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death last spring had left a gaping hole the likes of Cynthia Masters could never hope to fill, even temporarily.
    Hank considered himself an athlete through and through. If teaching and coaching was what fate intended for his future, then he wanted to make a difference. For some of these kids, being high school football stars would be their fifteen minutes of fame in this life. Their one opportunity to shine. For others, the game kept them making good grades and off drugs. He didn’t intend to let some brass-balled cougar bitch like Masters stop him from making that difference.
    Hank reached the end of the hall and stood before the closed door. He had stood in this exact spot many times as a teenager. Knowing what waited for him inside then had been more than a little intimidating. But now, well over a decade later, what waited inside filled him with a sense of loathing.
    He took a long, deep breath and cleared his mind. This woman would not get the best of him. Cynthia Masters could make things as rough as she wanted, but she would never have him. He grasped the knob tightly and forced himself to open the door.
    The outer office was deserted except for Edna, the secretary.
    “Hi, Coach.” Edna smiled. Her gray eyes, that perfectly matched her gray hair, twinkled. “Ms. Masters will be right with you.”
    Edna was new, too. Mrs. Carmichael, Jack’s secretary, had retired after his death.
    Hank nodded and took a seat. He glanced at the dark console of the telephone on Edna’s desk. He knew before he looked that Masters wouldn’t be on the phone, and he’d bet his next month’s salary she didn’t have anyone in the office with her, either. The same old routine. The witch would call him to the office and then keep him waiting a good fifteen or twenty minutes. She got some kind of perverse pleasure out of pushing his buttons.
    Eighteen minutes later the intercom on the secretary’s desk buzzed. “You may go in now, Coach.”
    “Thanks,” Hank mumbled as he proceeded to the inner sanctum.
    The moment he entered Masters’ office he saw the gleam of triumph in her calculating green eyes. Even through the faded jeans and bulky white sweatshirt he felt her predatory examination of his body. Her greedy gaze traveled the length of him before locking on his face.
    “Make yourself comfortable, Bradley. This may take a while.” A wicked smile touched her lips.
    Hank dropped into a stiff, burgundy chair. She could wait until hell froze over and he still wouldn’t be comfortable in her presence.
    “How are things going in kindergarten, Coach ?”
    The emphasis she put on the word “coach” made him want to reach across the desk and wrap his fingers around her scrawny neck. He forced an expression of indifference onto his face. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing how she affected him. “Couldn’t be better, ma’am.”
    “I’m sure.” She pulled the pins from her hair and shook loose the bleached blonde curls. Leaning back in her fancy executive chair, she licked those ruby red lips and eyed him like a free ball on the forty yard line.
    Hank shifted his gaze from hers. Damn her! She loved playing these insane head games. He pushed a damp palm over the faded blue denim covering his thigh. He felt as antsy as a caged animal. Why couldn’t she just get it over with? Say whatever it was she had to say so he could get the hell out of here. Raking a hand through his hair, he allowed his eyes to meet hers once more.
    She breathed a little impatient sigh. “I understand that you’ve had some trouble with our new doctor.”
    How did she know about that? He swallowed back the strange emotion he felt when he considered the only probable answer. Hank looked Masters straight in the eye. “No trouble. Her daughter, Melissa, has had some difficulty adjusting, but it’s no big deal. We’ve had a conference and everything is under control.”
    “I heard about your little conference.” She rose and moved around