The Prime Objective

Almost two years ago she’d sent him the documents through channels. Only a handful of people knew that Jack was CIA, and of those, only three had known that he was married. Annie was one of them, and she was still smarting on his behalf.

Along with the papers Kate had sent a letter informing him that she was determined to end their eight-year marriage, with or without his cooperation.

Receiving that package had marked the darkest day of Jack’s life. At the time he’d wanted nothing more than to fly home immediately and fight for his marriage, but his mission had been vital to national security.

The delicate operation had taken a lot of time, effort and careful planning to set up and had put Jack and several others in grave danger. The people with whom he’d been dealing were dangerous and brutal, and they’d known him by sight and had believed him to be one of them, which made it impossible for another agent to take over for him.

As much as Jack had longed to return home, he’d been unable to abandon the assignment. He’d had to choose between his personal life and his country. Though it had broken his heart, at the time he’d felt that he had no choice but to sign the divorce papers and let Kate go.

However, that wasn’t the case with this assignment.

The grim smile that tugged at Jack’s mouth did nothing to soften his tough face. For the past twenty-one months he’d abided by Kate’s wishes and stayed out of her life. But now that she’d contacted him, all deals were off.

“Just get me on a damned flight, Annie,” he growled.

“But, Jack, you’re on assignment.”

“So? You can have another agent here to take over for me within a matter of hours.”

“The brass isn’t going to like it.”

“Screw ’um. I’ve done my share. Either you replace me and get me on a plane or I’ll quit, but one way or another, I’m coming in.”

Two

Through the lace curtains covering the parlor window Kate watched the headlights of a car as it turned off the highway, about a quarter of a mile away. The vehicle cruised down the dirt road toward the farmhouse with unnerving slowness.

Her heart began to pound. This was the only house for miles around, and the land on both sides of the entire length of the road was part of the farm.

Granted, occasionally someone did take a wrong turn, mistaking the narrow country lane for a shortcut to the Broom City highway. It was also true that in the past, friends and neighbors had dropped in now and then to visit with her aunt and uncle. But those days were long gone. Uncle Quincy had passed away the previous year and Aunt Rose had followed two months ago.

Being childless, Rose and Quincy Dolan had willed the registered Hereford breeding farm to Kate and her sister. Since both she and Colleen lived and worked in Houston they left the running of the place to the farm’s longtime foreman, Isaiah Brown, who lived in a small cottage at the back of the four-hundred-acre property. Though fond of Kate and her sister, in his old curmudgeon way, Isaiah preferred his own company. Everyone around Elkhart, Texas knew that.

These days few people traveled this road. Certainly not at this time of night.

Kate had spent most of the past twenty-eight hours or so since her arrival pacing the darkened farmhouse and peering out the windows every few seconds. She’d tried to sleep but, except for snatches now and then, that proved impossible. Her nerves were wound too tight.

Lucky thing for her, she realized. Otherwise she wouldn’t have seen the car approaching.

Behind her, the grandfather clock chimed two. At the first bong Kate jumped as though she’d been shot, but her gaze never wavered from the vehicle.

“Drive on by. Drive on by. Drive on by,” she whispered.

Her chant did not get through to the powers-that-be. The car stopped about forty feet shy of the driveway in the shadows beneath the giant sweetgum tree that grew along the west pasture fence line. The driver doused the car’s headlights, and Kate’s chest tightened even more.

Oh, dear. This couldn’t be good.

Surprise darted through her when another car turned off the highway and headed her way. She took an involuntary step back from the window, her hand over her mouth. Dear Lord. Just how many men did it take to murder one woman, anyway? she wondered, trying to whip up her temper against the fear that bubbled inside her.

Without so much as slowing, the second car drove past both the parked vehicle and the farm entrance and disappeared around the bend in the road. Kate wanted to believe that was a good sign, but she could not help but wonder if their plan was to block every entrance to the farm before making their move.

Her gaze returned to the area where the first car was parked. The shadows beneath the tree and the rosebushes that draped the fence across the front of the property obscured most of the vehicle. All Kate could make out was an occasional glint off the top of the car when the branches of the sweetgum tree bobbed in the night breeze and allowed the glow from the front yard security light to filter through.

How many men were out there?

Without taking her gaze from the spot, Kate reached for the .30-06 deer rifle that leaned against the wall beside the window.

Moments after arriving at the farm the previous night she’d loaded her uncle’s guns and placed them and extra ammunition in strategic locations around the farmhouse. She’d put the bolt-action .22 rifle in the kitchen, the old pump-action shotgun, which was good only for close range protection, in the bedroom where she’d been trying to sleep, and just to be on the safe side, the Colt .45 single-action revolver lay on the counter in the bathroom.

And, of course, there was the .38 Special that Jack had gotten for her and insisted that she carry at all times. It was unusual for an agent’s cover to be breached, and even more unusual for his or her family to be targeted when that happened, but it wasn’t unheard of. She and Jack were no longer married, but she’d gotten used to having the protection of the gun and felt safer carrying the weapon.

Thank goodness Uncle Quincy had taught her how to shoot years ago during one of the many summers that she and her older sister Colleen had spent at the farm.

He had wanted to teach her sister, as well, but, as usual, she had been too afraid to even try. Kate, on the other hand, had taken to target shooting like a duck to water and had developed into a decent markswoman.

Her eyes narrowed. Experimentally, she lifted the weapon, placed the rifle butt to her shoulder and drew a bead on the shadows beneath the tree. If those men meant to kill her, as her sister had warned, Kate knew she probably didn’t stand a chance against them, but she wasn’t going down without a fight.

Nothing moved or made a sound for what seemed like an hour. Kate’s arms began to tremble from holding the heavy weapon in the firing position, and after a while she lowered the rifle and leaned it back against the wall. Still, she did not move. Growing antsy, she glanced over her shoulder and squinted at the grandfather clock. In the darkness she could barely make out the ivory moon face. Twelve minutes? That’s all the time that had passed?

Grinding her teeth, she refocused her gaze out the window. What the heck were they doing out there? Playing some sort of mind game with her? Waiting for her to crack?

Without warning, from behind an arm hooked around Kate’s waist and snatched her back against a hard, unmistakably masculine body. Simultaneously a large hand clamped over her mouth.

A scream exploded from her throat, but the sound was muffled against the calloused palm. Instinctively, she began to buck and kick, biting at the hand and tearing at the encircling arm.

“Easy, sugar. Easy. It’s me,” her captor whispered in her ear.

The scent of that vicelike hand penetrated her panic an instant before the familiar voice and hard contours of the male body registered on her brain. Recognition came in a welcomed rush. Kate closed her eyes and sagged back against him.

“Atta girl,” he whispered, and relaxed his hold.

Kate spun around and looked up into those vivid blue eyes that she knew so well. “Jack. Oh, Jack.”

She surged forward, throwing herself against his chest. Instinctively, she slipped her arms beneath his heavy winter coat and around his lean middle and burrowed against his chest. “Thank God. Oh, thank God. You came home.”

“Of course I did. You sent for me, didn’t you,” he murmured against the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her. “I’ll always be here for you if you need me. No matter what. Don’t you know that?”

She nodded against his chest, but the truth was, though she’d wanted to believe that, she had not been at all confident that Jack still felt any loyalty to her. Not after what she’d done.

Except for the condolence cards he’d sent after the deaths, first of Uncle Quincy, then Aunt Rose, Kate had neither seen nor heard from Jack since she’d divorced him almost two years ago.

At that moment, however, his embrace seemed like the safest place in the universe. She longed to stay right where she was and forget about the men outside and the terrifying call she’d received from her sister. But she couldn’t. Drawing a deep breath, Kate stiffened her spine and forced herself to release her ex-husband and take a step back. Clasping her hands together against her midriff, she gave him a wan smile.

“Nevertheless, I am grateful that you came back. I know that I don’t have the right anymore to—”

“Ssh.” Giving her one of his mysterious smiles, Jack tipped his head to one side, and his eyes glinted at her with that look that used to make her heart skip a beat—a look made up of equal parts lecherous intent and deep affection. Even now, years after she had gotten over loving this elusive, enigmatic man, her foolish heart gave a flutter.

Reaching out, Jack cupped her cheek with his hand. He rubbed his thumb back and forth along her jaw and murmured, “Hey, Mick.”