All I Need

by Christa Conan

  Anger, resentment and guilt churned. With a flick of her wrist, she wiped her tears. “You seem to be forgetting one very important fact, Rhone Mitchell. It’s because of you Nicholas isn’t here tonight. You. Not me.”

  “Had I known Nicholas existed,” Rhone bit out, “none of this would be happening. I would have made certain of that.”

  “How? By ‘imprisoning’ us in protective custody? Or maybe you had the relocation program in mind.” Shannen gave a bitter laugh. “Thanks, but no thanks. Being stalked by your enemies, needing to be prepared to run and hide, was never—still isn’t, my idea of a quality life. In part, that’s why I left you. That and your overzealous dedication to your crusade for world peace. The danger you thrive on terrifies me. It destroyed our marriage, destroyed our opportunity to be a family.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, then flashed her an ominous glare instead. Just as she remembered, Shannen knew Rhone also recalled a similar conversation they’d had two years ago. Only, then, she’d been flinging “what-ifs” at him. Now, reality had turned that argument into a living nightmare.

  Her insides twisted when he knelt. Helplessly, she watched as he tenderly fingered the picture, shaking it free of the shards of glass. Still on one knee, he met her own pain-filled eyes. “I will find Nicholas, so help me God. When I do, don’t think for one minute that I won’t share my son’s life. It’s time he knows who his father is.”

  Shannen spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t have him, Rhone. I won’t let you take my baby away from me. He’s all I’ve got.”

  “And more than you deserve.” Full-bodied rage seemed to surge through him. With a speed that denied his six-foot-three frame, he shot to his feet and demolished the distance separating them.

  She backed up until she collided with the log partition behind her. Unable to support her own weight any longer, Shannen leaned against the wall.

  Shannen knew one thing without a doubt—whatever Rhone had seen, had experienced during the two years since their last meeting, changed him. The changes went deeper than the physical, but right now she didn’t have the energy to contemplate beyond the surface.

  As he towered above her, hardened resolve reflected on features that seemed to have aged a decade. The dark brown hair brushed back from his face was laced with strands of silver, a color that hadn’t been there before he left for the mission that killed their marriage.

  Deep lines accentuated lazulite-blue eyes. And he’d lost weight. His cheeks had a slightly hollow look—not that any of these things made him less attractive, she thought distantly. If anything, the aura of tightly leashed power made him more appealing. And threatening.

  “I wanted to tell you,” she confessed on a strangled whisper, “that I was pregnant.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I tried, in a roundabout way. I told you I wanted to have a baby. Your baby. But you made it clear a family wasn’t in your plans.”

  “Those plans weren’t intended to be a permanent arrangement,” he said through clenched teeth. He placed his palms against the wall above her shoulders, pinning her. “But, then, you didn’t exactly give me the chance to alter them, did you? You just naturally assumed I wouldn’t want the baby.”

  She flinched at his savage curse.

  “Who do you think you are? Who gave you the right to make that decision?”

  “You didn’t have time to be a father,” she defended, refusing to cower at his verbal attack.

  “I would have made time.”

  She gave a bitter laugh. “You’d have managed to make time for your child, but couldn’t for me?”

  Shannen watched as his eyes narrowed with something close to loathing. He cursed again and straightened, though he didn’t move away.

  How stupid of her to think honesty might have bridged a portion of the gap between them. Yet, being honest with herself, she admitted she’d always known he would have tried to make it work.

  His sense of responsibility had been the first thing she’d fallen in love with. But it had also been the one thing that had plucked the bloom of romance from their relationship, petal by petal, until not even a withered stem remained.

  His fingers bit into the tender flesh of her upper arm. Pain, more emotional that physical, shot through her. She knew he held her with less strength than he possessed, less power than he probably wanted to exert.

  Shannen cocked her chin back, reminding herself he was the one who had walked out on her.

  She met his gaze, ice to ice, unspoken pain to unspoken pain.

  “Tell me about Nicky.” Rhone’s voice was ragged, raw, tinged with exhaustion.

  “You’re hurting me,” she said softly.

  He blinked, only marginally loosening his grip. “Tell me,” he repeated.

  Immediately, pictures of Nicky came to mind, one tumbling over another. All the firsts: the first time he rolled over and sat up, his first smile, first tooth. The first word he said, “Maa-Maa.” And only today, his first steps.

  Precious moments she’d known would one day be cast in memories. Were they all she had left?

  Shannen tried to give voice to the words Rhone so desperately wanted—needed—to hear and couldn’t. The pain was too great, fear for Nicky’s fate, all consuming. Tears blurred her vision as she sent a pleading glance to Rhone.

  Apparently misinterpreting, abruptly, he released her. On a swift pivot, he strode from the room, each step punctuating his anger as the heels of his boots met the tile.

  The sound of drawers opening, doors slamming, had Shannen bolting from the kitchen.

  At the door to the living room, shock and disbelief held her in place. A side of Rhone she hadn’t seen before alarmed her.

  With a frantic fury, he dumped contents of desk drawers and built-in storage cabinets into a pile on the floor. With the toe of his boot, he paused only long enough to sift through the debris. Apparently dissatisfied, he turned to the bookshelves, volumes falling helter-skelter in his wild search.

  Tears streamed, her heart breaking into a million pieces as she was forced to come to terms with the extent of the damage she’d done to her husband.

  A crashing vase spurred Shannen forward.

  So intent was she on rescuing Rhone, saving him from himself, that it didn’t occur to her that probably not even Doug would have approached.

  “Stop it. Stop it!” She took their wedding album from his hands before he could give it a toss, laying it aside. Wrapping her arms around him, she hung on tight in an attempt to restrain him, knowing full well her strength was no match for his. He tried to push her away and almost succeeded.

  His gaze riveting on hers, murderous rage poured like liquid fire.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.” Her voice broke.

  Shannen felt him sag onto her, the beat of his heart pounding against her own. She tried to support him as they sank onto their knees amid the rubble.

  His breathing ragged, he took in a gulp of air, then another. Dark brows drew together, and a muscle flickered along his jaw as he struggled to mask naked emotions.

  He finally won, but not before Shannen identified each. They were gut-wrenching, soul-breaking feelings she recognized only too well.

  When he spoke, hollow acceptance laced the same anguish that filled her. “Do you hate me so much?”

  “No. Oh, God, no, Rhone.”

  Gaze leveled with hers, he released a long sigh. “At this moment I can’t offer you the same reassurance.”

  She closed her eyes. She couldn’t blame him. “I know,” she whispered.

  Their differences were vast, seemingly irreconcilable. They each came from opposite ends of the same pain. An innocent child was in the middle. Through no fault of his own, his parents stood divided, neither knowing how to right the wrongs of the past.

  But she had to try, Shannen thought. More for Nicky than herself, she had to try.

  She stood, extending her hand to Rhone. “Come with me. Ther
e’s something I want to show you.”

  Seeming to debate, he watched her in wary silence. Then reaching a conclusion, he rose unaided in a lithe motion. She hadn’t really expected him to take her hand.

  At the stairs, when he did, she was surprised and grateful. She needed his touch, a connection with his strength. Obviously, he needed the same in return.

  The grip of his fingers tightened, but no more so than hers as they stood on the threshold to Nicky’s room.

  Shannen glanced upward, saw Rhone’s eyes rove with a hunger she understood and yet, with one she couldn’t begin to imagine. She followed his glance as it came to rest on the mobile of cartoon characters above the crib.

  A painfully empty crib.

  “Come on,” she coaxed, her voice thick. Stepping forward, Shannen drew Rhone with her. She released him and crossed the room to the bureau. Opening the top drawer, she withdrew a brightly colored baby book. In it, she’d recorded every highlight of their son’s growth and development.

  Shannen turned, offering it to Rhone.

  His eyes met hers, and for a moment she saw a flame of warmth, a flicker of eagerness that gave her an inkling of what it could’ve been like. Should have been like.

  When he’d settled in the rocker, Shannen turned on the lamp, offering more illumination than the night-light. She headed for the door, thinking he would want to be alone.

  “Don’t go.” His tone was hoarse, barely above a whisper—as though speaking louder would banish their fragile truce.

  Over the next hour, Rhone pored over the pages, asking a multitude of expected questions. Sitting cross-legged on the floor nearby, she answered, often having to shove the words past a throat grown tight.

  “He’s sweet, Rhone, so sweet. He can’t go to sleep at night until I cover him with a blanket and give him a kiss.” Her lower lip trembled. “Nicky’s such a happy baby, smiles more than not.”

  Shannen gave a short, self-conscious laugh. “I probably sound like a boasting parent who thinks she has the perfect little angel.”

  “Not at all” came his husky reply. “You sound like the proud and caring mother that I’m sure you are. That I’ve always known you would be.”

  With a brief nod, she realized she’d needed his assurance that he thought her a good mother, not one whose neglect had somehow caused the tragedy they now faced.

  “You can’t blame yourself, Shannen.”

  How like him to tune in to the direction of her thoughts. He’d always had the uncanny ability.

  “As you say,” he continued, “if anyone is to blame, it’s me.” Self-recrimination clouded his eyes.

  “We’ve said a lot of things tonight in anger.” She gave a tired sigh. “We need to bury the hatchet, concentrate on getting Nicky back safe and sound. Right now, that’s really all that matters.”

  “You want a divorce.”

  Rhone’s abrupt change of subject caught her off guard. The words seemed almost tangible as they and the depth of their meaning hung between them. Distracted, feeling numb to everything but her missing child, Shannen was uncertain at the moment of what she wanted, or how to respond.

  “Don’t you?” She turned the tables.

  She met his watchful gaze, couldn’t begin to interpret his thoughts. Then he looked away.

  “Again, as you say, getting Nicholas back is all that matters.” He returned his attention to the book in his lap.

  Twice, Rhone laughed at his baby’s comical expressions, forever captured on film. The deep rich sound prompted memories of the good times she and Rhone had shared. They seemed so long ago, she thought, with a niggling of wistfulness.

  For the most part, he stared silently, completely absorbed in reconstructing the first fifteen months of his son’s life. Began creating a bond, if that was possible.

  Apparently feeling somewhat requited, Rhone closed the book. “Nicholas hasn’t been baptized.” He made the statement in a tone that didn’t criticize. If anything, he sounded relieved.

  Nevertheless, when she looked up, she didn’t bother to hide her startled expression. In a way, it surprised her that Rhone had mentioned the ceremony, that it would matter, considering what he did for a living. Then it occurred to her it was because of what he did that made it so important. At least, partly.

  “I thought about it. Wanted to, but I... It didn’t seem right.”

  “Good,” Rhone said. “A father should attend his son’s christening. I would’ve hated to miss out. I’ll look forward to it.”

  Shannen accepted his hand, letting him pull her up. “Rhone, what if—”

  He shook his head. “No. Don’t even think it. We will have Nicholas back. Soon.”

  The emphasis he placed on the word we helped shore her up. Someone else had as much at stake as she.

  Returning to the kitchen, Shannen reached for the carafe, refilling their cups with coffee. Her back to Rhone, she said, “At the risk of irritating you, I’ve got some questions of my own.”

  He moved closer, taking the cup she offered. “I’m sure you do.” He hesitated, then added, “I’ll answer what I can.”

  “This is all because of Jack, isn’t it?” she asked, referring to Jimmy’s dead brother and Rhone’s ex-colleague.

  Indecision warred on grave features. “What do you know about Jack?”

  “Having been an interpreter for the United Nations, I, too, have friends in high places who have kept me somewhat informed. That shouldn’t come as a big surprise.”

  “It doesn’t. I suppose what does is the fact you bothered to keep tabs on anything that remotely involved my activities.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she retorted, ignoring his fleeting smirk. “And quit trying to change the subject. This is about revenge, isn’t it? Somehow Nicky and I got caught in the middle.”

  His voice was riddled with regret. “Believe me, I’d give anything not to have to put you through this.”

  Shannen felt a stab of guilt. “I know. I do believe you.” But try as she might, she couldn’t stop holding him accountable.

  Rhone shifted, looking anywhere but at her.

  “We may have had our differences, Rhone, but through them all, I know you were always concerned for my safety, even if I wasn’t as sure of your love.”

  “Shannen—”

  “Don’t.” She groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples, trying to erase the stubborn throb there. “The past is over. And right now, I need to focus on the future and Nicky’s well-being.”

  Rhone looked as though he intended to say something else, then stopped.

  She didn’t give him a chance to regroup his thoughts. Didn’t give herself a chance to ponder anything but preservation. “How did Jimmy Norton know where to find me?”

  “Jimmy just got out of prison. We know for certain he has used the same contacts Jack did.”

  Shannen, who’d started to pace, stopped midstride. “These contacts...they’re still running around, free?”

  “Notice, I said, ‘has used.’ We thought we had...removed them all. A couple were his roommates in prison. Trust me. When we find this one, he’ll meet the same fate as his comrades.”

  She didn’t ask what that would be, didn’t want to know.

  “And as for you, Rhone, how did you know where to find me?” she asked softly. “Amazing, when you think about it. It didn’t take the bad guys any time at all while it took you two years. But then, of course, that would be assuming you’d tried before now, and we both know better.”

  His muscles tensed visibly. “I didn’t expect you to change your last name.”

  “I wouldn’t have if you’d been a real husband,” she tossed back, refusing his offer of guilt.

  “So much for burying the hatchet, huh, Shannen?”

  She was exhausted and knew it. She needed to sleep, wanted to wake up in the morning knowing the ugliness, the terror had been nothing more than a horrible dream.

  Picking an argument with Rhone was an excuse to avoid the
agony of facing the fact she wouldn’t be tucking her baby in his crib tonight. Wouldn’t be kissing his soft, warm cheek, or feeling his wet attempt at a kiss in return.

  “For months I waited for you.” Her breath caught on a sob. “I wanted you to find us, and now it’s too late.”

  With a sound akin to a growl, Rhone reached for her. She twisted away, resisting, but his strength was overpowering. Her body shook with silent sobs.

  She might have imagined the feather-light touch of his hand on her hair. Beneath her ear, she heard the strong, fast beat of his heart. Oddly reassuring in a world that was anything but. And his scent, the one that had haunted her those first nights alone when she couldn’t sleep, teased her again.

  He was the last person she wanted comfort from and, at the same time, the only one who could provide the comfort she needed. She sniffled, thinking that odd paradox had always described their relationship. It still did.

  “What happens next?” she mumbled against his chest.

  “We wait for Norton’s next move.”

  “That’s it? Wait?”

  “By dawn, two dozen law-enforcement officials will be scouring the area. I’ll be setting up a command post here. I’d like to get you away—”

  “No.”

  Shannen heard the depth of his sigh, the resignation in his voice when he said, “I thought that would be your reaction, but I can’t promise you’ll be safe here.”

  “I’m not asking for promises, and I’m not leaving. Besides, what if Jimmy tries to make contact? For ransom or something?”

  “The only thing Norton wants in exchange for Nicholas is me.”

  Unable to hide her alarm, Shannen leaned her head back to look up at Rhone, tried to read his masked expression. “What are we going to do?” she whispered.

  Expecting to hear an outline of his plans, she was again taken aback. “When this is over, I’ll give you the divorce you want,” he said instead. There was no emotion in the quietly spoken words, the delivery of each distancing them more than ever.

  Is it what she wanted? Shannen felt as though a fist had landed on her stomach. If it wasn’t for the support of his arms, she might have reeled.

  “I know you tried to serve the papers—”