He threw his arms around me instinctively, a protective gesture against Perry, who lurched to a stop right behind me. “Give me the book,” Perry demanded. “No,” I shouted back, my fervor muffled somewhat by MacLeod’s wool jacket. “You haven’t the right to-” “Enough!” MacLeod bellowed, and the entire room fell silent. The man had a way of controlling a crowd; I’ll give him that. With a snap of his fingers, he gestured to one of his men to take hold of Perry, who struggled briefly but then walked away, all dignified and huffy, with the cops following close behind him. Only then did MacLeod let me loose. But not for long. “You’ll come with me now, Miss Wainwright.” “When do we get to see the fake book?” a lady piped up in the front row. I tried to shake off the adrenaline rush as I composed myself and turned to the audience.
