Bobby Tom hit the ground hard, every muscle in his lean runner’s body extended. His head was ringing and he tried to clear his vision.

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Through his face mask, he followed the line of his arms to his hands. They cradled the ball directly on top of the goal line.

The ref’s arms shot up in the air, signaling the touchdown. The screams of the crowd shook the curved walls of the dome.

Phoebe was laughing and crying. Webster hugged her, then Elvis Crenshaw. Pandemonium broke out on the field and in the stands as the final gun sounded.

She tried to get to Dan, but she couldn’t move through the sea of blue jerseys that surrounded her. She scrambled up onto the bench and spotted him pushing through the men to reach her. His face was split by a huge grin and their eyes locked. She threw one arm up into the air and laughed. Behind him, she saw several of the players approaching with an enormous green plastic container held high. She laughed harder as they emptied it over his head.

A shower of Gatorade and ice sloshed over him. He hunched his shoulders and yelled as he received the victory baptism.

Some members of the crowd booed. They had no knowledge of the drama that had taken place behind the scenes, and they still wanted Dan’s blood for forcing the game into such a desperate finish.

He shook his head, sending droplets flying everywhere as he cleared his eyes enough so that he could see Phoebe again.

Bobby Tom threw his arm around Dan’s shoulder and shoved the game ball at him. “This one’s for you, pardner.”

The men hugged. Dan clutched the ball to his chest and once again turned toward Phoebe.

He swiped at his face with one dry cuff and saw that she was still standing on the bench. She looked like a goddess rising above the sea of swirling blue jerseys, her blond hair glittering in the lights. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and he loved her with all his heart. The strength of his feelings no longer frightened him. Having come so close to losing her, he would not take that risk again.

The men were getting ready to lift him to their shoulders, but he didn’t want to go anywhere without her. He turned toward her as the players swept him off his feet and began to carry him through the crowd. She was laughing. He laughed back. And then everything inside him grew alert as something in the stands behind her caught his attention.

In a sea of screaming, shifting fans, Ray Hardesty stood in eerie stillness. Every muscle in his body was rigid with hatred as he glared at Dan from the front row. Dan saw the glint of a gun in his hand even before he lifted his arm.

Everything happened in a matter of seconds, but each fragment of time became a still photograph, an image of horror that would be frozen forever in his mind. Dan, bobbing high on the players’ shoulders, had become an open target, but Hardesty, with a madman’s insight, had found a better way to destroy the man he hated. Strobes flashed, reporters shouted questions at him, and Dan watched in impotent horror as Hardesty adjusted his aim so that the gun was pointed directly at the back of Phoebe’s head.