Mine To Protect

There was nothing like an assassination attempt to throw your whole life completely off-kilter. Newly minted Supreme Court Justice Bastion Sullivan was finding that out the hard way. 

“Stop being a stubborn ass, Bastion.”

“Is that any way to talk to a Supreme Court Justice?” Bastion Sullivan joked, attempting a charm smile, but his long-time friend remained unimpressed.

“Your shiny new robes mean nothing to me, Sullivan,” Cassandra Briggs reminded him stonily, refusing to soften until she won this particular battle. “Especially when we’re talking about your life.”

“Cassandra …”

“Save it,” she warned, raising a well-manicured hand. “That tone didn’t work on me when we were ten and it doesn’t work now. We can’t ignore these threats anymore. You need protection.”

“I have protection, Cass,” he reminded her calmly, but she sent him a withering glare.

“You nearly got your head blown off yesterday,” she hissed. “Clearly, the Court police is not enough.” Pacing in agitation, she ranted, “You know, I still think Justices should get Secret Service protection.”

“There’s nine of us, Cass,” Sullivan interjected pragmatically. “And most of the public doesn’t even know who we are anyway.”

“Yeah, but the ones that do are the crazies and the psychos,” she grumbled, this particular argument one they’d debated numerous times before. “It doesn’t matter anyway. There’s been plenty of publicity surrounding your appointment.” She threw him a smirk. “And believe me, people know who you are, Bastion.”

She was using his first name on purpose, just to needle him. Almost no one did. He wasn’t particularly fond of it and nearly everyone used his last name. Perfectly acceptable and normal, not something that made him sound like a character out of a medieval romance.

Sullivan rolled his eyes at her not so veiled reference that his face and name seemed to be plastered everywhere lately. In the two months since his appointment, the media seemed more concerned with his physical appearance and single status than his jurisprudence. His photo appeared to be plastered every damn where these days. One particular groan-inducing magazine article had called him the ‘sexiest legal mind to ever grace the bench’ and somehow, the so called reporter had managed to find a picture of him at the gym to print along with it. God, Cassandra had a field day with that one, Sullivan remembered with a wince.

"Isn’t there anything you can do to prevent this kind of crap,” he had grumbled, slapping down the offending article on her desk. “This has absolutely nothing to do with my politics or my decisions or any damn thing even remotely related to …”

"That’s a good picture of you, Bastion,” she had retorted calmly, unfazed by his agitation. “And no. I’m afraid media liaison is not part of my duties as staff attorney. Relax, there’s nothing to be done about this stuff. You and your ridiculous good looks are a hot story. Enjoy it, I’m sure some of these articles are not going to be quite as nice after you hand down your first decision.”

“I contacted Hayes …”

The words snapped him back to the present, making him groan. Besides Cassandra, Senator Jameson “Jack” Hayes and his lovely, southern belle wife, Annabelle Hayes, were his closest friends. But as much as he loved them, Sullivan was well aware they were both equally eccentric and equally likely to blow this whole situation out of proportion.

“Aw, come on,” Sullivan griped, already knowing getting Jack and Annabelle Hayes involved meant nothing would be simple. They had big personalities and even bigger opinions.

Almost despondently, Sullivan flopped down on his desk chair.

“Why would you do that?” The question was a near whine. “Now I can expect quite a lecture from Annabelle and you know Hayes is going to have a million ridiculous theories—”

“Don’t whine, Bastion,” she interrupted his little rant. “It’s not becoming in a Supreme Court Justice.”

He growled his displeasure, but Cassandra simply ignored him. “You’re getting your own personal security detail for the foreseeable future.”

“No.”

“Yes,” she contradicted, handing him a dossier, which he took bad-temperedly. “Hayes says she’s the best there is …”

“She?” he interjected with a quirked eyebrow.

“Careful, Sullivan, your sexist side is showing.” Cassandra smirked. “She’s Ex-CIA and brilliant. Apparently, a complete lack of social skills, but she can kill you slowly in about a hundred different ways.”

“I don’t like this, Cass,” he complained, fingers running over the edge of the folder without opening it. “I can take care of myself. Army training doesn’t disappear overnight, you know, no matter how many years you spend on the bench.”

“Sullivan, you have a son,” she reminded him, going for his one weak spot. “Not to mention that you are in a position to change history. Whichever way you look at it, you’re too important.” Her voice was soft and sincere. “Court is in session in a few months and you’ll be the swing vote in a lot of controversial decisions. I know I don’t have to tell you just how many death threats we’ve had in the past few weeks.”

“They’ve been investigated, most are meaningless,” he argued, but Cassandra knew he was giving in even as he threw the dossier on the mahogany desk of his home office in frustration.

“You should look at that,” Cassandra suggested. “She’ll be here in a few hours.”

A few hours? Christ. So much for a little peace and quiet after his brush with death.

Sullivan had to bite his tongue not to complain. Loudly and repeatedly. It wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“What’s her name?” Sullivan asked instead, for some reason, unwilling to open the dossier someone had likely scrambled to put together.

He was a man of instinct. One who often lead with his heart and trusted his gut. And his gut was telling him that innocuous brown file folder was about to upend his life.

“Emerson Brennan.”