It Had to Be You (Chicago Stars #1)(118)

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

Her eyes widened with horror as she saw that he had drawn his gun and it was pointed directly at her. A sense of unreality swept over her. Reed was her enemy, not this man she had never met. Above her the crowd roared like a beast in a padded cage, while she was trapped in a nightmare where she had escaped one terror only to be ensnared by another.

He pushed the door shut. “Get over there!”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Move!”

She stumbled backward, gradually becoming aware that he had pushed her into a room that seemed to be both a janitorial office and storage space. She saw a dented gray steel case desk, a file cabinet, and a wall of metal shelving holding cartons and machine parts.

He pointed the gun toward an armless secretarial chair that had a small V-shaped tear in the black vinyl seat. “Sit down.”

Her legs trembled as she lowered herself into the chair. The oval-shaped back support squeaked and gave slightly as she leaned back. She stared with grim fascination at the ugly black gun that was trained on her heart. It didn’t waver as he leaned down to pull a length of clothesline from behind a packing box that sat on a metal shelving unit across from the desk.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

Instead of answering, he pushed against the chair seat with his shoe, spinning it around so that she was facing the wall. She automatically reached out to brace herself, only to have him grab her arms and pull them behind her. She gave a cry of alarm.

He wheezed as he tied her wrists and secured them to the vertical metal bar that held the chair’s back support. It rocked alarmingly on its spring hinge, pulling at her arms and making her wince. When she was bound, he gave the chair another push, sending it flying into the far corner of the cramped room. She stopped it with her feet before she banged into the wall and then, panic-stricken, pushed herself around so that she was facing him.

She tried to feel grateful that he hadn’t tied her legs, but the cords were cutting into her wrists, sending shafts of pain shooting upward. He picked up the gun from one of the metal shelves where he had laid it while he tied her and returned it to the leather holster on his hip.

How long would it be before Ron noticed that she was missing? She fought down the hysteria rising inside her, knowing that no matter what happened, she had to keep her wits. She grew aware of the distant sound of music and realized that the halftime show had begun. Trying to ignore the pain in her arms and wrists, she forced herself to take in the details of the office.

The dented gray desk against the wall was cluttered with stacks of dog-eared manuals, catalogues, and a litter of papers. A small portable television, its tan case marred by greasy fingerprints, sat on top of a four-drawer file cabinet directly across from her. Clipboards hung from L-shaped hooks on the wall behind the desk, along with a calendar featuring a nude woman holding a brightly colored beach ball.

The guard lit a cigarette and held it between his stubby fingers, which were stained with nicotine. “Here’s the way it’s gonna be, lady. As long as your boyfriend does what I tell him, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, well I guess that doesn’t much matter.” He walked over to the file cabinet and turned on the television set. The black-and-white picture showed the commentators in their network blazers sitting in the broadcast booth.

“. . . the Stars played brilliantly in the first half. The offense mixed up their plays. They protected the ball well. The Sabers are going to have to be a lot more aggressive if they want to get back into this game.” The display at the bottom of the screen showed the score: Stars 14, Sabers 3.

The guard gave a vile curse and turned down the volume. She looked at him more closely as he paced the narrow end of the office closest to the door, smoking furiously. Her eyes fell on his black plastic name tag.





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.