Monday morning found her in the main office building at the Stars Complex Headquarters in DuPage County. The team logo of three interlocking gold stars in a sky-blue circle was etched into the glass wall of the PR office—the wall that overlooked the building’s main lobby where lighted niches protected by bulletproof glass displayed the team’s major trophies and where visitors signed in at an impressive, crescent-shaped ivory granite reception desk.

With the football season in full swing, the PR office was humming with activity—phones ringing, computer screens glowing, people hurrying in and out. Coop had finally cleared the way for her to go through the mail that had accumulated for him, and a young publicist with cat’s-eye makeup and an earnest manner showed her to the room’s only empty desk and explained the procedure.

“We take care of most of Coop’s fan mail. We mail out autograph cards, his FAQ, and we have a special package for kids who write him. We work with his agent on appearance requests. Even though he’s retired, he still gets a lot of mail.”

“Any of it hostile?”

“Not much. He got some his first season with the Stars after a couple of bad games. ‘Go back to Miami.’ That kind of thing. The fans didn’t know he was playing with a broken finger.”

“What about women?”

“Thongs, nude photos. We’ve pretty much seen it all. And I do mean all.” She gestured toward the desk. “Go ahead. Take your time and let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks.”

Piper settled behind the pile of paper—both snail mail and e-mail printouts. The majority were requests for autographs and photos. Some of it was really sweet. Kids who idolized him. Fans who’d followed his career from the very beginning. One was from a man who’d lost his son in a car accident and found relief from his grief in remembering how his son had idolized Coop. Piper pulled that one out as something she thought Coop should personally respond to. There were also a number of notes from parents of athletically talented offspring looking for advice.

And the women. Photos accompanied letters that listed the sender’s credentials to be Coop’s next girlfriend: an athletic nature, a modeling career, a college degree in sports management, a super-special expertise in fellatio.

As Piper pondered that, she became aware of a subtle shift in the atmosphere of the room. She looked up.

In the doorway stood Phoebe Somerville Calebow, the owner of the Chicago Stars, the wife of the former head coach and current Stars president Dan Calebow, the mother of four, and the single most powerful woman in the NFL, if not the universe.

Piper jumped to her feet as the Stars owner approached the very desk where Piper was sitting. “Mrs.... uh... Mrs.Calebow.”

Phoebe Somerville Calebow took her in. “So you’re Coop’s detective.”