The Prime Objective

Praise for the novels of

GINNA GRAY

“Jealousy, treachery and characters one loves to hate…Gray cleverly weaves unexpected twists and turns into the narrative…. This page-turner from a seasoned romance novelist boils down to deliciously wicked brain candy.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Prodigal Daughter

“[Gray] gifts readers with a well-crafted mix of intriguing suspense and provocative romance.”

—Rendezvous

“Ginna Gray…is the perfect prescription for readers desiring strong-willed characters, emotional depth and fiery ardor.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“It’s a real pleasure to watch how cleverly Gray brings these wonderfully well-drawn characters together in this pleasurable read.”

—Booklist on The Trophy Wife

“Ginna Gray always delivers an emotionally poignant love story that is a keeper.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“Ms. Gray is one of the most consistently excellent writers in the genre today.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

GINNA GRAY

The Prime Objective

Many thanks to Patricia Smith, the editor (and friend) who bought my first book all those years ago, launching my writing career. I also want to thank my agent of twenty years, Denise Marcil. She has been my champion, mentor and friend every step of this long journey, and I will forever be grateful for her unfailing encouragement and support.

And of course, as always, I dedicate this book to my husband, Brad—the love of my life, my best friend, my rock.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

One

He blended into the night like smoke.

His movements were nothing more than subtle ripples in the darkness. The only sound was the soft hiss of his breathing through the black ski mask.

After testing the strength of the utility pole bolted to the flat roof, Jackson Prime pulled a rope from the canvas bag slung across his chest and secured it to the metal upright. He gave the rigging a hard tug, then another. Satisfied, he moved to the roof’s edge and settled down to wait.

Through the slits in the ski mask, Jack’s piercing blue eyes fixed on the entrance to the shabby apartment building, four floors below where he knelt.

The open-air markets and shops were closed, and the bustle of the day had faded with the coming of night. Only a few groups of men, some dressed in robes, others in Western garb, strolled along the narrow streets. Few vehicles moved.

It was early yet—only a little after seven. The fierce cold of winter had set in, but the building on which he stood and the others all around still held a vestige of heat from the sun. He could feel the warmth wafting up around him, along with the sharp smells of cooling stucco, tar and dust from the surface of the roof.

A block or so away a dog barked. As customers came and went male voices spilled from the cafés and coffee-house and floated to him on the night air. Against the dark sky he could make out the faint silhouettes of three mosques rising above the low skyline of the town.

Time drifted by slowly, yet except for his gaze constantly sweeping the street below, Jack remained still. If matters were running true to form, the four men would be leaving for dinner soon.

Beneath the ski mask Jack’s mouth twitched. People were such creatures of habit. Even those who thought they were exercising extreme caution.

After almost a half hour his patience paid off. Four men exited the building and cut across the street, talking among themselves, their heads swiveling the whole time, checking out the street around them. Not once did one of them look up.

The quartet disappeared around the nearest corner. Jack waited, just in case one of them forgot something and decided to double back for it. After five minutes he grabbed the rope and went over the side.

It took him only seconds to rappel down to the third-floor balcony. Soundlessly, he slipped over the railing, secured his line, then knelt and went to work on the lock with a narrow pick. A sharp click, and he was inside the apartment.

He didn’t have much time. He’d watched the subjects for weeks and learned that they were never gone longer than a half hour. Moving through the darkened apartment on cat feet, he worked with quick efficiency. Even so, it took him a little over twenty minutes to conceal the listening devices throughout the three rooms. He was installing the last bug when he heard footsteps on the stairs and murmured conversation.

Jack’s nerves jumped, but he continued to work at a calm, steady pace. The instant he completed the job, he stood, hefted his canvas bag and slung it over his head and shoulder across his body. On his way to the door he made a visual sweep of the room to be sure he hadn’t left any signs of his visit—nothing out of place, nothing left behind that shouldn’t be.

A key clicked in the lock. Jack slipped out onto the balcony, grabbed his rope and swung over the iron railing as a light came on inside the apartment. With his feet braced against the side of the building he pulled himself up, hand-over-hand.

The instant Jack gained the roof and untied his rappelling line, he coiled the rope around his bent elbow and hand, stuffed it into his bag and took off across the rooftops.

As fast as possible, he put distance between himself and the apartment building. Nearly a block away, he stepped off the roof of a one-story structure onto a lean-to shed at the back and jumped down into the alley.

The instant his feet touched the ground he whipped off his ski mask and stuffed it into the canvas bag. Running his fingers through his flattened hair he made his way to the alley entrance and peered around the corner.

A half a block down the street three robed men walked in the general direction of his hotel. Jack stepped out onto the sidewalk and fell in step behind them, careful to keep his pace casual and maintain the distance between himself and the men.

One of the trio glanced back over his shoulder and spotted him. He nudged the man nearest him and murmured something. The other two looked back, as well.

Jack pulled out his cell phone and pretended to become immersed in a conversation as he strolled along.

The men’s murmuring began again, this time punctuated by hand gestures.

After a few blocks they turned a corner onto a street that headed into a residential area. Jack pretended unconcern, but in his business it paid to expect the worst. Just in case the three were waiting to waylay him, as he approached the corner he slipped his hand inside his bag and wrapped his fingers around the Walther PPK pistol that lay in the bottom.

Luck was with him. He reached the side street and found that the men were halfway down the block, still talking among themselves.

When he was certain that he wasn’t being followed, Jack thumbed a number on his cell phone. The call was answered on the first ring.

“Yeah?”

“Are we working?”

“Like a charm.”

“Good. I’ll report in. Then I’m going to get some shut-eye. I’ll relieve one of you guys in the morning.”

Jack disconnected, looked around again, then punched in another number. This time there was a series of clicks and buzzes as the secure call made a convoluted route around the globe and was scrambled. Finally the connection was completed, and again, the person on the other end picked up on the first ring.

“Yes?” a throaty feminine voice queried.

Ah, hell, Jack thought, a weary half smile twitching his mouth. Annie Smith had the sexiest damned telephone voice. Whenever he heard those husky tones, thanks to his starved libido, his mind immediately conjured up visions of cool sheets and hot, sweaty sex.

Annie had been his contact on other assignments in the past, and on this job he’d been reporting through her for the last five weeks. He’d never met Annie personally, but he’d heard that she was in her late fifties, gray-haired, on the chunky side and had penchants for crocheting and soap operas.

“It’s Jack. Clearance number 78C19344LZ622. Operation Rabbit Hole,” he rattled off. “We’re in.”

“Any problems?”

“None. Smooth as glass.”

“Great. I’ll pass the word along.”

“Be sure and advise that activity has increased. Something is definitely brewing. We should know soon. I’ll keep you informed.”

Jack could see the lights of his hotel ahead—the only thing close to a western-style establishment of its kind in town. Reporters from all over the globe stayed there, and since his cover was that of a photojournalist he did, as well. He picked up his pace.

He longed for a hot shower, but he’d have to settle for a soak in the ancient tub down the hall from his tiny room. No matter. Already, just thinking about sinking into a deep tub of hot bathwater, he could feel his strained muscles beginning to ease.

“Anything else?” Annie asked.

“Naw. Now we wait.” And listen, he added, but only in his mind. Not even on a scrambled line would he or any other agent say anything that might remotely tip off the other side as to what they were doing.

“You got anything for me?” he tacked on almost as an afterthought.

Annie’s pause lasted only a second, but little got past Jack, not even as weary as he was at that moment. Fatigue dropped away like a stone, and his attention sharpened. “What is it?”

“Um…nothing earth-shattering. I’m sure it can wait until you’re not so busy.”

“Tell me,” he demanded.

“It’s just a personal message for you that was passed on earlier this morning.”

“Personal?” Jack repeated, puzzled. Since he no longer had any close family and none of his friends knew how to get in touch when he was on assignment he couldn’t imagine who would be leaving him a message. “From whom?”

Annie paused again. He could almost see her biting her lower lip. “Kate Mahaffey.”

Jack stopped in his tracks less than twenty feet from the entrance to the hotel. “My ex-wife left a message for me and you didn’t think it was important enough to pass on?” he said in a dangerously quiet voice. “Why the hell didn’t you contact me the moment it came in?”

“The operative word is ex, Jack. I have to use my judgment in these matters. You’re in the middle of a critical mission. I figured hearing from the woman who dumped you could only upset you and interfere with your concentration.”

“You let me worry about my concentration. Now give me the message.”

“Jack—”

“Now.”

Annie sighed. “Oh, all right. It says—‘I need your help. If you can return in the next day or two, I’ll be at Tralee.’ There, you see? That doesn’t sound so urgent.”

Maybe not to Annie, Jack thought. But that was only because she didn’t know Kate. For his independent, self-assured ex-wife to ask for help at all—especially his help—meant something was terribly wrong.

“I want you to get me on the next government plane out of here,” he instructed without hesitation.

“What! Absolutely not. You can’t leave in the middle of an assignment!”

“The hell I can’t. I’ve got months of personal time built up. I’m taking an extended, indefinite leave, starting now.”

“C’mon, Jack, be reasonable. She probably just wants you to help her move or something like that. Or maybe to sign some more legal papers.”

The last comment was a not-so-subtle reminder that Kate had served him with divorce papers while he’d been in the middle of the most crucial assignment of his career.

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.”

Kate gritted her teeth, trying to control the shiver that rippled down her spine. How stupid to let two simple words, uttered in that raspy growl, have such an effect on her.

Truth be told, if anyone else dared to call her Mick they’d get the sharp edge of her tongue. Possibly even a fat lip. But somehow, coming from Jack, the ethnic slur was an endearment. He’d called her that from the moment they met.

There’s no time for this, she scolded herself. Focus on the predicament you’re in, for Pete’s sake.

She opened her mouth to tell Jack why she’d asked for his help when a sudden thought sidetracked her and sent her gaze skittering around the room. “I didn’t see you drive up. How did you get in here? Where did you come from, all of a sudden?”

“I let myself in through the back door with Aunt Rose’s hideout key. Just as I suspected, it was still under the flowerpot on the back steps. You really ought to find a better hiding place.”

He nodded toward the window. “When I turned off the highway onto the road and saw those guys out there watching the house alarm bells went off, so I drove on by and came in through the east pasture. My car is out of sight in the woods behind the barn.”

“That was you?”

Kate closed her eyes. Thank the Lord, Jack’s training and experience had taught him to observe everything, even the most minute detail.

“What a relief. That means they’re the only ones I have to worry about right now.”

“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.”