"Sir, I need you to step away from the table."
The officer's hand was already resting on his belt when he said it, and General Marcus Reeves didn't move. Thirty years in uniform had taught him one thing: the first sign of danger was rarely the weapon; it was the person reaching for it."Is there a problem, Officer?" Reeves asked. His voice was even, unhurried."That's what I'm here to find out."Kesler's eyes lingered on Reeves's face a beat too long before dropping to the stars on his shoulders. He looked at the insignia, then back at Reeves, then at the insignia again, as though the two things refused to belong to the same man.Behind Reeves, his wife Danielle set down her wine glass slowly, her eyes moving between her husband and the officer's name tag: R. Kesler, stitched in gold thread above a silver Hollow Police badge.Twenty minutes earlier, none of this had seemed possible. The Ashford Room of the Regency, all crystal chandeliers and white linen, had been humming with the easy warmth of three hundred people who'd paid good money to honor the local Veterans Legacy Foundation. Reeves and Danielle had been seated near the front, close enough to the podium that the foundation's director had leaned over earlier to whisper that his award—a lifetime service commendation—would be presented right after dessert.He hadn't wanted the fuss; he never did. But Danielle had insisted on the good uniform, the one with the fourth star freshly sewn on, and he'd let her win that argument the way he let her win most of them.Now, a man he'd never met was standing over their table like Reeves was something that had wandered in off the street."I received a complaint," Kesler said, loud enough that the two tables nearest them went quiet. "That someone matching your description was seen accessing the staff corridor by the kitchen, impersonating personnel.""I haven't left this table since dinner started," Reeves said."That's not what I was told.""Told by whom?"Kesler didn't answer. He glanced past Reeves toward the head table, then back, his gaze settling again on Reeves in a way it hadn't settled on anyone else in the room tonight."You mind telling me where you got the outfit?"Not the uniform. The outfit.Danielle's hand found Reeves's arm under the table."Marcus, it's fine," Reeves murmured, not looking away from Kesler. Then, evenly: "This is my service dress uniform, Officer. I'd be happy to have someone from the foundation verify my credentials. My ID is in my left breast pocket, if you'd like to see it.""I'd like you to stand up."