“Did you call?” He shook his head. “I’ll have to get on my secretary about that.”

Myron let out a deep breath and sat. “Why was Christian locked out?”

“Well, Myron, it’s pretty simple, actually. Christian hasn’t signed his contract yet. The Titans don’t have time to invest in someone who may not be part of our future.” He nodded toward the field. “Do you see who’s here for a tryout? Neil Decker from Cincinnati. Fine quarterback.”

“Yeah, he’s great. He can almost throw a spiral.”

Otto chuckled. “That’s funny, Myron. You’re a very amusing man.”

“I’m so glad you think so. Mind telling me what’s going on?”

Otto Burke nodded. “That’s fair, Myron. So let’s talk frankly, shall we?”

“Rationally, frankly, whatever you want.”

“Great. We’d like to renegotiate your client’s contract,” he said. “Downward.”

“I see.”

“We feel your client’s value has depreciated.”

“Uh-huh.”

Burke studied him. “You don’t seem surprised, Myron.”

“So what is it this time?” Myron asked.

“What is what this time?”

“Well, let’s start with Benny Keleher. You invited him to your house, plied him with booze, then had a cop arrest him on his ride home for drunk driving.”

Otto looked properly shocked. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“Amazing how he signed the next day. And then there’s Eddie Smith. You had compromising photographs of him taken by a private eye and threatened to send them to his wife.”

“Another lie.”

“Fine, a lie. So let’s cut to the chase, then. What has caused this sudden devaluation?”

Otto sat back. He withdrew a cigarette from a gold case with a Titans emblem on the cover. “It’s something I saw in a rather lewd magazine,” he said. “Something that truly disheartened me.” He didn’t look disheartened. He looked rather pleased.

“A new low,” Myron said. “You should be proud.”

“Pardon me?”

“You set it up. The magazine.”

Otto smiled. “Ah, so you knew about it.”

“How did you get that picture?”

“What picture?”

“The one in the ad.”

“I had nothing to do with it.”

“Sure,” Myron said. “I guess you’re just a charter subscriber to Nips.”

“I had nothing to do with that ad, Myron. Honestly.”

“Then how did you get a hold of the magazine?”

“Someone pointed it out to me.”

“Who?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss it.”

“Very convenient.”

“I’m not sure I like your tone, Myron. And let me tell you something else: You’re the one who has done wrong in the case. If you knew about the magazine, you had an ethical responsibility to tell me.”

Myron looked up at the sky. “You used the word ethical. Lightning did not strike. There is no God.”

The smile flickered but stayed on. “Much as we’d like to, Myron, we can’t just wish this away. The magazine exists, and it must be dealt with. So let me tell you what I’ve come up with.”

“I’m all ears.”

“You’re going to take our current offer and knock it down by a third. If not, the picture of Ms. Culver goes public. Think about it. You have three days to decide.” Otto watched Neil Decker throw a pass. It looked like a duck with a broken wing, crashing well short of the receiver. He frowned, stroked his goatee. “Make that two days.”

Chapter 10

Dean of Students Harrison Gordon made sure the door to his office was locked. Double-locked, in fact. He was taking no chances. Not with this.

He sat back down and stared out his office window. Esteemed Reston University in all its glory. The view was a mesh of green grass and brick buildings. No ivy adorned these towers of learning, but it should have. The students were gone for summer break, but the commons still had a sprinkling of people on it—campers from the football and tennis camps, local people who used the campus as a park, the old throwback hippies who pilgrimage to liberal arts institutions like Moslems to Mecca. Lots of red bandannas and ponchos and granola-types. A bearded man tossed a Frisbee. A small boy caught it.

Harrison Gordon saw none of it. He had not spun his chair around to enjoy the view. He had done so to avert his gaze from the … thing on his desk. He wanted simply to destroy the damn thing and forget about it. But he couldn’t. Something held him back. And something kept drawing him toward it, toward that page near the back.…

Destroy it, you fool. If somebody finds it …

What?

He did not know. He spun his chair back around, keeping his eyes away from the magazine. The student file marked CULVER, KATHERINE lay to the right. He swallowed. With a shaking hand he sifted through the stacks of transcripts and recommendation letters. It was an impressive file, but Harrison had no time for that now.

The buzz of his intercom—a horrid noise—startled him upright.

“Dean Gordon?”

“Yes,” he said, nearly shouting. His heart was beating like a rabbit’s.

“I have someone here to see you. She doesn’t have an appointment, but I thought you might want to see her.”

Edith’s voice was hushed, a church-whisper.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“It’s Jessica Culver. She’s Kathy’s sister.”

Panic punctured his heart like an icicle.

“Dean Gordon?”

He clamped his hand over his mouth, afraid he might scream.

“Dean Gordon? Are you there?”

There were no true options. He would have to see her and find out what she wanted. To act in any other manner would raise suspicion.

He opened his bottom drawer and scooped the contents of his desk into it. He shut it, took out his key ring, and locked his desk. Better safe than sorry. Last, he unbolted his door.

“Send Ms. Culver in,” he said.

Jessica was at least as beautiful as her sister, which was saying something quite extraordinary. He debated on how to greet her and settled for funeral director mode—detached sympathy, warm professionalism.

He shook her hand with gentle firmness. “Miss Culver, I’m so sorry we have to meet under such circumstances. Our prayers are with your family during this difficult time.”