“All right, Mr. Calebow. You’ve absolutely devastated me. I’m not going to Chicago, but you can have the papers shipped to me here, and I’ll sign them.”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to work, ma’am. In case you forgot, you fired me. If you want me back, you’re going to have to meet a few of my conditions.”

“What conditions?” She regarded him warily.

He leaned back in his chair like Big Daddy after a seven-course dinner, except Big Daddy was fat and ugly instead of a hard-muscled athlete with a powerful chest and a lethal grin.

“It’s like this. I want you in the Stars’ business offices by noon on Tuesday to sign those three contracts. Then we’ll sit down with Steve Kovak, your director of player personnel, and discuss qualified candidates for the general manager’s job. You’ll hire one of them by the end of the week, and from then until the team’s no longer your responsibility, you’ll show up for work like everybody else and sign the papers he puts in front of you.”

Only the warning in Viktor’s eyes kept her from emptying the last of the pulgogi in the football coach’s lap. She could feel her father’s net drawing tighter around her, and she thought of those weeks she had spent at Montauk walking on the beach and trying to restore peace to her life. But how could she be at peace with herself if innocent people were going to suffer because of her stubborn pride?

She considered the one hundred thousand dollars. In light of what Dan Calebow had told her, it no longer seemed quite so much like blood money. All she had to do to earn it was endure the next three or four months. When they were over, she’d have a clear conscience and the stake she needed to open her art gallery.

With a sense of inevitability, she gave him a bright, false smile. “You’ve convinced me, Mr. Calebow. But I’m warning you now. I won’t go to any football games.”

“That’s probably just as well.”

Viktor extended his arms and gave them each an approving smile. “There. Do you see how easy life is when stubborn people are willing to compromise?”

Before Phoebe could respond, the telephone began to ring. Although she could have answered it right there, she took advantage of the opportunity to escape and excused herself. Pooh trotted after her as she slipped from the kitchen.

The door closed behind her, and the two men regarded each other for a long moment. Viktor spoke first. “I must have your promise, Coach, that you won’t hurt her.”

“I promise.”

“You spoke a bit too quickly for my taste. I don’t quite believe you.”

“I’m a man of my word, and I promise that I won’t hurt her.” He flexed his hands. “When I murder her, I’ll do it real quick, so she won’t feel a thing.”

Viktor sighed. “That’s exactly what I was afraid of.”

6

“Here we are, Miss Somerville.”