All I Need

by Christa Conan

  Had he been that cruel? That heartless? Unable to see anyone’s needs but his own?

  He told Shannen he could never forgive her, but there was no mistaking the fact the anguish etched on her face was real.

  “When I found out I was pregnant and couldn’t tell you,” she said rawly, “I just couldn’t wait any longer. I knew I had to leave, for my sake. As well as the child’s.”

  Shannen extended a palm, as if begging him to understand the incomprehensible.

  “It wouldn’t have been a good life for a child, Rhone. Kids need moms to be mommies, not mental wrecks. I left for Nicky’s sake.”

  On an emotional roller coaster since Norton’s phone call, Rhone’s insides twisted into a painful spasm. He couldn’t call her a liar, not with the truth of her convictions in her eyes.

  But he still couldn’t forgive the huge gap in his life where a child belonged.

  “We’d better be getting back,” Shannen said softly. “I’ll scrounge up something to eat.”

  Rhone stood. Carefully masking his feelings, he held a hand out to Shannen. Placing her palm against his, he pulled her up, considering, instead, how small and fragile she seemed. Yet she was strong and sure. Shyness had been replaced by confidence. She had grown, matured, forced to do so by the responsibility of becoming a parent and learning to provide for herself and their son.

  Aside from the fact Shannen had kept Nicholas a secret lay the reality that she’d never asked Rhone for help, had never needed it.

  Peterson would have been readily available.

  Rhone’s spark of understanding died and he sneered, remembering Shannen’s earlier comment that she wouldn’t be his wife much longer. Her reasoning was easy to figure. The good doctor was obviously well acquainted with Nicky, effectively usurping Rhone’s role by providing the male influence Nicholas needed. While Rhone continued to question Peterson’s status with Shannen, if what she said was true and he was a friend, it was hardly enough to build a marriage on. Even so, it was more than Rhone could lay claim to.

  Shannen needed him now, but only for as long as it took to get Nicky back. Rhone glowered. If she had it in her pretty head he was going to walk away when this was over, he had a rude awakening in store for Mrs. Shannen Mitchell.

  “By the way, thought you should know...”

  A few paces ahead of him, Shannen turned when he spoke.

  “Nicky’s our son, and I’ve changed my mind about willingly giving you a divorce. Nicky needs a family. A real family. Full-time. If you want your freedom, you’re going to have to fight me for it through every courtroom in the country.”

  Her eyes narrowed, then she shrugged. “If that’s the way it has to be.”

  Irritable, he pressed further. “Perhaps I’m not making myself clear. We’re still married. You need me. And I’m moving in.”

  Hands on hips, Shannen marched back to where he stood.

  “The answer is no. N-o.”

  Rhone copied her stance, leaning forward for emphasis. “I don’t recall asking.”

  “It’s my house. I have a say who lives in it and who doesn’t.”

  Green eyes sparred with blue. Did she know she was turning him inside out? The heat of their anger had a reverse effect, an art Shannen couldn’t begin to know she’d perfected.

  “Lady, it’s not up for discussion.”

  She cocked a brow, releasing a sigh that spoke of her exhaustion. And resolve. “Do what you want, Rhone. I no longer care.”

  * * *

  “Did ya call her?”

  Jimmy scowled at Naomi. Damn, but she was starting to get on his nerves, just like that Mitchell brat. How much did a man have to take? It wasn’t fair, these sacrifices poor Jimmy had to make. He exhaled a long-suffering sigh, then drew a deep drag from a half-burned cigarette.

  “Jimmy? Did you hear me?”

  “Yeah,” he snapped, the nicotine oozing down inside. “I hear you. I’ve been hearin’ you for two days. Shuddup, will ya?”

  “All I did was ask a question.”

  His fingers shook as he slammed the cigarette against the ashtray, shaking off the ashes.

  Ashes.

  Ever since Jack’s death, Jimmy’s life had been a smoldering pile of ashes. And it wouldn’t be fixed until Rhone Mitchell, his wife and his obnoxious son lay dead.

  * * *

  Shannen knew the instant Rhone entered the living room. He’d walked silently, like he always did. But, just like in the days when they’d been together, she tuned in to him, knew without turning around that his left shoulder rested on the doorjamb. Maybe it was a subtle shift in the atmosphere, an increased awareness. Whatever, she knew, with every vibration in her body, that Rhone stood there, staring at her. Intently.

  Still smarting from their earlier conversation, Shannen knew she couldn’t turn around and face him. Not yet. His kiss had rattled her. Her response rattled her even more so. But it was his cool and easy pronouncement that he intended to move back in with her, be a father to Nicky, that completely unnerved her. She didn’t normally consider herself a coward, but she couldn’t, just couldn’t, find the strength to look at him.

  She knew, beyond doubt, that she didn’t have the will to deny him. Not in this emotional state.

  Brian cleared his throat, as if completely aware of, and uncomfortable with, the tension that swelled in the room. “Anyway, Ms.—”

  “Shannen,” she corrected, not wanting a repeat of the last time he’d innocently stumbled over her name. From the corner of the room, she distinctly heard Rhone drum his fingers on the doorframe.

  Brian nodded. Studiously, he avoided Rhone’s gaze before continuing to address Shannen. “Right. Like I was saying, your housekeeper was warmly welcomed by her family. But she was still protesting she didn’t want to leave you, especially since you need her so badly.” He spared a quick glance at Rhone, then turned back to Shannen and said, “Maria wanted me to be sure to tell you to call her as soon as Nicholas gets back.”

  Uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Rhone’s fingers tightened on the frame and his knuckles whitened. Shannen slowly faced Rhone, a lump sticking in her throat.

  Brian turned red.

  “Thank you,” she finally managed to force out.

  “That is, I, er—”

  “Don’t worry, Brian,” Shannen said, reaching out and touching the man’s hand reassuringly. “We all know we’ll get Nicky back safely.” Her lungs felt as if someone had reached inside and squeezed. Hard. She wished she could believe her own words, believe the man posing as a Realtor truly wasn’t as cold and callous as he’d seemed. But Shannen was generally a good judge of character. She’d seen his sleaziness the second she’d opened the front door.

  “There’s a report on that table that just came over the fax, boss,” Brian said.

  In a few steps, Rhone closed the distance separating them. Then he stood before her, filling her vision, consuming her senses. She crooked her head to look him in the eye. As if no one mattered, as if the world stopped, Rhone reached for her as he might have, once upon a time. His fingertips bit into the soft flesh of her shoulders, penetratingly, yet not uncomfortably.

  He didn’t say a thing.

  With a muttered excuse, Brian disappeared.

  And then Rhone and Shannen were alone.

  Her mind spiraled back to earlier that day, remembering the way Rhone touched her. Kissed her. She remembered the flood of sweet yearning when his lips met hers. It reminded her of the first time he’d kissed her, walking her up to the front door of the apartment she’d shared with another woman. Always on alert, he’d opened the door, swept a cursory, yet complete glance around the vacant front room. Then he’d pinned her against the wall, letting strands of hair flow through his fingers. Just when she’d thought he intended to leave her breathless and shaking, he’d kissed her.

  And left her breathless and shaking in ways she would never forget.

  It’d been a repeat this afternoon. He’d had her hel
plessly trapped again. Shannen had known, like Rhone had known—reading her with a sixth sense—that she really didn’t want to be released. Not right then.

  No matter what else had gone wrong between them, physical intimacy hadn’t been a problem. From the subtle shading of darkness in his eyes, Rhone obviously knew it, too.

  Nevertheless, Shannen had learned that physical intimacy was a poor substitute for what she truly craved—emotional intimacy. Neither had been good at that. And since neither knew what to say, where to start, they still apparently weren’t any better at emotions. Not good ones, anyway.

  Slowly, as though realizing what he was doing, Rhone uncurled his fingers from around her. “Sorry.”

  She rubbed her upper arms. “Don’t worry, it didn’t hurt.” Liar, her mind chided. Every time he touched her, then let go without giving her what she secretly yearned for, hurt.

  Rhone raked his fingers through his hair as he paced the floor. Slowly she sank onto the sofa, letting her shoulders sag against the softness.

  “Hell,” he muttered, coming to an abrupt stop, his back to her. “Why does this always happen?”

  She searched for the right words—heck, any words.

  She found none.

  “Maybe because this—” He lifted his hands expressively “—whatever it is, isn’t finished between us.” Rhone dropped his hands, then turned to face her. “I’ve never gotten over you, Shannen.”

  Starkness sketched between his brows. Her insides contorted into a tight knot.

  “I can’t be around you without wanting to touch you, hold you. Put my hand on your chest and feel your heart pound against my palm.”

  “Rhone, don’t.”

  He didn’t come an inch closer, not even a hint of a breath closer, yet her pulse reacted as if he’d swallowed the distance and pulled her into his arms.

  Shannen gulped, emotions thrown into a tumbling turmoil. She missed her son, desperately waiting for news, each second that dragged by compounding into an eternity. And Rhone’s demanding assertion that he wouldn’t give her a divorce turned up the burner beneath the already-bubbling caldron. She didn’t need it.

  As much as she wanted it.

  Rhone stepped closer. “Don’t say ‘don’t,’ Shannen. It won’t work. I won’t stop.” His jaw clenched into a hard line. “I want to share Nicky’s life, and verbally, you can deny it, but deep down, I know you believe we belong together. You, Nicky and I.”

  When it appeared he intended to punctuate his statement, to prove what he said was true in a physical way, she jumped from the couch and headed for the door.

  “Funny, Shannen, I hadn’t figured you for a coward, not after all this.”

  As the door slammed behind her, the sound of his voice echoing in her ears, she realized she hadn’t figured herself for a coward, either.

  Chapter 8

  The coffee flowed through the filter, dripping with splattering hisses into the pot. Shannen stared at it, feeling the cold that crept in and cloaked her.

  Blinking and forcing herself to look away, she drained the bottom of her cup, swallowing the remains of lukewarm coffee with a grimace.

  Steam escaped from the pot, the third batch she’d brewed in the last hour. If it wasn’t for the fact that Brian had picked up cold cuts and bread in town, and Rhone had made the sandwiches, insisting she eat, Shannen knew she would be surviving solely on strong jolts of caffeine.

  She’d spent the rest of the day—and well into the evening—holed up with the men, analyzing the scraps of information they’d received. One report said Norton had been spotted near Salt Lake City. Another put him in Durango, in southwestern Colorado. A third said he’d caught a plane out of Denver International and headed farther west. Rhone’s instincts told him Norton never left the state.

  As much as she hated the constant waiting, horrible uncertainty, she realized Rhone was right. They couldn’t run out and blindly chase every single clue.

  Nevertheless, Rhone inexorably moved toward the inevitable confrontation. He’d ordered ready-to-eat meals, had canteens and water-purifying tablets delivered. Backpacks with tents and sleeping bags had also arrived, along with weapons she’d only seen in movies, and night-vision equipment and heat-detecting apparatus she’d never dreamed existed. The latter, Rhone had explained, could help determine someone’s presence merely with their body heat.

  She’d asked how they could possibly carry everything if they had to hike after Norton. Rhone told her they would take only the necessities, leaving the rest. But because he didn’t know for sure what Norton planned, Rhone had wanted to be prepared for anything.

  Shannen glanced through the kitchen window. A charcoal-gray cargo van was parked between two motor homes. She’d seen the van come and go with regularity but no set schedule, as far as she could tell. The men who’d set up temporary living quarters on her property kept to themselves, for the most part. Their presence, both on her property and the few times they traipsed through her house to converse in muted tones with Rhone and Doug, was a constant reminder her life was anything but normal. Not that she needed a reminder. When she’d asked who the men were, Rhone had told her simply that they were the elite of the elite.

  He’d gone on to assure her that if a solid clue emerged, they would be ready to act on it in seconds. She didn’t doubt him.

  But waiting was the most difficult thing she’d ever done.

  With a sigh, she allowed the counter to support her weight—only for a few seconds, she swore. But she was so weary...such an emotional mess.

  The small black-and-white television on the kitchen’s island grabbed her attention as a commercial segued back to the anchorwoman at a Denver station.

  “Meanwhile, topping local news, the tragic story of a kidnapped child...”

  Shannen’s stomach squeezed.

  “Joining us live from our remote cam with an exclusive story is reporter Suzie Lord with Summit County Sheriff, Tom Jenkins. Suzie...”

  The knot in Shannen’s stomach became acid. She let out a soft cry, then called for Rhone.

  Before the word was completely out, Rhone vaulted over the back of the couch and hustled into the kitchen. Doug wasn’t far behind. Hand shaking, she turned up the volume, just as Nicky’s picture flashed on the screen.

  Rhone’s curse was brief and bitter.

  “Oh, hell,” Doug said.

  Shannen buried her face in her hands.

  “Yarrow!” Rhone bellowed.

  “...Authorities are staying mum on the issue, but our reporter spoke with Special Agent Brian Yarrow, a man many of you will remember from his work on the recent investigation surrounding the kidnapping and subsequent murder of a Colorado Springs girl. Suzie?”

  “We caught up with Special Agent Yarrow when he returned the family’s housekeeper to the home of her daughter, here in Lakewood.”

  “Front and center, Yarrow!” Rhone yelled again.

  The man hurried in from his post outside the door, gun clutched in hand. Breathlessly, he said, “Sir?”

  “Maybe you should watch this,” Doug said.

  Yarrow groaned, turning his attention to the television.

  “...No comment.”

  “But you don’t deny this is the family housekeeper.”

  “No, I don’t, Ms. Lord, but I have no further comment at this time.”

  Just then, the composite drawing of Norton, taken from Maria and Shannen’s descriptions, replaced Yarrow’s somber-looking features. Shannen had a hard time reconciling the official, stern-faced man on the screen with the sheepish agent standing near her husband.

  “Care to explain?” Rhone glared.

  “There’s nothing to explain, sir. I don’t know how they scooped the story and didn’t know they were laying in wait for me in Denver.”

  “And the composite sketch?”

  “Rhone,” Doug warned.

  “And you didn’t think to inform me of the press’s interest?”

  “It’s not like that
,” Brian hastily assured him.

  “Then what is it like?”

  Shannen wrapped her fingers around Rhone’s wrist and gently squeezed. At one time, he would have responded to her wishes. Would he now?

  “Maybe you should ask the sheriff, Rhone.” Brian loosened the knot in the tie at his throat. “I sure as hell know better than to talk to the press about your family.”

  “...Both kidnappers are considered armed and extremely dangerous. Anyone with information should call the Summit County Sheriff’s office at...”

  Shannen had heard enough. When the phone number was superimposed over the harsh angles of Norton’s penciled face, she uncurled her fingers from Rhone’s arm and fled the room, not caring that the door slammed shut behind her.

  “Shannen, wait!”

  Rhone’s tone was concerned, but it didn’t slow her step. As if the tortured damnation of hell chased her, she ran up the stairs, not even taking time to hold on to the banister.

  She heard his clipped instructions to Doug and Brian, telling them to get a gag order and find the sheriff, as she reached the landing.

  Shannen didn’t bother to lock the bedroom door. No need. A lock wouldn’t stop Rhone. Not if he wanted in.

  Emotion threatening to choke her, she threw herself onto the bed and curled into a ball. Her shoulders shook, but no tears came. Threatened, but didn’t come.

  She resisted the temptation to drag a pillow over her head and bury herself from the world and its problems. She knew it wouldn’t help.

  Instead, she shoved her hurt deeper by looking over at the cradle she’d never moved from her room, even though Nicholas had outgrown it months ago. Her eyes adjusted to the semidarkness, the dim glow from a night-light in the master bath aiding her. She didn’t remember placing Bear on top of the tiny pillow in the cradle earlier, but there it sat.

  Alone.

  Lonely.

  Like her.

  For long moments she stared at Bear.

  Then, for a reason she couldn’t fathom, she pushed off the bed and crossed the few steps to the cradle. Maybe wanting to punish herself for not being there when Nicky needed her most, Shannen placed her fingertips on the intricately carved antique wood and gently pushed, watching as the cradle that once tenderly held her infant child swung back and forth.