It Had to Be You (48 page)

The men were getting ready to lift him to their shoulders, but he didn’t want to go anywhere without her. He turned toward her as the players swept him off his feet and began to carry him through the crowd. She was laughing. He laughed back. And then everything inside him grew alert as something in the stands behind her caught his attention.

In a sea of screaming, shifting fans, Ray Hardesty stood in eerie stillness. Every muscle in his body was rigid with hatred as he glared at Dan from the front row. Dan saw the glint of a gun in his hand even before he lifted his arm.

Everything happened in a matter of seconds, but each fragment of time became a still photograph, an image of horror that would be frozen forever in his mind. Dan, bobbing high on the players’ shoulders, had become an open target, but Hardesty, with a madman’s insight, had found a better way to destroy the man he hated. Strobes flashed, reporters shouted questions at him, and Dan watched in impotent horror as Hardesty adjusted his aim so that the gun was pointed directly at the back of Phoebe’s head.

A mass of security guards swarmed toward Hardesty. Those in the front saw his gun, but they couldn’t use their own weapons in the middle of the teeming crowd.

In the foreground, Phoebe, unaware of the peril she was in, still laughed. Dan had no weapon, nothing to protect the woman he loved with all his heart. Nothing except the game ball cradled against his chest.

He was part of an exclusive fraternity of great quarterbacks, but as his hand closed around the football, he was no longer in his prime. Instinctively, his fingertips settled into the position that felt more familiar to him than the contours of his own face.

The names of the immortals flashed through his mind: Bart Starr, Len Dawson, Namath and Montana, the great Johnny U. himself. None of them had ever had this much at stake.

He drew back his arm and fired the ball. It shot above the heads of the crowd, low and hard, a fierce spiral, as perfectly thrown as any ball in the history of professional sports.

In the front row of the stands, Hardesty spun sideways as the ball slammed him in the shoulder. The force sent him sprawling into the seats, and the gun flew from his hand.

Phoebe, who had finally realized something was wrong, whirled around just in time to see a bevy of security guards converging directly behind her in the stands. Before she could see what had happened, Bobby Tom and Webster had grabbed her and she, too, was being carried toward the field tunnel.

“I’ve spoken with the police,” he said over the pandemonium surrounding them. “They’ll talk with you as soon as the ceremonies are over. I’ve never been so frightened in my life.”

“Is Molly all right?” The players were shaking up champagne bottles, and Phoebe ducked a frothy shower.

“She was upset, but she’s fine now.”

As they reached the platform, Phoebe saw Dan being interviewed by O.J. Simpson. He had pulled a Super Bowl cap on over his wet hair, and as Ron helped her up next to him, she heard him sidestepping O.J.’s questions about his second-half coaching by promising a full press conference as soon as the chaos had settled down. He didn’t look at her, but as she drew near, he settled his hand comfortingly into the small of her back.

She ducked one champagne shower only to get drenched by another. Her hair dripped in her eyes and she dabbed at her cheeks as the president of the NFL came forward with the AFC Championship trophy. Standing between Dan and Phoebe, he began to speak. “On behalf of the—”

“Excuse me for one minute.” Phoebe hurried to the side of the podium where she grabbed Ron’s hand and pulled him up alongside Dan and herself.

Dan gave her an approving grin, grabbed a foaming champagne bottle from Collier Davis, and emptied it over Ron’s head. While the GM sputtered, Phoebe laughed and turned back to the NFL official. “You can go on now.”

He smiled. “On behalf of the National Football League, it is my great pleasure to present the AFC Championship trophy to owner Phoebe Somerville, Coach Dan Calebow, and the entire Stars’ organization.”

The players cheered wildly and released another shower of champagne. Phoebe tried to make a short speech, but got so choked up that Ron had to take over. OJ., still trying to get answers to his questions about the strange progress of the game, turned to interview Jim Biederot, while Phoebe passed the trophy over to Ron.

Dan grabbed her hand, pulled her off the platform, and steered her behind a celebrating cluster of players so that they were hidden from the media. “Come on. We only have a few minutes.”

He drew her around the corner toward the showers, through the equipment room, past a training room and into a hallway. The next thing she knew, he had hauled her into a small storage area, only a little bigger than a closet. No sooner had he pulled the door shut behind them than he gathered her into his arms and began to kiss her.

They clung fiercely to each other. Their bodies were wet and sticky from Gatorade and champagne. They tasted it on each other’s mouths.

“I didn’t know if I’d ever hold you like this again,” he murmured hoarsely.

“I was so scared. . . .”

“I love you so much. Oh, God, I love you.”

“I was afraid you didn’t, and I couldn’t bear it.” She trembled in his arms. “Oh, Dan, it’s been such a terrible day.”

“You can say that again.”

“Not just the kidnapping, but . . .” With a shudder, she told him about Reed.

She could feel his muscles grow taut as she spoke, and she waited for his explosion of rage. When he offered comfort instead, she loved him even more for understanding so clearly what she needed from him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “I’m so, so sorry, baby.”

Just telling him about it somehow made it more bearable. She nuzzled deeper into the wet collar of his shirt. “I wish we could stay in here forever,” she murmured.

“Me, too. All I want to do is take you home and make love to you.”

“The police are waiting for me.”

“I’ll have to talk to them, too. And the press.”

“And I need to see Molly.”

He cupped her face in his hands and tenderly stroked her cheeks. “Are you going to be all right?”

“I’m going to be fine. I just want to get all of this over with. We can meet at Ron’s victory party tonight.”

“Don’t plan on spending too much time there.” He gave her one last kiss, then held her hand as they slipped out into the hallway.

Inside the closet everything was still for a moment, and then there was a rustle in the farthest, darkest corner.

“Darnell?” The woman’s voice was soft and ladylike, but clearly distressed. “Did you hear what she said? About Reed Chandler?”

“I heard.”

Charmaine Dodd, who firmly believed in fair play, was indignant. “That rat! He shouldn’t be able to get away with something like that.”

“Oh, he won’t, baby. I know the coach, and I can promise you Chandler won’t get away with anything.”

“I’m glad.” She swatted Darnell’s wandering hand, which had begun to massage her breast through her prim white blouse in the most delicious, although highly improper, manner. “Oh, no you don’t. We’re not married yet.”

“But we’re gonna be, and then I’ll be touchin’ you in places you didn’t even know you had.”

“I didn’t say I’d marry you.” The words were slightly muffled because she was trying to kiss him while she talked. Hugging a football player who was still wearing most of his equipment was very much like trying to cozy up to an armored tank. Even so, she wasn’t ready to let him go. Not that she intended to make this easy for him by letting him know how much she’d grown to love him. Darnell was too full of himself as it was.

“Charmaine, baby, I just got off the field. I haven’t been to the showers, but you still walked right into this closet with me. Now if that isn’t a sign you’re ready for marriage, I don’t know what is.”

“Maybe I just feel sorry for you.”

He chuckled and slipped his hand under her skirt. His caress was so exquisite that, for several long moments, Miss Charmaine Dodd forgot her principles. Instead, she ran the tip of her tongue over the diamond embedded in his front tooth and told herself Darnell Pruitt was going to make one fine, fine husband.

It was eight that evening before Dan had finished with the police, the NFL commissioner, and the press. The lengthy and dramatic press conference had been especially difficult for Phoebe, but she had handled it like a trooper and was already being declared a heroine on the evening news. He didn’t like the fact that the press was trying to make him into a hero, but he knew that stories like this died a natural death after a few weeks. Then their lives could return to normal.

Ray Hardesty had suffered a major heart attack and was under police guard at the hospital. As Dan gazed around the silent coaches’ locker room where he’d finally been able to shower and change into clean clothes, he knew he would have no regrets if Hardesty didn’t recover.

Everyone else had left long ago for the victory party. As he slipped into his parka, he was bone weary and all he could think about was getting to Phoebe. But there was something he had to do first.

He walked out into the silent corridor, then drew up short as he saw Jim, Darnell, Webster, and Bobby Tom leaning against the opposite wall. All of them were wearing street clothes.

He regarded them uneasily. “I thought you’d be at the party by now.”

“We decided to wait for you,” Jim said.

“I have to make a stop first. I’ll meet you there.”

Bobby Tom unfolded his lanky form from the wall. “We care about Phoebe, too.”

“What are you talking about?”

Darnell took a step forward. “Me and my fiancée were sharing the same closet with you and Phoebe after the game. We overheard what she told you about Reed Chandler. I shared the information with my teammates here.”

Long seconds ticked by as Dan studied them. “I can take care of Reed by myself.”

“We know that. We’re just planning to come along for moral support.”

Dan began to argue, but fell silent when he realized that, in their minds, Phoebe had become their teammate today.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in front of Reed’s brick and stone two-story house. Dan was relieved to see that the lights were on. Reed was home, so this wouldn’t have to be postponed.

As they walked up the drive, he slipped his gloves into his pocket and regarded the men who had come with him. “Reed’s mine. I don’t want anybody else to touch him.”

Bobby Tom nodded. “Just make sure there aren’t any leftovers.”

Reed answered the door himself. When he saw Dan, he looked puzzled, and then his eyes widened in alarm as he observed the platoon standing behind him. He immediately tried to slam the door, but he wasn’t quick enough, and Dan drove his shoulder into it, sending him flying.

The men crashed into the hallway. Reed scrambled back against the archway that led to the living room. Dan could smell his fear.

“What do you want? Get out of here!”

Dan moved forward. “I think you know what I want. If you’re a religious man, I suggest you start praying.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! She lied to you about me, didn’t she? She told you some kind of lie.”

Dan took his first swing, a hard jab to the jaw, and Reed flew back against the couch. He gave a howl of pain and scrambled to his feet, panting with fear.

“You get out of here, Calebow. I’m going to call the police. I’m going to—”

Webster calmly ripped the phone from the wall. “Too bad, Chandler. Phone’s not working.”

“If you touch me, I’ll have you arrested!”

“Now how you gonna do that?” Bobby Tom stuck a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. “Right now the coach is having a drink with all four of us at my apartment. Anybody says different’s a liar. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s right, Bobby Tom.” Darnell wiped his shoe on one of the white damask chairs.

“You guys are crazy! You’re fucking maniacs.”

“We’re not maniacs,” Dan said. “We just don’t think a slimeball like you should get away with rape.”

“Is that what she told you? I didn’t rape her! She’s lying. She wanted it. She—”

Dan’s next blow destroyed Reed’s nose. He began to whimper and tried to push it back into place as blood poured down his face. “It wasn’t my fault,” he sobbed. “I was drunk. I didn’t mean anything.”

Dan dropped his parka on the back of the couch. “When I’m done with you tonight, you’re gonna be hurt real bad.”

Reed tried to scramble to his feet. “No! Stay away! Don’t hurt me!”

Dan advanced on him. “You’re gonna be hurt, but unless I miscalculate, you’ll still be alive. If you want to keep it that way, don’t ever come close to Phoebe again. If you threaten her in any way, you’d better be prepared to live the rest of your life in a wheelchair.”

“No!”

It was the last word Reed uttered before Dan took him apart.

Phoebe didn’t arrive at the victory party until nine o’clock. Her ordeal, combined with the lengthy press conference, had exhausted her. When she’d finally gotten home, Molly had clucked over her like a mother hen and insisted that she lie down. She’d been so exhausted that she’d immediately fallen asleep.

Several hours later, when she awakened, she was refreshed and eager to see Dan. She’d showered and chatted with Molly as she’d dressed. Her sister had been shaken by the events of the afternoon, but recovered her spirits when Phoebe suggested a last-minute slumber party. Peg consented to chaperone, and by the time Phoebe left, the girls were arriving.

The restaurant Ron had rented for the night had a cozy, rustic interior, complete with brick floor and copper pots hanging from open beams. As she entered, her hair was still a bit damp from her shower and it curled around her head. The temperature had been steadily dropping all evening, and she was wearing a loosely fitting fuchsia sweater over a matching skirt in soft, flowing wool. With the exception of a center slit that climbed to a point just above her knees, it was conservative attire, but it felt right with her curly hair and silver doorknocker earrings.