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Another murderous attack is launched against New York City. Then he slipped off his jacket and dropped it onto the stool beside him. He was mid-twenties, five-nine, buck-fifty, light brown hair, collar-length, brown eyes, no distinguishing marks visible.

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“Uh-huh.” Joss had to think a minute about how to tie a bow tie. Then she made herself stop thinking and let her hands work. The fabric of the formal shirt her son wore was very smooth. Not the polyester she’d expected with a rental, either. “There.” She stepped back and picked up his jacket. No rental tuxedo in the history of the world had ever been made of high-quality wool like that. The envelope also contained a credit card refund notice for the deposit she’d paid on the rental. Between Harold and Christine, they were going to spoil the hell out of her son. Then he stopped at the refrigerator and grabbed two bottle of Coke and two smaller bottles. “You know I don’t like those things, Taylor.” “I know, Mom. They’re just caffeine.” “Expensive caffeine.” “They were free. I got coupons, too.” He gestured toward the refrigerator, where the colorful papers were stuck up with a magnet. She sighed her disapproval, but he put them in his bag anyhow, with the sodas and his clothes for later. “I’m just gonna pretend I know what you’re talking about.” “Computers, security system, stereo.

Out of the corner of her eye, Joss saw another vest and tie, dove gray, on a hanger on the back of the couch. She held the jacket for Taylor and he slipped his arms in, shrugged it on, tugged his sleeves down. She was certain that Taylor would be the only boy at the prom in a tux he actually owned, and one that had been custom-tailored for him. They planned to go directly from the prom to the high school and would change there.

The fit across the shoulders, across his slender chest, was a dead giveaway. She wondered briefly how Finch had gotten the measurements without Taylor knowing about it. But that was unlikely, since he found the whole concept . He shrugged the jacket again, so that it settled perfectly over his shoulders. The tux would need dry cleaning after it spent half the night stuffed in his bag, of course, but then it probably would anyhow.

But of course he’d been fitted for the rental tux and they’d entered the measurements on their chain-wide computer. She didn’t tell him yet that he owned the formal suit.

He’d probably be more careful with it if he thought they had to take it back tomorrow.

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