Page 9 of The Fallen Man
“Sneak attack proposal? Nice. I’m almost in. I’ll see you in a few.”
“See ya.”
Evan hung up, and Jackson found himself shaking his head. His family was happy. It had been a long road, but for the first time since Jackson had joined the family, they were all happy. He felt proud of that. Jackson knew it wasn’t entirely his doing, but when Eleanor had retrieved him from prison like some bedraggled stuffed animal out of the lost-and-found, he’d had one goal—get himself a happy family. He’d always wanted brothers and sisters and holidays straight off a postcard, and now he had that.
His phone plinged again, and he saw a text from Olivia.
I’m panicking. Dominique says this looks good, but I think I look like a fat cherub on rococo fresco. I want Evan to light up like a damn Christmas tree when he sees me, not wonder if I’m passing out Valentines.
The text was accompanied by a photo of Olivia in a flowy white dress and wings. Olivia was, ahem, well-endowed, and he could see why she might be worried about flowy fabric, but as usual, Dominique was right—Olivia looked like a sexy angel.
Always trust Dominique on fashion. You look great. Evan will love it.
I do trust Dominique, but sometimes she’s too nice. I need a bro opinion while there’s still time to call in a replacement costume. And my own bro is useless and not responding.
Jackson was pretty sure that an angel was exactly how Evanthought of Olivia. He stopped inside the front hallway, trying to pull off to the side to get out of the way of anyone else coming in so he could finish his text.
Bro opinion is thumbs up.
He hit send with a grin. Tonight was going to be perfect for them. He looked up and tried to assess where the hell he was supposed to go. The VAR Events building always seemed to be re-configured into something new. Open double doors to his left showed a bar and banquet tables. He saw a woman standing on a ladder behind the bar reshelving the booze. As he watched, she went up on tip-toe to pull down a bottle of whiskey. Her skirt rode up as one foot lifted. Her ass was a fucking thing of beauty, and her legs were long and slender. He didn’t know which party was Dominique’s, but he knew which party he wanted to be at. He took a few steps toward the door and was intercepted by a large Black man who seemed to be in charge of security at VAR Events.
“Deveraux party is this way,” he said, with a tight smile, pointing across the hall.
“Right,” said Jackson, looking over the man’s shoulder at the woman on the ladder.
“And if you’re carrying, please inform the personnel at the door and show your license,” added the man, shifting to block Jackson’s view.
“Right,” said Jackson, taking the hint. He appreciated the VAR security professionalism, but sometimes it was a real pain in the ass.
He walked across the hall, dutifully showed his concealed weapons permit to the security guard, and went in to find Dominique standing in the middle of the floor, looking like she was about to hyperventilate. His blonde cousin was wearing a cowgirl outfit complete with six-shooters.
“What if no one comes?” she demanded the second she sawhim.
“People will come,” he said reassuringly. “You’re providing free alcohol and food.”
“What if they don’t dress up? In fact, you’re not dressed up.” Her eyes narrowed, and she glared accusingly at him.
Jackson looked down at his white jacket, purple shirt, and sleeves pushed up on his forearms. “I’m original Miami Vice. Do I ordinarily wear a white suit?”
“Did you pick a costume you could still carry a gun in?”
“Of course, didn’t you?”
“Mine are cap guns!”
“I bet Max’s aren’t.”
“That is correct,” said Max, coming onto the floor. He was six-foot-four and looked like a 1950s movie sheriff, complete with a star on his chest and a white cowboy hat. His six-shooters were completely authentic as befitting an ex-US Marshal. “Not loaded, though. I figured the odds were good that some idiot in this crowd would try and grab them.”
“Too true,” agreed Jackson.
“Hey!” said Evan, coming downstairs, straightening his tie. He had a tiny pair of horns protruding from his red hair and a name tag that said he was Satan. Olivia arrived after him in wings.
“Hey,” said Jackson. Olivia looked flushed, and he guessed that the two of them had been making out upstairs. “Where are Aiden and Ella?”
“Getting dressed,” said Olivia, coming forward to plant a kiss on his cheek. “There was a lot of giggling coming out of the dressing room, though, so it might be a minute.”
“Her costume came with two rolling carts,” said Dominque. “I’m not sure what it is, but I must admit that I’m intrigued to find out.”
