Gale Force

the one thing I knew they didn't want: notoriety.

I was the lucky one. Exhausted by the efforts of the day, not to mention the lightning strike and

the management of the storm I'd leveled over Miami, I collapsed on a cot and slept for six hours

of blissfully ignorant darkness. Lewis didn't sleep at all. When I woke up, he'd already issued

three more press statements, and a whole packet of information about Bad Bob, including his

photograph.

The Sentinels could not be happy about that. They were even less happy, I imagined, over the

a

cameras we could gather to document the affair. It was a trap, a perfectly obvious one, and one I

didn't think they dared pass up. The Sentinels had gathered membership on the idea that the

Dji

without striking. Hell, they'd already ruined two wedding dresses.

Pulling together a last-minute affair is surprisingly easier than pla

Once I gave up the idea of catering and open bar and invitations, things simplified dramatically.

All I really needed was a minister, a dress, and of course, as much security as possible so that we

all survived the happy day.

My cell phone was ringing off the hook. Mostly, it was Wardens who hadn't been given the

heads-up about going public, and were blistering my ears off. One or two said they were going to

complain to Paul, which stabbed me deep and hard all over again. Paul had been a part of my life

for so, so long, and now . . . now all that was tainted. I couldn't even begin to imagine how much

it would hurt, when I had time to actually feel again.

One of the few welcome calls was from Cherise, who had checked herself out of Warden witness

protection and was boarding a flight for Miami, ''because you're so not getting married without

me, bitch. Where else am I going to wear that dress?''

One major side benefit of becoming instantly famous-or infamous-was that I no longer had to

shop. Instead, I was under siege from local bridal stores all trying to throw dresses my way,

under the theory that a little discreet promotion never hurt anybody. I never thought I'd have a

sponsored by wedding, but I had more to worry about than my ethical standards.

Principally, I had to find a dress in my size in less than twelve hours that didn't suck.

That, it turned out, was far easier than it seemed. Instant organization . . . just add Cherise.

''I booked the Palms,'' Cherise said after bursting into the FBI offices, giving me a fast, fierce

hug, and giving Lewis a warm peck on the cheek.

''You-wait, what?'' I blinked, and so did he. I was barely out of the coffee-zombie stage, and

Lewis was well into his must-have-sleep cycle. ''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 i

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 i

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 Dji

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 ca

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 co

''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 ru

Head Theater; the Wardens were staging additional demonstrations, including Fire and Earth,

and people were starting to actually pay attention. I wondered if anybody had considered the

legal implications. Talk about malpractice insurance . . .

''Paul's dead,'' I said, out of absolutely nowhere. I turned the cold glass bottle in my hands,

remembering that moment so vividly it hurt, that moment when Paul turned to face me, guilt and

anger in his face. ''I killed him, Cher. He got in my way, and I killed him.''