Houston? What the hell was I doing in Houston? There was no sense getting back on the plane. It obviously wasn’t going anyplace. It was 6:30 in the ...orning. First things first. I had to get to a bathroom or I’d burst right there.It took longer than I expected.When I dragged myself out of the restroom, I’d washed my face and brushed my teeth and run a comb through my hair. I looked almost human. Time to locate a service counter and find out why I was in Houston.“Oh, Mr. Hamar,” the nice woman. ‘Who’s he when he’s at home?’ ‘The footballer. He’s in town for the big match tomorrow. Surely you’ve read about him splitting from his girl friend? Their on-off romance has been in the papers for weeks.’ ‘Oh, him.’ ‘I’m going to give him a try.’ Cherie stood up. ‘I thought footballers were supposed to stay off drink and women the night before a match,’ said Kate. Cherie grinned. ‘It looks like Mr. Hudson doesn’t mind bending the rules.’ She headed off across the room. ‘Hi.’ Her greeting was. More

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