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Clay showered and dressed in clean clothes and returned to the room next door for Ellie.

Flex still softly snored on the floor.

“Maybe we should wake him up,”

Ellie said.

“Surely he’d sleep better in his own bed.”

“I’m not sure you could wake him up.

Besides, Flex can sleep anywhere.”

Clay led her out of the hotel to his rented Mercedes and settled Ellie inside, trying to ignore the bruise on her cheek.

Every time he saw it, he got mad all over again.

The events of last night still unsettled him.

When he’d seen that bastard on top of Ellie, he’d gone half crazy.

His anger had given him an advantage, though he didn’t like being so out of control.

He probably would have killed the sonofabitch if the bastard hadn’t gotten away.

And Ellie.

Seeing her hurt and scared, he’d felt a surge of protectiveness like nothing he’d known.

What in God’s name was it about her? She was only a woman, just like the rest, not even as pretty as some.

Only a woman, he scoffed.

A woman who’d beaten him at Madison Square Garden.

A woman who liked poetry and art and beauty.

A woman who loved life and everything in it.

He thought about Flex and Gerry, men she slept with as easily as he did Linda Gibbons or any other woman he wanted.

It seemed completely out of character.

Or maybe he just wished it weren’t so.

Why shouldn’t Ellie take lovers as easily as he did? Why was it all right for him and not her?

Because deep down he was old fashioned.

He wanted a woman whose body she saved for someone special, someone she cared about.

A woman whose relationships meant something to her.

Someone with a bit of old-fashioned morality.

With a flash of something close to an epiphany, Clay paused.

In all his thirty-one years, he had never felt that way.

Or if he had, he’d never admitted it to himself.

What was happening to him? All he’d ever wanted out of life was to win, have a good time, and get laid.

His father had lived his whole life that way.

Avery Whitfield believed pleasure and indulgence were everything.

As long as Clay agreed with him, partied with him, and looked up to him, Avery gave Clay his approval.

It meant a lot to Clay.

Everything.

After his mother died, Clay had been desperate for his father’s love and approval.

For years he’d been ignored, shifted from estate to estate, left alone and lonely.

“Will Papa be home this weekend?”

he would ask his current nanny.

But the visits were rare.

Usually, he was bundled up, packed into the limo, and shipped off to Monte Carlo or Martinique or wherever his father was likely to turn up next.

Summers away from boarding school were the worst.

At least he had friends there.

On the estate, he only had the household staff to keep him company, though his older half- brother, John, stayed at the residence whenever he was home on leave.

At his father’s insistence and to fill the void, Clay had started riding.

It was considered the thing to do among his dad’s wealthy friends.

By the time he was nine years old, he’d discovered he was good at it.

By twelve, he was consistently winning.

It wasn’t until he reached his teens that Avery began to notice.

Clay’s good looks coupled with his championship wins had women following him everywhere, women of every age, shape and size.

Avery was quick to catch on.

More and more, Clay’s father traveled with him, lavishing him with attention and praise.

For the first time in his life, Clay felt wanted and loved.

It drove him to even higher levels of achievement.

Now he was thirty-one.

Was Avery Whitfield’s love and approval still so important? Clay tried to ignore the tiny voice that answered, yes.

Forcing his hands to relax on the steering wheel of the rented Mercedes, Clay glanced across at Ellie.

As he could have guessed, she was staring out the window, smiling, enthralled with whatever she saw.

Dawn was just breaking, lighting the horizon with a soft golden glow.

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

She smiled.

“Beautiful.”

They passed vast stretches of yellow flowers, then red, then orange.

Farmers worked in the patchwork of color, and water sparkled along the rows like strings of jewels.

“I wonder what happened to the windmills,”

Ellie said.

“I always thought there’d be windmills.”

“A few are left, not many.

Civilization has a way of swallowing up the past.”

“That’s true, I guess.

But it gives us things, too.

Sometimes unbelievably precious gifts.”

“Like what?”

“Medical advances.

Improvements in technology that can change people’s lives.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“And air travel,”

she added.

“Visiting places in the world we’d never be able to see.

And there’s the quality of life and—“

“I get the picture.

I guess I’ve just grown so cynical I take those things for granted.”

She smiled at him in that warm way that made something expand in his chest.

“I believe you have,”

she said, “and it’s time for that to change.”

Clay smiled back at her.

“You’re a treasure, Ellie, an absolute jewel.”

They spent the early morning hours touring the flower market.

Under a huge metal roof, millions of flowers from all over the world were auctioned off every day.

On the wall above the bidding floor, giant gauges showed the price of each block of flowers in different types of currency and the amount of the highest bid.

Another showed the quantity.

“It’s fascinating.

The flowers are so beautiful.

Each one almost perfect.”

“I thought you’d enjoy this.

Besides, what else is there to do at five o’clock in the morning?”

She laughed.

They left the market, breakfasted in an intimate Dutch café, then headed back to the hotel.

Once they arrived, Clay opened her car door and helped her out of the vehicle.

Ellie looked up at him.

“About last night.

I want you to know, I really appreciate what you did.

I’m ashamed of the way I handled myself with that man.”

“Ashamed? For the love of God, why would you be ashamed?”

“I should have fought harder.

I should have hit him with something, done something.

I don’t know...”

She sighed.

“Then afterward, I couldn’t seem to think straight.

I had no idea what to do.”

“That’s nonsense.

You fought as hard as you could.

If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have heard your struggles, and I wouldn’t have known you were in trouble.

Afterward, of course you were upset. You went through a terrifying ordeal.”

She smiled at him softly.

“Thank you for saying that.”

Clay reached up and gently touched the bruise on her cheek.

“You’re welcome,”

was all he said.

By the time they arrived upstairs at the hotel, the door to Ellie’s room had been repaired.

A note from Jake said he wanted to see her as soon as she got back.

“Flex must have told him,”

Ellie said glumly.

“He really had no choice,”

Clay said.

“The team is Jake’s responsibility.

He needs to know what’s going on.”

“I suppose.”

Clay tucked her arm into his and towed her along the hall to Jake’s room on the second floor.

Dressed in black slacks and a white shirt, his thick, silver-touched black hair still damp, Jake answered the door just seconds after Clay’s knock.

“Are you alright?”

he asked Ellie, motioning them inside.

Worry lines creased his forehead.

“I’m fine, thanks to Clay.”

“What happened?”

With Clay’s help, Ellie explained about the man who’d broken into her room and attacked her.

“Do I have to go to the police?”

Ellie asked softly.

“I don’t want to, Jake.

I’d rather forget the whole thing.”

Jake seemed to mull the situation over.

The skin looked tight over his high cheekbones; his lips formed a narrow line.

“I don’t see how we can avoid it,”

Clay said.

Jake remained uncertain.

“Maybe Ellie’s right.

She has to compete.

This could cause considerable stress for her. It might even mean some bad publicity. You never know how something like this will look in print.”

Clay shook his head.

“I don’t know, Jake.

The man threatened Ellie’s life. I think—

“I don’t care what you think!”

Jake snapped.

“I have to do what’s best for the team.”

Clay clamped his jaw.

“It’s your decision.

Yours and Ellie’s.”

There was no mistaking the disapproval in his voice.

“I’d really like to forget it,”

Ellie said.

“I’m not even going to tell my parents.

They’d only worry, and I don’t want that.

I need to concentrate on my riding.”

“Well, I guess if that’s what you want....”

Jake sounded relieved.

“I don’t like it,”

Clay said.

“But if that’s the way you want it, I’ll accept your decision.”

Ellie flashed him a grateful smile.

“Thank you, Clay.”

“Why don’t you stay at the hotel and rest for the day?”

Jake suggested.

“You can start riding again tomorrow.”

Ellie shook her head.

“I need to get back to work.

It’d rather be busy, keep my mind off what happened.

Besides, I want to spend some time with Jubilee.”

“You want to go out there with us?”

Clay asked Jake.

Jake nodded.

“I’ve got work to do, as well.”

“I’ll drive.

There’s a blue Mercedes in the parking lot.

Meet me there in ten minutes.”

Ellie returned to her room to change into her riding clothes.

Just being there by herself made her nervous.

She kept glancing around, waiting for someone to leap out at her.

The door was locked, and she’d checked the room, but it wasn’t enough.

In her haste to leave, she grabbed a shirt in the closet and knocked several pairs of riding pants off their hangers in the process.

Groping the closet floor on her hands and knees, her fingers closed over the pants and something else.

She pulled the whole handful out into the light to discover a man’s black leather jacket.

Her pulse kicked up.

Holding the jacket at arm’s length, staring at it as if it were a cobra instead of a coat, she tossed it onto the chair, finished dressing, and raced next door to get Clay.

He spied her pale face as he opened the door.

“What’s happened?”

“The man who attacked me must have gotten too hot in the closet.

He left his jacket behind.”

Clay followed her back her to her room and picked the jacket up off the chair.

Moderately expensive black leather cut aviator-style.

He rummaged through the pockets and pulled a pack of Galloise from inside.

Two cigarettes had been smoked. In the left pocket, he found a tissue and part of a crumpled white business card. The name had been partly torn away, but the address was in Charleston, South Carolina.

“That’s Jake’s address,”

Ellie whispered.

“Yes, it is.”

“Then the man didn’t choose me at random.

He knew who I was.”

“Apparently.”

Ellie made a sound in her throat and Clay settled an arm around her shoulders.

“We’d better go show Jake.”

Grabbing her hand, Clay led her downstairs, out to the parking lot.

Jake stood next to the Mercedes, watching someone near the building down the street.

He glanced away as they approached.

Clay handed him the torn scrap of paper.

“Where did you get this?”

Jake’s expression went dark.

“The man who attacked Ellie left his jacket in her room.

We found this in the pocket.”

A slow breath whispered out, but Jake didn’t speak.

“It looks to me like there’s a link between what happened on the plane and what happened to Ellie,”

Clay said.

Jake just nodded.

“I think we’d better notify the authorities.”

Something shifted in Jake’s expression.

“I already have.”

“You have?”

“After you left my room, I called the authorities in New York.

They said they’d bring in some undercover security people.

You probably won’t be able to spot them, but they’ll be around.”

“That’s a relief,”

Clay said.

“They want this whole thing kept quiet.

I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it between the three of us.”

“Four, but I’ll tell Flex not to say anything.”

Jake just nodded. “Thanks.”

The first shrill ring of the telephone sliced through the silence in the room.

Sitting only inches away in his big, overstuffed chair, Nikolai Popov lifted the receiver and held it against his ear.

The slick black plastic felt cold and unfriendly.

The voice on the other end of the line pronounced his name in a way Popov didn’t like.

“I have been waiting for your call,”

Nikolai said to the man on the other end of the line.

“I do not like to be kept waiting.”

“I wanted to be certain things went as planned.”

“And did they?”

“More or less.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning one of the riders interrupted me before I finished.

We fought.

He is a strong one.”

“Go on.”

“It didn’t really matter.

I accomplished what you wanted.”

“And the jacket?”

“Left in the closet, as you asked.

She has probably found it by now.

If she has not, she will discover it when she packs.”

“Have they brought in the police?”

“No.”

“Good.

I do not think Comrade Straka will allow it, but if it happens...”

Popov shrugged absently.

“So much the better.

If we need you again, we will contact you in the usual manner.”

The line went dead, and Popov hung up the phone.

Only the soft ticking of the walnut clock on the mantle above the small electric fireplace disturbed the silence in his sparsely furnished, one-bedroom Washington apartment.

With a sigh, Nikolai leaned back in his chair.

How he missed the old days, missed Tasha’s big feet padding around the house, the smell of sausage and boiled potatoes coming from her kitchen.

He missed the children’s laughter, the questions about their schoolwork they asked before they toddled off to bed.

Those had been happy years.

Now his family was scattered across Russia like seeds in the wind.

Tasha was now buried alongside his son, Orloff.

Irina and Aksandr, had families of their own.

Getting up from his chair, Popov turned on the portable television in the living room.

American TV bored him, except for the educational channel.

Capitalism was disgustingly hedonistic.

Unlike the hard work required in the Communist system, the lazy, indulgent lives the Americans lived brought out the worst in a man.

He believed in the Marxist ideal.

Nikolai would do everything in his power to help the country he loved attain the greatness it was meant for.

No matter the cost.

Jake paced the floor of his hotel room.

It was almost midnight.

For the first time in twenty years, he wished he had a cigarette.

If the sonofabitch didn’t contact him soon, he was going to track him down through the Russian Embassy. He wanted these attacks on his people stopped and stopped now!

Jake paused.

Who the hell was he kidding? Aside from telling Daniel about the incidents, there was nothing he could do.

If he did, Daniel would be forced to take whatever action he felt necessary to protect the team.

Jake’s mother and sister would suffer as surely as he breathed.

If he didn’t tell Daniel, someone on his team might get killed.

Either way, Jake would lose.

Unless he could convince Popov to stop.

What did the Russian want? Why the attacks against the team? It was a miracle the police weren’t already involved.

Popov must have known the risk, yet he didn’t seem to care.

Why not? Was he that confident of his scheme?

Frustrated and needing a breath of air, Jake grabbed his coat and headed out the door, careful to leave by the stairs instead of the elevator, checking to be sure he wasn’t followed.

It was seven o’clock in Washington, time to call Daniel.

From a pay phone several blocks away, Jake placed the call to his friend.

It rang four times before Daniel answered.

“Jake.

I was in the shower.”

“Hot date?”

“Hardly.

I’m going over to see my mother.

Not exactly the old me, is it?”

“No girlfriend?”

“To tell you the truth, I haven’t been with a woman since Marie died.

I’m way overdue.”

Jake smiled sadly.

“I know the feeling.”

“Any news?”

Daniel said.

“That’s what I called to ask.”

“Nothing much.

Our people have your sister and mother under surveillance.

Your family looks fine.

We don’t think they’re aware of what’s going on. Our man in the Kremlin should be checking in sometime tomorrow. Call me this time tomorrow night.”

“Will do.

Say hello to your mom for me, I always liked her.”

“She’s still as feisty as ever.

Take care, Jake.”

Jake rang off wondering about his own mother.

Was she old and stooped, or as full of life and vigor as Daniel’s mother had always been? And his sister? What of Dana? How had she survived the years?

He returned to his room heavy hearted.

The phone rang just seconds after he walked in.

“Ah, Comrade, a man of the evening, I see.”

At the sound of the rough voice, Jake steeled himself.

“Just out for a late-night snack,” he lied.

“Did you get my message?”

Jake’s hand balled into a fist.

“Are you crazy? Your man tried to rape one of my people.

It’s only a miracle the police weren’t brought in—or is that what you want?”

Popov chuckled, the sound grating on Jake’s taut nerves.

“What I want, Tovarich is for you to do as you are told.”

“I’ve already agreed to that, but if you keep up these attacks on my people, I’ll be forced to go to the authorities.

Whatever you have planned will die on the vine.”

“Always so impatient...”

“I want your word, Popov.

As I recall, it used to mean something.”

“You remember your past whenever it is convenient.”

“Your word,”

Jake repeated.

“I think not.

It is good for you to wonder.

At least now you know we mean what we say.”

Jake thought of Ellie’s battered face.

“I never doubted it.”

A raspy chuckle.

“Of that I am certain.”

The line went dead.

Jake replaced the receiver with a shaky hand.

He could still see the fear in Ellie’s eyes.

He’d gotten no promises, but Popov had made his point.

Surely there was no need for more violence. Though he hated himself for it, he would continue to do as the Russian asked—unless Daniel’s people could prove the man was acting on his own authority. At the moment, that looked doubtful.

As far as his team went, Jake would have to wait and watch.

If anything else happened, he’d consider telling Daniel the truth.

He’d been forced to lie to Clay and the others, had told them he’d brought in security when he had never made the call.

He made a second decision.

As soon as he got the chance, he’d talk to Maggie.

See if he could convince her to take Sarah and go home.