In Plain Sight (Sisterhood #25) - Fern Michaels Page 0,69
security, so now please tell me where you got this number.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t give you that information. What I can do is give you my personal word that I will not divulge that particular number to anyone else. A reporter’s word is sacrosanct, in case you don’t know that.”
“That isn’t good enough for me. I’ll give you till nine o’clock tomorrow morning to call me with your source. If you don’t, I’ll make sure you go on every terrorist list that Homeland Security has, then I’ll initiate a full-blown tax audit for your entire life. And just so you know, I have the juice to follow through.”
Maggie’s eyes popped wide. “Did you just threaten me, Mr. Moss? I think you did. And just for the record, the Post has some juice of its own. There is nothing more powerful than the written word. You want to take me and the Post on, go for it. I am sure that our readership will be very happy to know exactly what you just did, threaten me with being put on a terrorist watch list and having the IRS audit my tax returns for the rest of my life. And how do you think President Knight will respond to your threatening to use agencies of the United States government to harass a Washington Post reporter, Mr. Moss?”
When there was no answer, Maggie realized she was talking to dead air. “That s.o.b. just threatened me. And he hung up on me! Did you record all that, Ted?”
“I did. That guy is one hell of a whack job, that’s for sure.”
“I told you,” Amalie muttered. “He’s worse than the Devil himself.”
“Yes you did tell us that, dear. And we did listen,” Myra assured her.
All eyes were on Amalie when she made the sign of the cross because, as she said, that’s what you do when the Devil comes out to play.
Chapter 16
Lincoln Moss looked around at the destruction he had wrought in the master bedroom. He blinked. It looked like a war zone. Worse yet, he could see his reflection in a long glass shard of mirror that was still attached to the huge walk-in closet that housed all of his wife’s belongings. He looked worse than the room. His face was red and mottled, his hair was standing on end, and his eyes spewed hatred. Even he could see that he was out of control. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he tromped through splinters and broken glass and mirrors. What the hell was wrong with him? How could he let some smarmy reporter get the best of him? Did he really threaten to put her on a terrorist list and threaten an all-out IRS audit? Damn straight he did. Like he really had the juice to do that. He’d been put in his place the last time he’d tried that.
Moss massaged his throbbing temples. Did he really want to go up against the awesome Post and their team of investigative reporters? Not in this lifetime he didn’t. Well, maybe he’d take a stab at it if Amalie were still under his thumb, but she wasn’t. She was out there somewhere, and his gut was telling him the smarmy reporter knew exactly where she was. He continued to massage his temples, which were pounding so hard, he wondered if he was going to have a stroke. He needed to calm down and come up with a plan, and he needed to do it immediately, before more damage could be done.
Moss’s thoughts took him to the upcoming gala the First Lady was hosting in a few days. It was the last place he wanted to go. But at the moment, he could not see a way to get out of it. And then to hear that Amalie was going to attend. That news was like a silver bullet right through the heart. Maybe it was all a rumor initiated by that snippy reporter. Reporters did crap like that all the time in hopes of getting a rise out of whomever they were targeting.
On top of all that, the President had been silent. He hadn’t called once in the last two days. By the same token, Moss had not called the President either. A waiting game. Who was going to blink first? Maybe it was time to get out of Dodge. He had the wherewithal to go anywhere in the world he chose and live out his days in luxury. If he wanted