Page 4 of His to Burn

The scratchy voice sounded tinny through the speaker, but I heard the annoyance. Just like I now saw it on Powell’s face.

He huffed, and then waved the person behind me in, again uncaring when the metal detector went off.

“Powell here,” the man grunted into the walkie, looking like he was ready to lose his shit.

I didn’t know the man, but could guess his type.

He was coasting to retirement after a couple decades as a cop. This crap wasn’t a part of the package.

“We need you across the street,” the voice said.

Powell’s eyes practically bugged out, but his tone was surprisingly even when he said, “Who’s going to man the metal detectors?”

“Close ’em down and get your ass over here.”

Powell huffed but didn’t bother to respond. Instead, he quickly waved through the last five people waiting in line and pulled down the metal grate that separated the entryway from the rotunda.

The wobbly metal creaked as Powell pulled the grate down, the scrape against the floor irritating my eardrums.

“Powell,” I said, risking speaking to the guard even though he was pissed.

I felt for him, but I was ready to get the hell out of this courthouse, out of this city, and back to my ranch and my little brother, Evan.

I’d been here too long already.

“Yeah,” Powell grunted as he bent over to lock the grate to the floor.

“Do you know where I can find Ryan Anderson? He’s a DA,” I said.

“He send you over here?” Powell asked.

“Yeah,” I responded.

Powell looked me up and down. No surprise really. There was probably some policy about giving information like that out. Plus, my leather jacket, utility pants, and boots didn’t exactly scream average citizen.

But Powell must have found me acceptable enough or no longer gave a shit.

He nodded toward the bank of elevators at the opposite end of the rotunda. “Go to the seventh floor. Eight bailiffs called in, so all of today’s cases have been moved to one floor. If you’re looking for Anderson, he’ll be there,” Powell said.

I gave him a nod of acknowledgment.

He didn’t bother to return it, and I couldn’t stop the grim smile that turned my lips up as I watched him walk away from the security desk looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

I didn’t linger.

Instead I moved toward the elevators, my mind still disbelieving I was even here.

This was supposed to be a one-day trip.

I flew in to pay my respects to one of the few men I considered a friend. Vaughn had taken me under his wing when I was fresh out of boot camp, and we’d been through hell and back together, with Vaughn laughing the whole way.

Part of me couldn’t believe a fucking virus had finally put him down.

Him and five hundred thousand other people so far, according to reports.

The funeral had been what Vaughn had wanted, me and five other Marines dumping his ashes into the mighty Chattahoochee River and then getting shitfaced.

The celebration of life had gone according to plan until I’d been the one lucky enough to have a front-row seat to the bartender losing her shit and biting off another customer’s nose.