Heather Graham (31 page)

They ordered, then discussed some of the new buildings in New York City until their food arrived. They’d both decided on shrimp with lobster sauce—it didn’t matter what they ate, and they both knew it.

“Katie, I don’t really know how to say this, and I don’t really know what I want you to do. But you’re angry with Kent … and I know Kent—you probably have every right to be! I only wish you’d find it in your heart to forgive him. Or at least pretend to.” Paula hesitated a minute, pushing a shrimp around on her plate. “Quite frankly, I’m worried sick. There are all kinds of rumors floating around about the game. They’re going to be going after Kent like wild animals. I know he’s a grown man who has chosen to play the game, but …” She stared into Katie’s eyes suddenly. “Katie, he isn’t a kid anymore. If he goes into that game on Sunday without concentrating or being in form, they’ll massacre him.”

Katie shivered. Cold fingers squeezed her heart, both because she couldn’t bear the thought of Kent being injured, as her father had been, and because Paula, too, had heard something about the proposed viciousness of the game.

Katie dropped her eyes from Paula’s, hesitating before she spoke. “I’m not so sure he wants to talk to me, Paula. He came up here one night to see me, and I—I was in a position that must have proved to him that I was guilty of something he had accused me of that I really wasn’t guilty of at all.” She listened to herself and had to laugh. “I realize that I just made next to no sense at all.”

Paula smiled a little secretively and lowered her head. “I understood you!” She chuckled. “You’re talking about Paul Crane, I assume.”

“Ah, yes.”

“Would you mind me asking you—well, I’m sure you would mind, but I’ve gone this far, I might as well plunge ahead. Why were you out with him?”

Katie shrugged. “There are all these rumors about the game, about Paul being on the take and the heavy betting. But it doesn’t make sense, because Paul would be trying to get at Sam and Kent no matter what. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just thought that I might be able to find something out that made sense out of the whole thing. Kent and Paul got into a fight—”

“Yes, I know.” Paula grinned. “I got to run around with an ice bag once he got back to Philly.”

Katie grimaced. “I left the scene. I’m not sure if I thought one of them would turn around and kill me or if I just couldn’t take it if Kent lit into me for being the traitor he had assumed I was in the first place.” She took a deep breath, then looked at Paula. “Maybe I was hoping that if—if he really cared, if he was ready to trust me, he would follow me home or call. Something,” she finished weakly. “Paula, a self-respecting person just wouldn’t go near Kent again without an apology.”

Paula grimaced and nodded slowly. “I don’t know the particulars, Katie, but I trust you—and I believe you.” She hesitated. “Has it occurred to you that he might be … hurt? A little too insecure to take a chance?”

Katie laughed hollowly. “Kent hurt? He’s the Cougar, Paula, not me. We both know he leads the life of a living idol. He can have any woman he wants.”

Paula lowered her lashes, smiling a little secretively again—and a little regretfully, too, Katie thought. “Don’t judge Kent that way. I made that mistake once myself. Even living idols fall in love, and love gives the most rugged man an Achilles’ heel.”

Katie shrugged, then said quietly, “I’m not at all sure he’s in love with me. And I—I don’t know if I could call him. He’s in training now anyway.”

“Are you going to the game?”

Katie shrugged again, grimacing. “Yes. I’ve been trying to tell myself that I shouldn’t go, but the weaker side of me keeps winning the argument. Are you going?”

“Yes, we’ll all be there. Ted, my husband, Anne, and myself. You can’t keep a young girl away when her father’s playing in the Superbowl, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Katie said softly.

“And like I said,” Paula added, “I’m worried sick.”

Katie picked up a shrimp to chew. It tasted like rubber, even though she knew the food was usually very good. It wasn’t the shrimp—it was her. She was feeling Paula’s concern, and the lineup and the names were rushing through her mind once again. Sam—already injured, Kent … and Paul. Paul Crane, who was carrying around the name and number of a Saxon guard, a man who would be protecting Sam in the game—

“Oh, my God!” Katie gasped suddenly.

“What?” Paula demanded, startled.

“I think I’ve got it. Paul isn’t the only one on the take!”

“What do you mean?”

Katie looked at Paula. “The other night I went through Paul’s wallet—not a nice thing to do, I’ll admit, but I thought I might find something … and I did. I just didn’t realize what it meant until now. I think that one of the Saxons is on the take, too. A guard. Paula, don’t you see? That makes everything fit. Whether he was on the take or not, Paul couldn’t really change the game himself. But if there was a Saxon—a guard—helping him, a man who could let him through to Sam, he could guarantee the game! He’d know he’d get a chance to blitz Sam!”

Paula watched her, then nodded slowly. “It does make sense,” she said slowly. “The problem is, there isn’t any way to prove any of this.”

“Paula, you’ve got to call Kent. You’ve got to warn him—”

“Katie, they’ll think I’m crazy! I’m just a ‘woman.’ And ‘women’ aren’t supposed to understand the great fraternity of football. But you’re different because you’re Hudson’s daughter. You know the team. You’ve got to call.”

Something very painful constricted Katie’s throat. “I really don’t think I can call Kent. And I don’t know what good it would do. He already thinks I’m guilty as hell, and it’s going to be almost impossible to convince him that a member of his own team is playing against him. He might think I’m making the whole thing up to put myself in the clear.”

“I don’t think so, Katie. I really don’t think so. He said that everything that had happened was his own fault.”

“I don’t know,” Katie murmured miserably.

“Katie, please! When they finish with Sam, they’ll go for Kent! Sam is already hurt—” She stopped abruptly. “Sam! That’s it! Katie, at least call Sam.”

“Sam’s the one who turned everything into a fiasco!” Katie exclaimed irritably.

Paula shook her head vehemently. “Sam’s not a bad guy, Katie. If he hurt you, it wasn’t on purpose. At least call Sam if you can’t talk to Kent. Please.”

Katie hesitated a long while. “All right,” she said at last. “I’ll call Sam.”

“One more thing, Katie,” Paula murmured.

“What’s that?”

“I know this isn’t fair, but, please, think about Kent.”

“If he wanted me—”

Paula shook her head. “I’m just asking you to think about it all, Katie. And trust me—I know him well. He is in love with you.”

Katie wasn’t so sure, but she promised Paula she would think about the situation. When they parted in front of the restaurant, Katie was also promising to try and reach Sam Loper as soon as she could. Paula gave her an affectionate hug. As they parted, Katie walked away from her former lover’s ex-wife with an incredible feeling of warmth, a feeling that helped her finish the rough draft of the article that afternoon.

She also tried to reach Sam. It wasn’t difficult to find out where the Saxons were staying in New Orleans; it was almost impossible to get the hotel’s receptionist to promise to give Sam a message. Katie left her work number and her home number; by six he still hadn’t called the office. Katie decided to go home.

She straightened up her apartment, ate a salad, and took a long bath. She washed her hair and did her nails and watched the time creep by. At midnight she gave up with a sigh. Sam Loper wasn’t going to call her back. In the morning she’d call New Orleans and stress that her message was urgent.

She tossed around a long time that night. She grew warm when she allowed herself to wonder if Kent could really be in love with her; tingling, electrical sensations haunted her body. Then she tried to convince herself that it couldn’t be true, because if she allowed herself to believe it and it wasn’t, she wouldn’t be able to bear the pain. And he hadn’t tried to contact her. He’d seen her dancing with Paul Crane. Yes, he’d gotten into a fight with Paul, but she also thought that the fight really had little to do with her; the two of them had been more than ready to jump at each other’s throats over nothing—or everything, as the case might be.

Katie plumped her pillow and covered her eyes with her arm. Was it possible that the game was really rigged? Could a Saxon have willingly sold out for the right price? How could any man be willing to see a teammate torn apart?

The right price. Good men could be tempted for the right price. And it wasn’t as if Harry Kolan was going to have to hurt Sam himself. All he was going to have to do was slip or fall—and leave an opening for Paul Crane to get through to Sam. Quarterbacks got rushed and blitzed all the time. It would look like typical game procedure. And if Sam went out of the game …

Well, the news media were proclaiming him the hottest quarterback in almost a decade. They were comparing him to the great Dante Hudson. The Saxons were a good team on their own; with Sam and a legendary wide receiver like Kent, they were great. But it was also true that take away Sam, and they’d be fighting tooth and nail. A. J. Timmons was their second quarterback, and he was good, too. But take him away, and Kent—if he was still walking!—would be thrown in. And if you took away Kent …

Katie didn’t even really give a damn about the game, about who won and who lost. She did care about Sam, and more than anything, she cared about Kent.

She felt like screaming, because it all came back to her now, her father’s last game, the knowledge that he’d never play again because of the injury to his spinal cord. And then, a few years down the line, the doctors telling her that he had cancer associated with the deadened nerves.

Katie got up and made herself a cup of tea. She wished then that she took sleeping pills. But since she didn’t, she decided a few aspirin might help her drift off.

Before she got back into bed, she looked at the phone and shook an aggravated fist at it.

“Damn you, Sam Loper! You troublemaker! You’d better call me back!”

When she finally fell asleep, it felt as if morning came almost instantly—much too soon. When the phone first started shrilling, she was hoping she had left her answering machine on and nastily wishing that whoever could interrupt her so rudely when she had finally fallen asleep would fall into an icy lake somewhere.

Then she thought that it just might be Sam, and she scrambled quickly to her knees to catch the phone.

“Hello?”

“Katie?”

“Yes?” It sounded like Sam.

“Well, hi, doll. I’ve missed seeing you around.”

It
was
Sam. Suddenly, Katie was furious with him again. “Cut it, Sam—right now. You know damned well that you haven’t seen me around because you personally had me hanged before I knew there was a trial going on.”

“Ah, come on, Katie! I—I talked to Paul Crane, and Kent is my friend. Then there’s the game, you know. Katie—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Sam. I—”

“You want me to try and straighten things out between you and Kent? But Katie, Crane said that you had been dating him, and Connie was at the party, and—”

“Stop it, Sam! I do
not
want you to set things straight between Kent and me, and I don’t need to offer you any explanations about anything. I called you about the game.”

“The game?” Sam said quizzically. “Oh, I can get you tickets, if that’s what you need—”

“Sam!” She was almost screaming. “I don’t
need
tickets … the magazine arranged for my ticket a long time ago. Sam, please, listen to me. Pay attention.”

“I’m listening, Katie,” he said quietly.

“Okay, Sam, follow my reasoning. Everyone is saying that players have been approached with some hefty gambling cash to make sure that the Saxons don’t win the game, right?”

“Right,” Sam agreed slowly.

“And you are all convinced that Paul is the one on the take, right?”

He hesitated a minute. “You know that, Katie—”

“Sam, I asked you to listen to me. Paul’s against you no matter what. So how could he really throw the game?”

“Well,” Sam said patiently, “usually when they say, ‘kill the quarterback,’ they don’t mean it literally. Most guys are out there getting tough, but—”

“Sam, that still wouldn’t guarantee a win. But if someone on your team were ready to throw the game, it would.”

Sam was silent a long, long time. “What are you getting at, Katie?” he asked at last.

“Sam, I went out with Paul last week, which I’m sure you know—and you have the nerve to call women gossips!”

“Katie—”

“Sorry, that’s beside the point. Anyway, I went through his wallet—”

“You went through his what?”

“His wallet, Sam, his wallet.”

“You didn’t!”

Katie sighed. “Believe it or not, Sam, I’m on your side. I was trying to see what I could find out. And—”

“How did you get his wallet, Katie?” Sam asked her with a peculiar note to his voice. Then she thought she understood the suspicious ring to the question, and she felt as if steam were rising inside her all over again.

“It was on the chair, Sam. That’s how! And it’s none of your damned business, you little snitch!”

“Katie! That’s not fair at all—”

“And I don’t want to discuss it either! Sam, I’m begging you. Will you let me get to the point?”

“Sorry, Katie, go on.”

“Paul was carrying around Harry Kolan’s name and phone number.”

“So what?”

“So what? Harry Kolan is supposed to be guarding you!”

“I still don’t see what you’re getting at, Katie. Lots of guys have friends on different teams. Hell, before the Saxons existed, Kent—and your father, too, by the way—were playing with Paul for the Titans—”

“Sam! You stupid jock!” Katie raged. “I think it means that Harry is in on this, too.”

“Katie.” There was a rough edge to Sam’s voice; she knew she’d made him angry, but he deserved it. He deserved more, she thought. “I am not a ‘stupid jock,’” he told her flatly.