Jake lunged, knocking Popov out of the way and bolting for the door. He jerked the latch and the door swung wide, but a hard grip on his shoulder and the feel of a cold steel barrel against his temple stopped him.
“Close it,” Popov hissed.
Jake didn’t move.
“Now.” The barrel of the gun slid lower, into the flesh under Jake’s jaw.
One bullet and the madman’s plan would succeed. Jake needed time. Time for Clay to tell Maggie where he’d gone. Time for Maggie to reach Daniel. But there was no time. Not for the horses. Not for the people who might be dying right now.
The copper taste of fear filled his mouth. Stepping back inside, he heard the door creak closed behind him. The harsh white bulb reflected off the cylindrical object Jake recognized as a silencer on the barrel of the automatic pistol in Popov’s hand. He used it to motion Jake away from the door.
His expression hard, Popov carefully positioned himself between Jake and escape.
“A wise decision, Comrade. A few more moments of life, no matter how brief.” He smiled ruthlessly. “One must always take what precious little time one has been given.”
Clay looked down at the paper he held in his hand. He’d been trying to find Maggie for the past ten minutes. He had gone to look for her as soon as he’d left Jake. Still no sign of her.
Worry building, Clay shoved against the tide of people leaving the show grounds. He scanned the practice field as he moved toward the stables, rounded a corner, and slammed headlong into her.
“Maggie! I’ve been looking all over.” He pressed the slip of paper into her hand. “Jake said to tell you he had a meeting with someone named Popov in the most easterly tack room in the farthest barn. He said if he wasn’t back in twenty minutes, you were to call Daniel Gage at that number.”
“How long ago did you see him?” Maggie asked, feeling the blood drain from her face.
“About ten minutes. He’s in trouble, isn’t he?”
Maggie didn’t answer, just brushed past him in the direction Jake had gone.
Clay grabbed her arm. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m not sure. Something to do with the Russians.” She glanced down at the paper she clutched in her hand. She had to stay calm, try to think. She handed the paper to Clay. “Get to a phone. Call Daniel Gage. Tell him exactly what Jake said.”
“Let me go with you.”
“You’ve got to make the call.”
Clay hesitated only a moment, turned and rushed off toward the phone booth. Maggie ran in the opposite direction, her heart thundering.
Dear Lord, she had to reach Jake.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The silence in the tack room was stifling, yet Popov looked relaxed.
Adrenaline pumped through Jake’s veins. He had to find a way out. When a horse whinnied outside the door, Popov glance away, and Jake dove toward him, slamming into him and knocking him backward.
At that instant, Maggie opened the door, ramming into the Russian from behind. The gun went off, a whizzing sound as the bullet thudded into the rough wooden wall.
“Jake!” Maggie shouted.
Still on their feet, the two men grappled for control of the weapon. Clutching the Russian’s wrist, Jake twisted the gun barrel upward. He heard Maggie’s gasp as the second muffled gunshot rained a shower of splinters down from the ceiling.
Maggie threw herself at the Russian, raking her nails across the side of his face. Swearing, he slapped her viciously, knocking her into the corner. Popov came after Jake. Jake drove an elbow under the Russian’s chin and kicked Popov’s feet out from under him. Both men crashed to the floor, fighting for control of the weapon.
Popov rolled on top, his free hands curling around Jake’s throat, biting into his flesh and cutting off his air supply. He could hear Maggie’s movements as she struggled to her knees and began frantically searching for a weapon.
The smell of Russian tobacco drifted up from Popov’s clothes as Jake pried the man’s fingers from around his throat, and his hand locked around Popov’s wrist. The pistol moved between them, discharged, once, twice, both men jerking with the shock, the dull thuds muffled by the body the bullets smashed into. The smell of gunpowder filled the room.
Maggie stood transfixed, an expression of horror on her face. A warm, oozing wetness soaked the front of Jake’s once-white shirt. A growing pool of crimson spread on the cold wooden floor.
