“Look closer at his outfit,” Wagner mutters.
I take a closer look at Pip, glancing down his outfit from head to— “Whoa. How did I miss that?”
“Pip’s got pipe,” Wag rasps, throatier than usual, wetting his lower lip.
“Yeah, and I’m the creep in the family for installing security cameras.”
My comment goes unnoticed. Wagner doesn’t take his eyes off Pip for the rest of the routine. He’s also the first person to leap to their feet to give the guy the second and what will end up being the final standing ovation of the evening.
Me: You ready?
Clancy: 10-4. The target has been secured and is in position. All clear to launch the love attack.
I roll my eyes. The old man is enjoying himself way too much.
It’s 8:59.
The talent show finished half an hour ago. Most everyone is inside, enjoying the music and light canapes.
Two people are definitely outside on the patio, bundled up in jackets and staying near the heaters. I know because I’ve got my eyes locked on them. As planned, Clancy positioned himself and Jackson by the railing, giving them the best seats in the house for what’s coming.
I glance down at my cell phone. The display flicks to 9:00.
“Showtime.”
40
Jackson
“What are we doing out here? It’s cold,” I complain, not for the first time.
It’s bad enough Clancy wanted to hang around after the talent show, but then a few minutes ago, he insisted we come out onto the outdoor patio. Now, I’m cold and worried about running into Maverick.
We’ve managed to keep a low profile so far, but the longer we stay, the more it increases the odds of bumping into him. I loved seeing the outlines of Sammy and his friends dancing, and judging by Clancy’s gasps every few seconds in between filling me in, Pip nailed his performance. But I’m ready to go home and curl up under a blanket.
“The staff have brought us another heater. Quit your whining.”
I’m about to do the very opposite of that when I hear a loud explosion. “Clancy?”
“It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s nothing bad. Look up, Jackson. What do you see?”
“Not a lot. Just the black sky and…some red. What is that?”
“Fireworks.”
“Fireworks tonight? Why?”
“Because someone wants to spell out a special message to you, one letter at a time.”
“Who?”
“Take a wild guess.” Clancy’s arm wraps around my waist. “I’ll read each letter out for you, okay?”
“Okay.”
A booming thunderclap echoes in the air, followed by another and another as Clancy spells out the message for me, one letter, one word at a time.
I
