“But?” he prompted.
“But... they seem true. You are what he said you’d be.”
Martin couldn’t think of an answer to that that came anywhere close to what he really wanted to say.
That awkward silence marked the only time he’d ever been happy, even in a painful way, to see Judge McMillan bearing down on him.
McMillan had always reminded him of a vulture shifter. As far as Martin knew, there was no such thing, but if there had been, it would have been Terrence McMillan. At least a real vulture would have had an excuse for its ghoulish prying and its obvious delight in other people’s pain.
“Powell!”
“Your Honor,” Martin said mildly.
If they were going to use titles, he should have been Chief Powell or Chief Deputy Powell. But Terrence McMillan was the kind of man who wanted everyone’s respect without giving out any in return.
Tiffani seemed to shrink back into herself as McMillan inserted himself into their conversation, the sunniness of her demeanor clouding over quickly. Something had happened there.
Whatever it was, McMillan seemed indifferent to it, as if Tiffani were beneath his notice.
Crush him beneath our hooves, his pegasus suggested. He is rude to our mate and he’s an interruption. Teach him a lesson.
Trust me, Martin said, I’m considering it.
It was a good thing pegasi excelled at staying aloft during whirlwinds. This day would have already knocked him down otherwise.
“Why does everyone already know this was about a bomb?” McMillan growled.
That would have been a good question if he didn’t know McMillan already knew the answer.
“Your Honor, you know how fast gossip can spread in a courthouse. Everyone who works here knows what that sound means and someone talked. That’s all it ever takes.”
“I want that Marshal who was on duty in my courtroom fired at once,” McMillan said.
“Not going to happen.”
“This is not a debate, Powell!”
“You’re right, it’s not. You have influence, Your Honor, but you’re not above me in any chain of command. We don’t even work for the same level of the government. We share a building, that’s it. I have a responsibility to safeguard the courthouse and I take that seriously, as does—”
He had started to say “as does Deputy Acton,” reflexively wanting to defend Colby from McMillan’s wrath, but then he realized it was unlikely McMillan even knew who Colby was. Why name his target for him if he didn’t have to?
Martin smoothly concluded, “As does everyone on my team. And if you can think of a way for a man on guard duty in a courtroom to have stopped someone somewhere else from making a phone call, you can have my job, because you know it better than I do. We’ll be on guard and on high-alert for the safety of everyone in this building.”
“That’s not good enough!”
“It’s the only answer, so it’ll have to be.”
“I’ll have your badge for this,” McMillan hissed.
“I’m sure you’ll try.”
“It seems,” Tiffani said, her voice quiet but steel-strong, “like there are better things you could be doing, Your Honor. I’m sure the jury would like your leadership right about now. They’re probably confused and frightened.”
McMillan finally seemed to notice that she was standing there.
“Yes.” His tone implied that he caught her mockery but didn’t know exactly what to do with it: could someone really think that his leadership was a joke? “They probably are. We’ll discuss this later, Powell.”
He swept off in a flurry of black robes. Like an evil sorcerer.