It Had to Be You Part 39

"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 f.u.c.king 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 b.i.t.c.h!"

"Your team isn't going to win the championship without my boy."

The fact that Hardesty made no attempt to deny his ident.i.ty 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.

The scoreboard flashed, and Dan Calebow felt a cold hand grip his heart.

In the subbas.e.m.e.nt of the dome, Ray cursed and slammed his foot into Phoebe's chair. She let out a cry as it flew across the slippery floor and crashed into the end wall. Her shoulder caught the impact and shards of pain shot through her body. She tasted blood in her mouth where she bit her tongue.

Afraid of what he would do to her next, she fought against the pain and forced the chair back around so that she was facing him. But he wasn't looking at her. Instead he was staring at the television and muttering to himself.

A close-up of Dan filled the small screen. He looked frantic, and since the score now favored the Stars 173, the commentators were making a joke about it. The sight of him made her feel as if she had been ripped open. She might die today. Was she going to be watching his face when it happened? The idea was unbearable and she forced her numb fingers to begin working at the knots that held her to the chair. As she bit back the pain her movements were causing her, she remembered their last conversation and the unshakable conviction in his voice when he had told her he would never throw a game.

I don't do that, Phoebe. Not for anybody. Not even for you.

24.

On the sideline Dan called Jim Biederot over. He hoped the quarterback didn't notice the unsteadiness in his voice. "We're making some changes in the next series, Jim."

By the time he'd finished giving his instructions, Biederot's eyes had narrowed into indignant slits above the black smudges that angled across his cheekbones. "Those are G.o.dd.a.m.n running plays! I'm hitting every receiver I look at."

"Do what you're told or you'll sit!" Dan shot back.

Biederot gave him a glance of pure fury and stalked over to Charlie Cray, one of the a.s.sistants. Within seconds, he had grabbed Charlie's headset and was shouting into it.

Dan knew Jim was speaking with Gary Hewitt, his offensive coordinator, who sat with Tully in the coaches' box high in the dome. Before Hewitt could start giving him h.e.l.l, too, he tried to swallow enough of his fear so he could sort out his thoughts.

Hardesty had said he was watching on television, which meant he'd be able to see any unusual movement on the sideline or in whatever part of the stadium was within camera range. As a consequence, Dan couldn't risk notifying the police. Once they knew that Phoebe truly had been kidnapped, they'd be all over the place, including right here on the sideline asking him questions. Even worse, they might decide to call the game, a circ.u.mstance that could very well push Hardesty right over the edge.

He briefly debated using his headset to contact Ron, but he was afraid Hardesty might be listening in. Although Dan didn't understand all the intricacies of the internal communications system, he knew Hardesty could only have accessed it from within the dome. That meant he might, even now, be eavesdropping on conversations between the sideline and the coaches' box. It also mean that Phoebe was tucked away somewhere nearby.

He swiped at his forehead with his sleeve as he tried to figure out what to do about Ron. Since he couldn't explain what had happened over the headset, he grabbed his clipboard and scribbled a quick note, making it cryptic enough so that it would be meaningless to anyone else who read it.

I spoke with the player we were discussing at halftime. Your negative a.s.sessment of the situation was correct. It is urgent that you take no further action. I'll explain after the game.

He slipped the note to one of the equipment men to deliver and told himself that Phoebe would come out of this unharmed. Anything else was unthinkable.

For the first time, he let himself consider how his actions would affect her ownership of the Stars after all this was over and she was safe. Although there was no precedent for what was happening, he couldn't imagine the NFL would let this game stand-not unless the Stars won despite his coaching, which he wouldn't let happen. Once the NFL learned that he had deliberately thrown the game, ensuring a Stars' loss, they would schedule a rematch and she would still have a chance to keep the team.

And then an ugly thought struck him. What if the police didn't believe that she had been kidnapped? If Hardesty got away, there wouldn't be any tangible proof other than her own testimony. Dan was the only one who could back up her story, and his personal involvement with her would make his word suspect. She could very well be accused of fabricating the kidnapping simply because the Stars had lost and she wanted another shot at retaining ownership. There was no way the NFL would let this game be replayed.

He forced himself to face the painful fact that his failure to notify the police was going to cost Phoebe the Stars. Still, he couldn't do anything else. He wouldn't take a chance with her life, not for the world.

Gary Hewitt's voice crackled through his headset. "Dan, what the h.e.l.l's going on? Why did you tell Jim to keep it on the ground? That's not our plan. He's never pa.s.sed better."

"I'm making some changes," Dan snapped. "We've got the lead, so we're going to play smart."

"It's only the third quarter! It's too early to get conservative."

Dan couldn't have agreed more, so he simply removed his headset and glued his eyes to the field. No matter what he had to do, he was going to keep Phoebe safe.

By the middle of the quarter the Sabers had scored their first touchdown while the Stars' ground game had failed to move the ball, reducing their lead to seven points. The fans' booing had grown so loud that the offense was having a hard time hearing Biederot's signals. Dan's a.s.sistants were furious, the players livid, and, two minutes into the fourth quarter, when the Sabers evened the score at seventeen, the network's color man ran out of patience.

"Can you believe what you're seeing?" He was practically shouting into the cameras. "All season, Dan Calebow has been one of the most aggressive coaches in the NFL, and it's terrible to see him fold like this. This isn't the kind of football the fans came to watch!"

Phoebe tried to shut out the commentator's understandably harsh a.s.sessment of Dan's coaching, just as she'd been trying to ignore the sound of the crowd's jeers. She didn't want to think about what this public humiliation was doing to his pride, and she knew she had never loved him more.

Her wrists, chafed raw by her struggles to get free of the ropes, were bleeding. Ignore the pain, Ignore the pain, she told herself. she told herself. Play through it. Play through it. Everything she had heard the players say, she repeated to herself, but she was beginning to think the knots would never loosen. Everything she had heard the players say, she repeated to herself, but she was beginning to think the knots would never loosen.

Hardesty had tied her wrists in a figure eight of rope, then secured the free ends to the vertical post that supported the back of the chair. Although her fingers had become sticky with blood as she worked at that tight double knot that held her in the chair, it wouldn't give. Play through the pain. Shake it off. Play through the pain. Shake it off.

Hardesty stared at the screen, took a drag on his cigarette, and coughed. The air was so thick with smoke that she could barely breathe. Sometimes she thought he had forgotten her, but then he would look at her with eyes so empty of any remorse that she didn't doubt he would kill her.

Five minutes into the fourth quarter, the Sabers pulled ahead. On the sideline the emotions of the players and a.s.sistants reflected everything from fury to despondency, while the crowd had begun to throw debris on Dan. He stood alone, isolated by the players and the coaches. Only his iron discipline was keeping a full revolt from breaking out on the bench.

Sabers 24, Stars 17.

As the Sabers kicked the extra point, Biederot slammed his helmet against the bench, hitting it with such force that the face mask cracked. Dan knew it was only a matter of time before Jim ignored the threat to bench him and began calling his own plays. With less than ten minutes left on the clock and the temper of the crowd growing uglier by the minute, he could no longer keep the game on the ground.

All his life Dan had been a team player and going it alone had become too risky. Praying that he wasn't making a fatal mistake, he called Jim and Bobby Tom over just before the offense took the field again.

Jim's face was ruddy with fury, Bobby Tom's rigid. Both of them started spewing obscenities.

"Bench me, you c.o.c.ksucker! I don't give a skit because I don't want to be part of this."

"We didn't work this f.u.c.king hard to have you f.u.c.k us like this!"

A minicam zoomed in on them. Dan grabbed their arms and ducked his head. His voice was low and fierce. "Shut up and listen! Phoebe's been kidnapped. The man who has her is crazy. He says he's going to kill her if we win this game." He felt the muscles in their arms grow rigid, but he didn't glance up because he was certain the cameras were on him. "He's watching on television. I can't let the team score even a field goal because he's threatened to hurt her if we put any numbers on the board." He sucked in his breath and lifted his head. "I believe he'll do it."

Biederot swore softly, while Bobby Tom looked murderous.

Dan let every one of his emotions show in his eyes as he called the next series of plays. "Make it look good. Please. Phoebe's life depends on it."

He could see they had a dozen questions, but there was no time to ask them, and to their credit, neither man offered any argument.

In the subbas.e.m.e.nt below the dome, Phoebe heard the crowd cheer. Her b.l.o.o.d.y fingers grew still on the knot, and her eyes snapped to the television. She stopped breathing as Jim threw a long pa.s.s over the middle to Bobby Tom. Bobby Tom extended his body in the lean, graceful line that had been photographed so often, with his weight balanced only on the tips of his toes. How many times this season had she seen him s.n.a.t.c.h the ball out of the air from exactly that position, defying gravity as effortlessly as a ballet dancer?

But not this time. The crowd groaned as the ball bounced off his fingertips. Bobby Tom fell to the turf, and she remembered to breathe again.

It was the first long pa.s.s Biederot had thrown in the second half, and she wondered if Dan's control over the men had at last snapped. She refused to think about what that would mean. Not now. Not when the knot that held her to the chair had finally given way.

She had been so excited when it had shaken loose, but that small moment of triumph had evaporated when she realized she was still bound. Although she was no longer tied to the chair, her wrists were secured by a knot she hadn't previously discovered, this one holding together the figure eight of rope he had whipped around them. She was free of the chair, but that wasn't good enough when Hardesty had a gun and she couldn't use her arms.

The camera moved in for a close-up of Bobby Tom. Pain had dulled her senses, and several seconds ticked by before she noticed that something was wrong. When Bobby Tom missed one, his customary good humor always deserted him. He screwed up his face and cursed himself. But now, even on the small TV screen, she could see that his expression was devoid of any emotion.

He knows. Every one of her intuitive powers made her certain that Dan had told him what had happened. She knew how much this game meant to Bobby Tom, and she could only imagine what it had cost him to deliberately miss the ball. Her anger burned as she stared at Hardesty's back. He had no right to steal this day from them. Every one of her intuitive powers made her certain that Dan had told him what had happened. She knew how much this game meant to Bobby Tom, and she could only imagine what it had cost him to deliberately miss the ball. Her anger burned as she stared at Hardesty's back. He had no right to steal this day from them.

The Stars punted and the Sabers began their next series, while the scoreboard clock continued to tick.

7:14 ... ... 7:13 7:13 ... ... 7:12 7:12 ... ...

The Sabers began a series of pa.s.sing plays. She thought of the way the men looked after the games: dirty, limping, b.l.o.o.d.y. In her mind she saw them on the plane coming back from road games, with their knees wrapped in ice packs, their shoulders bandaged, while they popped pain killers so they could sleep. Not one of those men wouldn't do anything for the Stars.

6:21 ... ... 6:20 6:20 ... ... 6:19 6:19 ... ...

With so little time left, she wasn't at all certain she could undo the last knot before the clock ran out. It was loosening, but not quickly enough. She had the awful feeling that she was letting down the team, that somehow she wasn't trying hard enough.

5:43 ... ... 5:42 5:42 ... ... 5:41 5:41 ... ...

Portland scored another field goal. Sabers 27, Stars 17. Sabers 27, Stars 17. She had to make a decision. She could play it safe and stay where she was, hoping he would let her go at the end of the game. Or she could risk everything to win her own freedom. She had to make a decision. She could play it safe and stay where she was, hoping he would let her go at the end of the game. Or she could risk everything to win her own freedom.

Dan's face came on the screen, and she made up her mind. She wasn't going to lose him or the Stars without a fight. Her mind raced. She would only have one chance, and she had to pick her moment.

5:07 ... ... 5:06 5:06 ... ... 5:05 5:05 ... ...

Hardesty bent forward, racked by another of his hacking coughs. She planted her feet and shoved hard against the floor. The chair flew forward.

He spun awkwardly as he heard the wheels squeak. With a harsh exclamation, he lifted his fist to strike her. She drew up her legs and rammed her heel into his groin.

He gave a scream of pain and doubled forward. She shot up, drawing her arms over the back of the chair, her wrists still tied behind her. She stumbled for the door. Twisting the k.n.o.b behind her back, she popped the lock and rushed out into the hallway.

She ran awkwardly in the direction of the elevator while she continued to tug at her wrists. But although the ropes were looser, she still couldn't slip free. She heard a groan from behind her and glanced back to see Hardesty staggering through the doorway.

She lurched toward a gray metal door marked "Stairs" and stumbled, barely righting herself before she fell. Once again precious seconds ticked by as she turned her back to pull on the door handle. A loop of rope slipped down over her fingers making the process even more difficult. Hardesty, still doubled over, moved forward.

"You b.i.t.c.h... ." he gasped.

Terror shot through her as he fumbled for the gun on his hip. The door into the stairwell swung open. She pushed herself inside, then screamed and hunched her shoulders as bits of concrete exploded from the wall in front of her, showering her with stinging debris.

She gave a choked cry. Before he could fire at her again, she began struggling up the stairs, frantically tugging at the tangled ropes that were making her movements so awkward. She had almost reached the landing when one of the loops finally slipped loose. She freed herself from the rest just as she heard that awful wheeze coming from below her, the sound amplified in the hollow stairwell.

"b.i.t.c.h!"

She spun and saw him at the bottom of the stairwell, where his face was purple and he was gasping for air as if he were strangling. Paralyzed, she stared at the gun that was pointed directly at her.

"I'm not ..." He sagged against the wall, clutching his heaving chest. "I'm not ... going to let you ..."

The gun wavered, releasing her from her paralysis. She raced around the bend of the landing. Another shot rang out, hitting the wall behind her. She didn't dare stop to see if he was following as she flew up the remaining stairs. When she reached the door, she heard a cry of pain that was almost inhuman. She pulled on the handle just as the thud of a heavy weight hitting the floor echoed in the stairwell.

She dashed out into the hallway, trying desperately to orient herself. She heard the noise of the crowd and realized that she had stumbled into the far end of the corridor that led to the Stars' locker room. Wasting no time, she headed toward the field tunnel, throwing off her sequined blue jacket with its bloodstained cuffs as she ran.

A security guard stood at the mouth of the tunnel. He whipped around when he heard the clatter of her shoes. As she ran toward him, he gaped at her rumpled hair, torn stockings, and b.l.o.o.d.y wrists.

"One of the guards is lying at the bottom of the stairwell by the locker room!" She fought for breath. "I think he's had a heart attack. Be careful. He's crazy and he has a gun."

The man stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. Before he could question her, she ran past him toward the field. The guard stationed at the fence recognized her and jumped back from the gate. The Sabers' offense was on the field. She looked at the scoreboard.

2:58 ... ...

And then, all she saw was the back of Dan's head.

The problems between them evaporated as she ran toward the bench. Players were blocking her way, and she shoved at their jerseys.

"Let me through! Let me by!"

One by one they stepped aside, clearly astonished to see her. Bobby Tom and Jim Biederot caught sight of her and began to rush forward.

"Dan!"