“Chocolate pancakes! Chocolate pancakes! Oracle’s light, stop shooting!”
Jenkins lowered his weapon. “Commander Sutton?”
Lila aimed her Colt at the floor as well. “We have got to change the code word. It’s embarrassing.”
The door opened, creaking softly. Sutton entered, her officer’s uniform replaced by a black tactical suit, the zippers jingling back and forth across her chest and legs. Her helmet hung askew, and a bullet trail skittered across the top, leaving a shallow groove. Her eyes cut to the tight grouping near her head.
“I never liked that door anyway,” Lila said.
Over a dozen boots thudded across Jenkins’s office. The militia froze. Their gazes shifted among the commander, the chief, and the admin.
Jenkins holstered his weapon. “If you were a little taller, you’d have a bullet through your brain. Why didn’t you use the code phrase?”
“I forgot.” Sutton stepped into the room and closed the door.
The squad lifted their heels, peeking through the bullet holes.
“Good work,” the commander barked at the group. “Now go downstairs and finish your breakfast.”
Boots clomped across the room.
The elevator dinged, taking the squad away.
Sutton took off her ruined helmet, then tore open the top Velcro strap of her bulletproof vest. “Shooter’s gone. We found the sniper rifle, though. I have a team processing the scene. I’ll let you know if we find anything.”
“Who’s running the investigation?” Lila asked.
“Me, and don’t you dare say that I don’t have time for it. I only left the scene so that I could walk you back to the great house. You, the chairwoman, and your sister are to remain inside until you leave for the Closing Ball, do you hear me?”
“Commander—”
“Don’t commander me. Once upon a time, I used a rifle like the one we found. In the hands of someone halfway competent, it could have shot the stars off my collar from four times the distance. The only reason you weren’t hit is because the scope wasn’t calibrated.”
“Good, my would-be assassin is incompetent.”
“This time. Count yourself lucky, embrace fate, and let me do my job.”
“I don’t—”
“I don’t care. Damn it, Lila, don’t make me pull rank.”
Jenkins eyed the pair.
Lila raised her arms in surrender. “I have work to do anyway.”
“Good. I’ll take you to the great house myself.”
“Myself” ended up being Sutton and two teams of armored patrols. She forced Lila to don armor just in case, borrowing the helmet and vest and uniform from a rookie who was close to her size and hair color.
The slender rookie dressed in her clothes and a hat, then marched among the group as they set off for the great house. “Commander Sutton,” he called out, “tell the militia I’m off tonight, so I can wander around the compound, shouting ‘Boo!’ at all the slackers.”
He turned in a circle, waggling his fingers at everyone in the squad, even Lila.
Then he winked, fluffed his curls, and spun around to face the front.
“You know, those pants sure do look good on you, Bernard,” someone called out. “Maybe chief should let you keep them.”
“Maybe she should. They really accentuate my ass.” He swished his hips. “Look at my ass cheeks, mortals, for mine will launch five thousand ships!”