The arm pressed harder against Cole’s neck. “Today you take a dive, Logan. It’s real simple. You find a reason not to play, or we’ll give you one. And then we’ll go after the rest of the team. Understand?”

Cole managed to draw a breath. A coppery taste trickled down his throat. Through clenched teeth, he told the men to go fuck themselves.

The attackers shared a glance.

A grin parted the taller man’s mouth. “I kinda hoped you’d say that.” His lips brushed against Cole’s ear. “Because there’s nothing better in this world than putting the hurt on a candy-ass quarterback.” He pressed a hand over Cole’s mouth. With the other hand he pulled a hatchet from under his sweatshirt.

His accomplice pinned Cole’s wrist to the side of the house.

The hatchet came up.

“Let’s see you play now, motherfucker.”

Then the blade came down hard on its mark.

CHAPTER 2

YOU type like a man.”

Savannah Hickham lifted her hands from the iBook keyboard and spun around on her stool. Kip Sampson, a regular at the Buttered Bean Diner, sat in his usual booth, having what he liked to refer to as his breakfast of champions: three over easy, black coffee, and a Winston unfiltered.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Index fingers only, pounding the piss out of the thing.” Kip gestured accordingly.

“Is that so?”

“It’s not a criticism. Way it should be done, you ask me.”

“Thanks for the tip. I never took you for a writer.”

“I’m not a writer, but I read the paper every day. I know what’s good and what ain’t. Had an old buddy in Korea, wrote for Stars and Stripes. I used to watch him pound on his little Remington all the time. He told me once that if your fingers aren’t bruised when you finish grinding out a story, chances are it’s crap.”

“That’s fascinating. Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m on a deadline.”

“What are you working on?”

Savannah went back to typing. “Piece on the Archaeology Club’s field trip to Glen Rose.”

“Where the dinosaur tracks are?”

“That’s the one.”

“What’d I miss?” Don Paul Klevin, fellow regular, returned from the men’s room and took his seat in the booth, opposite Kip.

“Savannah here’s doing a Lois Lane on dinosaur prints for the school paper.”

“No kiddin’?”

Savannah started to run a spell check on her finished article.

Kip said, “Look, I’m sure you got a good piece there and all, but it seems to me if you’re writin’ for the high school fish wrapper, you might as well be covering the biggest story in town.”

“I know what you’re going to say, and even if it was my beat, which it isn’t, I’m not interested.”