Gone Black (3 page)

Just before two o'clock in the afternoon, Claire Morgan sat inside her cabin at Lake of the Ozarks in Missouri, staring at her nearly unrecognizable reflection in the bedroom mirror. Today was her wedding day, which in itself was pretty damn hard to believe. It also was Independence Day, which put a bit of an ironic twist to the whole thing, for sure, and if one really thought it through. Looking at herself, she couldn't believe it was really her. Almost a year ago, Claire had downloaded a photograph of a bride off the Internet and emailed it to her friend, Nancy, where she worked down in Lafourche Parish in Louisiana. The wedding gown in the picture had been exactly the way Claire wanted her own gown to look when she walked down the aisle and married Nicholas Black.

And, oh man alive, wow and yes siree, Nancy had nailed the thing. Claire now looked exactly like the woman featured in that photo. So much so that it was slightly unnerving, even to her. Eerie, even. Fortunately, however, Claire's hair was no longer blue black from her last undercover assignment that had required her to become a brunette overnight. It had returned to her natural blond shade again and was fairly long, too. Now that Claire was teensy-weensy buttoned-up in the big and fancy wedding gown, though, it all was a bit of a trial. The dress was on the elaborate side, big-time, and one that had a high-necked and long-sleeved bodice, all made of lace, and two petticoats, and say, about twenty-five yards of white silk taffeta in the skirt alone, and lots of other stuff that Claire had never even heard of, like
peau de soie
, whatever the hell that was, and tulle, not to mention rose point lace, but, of course, the dress had to have all of that stuff.

It was a good thing Nancy knew about fabrics and the like, because all Claire knew was that most of it was scratchy and cumbersome and annoying. The things she did for Black, wow, and
he better like it after all this trouble,
that's all that she had to say. But she did look like the aforementioned picture, even down to her makeup, and pretty much put together like in the photo. So voilà, she was not Claire Morgan anymore. Okay, she didn't much like the girly transformation, not at all, but Black sure as hell would. Yep, he was gonna freak out big-time when he got a load of her all dressed up in all this fancy wedding getup all right. He probably wouldn't even know it was her. Neither would anybody else who knew her.

Claire laughed out loud, just visualizing the expression on his handsome face when he saw her in this frilly bunch of crap with its intricate lace and pearls and all kinds of other fluff. Yes sir, the groom's shocked expression was gonna be the highlight of Claire's whole wedding day for sure. That and the second-best part, getting off the heavy-as-an-elephant dress that had to weigh a ton and the ridiculous amount of makeup slathered all over her face.

Yep, the rest of the wedding ceremony was gonna pretty much suck big-time, which was the way she always had felt about the sappy and syrupy and overly sentimental kinda weddings that Black was such a sucker for. That would be the kind with its seventy layers of cake with the itsy-bitsy bride and groom on top, icy spiked punch, a zillion flowers sitting around everywhere, high heels that made you walk funny, and fluffy stuff to the max, but alas, all the fancy-schmancy agony had to be endured. But just for one day. Claire had her limits.

Truth be told, she would've preferred to just elope, find a Justice of the Peace in some tiny hamlet somewhere, tie the binding nuptial knot, and be done with the thing in one fell swoop and not a damn scrap of lace or stupid pearl in sight. But no, no, no way, Black had to have his traditional ceremony with oodles of everything and about a thousand candles, and all his old army buddies standing up with him, and all her law enforcement buddies dressed alike and standing with her. Oh, well. The pictures would look good. Of which, Black would probably order about six thousand.

But being the sweet and accommodating woman she was, on this occasion, anyway, she agreed to the ridiculous showy show of all shows, but now all she really wanted was to just hurry up and get it over with, already. Thank goodness, they were finally, finally, ready for the big moment to commence. Most of all, she was tired of making the wedding decisions without Black around, since he'd flown off to Italy, all excited and smiley, to make his no doubt over-the-top honeymoon arrangements.

Thank God, she had her good friends, Laurie and Nancy, to take all the wedding preparations into their extremely capable hands, both of whom had enough nuptial zeal and energy necessary to make wedding bells peal with joy and everybody sing out best wishes, happy, happy, and more happy. They had taken care of everything and had magically turned her front yard and little lakeside dock into a wonderland of white lattice, twinkling lights, tall white tapers, and greenery-draped arches, with about $50,000 worth of fireworks set to go off as soon as night fell over her cove on the lake. That last extravaganza donated by Black, of course. He did so like to light up the sky when he was feeling chipper. All of which Claire could do without, of course, but which she also thought looked very pretty but had the feel of some sugary chick flick. Maybe the kind with a happy ending. But alas, the things she did to make Black go all dimply, what was a gal to do.

The wedding was slated to start at two o'clock sharp, and Black had probably been holed up at Cedar Bend since early that morning, just champing at the bit, like he was the night before when he'd called her from Italy. He was no doubt over there in his penthouse now, pacing the floor in his usual impatient manner, since Laurie and Nancy had banished him until the start of the ceremony. She hadn't heard from him yet, either, because she'd made him promise not to call or come over early or try to get a peek at the dress, which had been off-limits to him since Nancy had finished sewing the last bead and tiny little miniscule button on the bodice of the monstrosity. Slightly surprised that he hadn't barged in anyway, which was his wont, she was glad he was playing by her rules. At least for today he was, but that probably wouldn't last long.

Claire stared some more at her image and shook her head some more. Black was simply not gonna believe his eyes. But he should be speeding down her cove in his big powerful Cobalt 360 cruiser any moment now and they could get the big production on its way to fruition. Then she could stroll down the aisle with the gargantuan diamond engagement ring that he had given her the previous Christmas and become his legal wife. So hurry it up, Black, already, and let us get this damnable deed done.

Smiling, though, she remembered how excited he'd been when he had called last night. He was such a sucker for surprises. He liked to give them, too. And did so with great and uninhibited glee. No telling what he had in mind for the big secret wedding trip. Probably the first ever civilian honeymoon flight to the moon. Yep, if he could arrange that, he probably would. He had enough money to fly them there or even to Mars, maybe.

Claire stood up, picked up the heavy skirt, and walked to the loft railing where she could look downstairs into her big living area as well as through the big arched front windows and down to the dock where she was soon to be hitched. There were no helicopters buzzing about in the sky over her cove, no paparazzi lurking in the bushes, at least none that she could see, but she and Black had worked diligently to conceal the time and place for their very big deal. Black was a very well-known shrink, worldwide even, and certainly famous enough to get his share of breathless news coverage on his wedding, not to mention everything else he did. Truthfully, it would be a miracle if they managed to get through any of it without somebody with a long-lens camera selling a photograph or two to the tabloids. But she could only hope not.

Outside she could see where Laurie and Nancy had ordered the white chairs set up on her grassy front lawn, forty or so, twenty for Black and twenty for her, sitting out on either side of her graveled sidewalk, a.k.a wedding aisle. Most of the guests had already been seated. Her side of the nuptial congregation consisted mainly of police officers, of course, and her other law enforcement friends from when she'd worked at the Canton County Sheriff's Office at the lake and the Lafourche Parish Sheriff's Office down in the Louisiana bayous. Most of them had on their dress uniforms and looked very sharp indeed. Had on their weapons, too. Made her feel proud and more than safe among her own well-armed counterparts and cohorts.

Across the aisle from her best friends who were the ones who wore the blue uniforms, Black's friends and invited guests sat and probably most of them as nervous as hell. Most of them warily eyed all the badges and guns and handcuffs gathered together on her side. Black's older brother sat on the first row with his wife, as her dear groom's only living relatives. Unfortunately, Jacques Montenegro also happened to be a notorious New Orleans mafioso, but nobody ever felt the need to mention such, especially Black, who was not in the family business and never had been and didn't claim kin to Jacques, except to her and a few other trusted colleagues. But he did love his big brother dearly so that familial invitation went out along with all the others. Big Bro was surrounded by a beefy congregation of hoods and bodyguards, all looking highly uncomfortable in brand-new dark suits and matching red silk ties. Behind them sat Black's other best friends, mostly big, tough-looking, ex-military types, all sporting buzz cuts, machismo, and muscles galore.

Oh, yeah, this was a wedding to remember all right. If anybody made it out alive, it would be because they were all, men and women, probably armed. She hadn't banned weaponry on the invitation, but maybe she should have. Even she had strapped on her .38 in an ankle holster over her high-top Nike sneakers and under her honking big skirt. The dress was long enough, and who knew what might go down during the ceremony. She liked to be armed, made her feel more secure, which was a big necessity in her life.

The wedding party was a dichotomy of worlds, to be damn sure. Black also had chosen his favorite former Army Ranger cohorts for groomsmen. That would include John Booker, his best friend/crack private investigator, Jack Holliday, an ex-quarterback at Tulane who was another trusted army bud and who stood a mere six feet eight inches tall, and Juan Christo, who took care of Black's place in the French Quarter of New Orleans, but who looked more like a WWE fighter, and who Claire also suspected might be one of Black's go-to guys on his little covert military missions in which he took part now and again, and had on occasion lied to her about.

Most of them were now loitering around and looking sharp in their black tuxedoes at the end of her dock where Black would tie up his boat when he arrived. She hoped Laurie and Nancy hadn't bedecked the dock with flowers. Or Black's boat. That would be highly embarrassing. Her half of the wedding party was loitering around downstairs. Her partner when she'd worked at LAPD, Harve Lester, was going to motor her down the aisle in his wheelchair, and she had been very pleased when he had said yes. He was a true hero, wounded in the line of duty. Her partner at the lake, Bud Davis, was her man of honor. Then there was Laurie Dale, who had saved her life once upon a time when Claire had thought she was a goner for good one snowy, horror-filled night, and Nancy Gill, her best buddy in Lafourche Parish and medical examiner/seamstress extraordinaire.

Both women looked absolutely beautiful in their black strapless gowns. Claire had chosen black and white, mainly because she detested all those frilly pastels and flowery stuff that summer weddings usually entailed. If she had to go formal, it was gonna be black and white, and maybe one tiny touch of red somewhere was okay but only if she had to. Red roses would be all right, too, she guessed, but highly unnecessary and highly expensive. Simple and cheap, that was her motto. Always had been, always would be. But alas, extravagant was Black's middle name, and rather ingrained at his molecular level or so it seemed.

Her best childhood friend, Gabe Lefevres, was an usher and so was her brand-new partner at her brand-new private detective agency, a guy by the name of Will Novak. Since she'd met up with him, she had grown very fond of Will and very fast, too. She loved the guy already and the way he had her back. Both men looked very big and lethal in their tuxes, she had to say. Will looked as uncomfortable in his duds, though, as Claire felt in her big heavy but very lacy and taffeta-y dress.

On the other hand, Novak looked as tough and intimidating as ever, so the guests probably gravitated over to Gabe's arm when choosing an usher, out of extreme fear of Novak and/or the fact that Gabe always wore that charming, devil-may-care smile. Joe McKay had even shown up with his baby girl, Lizzie, who was the flower girl and looked adorable in her little lacy white dress, although Joe had told Claire he wanted to be a thousand miles away when she walked down the aisle with another man.

Oh, yeah, all in all, she and Black had quite an eclectic and eccentric crew gathered around to witness their vows and a good representation of all agencies of law enforcement and underworld criminals to boot. Hell, their wedding party probably collectively carried more handguns than a New York City SWAT team. Bad things happened to their merry little band, more often than not, and Claire was always on the lookout for incoming bad luck and trouble, which could strike on wedding days, just as easily as any other day of the year.

Downstairs, she could hear Laurie and Nancy laughing together and putting the finishing touches on the bridal bouquets. White roses and white baby's breath for them. Claire had never even heard of baby's breath and actually thought it sounded a little milky and lactose and off-putting. Her bouquet, on the other hand, was very small, just a few sticks of that baby's breath stuff, because that was what that bride in the picture carried down the aisle. That was okay with Claire; the dress was heavy enough all on its own.