In Plain Sight (Sisterhood #25) - Fern Michaels Page 0,53
her a shove, and she sprawled across the seat. “I want a lawyer! Do you hear me, I want a damn lawyer! You kidnapped me! Kidnapping is against the law!”
“And what you did isn’t against the law?” Maggie shot back. “Buckle up and shut up, or I’ll pull out your teeth with my bare hands.”
“You’re terrorists! This is terrorism! You’re holding me against my will,” Petrie screamed shrilly.
“Will someone shut her up so I can concentrate on my driving,” Ted said.
Harry leaned over, and before Petrie could take a deep breath, she was out cold, thanks to Harry’s thumb finding and pressing oh so lightly on just the right spot below her left ear.
“How long will she be out, Harry?” Jack asked.
Harry shrugged. “An hour, maybe a little more.”
“Good, because the next step would have been to put a bag over her head so she doesn’t see where we’re going. I suppose if we went with the bag deal, it might be construed as terrorism. Not that any of us cares.”
“Talk to us, Jack. Tell us everything. And don’t leave anything out,” Ted said.
Jack rattled away nonstop, Harry filling in the blanks.
Jack ended up with, “This chick doesn’t think she did anything wrong. She thinks of herself as an entrepreneur. Survival of the fittest, that kind of thing. The funny thing is, she’s scared, but I don’t think she knows exactly what she’s scared of. My personal opinion is of losing her money. Not that Moss is gunning for her. Or us, for that matter.”
“Hey, I got an incoming text from Dennis, guys,” Maggie said. “Oooh, he locked it down, the ladies are safe now out at Pinewood. And he’s just left the Home Builders Depot. He says the two kids are okay. He’s on his way to Pinewood. We’re lookin’ good, people.” Maggie chortled. “Two down, meaning Petrie and the ladies, one to go, meaning Lincoln Moss.”
“How’s the contest going?” Harry asked.
“We have six serious contenders of which Moss is one. And we have nineteen applicants who can’t even pass the sniff test.”
“Any news on the First Lady’s shindig on Saturday?” Harry asked.
“Not that I know of. I’m sure Myra and Annie will give us an update when we get to the farm. Three days away. I’m actually looking forward to getting all gussied up and dancing the night away. Half of Hollywood’s music people are performing.”
“With whom?” Ted asked sourly.
“Why, Mr. Robinson, with whoever asks me.” Maggie giggled. She just loved jerking Ted’s chain.
“Yeah, well, guess who’s covering that shindig? Yours truly, and Espinosa will be snapping away all night, so be warned. Everyone in this town will be there, and I do mean everyone. Should be interesting.”
“What about us?” Jack shot back. “Is it just the girls, or do we get to go, too? I hate those damn things, but if Moss is going to be there, then I want to be there, too.”
“That, my friend, you have to take up with Myra and Annie. All I know is that Annie bought a table. I’m not sure if they seat eight or ten. At fifty grand a pop, that’s as in per person, that’s a lot of bread to shell out,” Ted called over his back. “Another thing. Security will be tighter than a duck’s ass. Secret Service all over the place.”
Jack laughed, then Harry laughed. “We got into the White House once, or did you forget that, Mr. Reporter.” Jack guffawed. “Even with all those tight-duck-ass Secret Service agents milling around.”
“Oh, yeahhhh, I did forget about that. So, guess that means we’ll see you there whatever Annie and Myra say. By the way, did I tell you that the kid bought a table under the Welmed name?”
“Dennis bought a table!” Maggie shrieked. “I swear, that kid never ceases to amaze me. Plus, he’s a damn good reporter. Wow! Well, Jack, your problem, along with the rest of the guys’, is now solved. You will be at Dennis’s table partaking of rubber chicken, cold, baked potatoes, limp salad, and coffee that tastes like it came out of someone’s rain boots. I’m pulling your leg here. We posted the menu in the Post yesterday. Because this affair is a children’s benefit, so is the menu. You wanna hear it?”
Jack wasn’t sure if he did or not. “Go for it?”
“Pizza. You know, the kind you make at home with toasted English muffins; SpaghettiOs, the ones with the little meatballs; sloppy joes, the President’s personal favorite sandwich in the whole