Dan regarded him with haunted eyes. “Don’t let anything happen to her, Ron. For God’s sake, find her!”

Ron wanted to reassure him, but he could only say, “I’ll do my best.”

One level below, Hardesty reached into his pocket for a fresh pack of cigarettes. Phoebe’s eyes were stinging from the smoke, adding to the misery of the pain in her arms and wrists. The silence between them had strained her nerves to the point where she had to speak.

“Whose office is this?”

For a moment she didn’t think he would reply. Then he shrugged. “One of the engineers. He has to stay with the generators until the gates close, so he won’t be popping in for a visit, if that’s what you’re hoping.”

The silent screen showed the Sabers kicking off. She flinched as he turned up the volume.

“You’re not going to get away with this.”

“You know something? I don’t care. As long as the Stars lose the championship, I don’t fucking care!”

Hardesty glanced at the TV, then moved to the desk, where he picked up the telephone and punched four buttons. Several seconds passed before he spoke into the receiver.

“This is Bob Smith with the Stars. I’ve got Phoebe Somerville here, and she wants to talk to Coach Calebow. Patch this call through to the sidelines, will you?” He paused, listening. “She doesn’t give a shit about authorization. She says it’s important, and she’s the boss, but it’s your ass, so you do what you want.”

Whoever was on the other end must have decided to go along with the request because Hardesty slid the phone to the end of the desk closest to where she was sitting. The wheels squealed as he caught the back of her chair and pulled her to it. He waited silently, his hand clenching the receiver, and then he tensed.

“Calebow? I got somebody here wants to talk to you.” He pushed the receiver to Phoebe’s ear.

“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 fucking team loses or the lady dies.”