“I?m sure you will,” Hodge replied, treating the woman to a flirtatious grin and deliberately brushing her fingers against those which held the business card.

The cable installer flushed a brilliant red and Hodge pulled back, a bit chagrinned to have flustered the other woman. Clearing her throat, she gave a more genuine, friendly smile. “Thank you,” she said warmly. “I really appreciate your assistance.”

“N-no problem,” the installer all but squeaked. She edged toward the door. “I?ve?uh?gotta run. Another appointment, don?t wanna be late.”

“Boss hates giving away free stuff. I remember.”

“Yeah. Well..um?see you around.”

“See you,” Hodge replied, grinning as the slightly older woman slipped quickly out of the apartment.

The door closed, and Hodge put her hands on her hips, laughing. “I feel like I just woke up in the Twilight Zone.”

Dressed in her practice jersey and a pair of long black shorts, her duffle bag over her shoulder, Hodge walked into the Horace T. Johnson Arena. The venue was only three years old, and sparkled with newness. Showing Johnson?s ambition, it had seats for forty thousand, even though the average home attendance was usually five to ten thousand fewer per game. Mirrored plexiglass fronted several exclusive?and expensive?skyboxes put there for the enjoyment of the rich and famous.

The court itself was varnished to a high, glossy shine. The butter colored wood was pleasing to the eye, though it contrasted less than wonderfully with the giant purple and black badger logo in the direct center.

The key, end and sidelines were a deep black stripe, while the three point arc was a deep purple. The nets were stiff and brilliant in their virgin whiteness, hung around deep red rims attached to clear plexiglass backboards.

The soles of Hodge?s basketball shoes squeaked loudly in the almost oppressive silence, and she spared a moment to wipe off the excess moisture with her hands before moving toward the brightly lit locker room.

“Oh, I can see I?m gonna be hating this color scheme in about a week,” she remarked softly as she entered the huge purple and black locker room. “God, this looks like a bad LSD trip!”

The floor was black tile, the ceiling purple cork. The lockers stood at silent attention, like soldiers dressed, alternately, in black and purple uniforms, ready for war. Near the far corner, Hodge spied her locker, painted a gleaming black. Her name was at eye level, printed carefully on a blinding white strip of con-tac paper with her jersey number beneath it. Setting her duffle on the bench, she opened the good-sized locker and saw the rest of her uniforms waiting complacently.

“Not bad,” she murmured, running her fingers across the soft fabric and imagining the day?not so far away now?when she?d have the pleasure of donning one for real. For just a moment, the noise of an excited crowd floated into her mind, interspersed with the sounds of basketballs being bounced on varnished courts and slipping through stiffened nets. A beautiful smile curved her lips?the smile of a child on Christmas morning.

Her daydream was interrupted by a soft clearing of the throat, and when she turned, she saw a tall woman, perhaps two or three years older than her, looking at her with a shy smile. “Hello,” the woman said in heavily accented, though easily understood, English.

“Hello,” Cat replied, smiling.

The woman took a step forward, long fingers fumbling with the straps to her duffel. “You are? Ecaterina Hodges, yes?”

Cat?s smile broadened. “Yes, I am.”

The woman looked relieved. “I thought so. I?saw you on television. You are very good.”

“Thank you.”

There was a moment of silence before the woman?s head ducked, and she blushed. “I am sorry. My manners?.” One hand came away from the duffel and extended as the woman approached. “I am Anya Seletskaya. From Belarus. I am here to try out for a place on the Badgers.”

Hodge immediately gripped the young woman?s hand, giving it a firm shake. “It?s very good to meet you, Anya.”

“And is good to meet you as well.” Anya looked around, as if for the first time. Her lips pinched inward as her eyes widened. “This is?.”

“Dead ugly,” Cat finished for her, grinning.

Anya looked at her, surprised, then laughed. “I?ve seen uglier,” she commented, “but never on purpose!”

Noises from behind them stirred the two women into action, and they packed their gear in their lockers, then turned and eased their way through the small crowd of chattering young woman entering the locker room, arms spilling with gear.

A moment later, they were both on the court and, with the ease of long habit, Hodge moved to one sideline and began her stretching routine, smiling as Anya joined her. Her body submitted to the gentle stretching without complaint, despite the enforced break in her usual routine. She?d taken Dylan?s words to heart, however, and no matter the details of her day, managed to put in at least three miles worth of running each morning. She knew the extra effort would be worth the annoyance endured. She?d never been that fond of distance running.

As she stretched, her eyes idly captured her teammates as they streamed onto the court, laughing and jesting with one another without a seeming care in the world. Part of her envied them their lightheartedness. Her breakfast of dry toast and juice was sitting leaden in her belly as skitters of nervous anticipation danced over her slowly warming muscles.

The laughter and talk that echoed through the massive arena slowly faded away as two women, both in their early thirties and dressed identically in black nylon sweats and golf shirts, entered the venue, whistles around their necks and basketballs under their arms. Hodge recognized the first woman easily, having seen her on television any number of times over the years.

Diana Caulley was the first assistant coach of the Birmingham Badgers. Standing five feet, eleven inches tall, she was fit and well formed, with sandy hair that curled around her collar and deep set, intelligent gray eyes that missed very little. A shoulder injury had ended a promising career in her rookie year, but she?d parlayed her love of basketball and a keen intelligence into a coaching job and never looked back.

The woman standing beside her was one that Hodge didn?t recognize, but to judge by the woman?s body-builder?s stature and the chiseled, no nonsense expression on her face, she had a feeling that a less than pleasant acquaintance would be drawn up in the not-too-distant future.

So thinking, she slowly rose from her place on the varnished court and moved to join her fellows in a rough semi-circle before the two women, waiting for the fun to begin.

Diana?s eyes narrowed as she took in the nine women standing before her. She recognized them all, of course, having been instrumental in bringing almost half into the sites of one Dylan Lambert and setting up this opportunity for them to show what they could do. They were veterans, cut from other teams, or in the case of Anya Seletskaya, lured away from less than lucrative foreign contracts and into the bright lights of a new opportunity.

The rest were draft picks, fresh from college and chosen by Dylan?s own hand. Of the nine, only four would emerge to fill the vacant slots on an already established team. It was Diana?s job to help cull the wheat from the chaff and to put forward only those worthy of their contracts. It was duty she considered almost a sacred rite, and she was very, very good at her job.

Each pair of eyes met hers, then darted away, message received.

Satisfied, Diana smiled. “Welcome to the Badgers.”

There was a soft murmur as the women returned her greeting.

“I?m Diana Caulley, first assistant coach, and this,” she said, indicating the 5?9″ mass of muscle to her left, “is TJ Barnes, strength and conditioning coach. For the next three weeks, we are all going to get to know one another very well indeed.” Her smile broadened, thin lips curling into more than the hint of a smirk. “And in order for us to do that with as much ease as possible, here are a few, non-negotiable, ground-rules.”

One hand uncurled from her hip, long fingers splaying to tick off the pertinent points. “First?this is called ?rookie camp? for a reason. I don?t care if you?ve been playing in the league for years or if the ink?s still wet on your sheepskin. You?re all rookies here, and you?ll be treated that way until I say differently. Is that understood?”

More quiet murmuring.

“Good. It?s best to get that out of the way first. There aren?t any prima donnas here. First round draft pick,” and this was said with a long, hard, significant look in Hodge?s direction, “or walk on, everyone is at the bottom rung of the ladder until they prove otherwise. Leave your egos at the door, ladies.”

Good God, Hodge thought, this woman is a walking clich�.

Gray eyes met hers again and Hodge resisted the urge to swallow hard. She knew her sentiment, at least in part, had been read and the battle lines drawn.

Great. Just what I need. The drill sergeant from Hell on my ass my first day. What is it with me and lousy first impressions anyway?

The assistant coach continued on. “From Monday through Saturday, seven am until seven pm, you all belong to me. You will eat, breathe and sleep Badgers? basketball. When you?re not here, you?ll be home, studying the playbook until every single punctuation mark is stored in your brains. You will not drink, smoke, party or otherwise get yourselves into trouble or you?re out the door, contract or no. Am I making myself clear?”

Nods all around.

“Alright then. Let?s see what you ladies are made of.” The smirk fully bloomed as Diana turned and gestured to the large arena. “Four times around, if you please, and make sure you hit every step.” A sharp blast of her whistle punctuated Caulley?s order, and the women were off and running into the stands.