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The Coach’s Wife is rife with spine-tingling suspense, conspiracy, deceit, and murder, sizzling and seductive passion, right down to the last second buzzer-beating heroics. This is also a candid and vivid behind-the-scenes portrait of Division One college basketball, university politics, money and corruption, and all the lives that are blessed and ruined by it all.
Read an Excerpt
Ray Knox pulled the collar on his coat up tighter around his neck and ears and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He cursed under his breath when he saw a group of drunks, probably Seawolf fans, coming his way. It was too dark to see who they were, but if they were Seawolfers, he was sure they would recognize him if they saw him. And even if they were blind drunk, they would wonder what in the hell he was doing hanging out in a service entrance doorway of the coliseum at three o’clock in the morning. Christ. That was all he needed. He pushed his back against the cold metal door as far as he could hoping he wouldn’t be seen. The five men burst into an off-key rendition of the Piedmont State Fight Song and staggered past the doorway, oblivious of the cold and of him. One of the men tossed an empty beer can onto the pavement, creating even more racket. Knox listened to it roll several yards until it finally stopped and then heard the pop and hissing sound of another can being opened.
Christ it was cold. A blast of frigid air whistled around the door frame. He cursed again. At Morgan for getting him into this situation and at himself for doing it. This had to be the low point in Knox’s career. Hanging out in darkened doorways in the middle of the night waiting to make a pay-off. To make it even worse, the guy he was supposed to meet was late. He had told Knox 2:30. Unless Knox got the directions mixed up. But the guy had said the service entrance on the east side of the coliseum. And that’s where the hell he was. Freezing his ass off and dodging drunken Seawolf fans so he wouldn’t be seen.
Knox pulled out a wadded up handkerchief from his hip pocket and wiped his nose. He was probably getting sick. Morgan was going to make up for this big time if he expected Knox to keep doing his dirty work for him. No more cheap presents or token salary increases. Shit, he had enough TVs and cameras and electronic gadgets. Cheap toys from Morgan. He wanted some big money—security for when he decided to retire. And the way he was feeling now, he was ready to retire.
Knox heard footsteps, the empty beer can being kicked, and someone—a man—cuss. Knox leaned out slightly from the doorway and peered into the darkness. He smelled him—the rancid odor of nervous sweat—before he saw him.
“You got something for me, heh?”
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