"All right, Mr. Calebow. You've absolutely devastated me. I'm not going to Chicago, but you can have the papers shipped to me here, and I'll sign them."
"I'm afraid that's not going to work, ma'am. In case you forgot, you fired me. If you want me back, you're going to have to meet a few of my conditions."
"What conditions?" She regarded him warily.
He leaned back in his chair like Big Daddy after a seven-course dinner, except Big Daddy was fat and ugly instead of a hard-muscled athlete with a powerful chest and a lethal grin.
"It's like this. I want you in the Stars' business offices by noon on Tuesday to sign those three contracts. Then we'll sit down with Steve Kovak, your director of player personnel, and discuss qualified candidates for the general manager's job. You'll hire one of them by the end of the week, and from then until the team's no longer your responsibility, you'll show up for work like everybody else and sign the papers he puts in front of you."
Only the warning in Viktor's eyes kept her from emptying the last of the pulgogi in the football coach's lap. She could feel her father's net drawing tighter around her, and she thought of those weeks she had spent at Montauk walking on the beach and trying to restore peace to her life. But how could she be at peace with herself if innocent people were going to suffer because of her stubborn pride?
She considered the one hundred thousand dollars. In light of what Dan Calebow had told her, it no longer seemed quite so much like blood money. All she had to do to earn it was endure the next three or four months. When they were over, she'd have a clear conscience and the stake she needed to open her art gallery.
With a sense of inevitability, she gave him a bright, false smile. "You've convinced me, Mr. Calebow. But I'm warning you now. I won't go to any football games."
"That's probably just as well."
Viktor extended his arms and gave them each an approving smile. "There. Do you see how easy life is when stubborn people are willing to compromise?"
Before Phoebe could respond, the telephone began to ring. Although she could have answered it right there, she took advantage of the opportunity to escape and excused herself. Pooh trotted after her as she slipped from the kitchen.
The door closed behind her, and the two men regarded each other for a long moment. Viktor spoke first. "I must have your promise, Coach, that you won't hurt her."
"I promise."
"You spoke a bit too quickly for my taste. I don't quite believe you."
"I'm a man of my word, and I promise that I won't hurt her." He flexed his hands. "When I murder her, I'll do it real quick, so she won't feel a thing."
Viktor sighed. "That's exactly what I was afraid of."
Chapter 6
"Here we are, Miss Somerville."
The Buick Park Avenue left the highway for a two-lane service road marked with a blue and white wooden sign that read Stars Drive. Annette Miles, the driver who had picked Phoebe up at O'Hare, had been Bert's secretary for several years. She was in her late forties, overweight, with short, graying hair. Although polite, she wasn't particularly communicative, and there had been little conversation between them.
Phoebe was tired from having gotten up at dawn to catch her early flight and she felt tense about what lay ahead. Trying to relax, she gazed out the passenger window at the wooded landscape. Stands of oak, walnut, maple, and pine lay on both sides of the service road, and through a gap in the trees to her right, she could glimpse a cyclone fence.
"What's over there?"
"A regulation-size grass practice field, along with a seventy-yard field. The trees keep the area private from the gawkers." She passed a turnoff with a rectangular blue and white sign marking a delivery entrance. "Your father bought this land from the Catholic church in 1980. There used to be a monastery here. The complex isn't fancy-not like the Cowboys' or Forty-Niners' facilities-but it's functional, and the Midwest Sports Dome isn't far away. There was. a lot of controversy when the dome was put in, but it's brought a great deal of money into DuPage County."
The road curved to the right and up a gentle incline toward an architecturally unimpressive two-story, L-shaped building made of gray glass and steel. Its most pleasant aspect was the way the glass reflected the surrounding trees, softening the building's utilitarian look.
Annette pointed toward a paved lot marked for reserved parking. "I had your father's car brought over from the house as you asked. It's parked by the side entrance. Normally you'll want to use it, but today I'll take you in through the lobby."
She pulled into the visitor's space closest to the front entrance and turned off the engine. Phoebe got out. As she approached the building, she found herself wishing she'd brought Pooh along as a security blanket instead of leaving her with Viktor. She caught sight of her reflection in the double glass doors. This outfit, a pearl gray trouser suit, was the closest thing she had to business attire. She wore an indigo silk shell beneath the short jacket and matching indigo sandals fastened with delicate gold chain T-straps. Her hair curved in sleek blond sickles away from her face. The only frivolity she had permitted herself was a purple and white wooden panda pin on her lapel. And her rhinestone sunglasses.
Annette opened one of the double glass doors for her. Each door held the team logo of three interlocking gold stars in a sky blue circle. Pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, Phoebe stepped inside her father's world.
The semicircular lobby, predictably carpeted in sky blue, held gold vinyl chairs and a curved white reception desk with blue and gold stripes. A trophy case sat at one end, along with citations, posters, and a framed display of all the NFL team logos.
Annette gestured toward a chair. "Would you wait here for just a moment?"
"Of course." Phoebe removed her sunglasses and tucked them in her purse. Barely a minute passed before a man came rushing out of the left hallway.
"Miss Somerville. Welcome."
She stared at him.
He was adorable, a short, bookish Tom Cruise with a friendly, deferential expression that went a long way toward settling her nervous stomach. Although he was probably close to her own age, he looked so boyish that he seemed like a teenager. She took the hand he offered and gazed into a pair of glorious Cruise-blue eyes that were on the same level as her own.
"I'm sure you must be tired from your flight." He had the thickest fringe of lashes she had ever seen on a man. "I'm sorry that you haven't had a chance to rest before being plunged into all this."
His voice was soft, his manner so sympathetic, that she experienced her first ray of hope since Dan Calebow had blackmailed her. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
"I'm fine," she reassured him.
"Are you certain? I know there are a number of people waiting to see you, but I'll do my best to put them off if you'd like."
She wanted to tie a bow around him and put him under her Christmas tree. Her internal radar wasn't sending out any warning signals telling her to vamp him, something that generally happened when she was around good-looking men. His small stature and friendly manner were keeping her from feeling threatened.
She lowered her voice so only he could hear. "Why don't you just stick by my side instead? I have a feeling I'm going to need a friendly face."
"I'll be happy to." They exchanged smiles and she had a comforting sense of connection with him, as if they'd known each other for years.
He led her through an archway into a den of offices decorated with commemorative footballs, pennants, and team cups stuffed with pencils. As they passed through, he introduced her to a number of men, most of whom wore blue polo shirts bearing the Stars' logo and all of whom seemed to have titles: director, manager, assistant.