Chapters (35)
- Books by Fern Michaels:
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Prologue
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Epilogue
- DOUBLE DOWN
- About the Author
- Tuesday’s Child - SECOND CHANCES
- Ey es Only
- Seasons of Her Life - TO DREAM A LITTLE DREAM
- Desperate Measures - SOME FAIRY TALES ARE TRUE
- Copyright Page
“Good Lord, what a way to have to live,” Kathryn said, her eyes moist.
“I know you all wonder why I put up with it, why I didn’t leave sooner. I wanted to. It was all I dreamed about, but I couldn’t. I was watched constantly. And then there is the fear factor. Until you experience real fear, you have no idea what it’s like. I was afraid he would kill me. All I could think about was my family and what kind of story he’d come up with if he did kill me.”
“We’re not judging you, Amalie,” Yoko said as she remembered what her own mother had gone through at the hands of a man just like Lincoln Moss. “We can all relate to what you went through, and we are all dedicated to making sure your life going forward is all you want it to be and more. In time, you’ll be able to say, and even believe, that Lincoln Moss was just someone you had the misfortune to have in your life at one point.”
Amalie swiped at her eyes. What wonderful people these women were. And the men, too. Right now, she felt like the luckiest woman walking the planet.
Suddenly, Maggie let loose with a warlike whoop of sound. “He’s calling! Mr. Lincoln Moss himself is calling! Everyone, quiet! I’ll put him on speaker, so you can all hear!”
Maggie pressed the TALK button, and said, “Maggie Spritzer!”
The voice was ice-cold. Maggie envisioned icicles hanging from Moss’s nose. The voice was nothing like the one she’d heard earlier out at the estate.
“Miss Spritzer, this is Lincoln Moss. We met a short while ago out in my driveway. You called me. I have a question for you. Where did you get the number you called me on?”
“Reporter’s secret, Mr. Moss,” Maggie said lightly. “A reporter never divulges his or her sources. Just out of curiosity, is there something I should or shouldn’t know about that particular number?”
“Of course not, that’s silly. I always thought a private number was a private number. Only two people in the whole world have this particular number, myself and one other person. So you should be able to understand my concern. And now you have it. That makes three people who now have the number. Four people if you count the person who gave you the number. That is unacceptable.”
“That’s right. I guess. I count four also. And your point is?”
“Again, where did you get the number?” There was no more patience in the voice.
“Again, Mr. Moss,” Maggie said, parroting Moss, “a good reporter never divulges his or her sources.”
“Here’s the thing, Miss Spritzer, this phone number is private for a very good reason, a reason I cannot divulge to you in the interests of national security, so now please tell me where you got this number.”