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