Forsaken by James David Jordan Page A

way of our own security before now. Elise, here, is pretty much in charge of everything. You two have met, haven’t you?”
    “I hadn’t caught your name.” I held out my hand to her.
    She didn’t take it. “Elise Hovden.” She took a step to her right, placing herself partially between Simon and me.
    It didn’t take a body language expert to conclude that she viewed Simon as something more than just herpreacher. I wondered whether he viewed her as more than just his executive assistant. That determination was not on the critical path for the evening, though. I pointed toward the stage. “How do you screen the people who have access to this area back here?”
    “Most are with our touring group or are volunteers from local churches,” she said. “Some are provided by the arena or the Chicago police.”
    “I understand. But how do you screen them?”
    She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “We don’t formally screen them. We haven’t thought that was necessary to this point. We do keep our eyes open for anyone who looks suspicious. Obviously, it may be time to reevaluate that part of our program.”
    “How many are provided by the arena?”
    “How many what are provided by the arena?”
    “People. How many of these people milling around back here are provided by the arena?”
    “I couldn’t really say. Maybe thirty. Some of them aren’t technically provided by the arena. They’re with local providers of things like pianos, refreshments, that sort of thing.”
    I nodded toward a guy who was pulling a cart with speakers on it. “Has anyone checked any of this stuff?”
    “The speakers?”
    “Yes, and the pianos you just mentioned, the podiums, the backdrops.”
    “No, but the arena provided us a list of suggested vendors for many of the things. I hardly think theMid America Center is recommending terrorist organizations.”
    It was becoming obvious that prayer was likely to be our best defense for the evening. That was Simon’s department. I would have to do what I could on the earthly side of things, and that wouldn’t be much tonight. “At a minimum, can we get someone to check out anything that’s being taken onto the stage and anything that’s being left back here during the show?”
    She folded her arms. “It’s not a show. We call it a celebration, because we’re celebrating God’s Word. It begins in less than an hour. These people all have jobs to do to get Simon on stage on time. We can’t divert them now.”
    “Okay, but do you mind if I snoop around before the show, um, celebration?”
    She glared at me. I sensed we were not likely to become Bunco buddies.
    “That would be fine,” Simon said. “If anyone asks, just tell them they can check with Elise or me. In the meantime I’m going to have to excuse myself. I still have some rehearsing to do.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead.
    As he turned to walk away, a young woman walked up behind him. She was tall and lean, and her chestnut hair fell easily over her shoulders. She strongly resembled Simon, particularly in the energetic glow of her high cheekbones. “Dad, the limo is here.” She pulled a hair clip out of the purse slung over her shoulder. In one motion she reached back and fastened her hair into a ponytail. “Cheryl and I are leaving for the airport.”
    “Okay, but I want you to meet someone first. Taylor Pasbury, this is my daughter, Kacey.”
    “Hi, Ms. Pasbury.” She extended her hand and smiled. It was her dad’s smile—an open smile that seemed to flip on a switch behind her hazel eyes. I had been prepared not to like her since she was almost certain to be a spoiled child-of-celebrity. I put that judgment on hold.
    “Nice to meet you, Kacey. You can call me Taylor.” I looked at Simon. “She’s not riding to the airport alone, is she?”
    He shook his head. “One of our graduate-student interns, Cheryl Granger, is riding with her. She’ll make sure Kacey gets