HARDESTY
At that moment, it all came back. She remembered Dan's telling her about the man who had been stalking him, the father of one of the Stars' former players. His name was Hardesty.
A beer commercial blinked mutely on the television. She licked her dry lips. "My arms are hurting. The rope's too tight."
"I'm not untying you."
"Just loosen it."
"No."
She had to get him to talk. She would go crazy if she didn't find out what he had in mind. "This is about your son, isn't it?"
He pointed his cigarette at her. "I'll tell you something, lady. Ray Junior was the best defensive end to ever play for the Stars. There wasn't any reason for that bastard to cut him."
"Coach Calebow?"
"He had it in for Ray Junior. He didn't even give him a chance."
"Dan doesn't operate that way."
Clouds of gray smoke wreathed his head, and he barely seemed to have heard her. "I'll tell you what I think. I think he knew Ray Junior was a better player than he'd ever been. I think he was jealous. The press made a big thing about Calebow, but he was nothing, not compared to my Ray."
She realized that the man was insane. Maybe he'd been this way for a long time, or maybe his son's death had been the final blow. She tried to conceal her fear.
"Players get cut all the time. It's part of the game."
"You don't know what it's like! One day you're somebody special, and the next day nobody knows your name."
"Are you talking about your son or yourself?"
"Shut up!" His eyes bulged and his complexion took on a faint purplish hue.
She was afraid to push him any farther, and she fell silent.
He jabbed his finger at her. "Look, you don't mean anything to me. I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I have to. Because no matter what, I'm not going to let the Stars win this game."
Ron reached the tunnel just as the players were rushing back onto the field. He dreaded what he had to do. Dan had been a bear all week-temperamental, unreasonable, and impossible to pacify-and he had no idea how he'd react to this distressing piece of news.
Dan emerged from the locker room and Ron fell into step beside him. "I'm afraid we've got a problem."
"Handle it. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm trying to win a football game here, and-"
Ron pressed his folded handkerchief against his forehead. "Phoebe's missing."
Dan jerked to a stop, and his face went pale. "What are you talking about?"
"She left the skybox during the second quarter and never came back. Somebody found her purse in the hallway. I've called her house and her office. I've checked with first aid and sent someone to every skybox. She's gone, Dan, and at this point, I have to believe it's foul play."
Ron had seen Dan in pressure situations, but he'd never seen such raw panic in his eyes. "No! She can't be-Christ. Did you call the police?"
"Yes, but since it's so early, they're not taking it as seriously as I am. I hate doing this to you in the middle of the game, but it occurred to me that you might be able to think of someplace else I could look. Do you have any ideas? Can you think of anyplace else she might be?"
He stood frozen, his eyes wild in the pallor of his face. "No." He grabbed Ron's arm. "Did you talk to Molly? Jesus! Talk to Molly! Maybe Phoebe's with her."
He'd never seen Dan like this, and he knew right then that there was more to the relationship between the Stars' owner and head coach than he had suspected. "Molly hasn't seen her since before the game. She's pretty upset. Tully's wife is with her now."
"If anything's happened to Phoebe-"
"Dan?" One of the assistant coaches had appeared at the mouth of the tunnel.
Dan rounded on him, the cords of his neck standing out like ropes. "Leave me the fuck alone!"
Ron could feel Dan's desperation, and he grabbed the head coach's other arm with an urgent grip. "You've got to get back on the field! There's nothing you can do for Phoebe right now. I'll let you know right away if we find her."
Dan regarded him with haunted eyes. "Don't let anything happen to her, Ron. For God's sake, find her!"
Ron wanted to reassure him, but he could only say, "I'll do my best."
One level below, Hardesty reached into his pocket for a fresh pack of cigarettes. Phoebe's eyes were stinging from the smoke, adding to the misery of the pain in her arms and wrists. The silence between them had strained her nerves to the point where she had to speak.
"Whose office is this?"
For a moment she didn't think he would reply. Then he shrugged. "One of the engineers. He has to stay with the generators until the gates close, so he won't be popping in for a visit, if that's what you're hoping."
The silent screen showed the Sabers kicking off. She flinched as he turned up the volume.
"You're not going to get away with this."
"You know something? I don't care. As long as the Stars lose the championship, I don't fucking care!"
Hardesty glanced at the TV, then moved to the desk, where he picked up the telephone and punched four buttons. Several seconds passed before he spoke into the receiver.
"This is Bob Smith with the Stars. I've got Phoebe Somerville here, and she wants to talk to Coach Calebow. Patch this call through to the sidelines, will you?" He paused, listening. "She doesn't give a shit about authorization. She says it's important, and she's the boss, but it's your ass, so you do what you want."
Whoever was on the other end must have decided to go along with the request because Hardesty slid the phone to the end of the desk closest to where she was sitting. The wheels squealed as he caught the back of her chair and pulled her to it. He waited silently, his hand clenching the receiver, and then he tensed.
"Calebow? I got somebody here wants to talk to you." He pushed the receiver to Phoebe's ear.
"Dan?" Her voice was thin with fear.
"Phoebe? Where are you? Jesus, are you all right?"
"No, I-" She cried out with pain as Hardesty dug his fingers into her hair and yanked hard.
On the sidelines, Dan went rigid. "Phoebe! What's happened? Are you there? Talk to me!"
His heart was banging against his ribs, and a cold sweat had broken out on his forehead. Phoebe was being terrorized, and there was nothing he could do about it. With blinding clarity, the strength of his fear peeled away all his self-protective layers, and he knew how deeply he loved her. If anything happened to her, he didn't want to go on living. He cried out her name, trying to convey everything he felt for her but had never been able to say.
A gravelly male voice traveled through his headset. "I've got her Calebow. If you don't want her hurt, you'll listen real hard to what I'm saying."
"Who is this?"
"The Stars lose today. Got me? Your fucking team loses or the lady dies."
Dan heard the wheeze in the man's voice and was gripped by a horrible suspicion. "Hardesty? It's you, isn't it, you crazy son of a bitch!"
"Your team isn't going to win the championship without my boy."
The fact that Hardesty made no attempt to deny his identity magnified Dan's fear as nothing else could have. Only a man who didn't care if he lived or died would be so careless.
He knew he didn't have much time, and he spoke quickly, his voice commanding. "Listen to me. Ray wouldn't want you to do this."
"You were jealous of him. That's why you cut him."
"This is between you and me. Phoebe doesn't have anything to do with it. Let her go."
"Don't call the police." Hardesty coughed, a dry rattling sound. "I'm watching on TV, and if I see anything unusual going on, you'll be sorry."
"Think, Hardesty! You've got an innocent woman-"
"Any more points go on the Scoreboard for the Stars, I'm gonna hurt your girlfriend."
"Hardesty!"
The line went dead.
Dan stood there, stunned. He heard the cheers of the crowd and everything inside him went numb as he remembered the series of plays he had just called. He spun toward the field. Standing in mute horror, he watched as the ball arced through the air and sailed directly between the uprights for a Stars' field goal.