Unknown - driven

Marcia Blanks had been a junior at Stanford when Dylan burst onto the scene. Once considered the best power forward in the game, bar none, Marcia?s thunder was quite easily stolen by the young hotshot from UCLA, who eclipsed Blanks? records without much of an effort at all. She?d done the same once turning pro, and the relationship between them had gone downhill from there.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind, Dylan concentrated on putting the finishing touches to the structure of the next game, then dismissed her assistants, intending to follow her own advice and get a good night?s sleep.

Dylan left her office and crossed back toward the arena proper. While still some distance away from the court, her keen hearing picked up the sound of a basketball hitting varnished wood, and she quickened her steps, a bit irked that someone obviously hadn?t understood her orders for an early night.

And yet it was with somewhat less than total surprise when she entered the arena itself to see the profile of Catherine Hodges, standing on the foul-line with a rack of balls at her side, sinking foul shots, one after the other.

When the rack was empty, Hodge stopped and turned toward Dylan, whom she?d heard enter moments before. A slight redness suffused her cheeks as she met her coach?s eyes, then disappeared as she lowered her head. “Hey, Coach.”

“Mm,” Dylan answered through pursed lips, left eyebrow slightly arched.

“I know?I know. I should be home now getting ready for bed. But I?um?.” A sweeping gesture of her arm encompassed the rack and basket. Her blush deepened.

With that, the puzzle pieces came together and Dylan understood. Athletes, like actors, were on the whole a superstitious lot. Dylan herself had had her share of superstitions during her playing days, though none had, to date, moved on to her coaching career. “How many?”

The blonde head lifted, and Hodge smiled with relief at being understood. “Twenty.”

“In a row?”

“Yeah.”

Dylan nodded, impressed. “And you did it?”

“Just now, yes.”

“Good. So you?re ready to head home?”

Hodge nodded.

“Alright. I?ll walk you to your car.”

As they turned to leave, Dylan was stopped by a call from Mac, who entered the arena at a trot. Suppressing a sigh, Dylan turned. “Yes?”

“Can I talk to you for a minute? It won?t take long, but I?ve got a message from Johnson.”

This time, Dylan did sigh, and turned back to Hodge, who smiled in commiseration. “I?ll be ok,” Cat replied softly. “See you tomorrow?”

Dylan nodded. “Get a good night?s rest.”

“I will. Night, Coach. Night, Mac.”

With a final smile at them both, she turned and left through the main doors.

When the doors closed, Dylan rounded on Mac. “Alright, what was so important that you had to run down and find me at,” she checked her watch, “nine thirty?”

Mac grimaced. “Johnson?s a prick.”

Dylan?s eyes widened in faux amazement. “And this is a newsflash??”

“I?m serious, D. He wants you with him Friday night at a meeting of our corporate sponsors.”

“No way. I handle the team, not the finances, Mac. You go hold his hand for him. Leave me out of it.”

“No can do, I?m afraid. Boss man wants you.”

“Why, for Christ?s sake?! Is the world ending??”

“You?d think so, the way he?s bitching.” Mac sighed, and spread his hands. “Look, the sponsors are meeting over the gay thing.”

Dylan?s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “The?gay?thing?”

Mac had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Yeah. Did you see the ?Out and About? this month?”

“Sorry, Mac, I?ve been a little busy. Reading trashy magazines right at the top of my to-do list, though.” Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“Yeah, well, take a look at this.” Reaching into his back pocket, Mac retrieved a rolled magazine and handed it to Dylan.

On the front cover was a woman in a Badger?s uniform, face blacked out. By the silhouette, it was obviously Catherine Hodges. In place of her face was a large white question mark. The blaring print over the picture read “WOMEN?S BASKETBALL: GAY MECCA?”

Dylan?s expression became granite. Only her eyes, which she raised to Mac, were blazing. “Tell me this is a joke.”

“Wish I could D. It came out yesterday. Johnson?s been fielding panicked calls all day. The sponsors are threatening to pull out. He?s freaking.”

The expletives that echoed through the large, empty arena would have done a sailor proud.

Mac?s ears were ringing by the time Dylan wound down, and he shook his head, knowing his friend was right. Still?.

“I still think this meeting is a good thing, D. We need to nip this shit in the bud before it escalates. The threats have been bad enough.”

Dylan froze. “Threats? What kind of threats?”

“Oh, you know. The usual ?ride the lesbo bitch out of town on a rail or we?ll do it for you? threats.” Mac shrugged. “No big deal.”

Dylan?s stomach twisted slowly, as her heart stuttered its way through several beats. “How long?” she demanded, trapping Mac?s wrist in an iron grip.

“Wha-? Ow, Dylan, damnit, you?re hurting me!”

“How. Long.”

“Since Catherine got drafted,” Mac admitted, hanging his head, the pain in his wrist forgotten in his chagrin.

“What? And you didn?t think to tell me?!? What the fuck were you thinking, Mac? What the?shit!” Dylan stiffened. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. “Shit. Oh, goddamn it!”

Releasing Mac, Dylan turned and broke into a run, plowing through the front doors like a running back through a defensive line.

“D?” Mac shouted after, confused. “Dylan? What?s going on?”

There was, of course, no answer save for the echo of the doors as they slammed closed.

“Shit.”

Groaning and rubbing his sore wrist, Mac started after her.

Dylan pounded out the door, then stopped as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness surrounding her. Darkness that was broken only by a few sodium arc lamps buzzing complacently throughout the massive parking lot, mute witnesses all.

A soft sound carried on the night breeze. Dylan tensed and cocked her head, trying to determine both the sound and its location. When it came again, she was moving before it even fully registered within her brain. Forward several yards, then to the left, to the second row of cars, and down to her own, parked under one of the few lights still on.

Looking down, she felt her heart stutter briefly in her chest.

“Oh, Catherine,” she whispered, coming down to her knees and gently cradling the red-streaked head. Cat?s face was a mask of blood, most of it from a small cut above her left eye?an eye that was already beginning to swell and blacken. Her nose, and a split lower lip added their own hues to the mix.

Her polo shirt had been torn from the back, as if she?d attempted to flee and had been grabbed by the collar from behind. The knuckles of her left hand were scraped, bruised and swollen, and the way she lay in a fetal position, guarding her midsection even while unconscious, caused Dylan to believe she?d been beaten there as well.

Dylan blinked unaccustomed sting of tears away, turning her head in a savage gesture as she heard Mac?s belated arrival.

“Jesus Christ,” Mac breathed, clamping a hand over his mouth and paling. The sight of blood had never been his strong suit.

“Puke and I?ll kill you where you stand,” Dylan snarled.

“Wha?” Mac swallowed heavily. “What happened?”

“She got the shit beaten out of her. Where the fuck is security?!”

“I don?t?”

His voice was cut off by the sound of falling glass.

Dylan stiffened, then stood, quickly, after laying Hodge?s head gently back on the pavement.