“It’s almost over, Maggie.” He relayed his latest conversation with Daniel, and that the Soviet government was not behind the threats to his family.
“As hard as it is to believe,” he said, “the Russians seem to be doing everything possible to prevent whatever Popov and his minions have planned.”
Maggie felt a surge of relief so strong her knees wobbled. “Thank God.” She could feel the burn of tears behind her eyes.
“Everything’s going to be all right.” He caught he shoulders. “We can be married—if you’ll have me.”
“Oh, Jake.” Maggie buried her face in the hollow of his neck and Jake smoothed a hand over her hair.
“Is that a yes?” he asked softly.
Maggie looked up at him. “Of course, it’s a yes.” Unmindful of the milling crowd, the members of the team who stood a few feet away, Maggie kissed him.
“Just two more days and we’ll be home,” he whispered against her cheek. “All this will be behind us, and we can get on with our lives.”
She pulled a tissue out of her purse and dabbed her eyes. “In the end, you did what was right. I never really doubted you. Just another reason I love you.”
Jake leaned down and kissed her.
“What happens now?” Maggie asked.
Jake studied the overcrowded stands. “We wait. We watch. And we hope like hell Daniel’s people stop Popov from doing whatever evil he’s got planned. If it doesn’t happen today or tomorrow, chances are their own people will stop them.”
Maggie squeezed Jake’s hand. She wished they could be alone for a while, spend some time discussing their future. Instead, she searched the stands and the people around them just as Jake was doing, looking for some clue as to what might happen.
In the arena, they were beginning the second round of jumping. The final team scores would decide the winner of the Nations’ Cup.
The second time through, the difficult course took its toll on the horses. From the beginning, the faults were higher; none of the first eight riders went clear. Shep and Lass had time faults and three rails down. Ellie had one rail down and Clay had one. It was Flex who saved the day, going clear and within the time allotted. His grin was so broad it almost touched his ears.
As the final horse and rider, a small dark Irishman on a big white gelding, took the course, the crowd came surging to its feet, their applause thunderous. The Irishman rode beautifully, clearing the last fence well within the time allotted. The crowd fell silent while the tabulations were made.
“We’ve won!” Clay roared when the announcement came over the loudspeaker. Flex released a high-pitched whoop of joy. Jake hugged Maggie. Clay hugged Ellie and Prissy, while Flex and Shep hugged two female riders who just happened to be walking by.
The team members took a victory lap around the ring. Jake accepted the prestigious Aga Khan Trophy while the National Anthem played.
Afterwards, the showgrounds still in turmoil as the horses were put away, he slipped off for his final confrontation with Popov.
Before he reached the tack room, he spotted Clay. “Congratulations,” Jake said.
Clay grinned. “Thanks.”
“I need a favor.”
“Of course.”
“If I’m not back in twenty minutes, tell Maggie I had a meeting with Popov in the most easterly tack room in the farthest barn. Tell her to contact Daniel Gage.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the slip of paper with Daniel’s phone number on it and handed it to Clay. “There’s always someone there.”
“What’s this about, Jake? Not more trouble, I hope.”
“I’ll explain everything as soon as I get back. Twenty minutes,” he repeated. “It’s important, Clay.”
“I’ll see she gets the message.”
With long strides, Jake moved off through the crowd, making several detours to be sure he wasn’t followed. When he reached the tack room and pushed open the door, a harsh white bulb had replaced the glow of the candle.
Popov wasn’t there.
Jake turned to go outside and wait, preferring fresh air to the musty odor of the tack room. Then he spotted the white sheet of paper lying on the wooden table.
