The General Didn’t Look At My Sister

there was another woman in a charcoal blazer hiding behind one of the orchid displays.

There wasn’t.

General Marcus Halverson held my eyes from halfway across the ballroom, one hand resting on the silver head of his cane. He was seventy if he was a day. Maybe older. Sharp as broken glass.

He lifted two fingers.

“Ms. Brooks.”

Not a question.

I set my water continue reading …