that.

  The office was hushed, although his coworkers shuffled around the space. The carpets in the Philadelphia branch of the Meta Marshal Service were about six inches thick and designed to absorb all stray sound. Cubicles stretched out as far as he could see, and the lanes between them were kept clear. Jared found that he had to be within inches of a colleague in order to hear them properly. Sometimes he thought the place was warded against stray sound, but no, it was just the thick carpeting, the padded cubicles, the walls draped with outstanding warrants and mugshots.

  Offices ringed the outside of the inner cube farm, where senior officers and upper management hid from the workaday drones.

  “Good to have you back, Jared.” Harold gamboled on over, moving down the lane between cubes, and lingered behind Jared’s desk.

  “Thanks,” Jared said, swiveling in his chair and sipping his coffee. It was bitter and weak, but better than nothing. “I got a pile of paperwork.”

  “Pile?” Harold snorted and looked over Jared’s shoulder at the stack of papers. “That’s a mountain, my friend.”

  Jared grinned with true delight. “The bigger, the better.”

  “You’re a freak, Bechtel. You know that, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good to have you back.” Harold grinned at him, then headed to his desk and slowly lowered himself down with a sigh.

  Jared scooted back to his own desk and stared at the monitor. The computer was fully booted, and all Jared had to do was enter his password and get to work.

  It’d been four weeks since he was last in the office. One week spent hunting down Ferric, and three weeks on medical leave. He didn’t need the time off, thanks to the Medlar healer Lumi sent in to fix him, but when Wyatt offered the 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 Meta Department.

  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 Ferric had left a lot of fallout. The MetaDept 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 didn’t envy 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.

  “Marshal 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 was barely enough room 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 had given him time to study his magic and start to get himself back into shape.

  “Good,” Wyatt said. “And how is your, ah… your home life?”

  Jared raised an eyebrow. “My home life, sir?”

  “Yes.” His Captain shifted in his chair and leaned forward. “You know what I mean. The Shifter.”

  “Were,” Jared corrected. “She’s a Were.”

  “Right, right. And the Dryad.”

  “Jessalene. Cassie and Jessalene.” Jared laughed. “They’re good.”

  “Good. Great.” Wyatt looked like he would rather swallow a stapler than have this conversation. “I heard that Cassie’s visa is coming through.”

  “Really?” Jared felt a flutter of hope in his chest. “That’s great news.”

  “Pissed a lot of people off, you know.”

  “I’m sure it did.”

  “Turns out, the MetaDept doesn’t like having a Worldhopper around.”

  “But if she’s getting a visa—”

  “Do you know her reason for that visa, Marshal?” Wyatt said, interrupting him.

  Jared frowned. “I don’t, sir,” he said.

  “Worldhoppers don’t just get a visa for nothing.” Wyatt’s voice was low and he was clearly annoyed, but Jared had no clue why. “We don’t just give them visitor status. They’re too dangerous for that, so they need a better reason.”

  “I’m not sure what reason they’re using,” Jared said. “That was all Lumi Medlar’s doing.”

  “Right. Lumi Medlar.” Wyatt scowled. “As it turns out, Cassie is listed as an important asset to the Meta Marshal Service on her visa form.” He paused to let that sink in. “She’s a protected asset, Jared.”

  Jared stared at him for a long moment then groaned. “Oh, shit.”

  “That’s damn right,” Wyatt said. “Oh shit.”

  “I didn’t know, sir.”

  “I believe you, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m getting chewed out daily for this. I’m not sure how it snuck through, or who Lumi Medlar bribed to make it happen, but her family’s annoyed, and my bosses aren’t much happier.”

  “Sir, I can change the form, come up with some other reason. Maybe we can—”

  Wyatt held up a hand. “Don’t bother. I already took the flack and I’m not about to turn tail on this. Just be aware that Cassie is here as a guest of the Marshal Service, and if things go sideways, it’s my ass on the line as well as your own. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” Jared let out a breath. He didn’t know how Lumi would get Cassie a visa, but he hadn’t expected this. He figured she’d come up with some fake excuse and the Medlar family name would get it pushed through the red tape. That’s clearly what had happened, but her excuse was causing more problems for them all.

  Listing Cassie as an asset of the Marshal Service meant she was supposedly providing assistance on some important case, either information or direct help. Her continued stay was contingent on that case and on her good behavior.

  Unfortunately, good behavior and Cassie don’t exactly mix.

  “I’ll make sure she stays out of trouble,” Jared said.

  “Good. Now, get that paperwork done. I don’t have any new case assignments for you just yet, but don’t expect that to last long.”

  Jared nodded and stood. “Thank you, sir. It’s good to be back.”

  Wyatt gave him a tight smile. “I bet it is.”

  Jared turned and left his office. He sighed as he returned to his desk and picked up his phone. Cassie had been texting him once every hour, just to check-in. Jessalene was out for the day, visiting her mother back at her clan’s land, and she wouldn’t be home until five or so. Cassie was bored and alone back at home, and he’d expressly forbidden her from going out until her visa had been processed and mailed out. So far, it seemed like she was listening, which shocked him.

  Jared: Wyatt’s pissed. Turns out, your visa application lists you as an important asset for the Marshal Service.

  Cassie: Is that bad?

  Jared: It means they’re liable for you.

  Cassie: Oh, I can see why Wyatt wouldn’t like that.

  Jared: So you need to be extra good.

  Cassie: I’m always good. I’m a treat.

  Jared grinned and went back to his paperwork.

  The day came to an end an hour later. He shut down his computer, checked his stack of forms, and smiled to himself—over halfway through in a single day. That must be some kind of record.

  He stood, stretched, grabbed his service weapon from his desk drawer and pushed it into its holster, hung his badge around his neck, and threw his light jacket over his shoulder. He walked out, waved to a few coworkers, and got into the elevator.

  The walk back to his house took about ten minutes. The Marshal offices were in an office building in Center City. It was a tall, concrete structure, with a wide-open lobby. People in business clothes flowed through the entrance, holding up badges, swiping to get through to the elevator bank. Multiple companies leased space in their building, which suited the Meta Marshals just fine. Hiding in plain sight has always been a strong suit of the MetaDept.

  Outside, the flow of traffic was heavy with people leaving work. Lots of suits, lots of briefcases and bags. Some students with backpacks, some homeless guys begging for change. Jared smiled as he wove his way through the pedestrian traffic. He breathed the Philly air deep and hurried east, heading out of the downtown area and into residential streets.

  He passed row home after row home, each one identical with their brick facades. He kept his jacket slung over his shoulder, his service weapon tucked into the holster in his belt.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like this.

  For a long time, the Marshal Service had been an escape. It wasn’t a form of happiness, not exactly. It was more like meditation, a method to get away from the past that wouldn’t leave him alone. Now, he was excited to head into work, and even more excited to come back to his house.

  He found the front door unlocked when he walked up the stoop. He turned the knob, pushed it open, and stepped into his place. He shut the door behind him and turned with a smile on his lips to find Cassie standing in the living room, a glass of whiskey in her one hand and a smile on her lips. She wore a very tight, very low-cut dress. It was black and clung to her hips and breasts, the semi-sheer fabric showing off just a hint of what was beneath.

  “Oh,” Jared said.

  “Welcome home.” Cassie grinned at him. She walked forward and handed him the glass. She took his jacket, his bag, and his service
weapon, laying them down on the table. He stood there and stared.

  She looked incredible. Cassie was beautiful on a bad day, but she looked like sex incarnate at that moment. Her red hair hung in loose curls down to her shoulder blades, and her wide, green eyes seemed to sparkle in the light. She turned to one side, a hand on her hip, head tilted, a vicious grin on her face.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You’re dressed up.”

  “Oh, this old thing?” She made a dismissive gesture. “This is nothing.”

  Jared sipped his whiskey, put the glass down on the coffee table, and advanced on Cassie. “I know what you’re doing.”

  She backed away from him, still grinning. “What am I doing?”

  “Tempting me.”

  “Tempting you how?”

  “Look at what you’re wearing. Low-cut dress, nice and tight. You’re showing off.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.” She bumped into the kitchen table and leaned against it with her hands. He stepped up in front of her and laced his fingers through her hair, pulling tight.

  He kissed her lips hard, tasting her gorgeous mouth, holding her tight like that for a long moment. He could feel his heart racing, his desire mounting.

  She slowly broke off from him. “Welcome home,” she said.

  “If you’re trying to tempt me into never leaving the house again, it’s working.” He kissed her neck, his other hand moving up to cup one firm, perky breast.