Gale Force Page 0,98

"When did you get in?"

"Exactly forty-eight minutes ago," she said. "Gotta love that executive car service. By the way, I charged it to the Warden card, so don't go all budget-conscious on me. Talking to you, Lewis." He blinked, again.

Cherise must have had extra coffee on the plane; it was like being hit by a pink hurricane. "So, I made some calls," she continued. "You didn't get a hotel, right? I booked the Palms. Royal Palm Room for the reception, outdoor gazebo for the ceremony. They're used to celebrity weddings, no problem on the security, although I went ahead and called a couple of other firms. I guess you'll have the FBI, too, huh?" Cherise paused long enough to wink at Mr. No-Name Nice Suit, who still looked fresh and well tailored. "Mmmm, I feel safer already."

"Cher - "

"Okay, I'm going to let the Palms handle all the catering and flowers and crap - it's going to be expensive, but there you go. If you want to make a media circus out of the whole thing, you have to pay for the big top and the clowns."

"Cherise."

"I think we should head over there now. I got you the bridal suite, naturally. Five of the couture bridal shops are coming in an hour with their best stuff. They'll want credit on the official press statement, but they're doing it for the publicity. No charge. They'll want the dress back, though, unless you get blood or something all over it, in which case, you break it, you buy it - "

"Cherise!"

She stopped, blue eyes wide, staring at me. I covered my face with both hands, fighting for control between hysterical giggles and the shakes.

"It's not a joke," I said finally. "We could all be killed. We could get a lot of other people killed. I can't have this at the Palms. The Sentinels will attack. I can't put all those innocent lives at risk!"

Cher sat down next to me on the hard, narrow cot, and took both my hands in hers. Her manicure was fresh, her hair glossy, her makeup perfect. I looked like I'd rolled out of the bad side of Satan's bed, and forgotten to brush my hair, but there was real love in her eyes. Real friendship.

"Honey," she said, "this isn't about you anymore. This is about ideas. Those innocent people, they live with risk. You need to quit thinking that all us regular folks can't handle the truth."

I didn't think she understood what she was saying, but I gave her a cautious nod.

"You want to stick it to those bastards who think David and all the other Djinn need to die, right?"

Another wordless nod.

"When you hide, when you call things off because you're afraid of getting hurt, that's when people like this win. Live loud, Jo. It's the only way to win. No fear."

She tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear and cocked her head.

"Besides," she said, "I cannot wait to see David in a tuxedo. My God, Jo. How can you even think of depriving the world of that?"

Well, she had a point. Across the room, David was deep in conversation with Zenaya. He caught my look and smiled, and I felt the connection between us snap taut and thrum like a guitar string.

"Suck it up, girlfriend," Cher said. "All you have to do is stand there, look pretty, and say the right things. Let us do the rest. You" - she turned and stabbed a perfectly polished fingernail toward Lewis - "you need to get some sleep. Best man, right? I am so not having the bags under the eyes. Lie down, now. And I'm bringing in a stylist, because God."

I moved off the cot, fast, to make room for Lewis.

Cherise set to work. It helped that Lewis granted her autonomy for all wedding-related decisions, including open credit, and that the Feds, who didn't know the players in the Warden world, anyway, just assumed she was "one of us." Which I guess she was, in the greater sense. She cheerfully commandeered everything and everyone she needed, and appointed a subcommittee - my wedding had subcommittees! - to handle security services.

An hour later, I was in a smoked-glass limo - not a stretch, but one of the anonymous, though perfectly well-appointed Town Car varieties - clutching a bottle of mineral water and watching chaos on the tiny built-in television screen in the back of the seat. CNN was running Talking Head Theater; the