Page 22

Since the Hickstead competition started on Thursday, a team dinner was scheduled for Wednesday night.

Busy with team problems, Maggie couldn’t go, which suited Jake fine.

The less they saw each other, the safer they’d be.

Wanting to keep things simple, Jake chose a moderately priced country inn called The Wellington, only a short distance from the hotel.

The service and the quality of food were better than he expected: roast beef, roasted potatoes, horseradish, and Yorkshire pudding.

There were scones, crumpets, and a form of gingerbread called parkins, which was served for dessert.

Everyone ate heartily except Ellie, who seemed unusually reserved.

Flex and Shep were in rare form, Flex laughing and telling off-color jokes and Shep adding his usual droll humor.

The only rider who didn’t attend was Clay.

Jake had no idea where he was and figured he probably didn’t want to know.

“How do you size up the competition?”

Flex asked him as the conversation turned serious.

They were seated at a long narrow table, an old iron chandelier overhead.

“The British team will probably be the toughest to beat,”

Jake said.

“The French will give us a good run as well.”

Hickstead was another international competition, the rules simple.

Each country selected four riders to represent them in a two-round competition.

After each round, the worst score was thrown out.

The team with the least total faults was the winner.

Jake wondered if Clay would show up, or if he’d have to substitute Ellie in for him.

He didn’t really care.

The way she had been riding, she’d been giving Clay some tough competition.

His jaw tightened.

If the bastard would stop panting after her, keeping her emotions stirred up, she’d ride even better.

Jake sighed.

Who the hell was he to criticize? His own emotions were constantly in turmoil over Maggie.

“Most of you have ridden Hickstead before,”

Jake said, capturing the riders’ attention.

“Is there anyone here besides Ellie who hasn’t?”

No hands went up.

“I’d appreciate some input, anything any of you might remember that could help her get a feel for the course.

We can talk about it over drinks in the bar.”

Rumbles of agreement rolled around.

As the waiters began clearing the dishes, Ellie rose and so did Prissy, who’d been sitting beside her.

“Somehow I get the impression your mind’s not on the competition,”

Prissy said as they headed for the bar.

“No, I guess it isn’t.”

“Thinking about Clay?”

She felt a wave of sadness.

“I thought he might call.

I guess I’m kidding myself.

Clay left town with a beautiful woman. Why would he be thinking about me?”

“You saw them together? Where?”

“Claridge’s,”

Ellie said softly.

“Claridge’s? What were you doing at Claridge’s?”

Prissy’s eyes widened.

“Clay had a suite there.

Surely you didn’t let him lure you up to his room?”

Ellie blinked back tears.

“Please, Prissy, I’d rather not talk about it—especially not here.”

When Ellie glanced away, Prissy caught her arm.

“That sonofabitch,”

Prissy said furiously.

“It wasn’t his fault.

Please, let’s not talk about it now.”

With dinner over, everyone gathered in the pub, a dark-paneled room with an old, carved mahogany bar.

Very staid and very British.

When Jake spotted Ellie getting ready to leave, he pulled her aside.

“You need to stay a little longer,”

he said.

“Spend some time with the team.

They can give you some help with the course.”

Ellie headed into the bar to join the rest of the group, and Jake stayed behind to pay the bill.

Leafing through the wad of twenty-pound notes he carried, he paused at the sound of footsteps coming up behind him.

“Good evening, Comrade Straka.”

Jake’s hand froze on his wallet.

He turned to see a wiry, dark-haired man with an angular face and eyes so brown they appeared black.

He wore black slacks and a gray knit pullover whose short sleeves revealed sinewy arms and not an ounce of fat.

A second man, blond and boyishly handsome, stood beside him dressed in a very British tweed coat over a shirt with initials on the cuff.

A pair of expensive gabardine slacks flared over dark brown kidskin loafers.

They seemed a bizarre twosome.

“What do you want?”

“I just wanted to say hello,”

the first man said.

“We have several mutual friends.

Comrade Popov...and your Ms.

Fletcher. Ms. Fletcher and I know each other...rather ...intimately.”

Jake’s whole body tightened.

He forced himself to stay calm but the hand at his side balled into a fist.

“Unfortunately, Ms.

Fletcher and I did not have the chance to develop our...friendship...as fully as I intended.”

“Listen to me,”

Jake warned, fighting to control the fury burning through him.

“Ellen Fletcher has nothing to do with this.

You want something from me? Well, you won’t get it if you hurt my people.

You understand me?”

The dark eyes seemed to glisten.

“Like you, Comrade, I will do whatever it is I am asked to do.

That is how I earn my living.”

He smiled thinly.

“I just hope my next assignment is as pleasant as the last.”

Jake took an unconscious step forward, his jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

It was too late for Ellie.

But if the bastard came near Maggie, Jake would kill him.

“The way I heard it,”

Jake said, thinking of the beating Clay had given the man.

“Your last assignment wasn’t as pleasant as you’d like me to believe.”

He grunted.

“No, I suppose not.

One of your overzealous riders interrupted our...conversation.

I would enjoy paying him back for the bruises I still carry.”

His eyes looked hard, but the smile stayed frozen on his too-thin lips.

“Enjoy your evening, Comrade.”

With a nod to his partner, the pair slipped quietly out of the room.

Jake glanced up to see several waiters and the owner of the restaurant staring in his direction.

They had witnessed the hostile exchange, even if they hadn’t heard the conversation.

Popov wants me connected to his scheme, Jake suddenly realized.

That was the reason the Russian had risked police intervention by attacking Ellie.

Jake’s business card in the pocket of the assailant’s jacket connected the two of them.

The men’s presence in England, in the bar tonight, linked him again.

Jake felt the web of lies and deceit enveloping him, pulling him closer and closer to disaster.

And there seemed no way to stop it.

Jake didn’t tell Maggie about the two men.

She was already worried enough.

Last night he had checked to be sure she was safely inside her room before he’d gone to bed, but he hadn’t fallen asleep until almost dawn.

Once he’d dropped off, he’d slept so hard the phone rang six times before he awoke.

Fumbling with the receiver, he sat up on the side of the bed and pressed the cold black plastic against his ear.

It was Shep Singleton—calling from his hospital bed.

“Shep.

What the hell happened?”

Jake ran a hand through his hair, trying to unscramble his sleep-muddled brain.

“How bad are you hurt?”

“It could have been worse,”

Shep said.

“As it is, I’ve got a couple of bruised ribs, two black eyes, and a face that looks like it’s been run over by a good-sized lorry.”

“How did it happen?”

Shep laughed dryly.

“I’m going to give it to you straight, old man.

I invited the wrong English gentleman up to my room for a toddy.

I rarely get my signals crossed, but I certainly muddled them up last night. He and another chap gave me a lesson in English protocol and left me in the alley behind the pub.”

“At The Wellington?”

“Afraid so.”

Jake’s pulse was racing, his stomach tied in a knot.

“What did they look like?”

“I didn’t see the second man.”

Jake could tell by the muffled sound of Shep’s voice that his lips were swollen.

“The one I was interested in was blond and gloriously handsome.

If I’d gotten him in bed, the beating might have been worth it.”

“Dammit, Shep.”

“As I said, I didn’t see it coming.

Richard was friendly at first, a gentleman, and so very British I couldn’t resist.”

Jake gripped the receiver.

“Did you call the police?”

“Somebody did.

I was unconscious when they brought me in.”

It was the men in the bar.

Had to be.

The web tightens.

“How long will you be in the hospital?”

“I’ll be out in the morning.

Unfortunately, the doctor says I won’t be able to ride until Dublin.”

“Don’t worry about it, Shep.

Just take care of yourself.

What time do they allow visitors?”

“From four to six then from seven to nine.”

“Everybody will want to stop by.”

“Jake?”

“Yes?”

“I’d appreciate it if you told them someone tried to rob me.”

“You got it.”

“Thanks, Jake.”

“Take care.”

Jake rang off and rolled out of bed.

While he showered and changed into slacks and a fresh white shirt, he tried to decide what to do.

In the end, he didn’t have to do anything.

By mid-afternoon, he had a visitor.

“Hello, Jake.

It’s good to see you.”

Standing at the fence outside one of the show rings, Jake’s head snapped up.

He would have known that rich baritone anywhere.

“Hello, Daniel.”

He glanced around.

“Taking a bit of a chance, aren’t you?”

“Not really.

I haven’t been in the field for years.

I’m Tom Rutledge, here to buy horses.

With the papers I’m carrying, they’d have a helluva time making me as anything other than a breeder.”

“It’s a relief to see you,”

Jake said.

Daniel Gage smiled, his freckled face looking younger, more the way Jake remembered him.

At fifty-five, Daniel was a little thicker around the middle, a few more lines around his eyes, a bit of gray in his light brown hair, but still imposing.

“I heard about the incident outside the pub last night, the beating, one of your riders winding up in the hospital.

You were seen talking to the two gentlemen in question.”

Jake nodded.

“Popov’s men?”

“Yes.”

“First time you’ve seen them?”

“Yes.”

“The police will want to question you.

Just tell them the truth—you’ve never seen the men before last night.

Give them a general description and let it go at that.

Have there been other incidents?”

There was no point in lying now.

“Unfortunately, there have.”

Jake filled Daniel in as quickly and precisely as possible, telling him about the incident on the plane and the attack on Ellie.

“They want you to know they’ll carry out their threats,”

Daniel said.

“They want you convinced they’re serious.”

“Believe me, I’m convinced.”

Daniel looked past him into the show ring, where a big gray horse and rider moved along the fence.

“Our inside man thinks it goes all the way to the top, Jake.”

His stomach tightened painfully.

“Is he absolutely sure?”

“He’s identified one very high official.

Everyone’s keeping quiet.

It’s only by accident he’s discovered as much as he has.”

“What do we do now?”

“Try to catch the bastards and stop them from doing whatever they have planned—without them knowing you gave them up.”

Jake rubbed his forehead, where a headache had started to build.

“Sounds like a pretty tough order.”

“It’ll be tough, but with your help, maybe not impossible.

We’ve already beefed-up security.

You just play along with them—and this time keep us informed.”

Jake smiled at the authority in his friend’s voice as Daniel handed him a slip of paper with a Hickstead phone number on it.

But his mind kept darting ahead to the what the consequences of his actions would be for his mother and sister.

“I know what you’re thinking,”

Daniel said, “and I don’t blame you.”

His eyes remained on Jake.

“Just don’t do anything you’ll regret.” Daniel drifted off with the crowd and Jake was left alone with his troubled thoughts.

What the hell did the Russians want him to do?

Jake looked up to see Ellie riding up beside him on Rose of Killarney and forced his mind back to the job he was there to do.

The riders on the team were depending on him.

“You were behind Rose all the way through the course,”

he said.

“Your mind isn’t on the fences, Ellie, and it’s beginning to show.

You’d better get your priorities straight.

You’re here to ride for the United States, not moon over Clayton Whitfield. You’re expected to win.”

Her eyes glistened.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have another class until tomorrow.

If you need the rest of the day off, take it, if not, try watching the competition.

Maybe you’ll learn something.”

Ellie blinked back tears.

“You’re right, or course.

You always are.

I’ll ride better tomorrow, I promise.”

She reined Rose away, and Jake stared after her, already sorry he’d been so harsh.

“Weren’t you a little tough on her?”

Flex asked as he walked up beside him.

Jake sighed.

“Whitfield’s got her all balled up.”

“Whitfield’s a little balled up himself.”

“Where the hell is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, he damned well better get back here soon.

This team isn’t going to revolve around Clayton Whitfield’s whims.”

He glanced over to where Ellie was climbing down from Rose, handing Gerry Winslow the horse’s reins.

“Go talk to her, will you?”

Jake said, suddenly tired.

Recalling the expression on Ellie’s face when he’d mentioned Clay, Jake figured had one more problem to add to his list.

Ellie spotted Flex walking toward her, red hair gleaming beneath his hunt cap.

“Jake’s got a lot on his mind,”

Flex said.

“I know.”

Ellie forced a smile she didn’t feel.

She should be worrying about the team.

Instead, all she could think of was Clay.

“It isn’t Jake’s fault, it’s mine,”

she said.

“I’m making a fool of myself, Flex.

Everyone knows how I feel about Clay.

They look at me like I’ve finally gone over the edge. God, I hate it.”

“Try to forget Clay and concentrate of your riding.

Give him some time, maybe things will work out.”

Her lips trembled.

She’d given Clay enough time already.

A one-night stand was all Clay wanted.

But Ellie wanted more.

“Has something happened between you two?”

Flex asked, his posture suddenly stiff.

“I mean, the two of you haven’t...?”

“Of course not.”

It was none of Flex’s business, and the last thing she needed was sympathy.

“Just keep it that way and you’ll be fine.”

Ellie managed to smile.

“I’ll do my best.”

The afternoon dragged on.

Ellie tried to concentrate on the riders, tried to assess the course designer’s style, how the footing would affect the jumps on Sunday, but her thoughts kept returning to Clay.

Where was he? Who was he with? Had he thought about her at all? He had left with his father.

He’d probably had no choice.

She tried to convince herself the woman who had kissed him in the foyer meant nothing.

She’d made more out of it than she should have.

Clay would call and straighten things out.

She wished she could believe it.

Clay had tried to warn her.

Now she was paying the price.

After the show, the team bus took them all over to the hospital to see Shep.

The nurses let them into his tiny Spartan room two at a time.

There was another patient on the bed next to Shep’s, but the curtain was drawn.

Only an occasional cough came from that side of the room.

Shep sat propped up in bed, his eyes black-and-blue and puffed almost closed.

His lips were cut and swollen.

“You look terrible,”

Prissy said.

Shep tried to smile.

“Thanks.

Believe me, I don’t need to be reminded.

My face looks like the rest of my body feels.”

Prissy squeezed his hand.

“The doctor says the damage looks worse than it is.”

“I don’t think they meant it to be any worse.

They knew what they were doing.

I think they could have killed me if they’d wanted.”

“Oh, Shep.”

Ellie’s attention went on alert.

Was the beating Shep had taken connected to what had happened on the plane and the attack in her hotel room?

“How’s Lass?”

Shep asked, concerned for his horse.

“Lass is fine,”

Elle said, helping him take a sip of water through a straw.

“I knew you’d be worried so I checked on her myself.”

“I should have known I could count on you.

Any new gossip?”

Prissy grinned.

“I heard one of the American riders got mugged and wound up in the hospital.

The British team is highly disappointed.

They expect us all to be able to handle ourselves like Dirty Harry.”

Shep winced as his split lips curved into an unwanted smile.

“Please, Prissy, have mercy.

The last thing I need is a laugh.”

“How long will you be laid up?”

Ellie asked.

“I’ll be able to ride by the time we get to Dublin.

I expect you to hold up my end on Sunday.”

With Shep unable to compete, she’d be taking his place in the Nations’ Cup.

Though she had been competing all along, this would be the first time she was representing the United States.

“I promise to do my best.”

“You’d better.”

“And we’d better get going,”

Prissy said as the door opened, emitting a stiff-backed nurse dressed in a stark white uniform that seemed to fade into the backdrop of the sterile white walls.

Ellie and Shep both wrinkled their noses at the hospital smells traveling in her wake.

“I get out of this hellhole in the morning,”

Shep told them.

“Make sure Jake doesn’t forget to send someone to pick me up.”

“I’ll remind him, but I’m sure he won’t forget.”

Ellie turned to go but stopped at the door and turned back.

“The man who mugged you....

You’re certain he was just after your wallet.

I mean it wasn’t anything to do with the team or anything?”

“No.

I’m sure it was nothing like that.”

Ellie sighed in relief.

“Feel better, Shep.”