Ginna Gray - The Prime Objective

“You want to tell me why two dangerous-looking characters have your farmhouse staked out?”

Kate looked up into his piercing eyes and caught her lower lip between her teeth. Jack always played his cards close to his chest, which made gauging his mood next to impossible in most situations. “Well…according to Colleen, they’re trying to kill me. And her.”

She expected at least a flicker of reaction—shock, anger, disbelief. Something—but Jack merely continued to look at her, his expression as unreadable as ever.

“Well? Say something,” she demanded after a moment of frustrating silence.

“Like what? I knew as soon as I got your message that you were in a life-or-death situation of some kind. As independent as you are, anything short of that you would have handled yourself. It would never have occurred to you to ask for my help.”

Kate bristled. “That’s right. It wouldn’t have. And it’s a damned good thing that I am a self-sufficient woman, since you were never around throughout most of our marriage.”

“Hey. Hey. Take it easy, Mick. That wasn’t criticism. Just a statement of fact.”

“Oh. Sorry.” She rubbed the back of her neck and gave him a sheepish grimace. “My nerves are so frayed I guess I’m overreacting.”

“No problem.” His lips twitched in that infuriating ghost smile. “And for the record, your strength and self-confidence are two of the things I’ve always admired about you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, suspecting sarcasm, but even in the dim light she could see that he was sincere. “Thank you,” she murmured finally, feeling foolish.

“Now…who is trying to kill you and Colleen? And why?”

“I wish I knew. Two days ago I had just gotten home when I got a call from Colleen. She was in a panic, screaming, over and over, that I had to get out of my condo at once. Then—”

“Wait.” Jack held up his hand and stopped her. “I think you’d better save the rest for later. If those guys out there really are here to kill you we need to get out of here. Now. It looks like they’ve decided to make their move.”

Following the direction of Jack’s gaze, Kate looked out the window again and gasped. In the glow of the security light she saw two men walking down the road toward the driveway entrance. Both were carrying weapons.

Jack snatched up the rifle and the box of ammunition from the nearby lamp table, grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the back of the house.

“Wait. Why do we have to leave? They can’t know for certain that I’m here.” Kate tried to resist, but he towed her along with him with ease. “Jack, listen to me. I haven’t turned on any lights or gone outside since I arrived last night, and my car is hidden in the barn behind a stack of hay bales. I haven’t even let Isaiah know that I am here. Why don’t we just sit tight and not make any noise and let them think the house is empty? Surely they’ll go away then.”

“Damn, Mick, for a bright woman, you sure are naive about some things. Trust me, if those guys are killers, they’re not going to walk up and ring the doorbell. They’ll kick the door down.”

“Oh.” The weak, one-word reply was all she could manage. She trotted along behind Jack, visions of what would have happened if he hadn’t arrived when he did playing in her head with terrifying clarity.

In the kitchen he snatched her coat off the rack beside the door and shoved it at her. “You got any more weaponry around?”

“There’s Uncle Quincy’s old shotgun in the front bedroom and a single action in the bathroom.”

“Good. I’ll run get the shotgun while you put your coat on.”

In seconds he returned carrying the shotgun in the crook of his arm alongside the two rifles. He scooped the extra boxes of ammunition off the counter and dumped them into his coat pocket with the rest.

Pointing to the teal duffel bag sitting on the floor beside the back door he said, “I assume that’s yours.”

“Yes. I left Houston with just the clothes on my back. When I got here I packed some of my farm clothes and toilet articles in case I heard from Colleen and had to leave in a hurry.” Plus, the chore had given her something to do other than pace the floor. For a while, anyway.

“And your purse?”

“In the duffel.”

“If you’ve got a cell phone with you, for God’s sake, turn it off. The last thing we need is a ringing phone giving away our position.”

“Oh. Right.” Kate snatched the phone from her shirt pocket and punched the Off switch. “Okay, it’s done.”

“Good. Grab your duffel bag and let’s go. Hurry.”

She did as he said, and the next thing she knew they were out the door and racing across the back lawn.

Jack’s steady, low-key demeanor gave the impression that he never got agitated, never got in a hurry. Kate, however, was discovering just how fast he could move. He ran flat out, his long legs eating up the ground. Being pulled along with him she felt almost airborne, her feet touching the ground only now and then.

The barn sat in the pasture nearest the house, about three hundred feet beyond the backyard fence. They had almost reached the gate when they heard a crash from the front of the house.

A squeak of alarm escaped Kate. Jack did not so much as flinch.

“That pretty much erases any doubts about their intentions,” he muttered without breaking stride.

Kate didn’t have the breath to reply, but she couldn’t help but notice that her ex-husband wasn’t even winded.

“No time to deal with the latch,” he announced.

Before Kate could question the cryptic comment he scooped her up on the fly and tossed her over the fence. Her surprised squeal ended in an oof when she hit the ground and the duffel bag went flying.

The rifles came sailing over the fence and landed with a clatter a few feet away. Jack vaulted over the gate next and dropped down beside her.

“You okay?”

“You could have warned me.” Sitting up, she brushed off her jeans and massaged her stinging palms. “Isaiah harvested hay from this pasture. It’s full of prickly stubble.”

“Sorry. There wasn’t time. Just be glad you didn’t land in a cow paddie.”

“Eeeow.” Squinting through the darkness, Kate twisted and contorted, conducting a frantic inspection of her hands and clothing for any suspicious foreign matter.

“Shush,” Jack ordered, and placed his hand over her mouth.

The back screen door banged shut and the distant murmur of voices floated to them on the crisp night air. Over the top of Jack’s palm, Kate’s eyes grew wide.

With a warning forefinger across his lips, he signaled for silence and removed his hand from her face. Staying low, they gathered the duffel and weapons, inched beneath the thorny rosebushes, as close to the fence as they could get, and peered through the almost leafless stalks twined around the boards. Behind them a few cows, disturbed from their slumber by their arrival, moved like ghosts through the darkness.

The farmhouse sat in the middle of an acre of manicured lawn enclosed on all sides by a white rail fence on which hundreds of climbing rosebushes were draped. As a child Kate had teased her aunt Rose about her passion for her namesake flower, but at that moment she sent up a little prayer of thanks for the almost solid cover they provided.

The men slowly walked out into the yard, scanning the area. Each held an AK-47 angled across his chest. Kate didn’t move. She did not so much as blink.

She couldn’t make out the men’s features in the darkness. They wore dark suits and overcoats that looked expensive and ridiculously out of place on a farm. Despite their natty attire, however, there was something rough and uncivilized about the pair. They gave off an almost palpable aura of menace. Of violence.