It was true, she had, but she’d done it more to get his attention. A childish ploy, but the only option she’d been able to come up with. “Doug said you were on your way home from Colombia.”
“Home?” He gave a short laugh. “Needless to say, I didn’t stay long when I discovered you’d left and had filed for a divorce. If my not signing the papers caused you an inconvenience, I really could’ve cared less.
“Not long after that, I was asked to make a final trip to Colombia. I got back last month. So, take it for whatever it’s worth—when I had the chance to track you down, I was too damned angry. And when the anger subsided, I was too...far away.”
He released a long sigh, one that Shannen believed echoed her earlier sentiment and her unspoken fear that, in reality, it was too late to make amends.
What happened in Colombia, Rhone? she asked silently. Where have you been since you got back? What happened that changed you, destroyed our marriage and stole my husband—my son’s father, from us? Shannen ached to verbalize the words but knew if she did, he would tell her nothing. Theirs was a relationship based on secrets. And secrets were no better than lies. Spawned by distrust, one built on another in an endless pursuit to hide the truth.
She couldn’t help wondering what it would have been like had things been different.
Rhone said nothing, as if he, too, were afraid of inflicting any more damage with words.
And in spite of everything, she realized his mention of a divorce now felt like a dreaded threat.
* * *
Less than a hundred miles away, Nicholas stuffed a fist into his mouth and curled the other into the dirty mattress. Lifting his head, he whispered the word that had always brought security and warmth into his life. “Maa-Maa?”
Chapter 5
Black faded to gray as long-awaited dawn battled over the horizon.
Rhone had worked most of the night, calling in favors, ordering equipment and going over topographical maps, desperate to find any hint of where Norton might have gone.
He despised feeling helpless, detested the fact that at the moment, Norton had the advantages. Truth was, though, both Norton brothers had been trained as survivalists.
But then, so had Rhone and Doug. Most things considered, they were evenly matched with their enemy, but not in ways that counted. Norton’s purpose was strictly revenge, and ultimately it would catch up to him. Rhone was willing to bet his life on it. Motivated for the wrong reason, consumed by it, Norton would make a fatal mistake.
That thought brought a quick, feral grin to Rhone’s mouth—the only sense of satisfaction he’d felt since getting Norton’s call.
Rhone wiped a hand across his whisker-roughened chin. He had slept little that night, but it was enough. Years of conditioning had changed his internal clock. He couldn’t remember when he’d last slept through the night. Even when Shannen had slept in his arms, he’d spent hours each night awake. He’d been content to watch Shannen dream as she’d snuggled against him, her body warm, replete from their lovemaking.
His mind drifted from maps, plans, mental checklists.
God, how he had missed Shannen. Rhone had never known anyone like her before she came into his life. No one had remotely interested him since.
Knowing she slept only a few paces down the hall did nothing to help discourage the direction of his thoughts.
For them, making love had been far from dull. Whether playful or intensely serious, every time had been a new experience. He’d cherished every moment they shared, knowing deep down, as Shannen had, that each could be their last.
For the most part, to Rhone, the possibility of being killed in the line of duty had seemed unlikely—a possibility he couldn’t afford to think about. But then, in the darkest hour of night, when Shannen stripped him of his defenses, he recognized his mortality as, unerrantly, she’d reached inside to touch his soul. With sweet, trusting abandonment, she’d laid hers open to him.
Rhone’s body tensed with aching need. He groaned aloud, throwing back the sheet that covered him. The early-morning chill that wafted from the window he’d opened the night before breathed over his heated skin, the result equal to that of a cold shower.
Unfortunately, he thought, it had little effect on the memories that threw his imagination into overdrive. Memories best left buried. Shannen—and now, Nicky—were his own weaknesses. Weaknesses that would see him dead if he wasn’t careful.
In one fluid motion, he rolled off the bed, landing lightly on his feet. Still dressed, he headed downstairs to the kitchen.
When the scent of brewing coffee filled the air, he turned toward the bathroom. After showering and putting on jeans, scarred leather cowboy boots and an old dark blue T-shirt, he paused on his way to the back door to fill a mug with the dark liquid. Brian’s snores drifted to Rhone. No light sleeper there, he assessed irritably, tucking a 9 mm into his waistband.
Unable to be confined for long, and needing space, Rhone stepped out onto the redwood deck. Orange and pink highlighted the sky, the vivid colors creating a dramatic backdrop for the still-snowcapped peaks—peaks that stretched with stark majesty toward the heavens. Leaning his hip against the railing, he sipped and swallowed, enjoying the view, the space, the quiet. He breathed deeply, slowly, liking the mingling scent of sage and pine.
It could almost lull a man into a false sense of security. But not him. He had too much at stake—knew just how cunning his opponent truly was.
Rhone Mitchell wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating Jimmy Norton. Especially not when Nicky’s life was at risk.
The thought of the child sent a never-before-felt sense of pride through Rhone. By damn, he had a son! A fact he was still in awe of, one that had yet to sink in. An undercurrent of feelings overrode the anger and the hurt Shannen had inspired with her omission, sweeping him along with a force he could no longer fight.
When he thought of Nicholas, joy, pure and simple, filled Rhone’s heart to overflowing. Nothing could compare to the sense of pride he felt. It was deeper than pride of accomplishment. More accurately, he decided, it was a sense of being blessed. The miracle of life was a gift. After the horrors he’d witnessed, the death and destruction, the gift of life was all the more precious. That he’d been fortunate to share in its creation amazed him, thrilled him. Left him incredibly humble.
He regretted not being here when Nicholas was born. Above all, he regretted that Shannen had felt the need to exclude him. It took two to make or break a marriage, he knew, and he could no longer ignore that he’d certainly been a large part in its demise. He’d been deluding himself by blaming Shannen.
Rhone slammed his empty cup on the railing, shattering the ceramic. He turned toward the stairs. Impotent frustration, compounded by a feeling of not being in control, bottled up inside, demanding release. Needing strenuous exercise, he set off at a brisk pace.
As he’d told Shannen, Rhone intended to be a part of Nicky’s life on a regular basis. If he took a position in the Rocky Mountain field office, he would only be roughly two hours away.
The sound of rushing water coaxed Rhone along as he followed a trail through the dense cover of aspen and evergreen, conducting a perimeter search.
Rhone swung around, sensing a presence. Automatically he reached for his weapon.
“It’s beautiful up here,” Brian said, emerging from the cover of trees. “Makes it almost possible to forget the ugliness.”
Rhone replaced his gun. The image of the man who threatened the safety and well-being of his family—Norton—who held the power to destroy all that was meaningful, blotted out everything else. Rage, barely leashed, unfurled, seeking an outlet. Soon, Rhone thought. The unspoken word was both threat and promise.
“Thought you’d want to know—Doug called. He’s landed, and he’s on his way up.”
Rhone started back toward the house.
Yarrow quickened his pace. “I wanted to find you, too, to talk to you about...”
Rhone t
uned the younger man out, focusing instead on an outline of a plan.
Now that he knew for certain who and what they were up against, Rhone’s gut feeling was telling him loud and clear to get ready.
Norton’s game was psychological warfare. Rhone knew the rules, knew Norton would attempt to lead them on a wild-goose chase, using Nicholas as the bait. Unless Rhone missed his guess, they would hear from Norton within the next forty-eight hours.
By then, he would have his own trap in place. Every agency in the state—hell, in the nation—would be in on the manhunt, at his beck and call. In times of emergency, agencies hung together like family. He’d never been more grateful for anything.
He knew it would seem like forever. Rhone gnashed his teeth together, detesting the hard truth that for now, Norton had him in the palm of his hand.
Brian’s solo dialogue caught and held Rhone’s consideration.
“...you understand, you’re too close, too involved to be objective. Of course, your input would be greatly appreciated—don’t get me wrong. So here’s what I was thinking.”
Rhone gave a snort. Stopping, he faced Brian. “Don’t.” His voice was low, carefully controlled.
Brian frowned. “Don’t what?”
“Think. Just do as I instruct and we’ll get along fine. If you have a problem with that, get the hell out.”
Brian kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot, reminding Rhone of a chastised little boy.
Then Brian looked up, a hint of a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Now that I have your undivided attention, mind telling me what your plans are?”
With a slow shake of his head, Rhone decided he had to hand it to the kid. Few dared push their luck with Rhone. The fact that Yarrow did—always had, come to think of it—indicated to Rhone maybe, just maybe, there was hope for the kid after all.
“Target practice,” Rhone answered.
“I just recertified—”
“Not you. Shannen. I want you by the phone in case Norton calls.”
Brian raised a brow. “Shannen knows how to shoot?”
“She will by nightfall, although I’m sure she’ll be as stubborn about learning as she was before.”
“You’re not letting her come with us, are you?”
“No. She’s staying here.” Rhone’s eyes narrowed, considering his options. “With you,” he decided.
Rhone was confident he and Doug could accomplish their goal relatively quickly without Brian’s help. Yarrow would have been an asset, but Rhone felt better knowing Shannen wouldn’t be alone. While he expected an argument from her, under no circumstance was Shannen accompanying them. The danger of getting hurt was too great a risk, one that Rhone wasn’t willing to take. Besides, without someone here to watch her, Rhone knew she would try to follow.
Brian seemed about to object, then shrugged. “If that’s the way you want it.” There was a grain of disappointment in his voice.
“That’s the way it’s going to be. Need I say that if any harm comes to my wife...”
His glance level with Rhone’s, Brian’s voice hardened. “You taught me well. I know the routine.”
Rhone gave a curt nod.
Beyond Yarrow’s shoulder, Rhone watched Shannen. He’d seen her come out on the deck and look around. For him? Spotting them, she moved to the steps and descended. Apparently, something caught her attention as she abruptly changed directions. Rhone saw her bend.
For no longer than a split second, he felt a tingling sensation, an eerie awareness. He took it for what it was: a warning.
Even so, nothing could have prepared him for the agonizing scream that shattered the silence.
Instantly, Rhone knew the bitter taste of fear.
With several hundred feet separating them, Shannen was exposed, vulnerable. Rhone crouched, his eyes scanning the perimeters of the property, his hand instinctively covering the weapon nestled in the waistband near his spine.
Aspen leaves hung motionless in the still air. Shielding his eyes from the sun, Rhone saw only the movement of scurrying chipmunks. At last satisfied, he stood.
“No! Dear God, no!” The mountains deflected the mournful chanting of Shannen’s voice, sending it back round again with haunting clarity.
Rhone broke into a run, Brian sprinted after him.
On her knees, Shannen picked up a small stuffed bear from where it lay facedown in the dirt. That the bear was a favorite of Nicky’s was evidenced by the matted appearance of the brown fuzzy material. Afflicting torment, both hers and his own, squeezed Rhone’s heart. He watched as she turned the bear over, meticulously dusting it off.
“When Nicholas was three months old, I bought this for him. The size seemed so right for his tiny hands. He refers to him as Bear. Original, huh?” She continued, not waiting for his answer. “Sleep is out of the question until Nicky has Bear snuggled in the crook of his arm. I can’t tell you how many times he’s sent me to find Bear at naptime or bedtime.” Her words caught on a half laugh, half sob. “Too many to count. Not nearly enough to last a lifetime.”
Shannen brought Bear to her chest, hugging the toy tightly. Tears streamed unheeded. With soul-wrenching repetition, she cried out Nicky’s name as she rocked back and forth.
Maybe it was because he knew Shannen so well, or maybe because he loved her so intensely. Whatever the reason, Rhone felt what she was going through. Felt the ache of empty arms that longed to hold their son.
Gently, firmly, Rhone reached down and drew Shannen to her feet. “Oh, God, babe, don’t.” His own voice was thick, grating.
For a flash of a second, anger and regret dissipated. With fierce need, his arms encircled her, pulling her snug against his chest. Bear caught between them, Rhone felt her lean into him, needing his warmth, his strength, as much as he needed hers. Seeming to sense it, she reached around him, hugging him back.
Rhone had no idea how long they stood that way, not that it mattered. Thankful for Brian’s quiet retreat, Rhone gave himself up to the moment. He didn’t want to think. He wanted only to savor the feel of the woman he held.
Her golden-brown hair lay against his cheek, soft and silky. A delicate scent of rose filled his senses. With her arms stretched upward, the short-waisted sweater bared a crescent of skin. With his thumb, he grazed her smooth warmth.
Rhone felt a faint shiver, felt the tiny bumps that raised in response to his touch. With the length of her body against his, she had to be aware of his own response, but she didn’t pull away. God, he wanted her. It was more than a physical need. So much more. He drew in a ragged breath.
Shannen had to want him on the same level, unconditionally for the same reasons. And it had to be forever, or not at all.
He leaned back. When Shannen raised her head, Rhone framed her face between his palms. He saw her reluctance to let go and felt a glimmer of hope. And he saw so much more.
Gone was the child-woman he’d married. Gone—the innocence from life not yet experienced. In her place, he saw a woman who knew the meaning of hardship and success, heartache and joy. And love. In the natural course of life, the changes he saw were inevitable. Rhone didn’t want to think about having had a hand in speeding up the process. He didn’t want to think at all.
His gaze fell to her mouth. He remembered shared kisses. Hot and fiery. Slow and sensual. Nipping and teasing. He swallowed a groan. Meeting her eyes, Rhone caught the answering flicker of desire. He could have imagined it, it was gone so quickly.
He bent, brushing her forehead with his lips. He thought he heard her sigh as she slid her hands down his back. They came to rest on his lower spine and Rhone felt her stiffen. He released her, allowing her to take a step away.
“Still armed and dangerous, I see.”
The momentary tenderness vanished, as if it had never happened.
Though he heard no censure in her tone, her words brought to mind repeated arguments from the past. Shannen hated guns, hated what they stood for. Though she’d married him knowing w
hat he did for a living, she had eventually quit trying to hide her resentment of his having a gun in their home.
And only just now did he realize why.
Rhone reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Life is fragile, fleeting. The gun was a constant reminder, wasn’t it?”
Shannen tipped her head, eyes widened with surprise. “You’ll never know the hell I went through. Self-induced, maybe, but nonetheless, terrifying.” She started to say more but stopped herself.
Rhone didn’t push the issue. It was a beginning. He felt encouragement that the door she had closed and locked between them was opening, slow inch by slow inch. If he’d learned nothing else in Colombia, he had learned the value of patience and faith.
Shannen glanced down at the bear she still held, then back up at him. “I’m glad you’re in charge of the search.”
“We’ll get through this. We will have our son back.”
Shannen nodded. “I need to help. I can’t stand being idle—it’s driving me crazy.”
Rhone debated how much to tell her. He wanted her cooperation, but he didn’t want to scare her unnecessarily. “I’m not certain if you figure into Norton’s plans or not, but I think you need to be able to defend yourself. Norton’s M.O. includes a mini-arsenal. Fancy footwork and well-aimed punches can’t stop a bullet, Shannen.”
The color drained from her face. “Nicky—”
“—will be all right.” Rhone placed his hands on her shoulders, hoping he wasn’t lying. “It’s me he really wants. He’s using Nicky as a bargaining tool, and I have no reason to doubt he would use you in the same fashion.”
“You want me to learn how to shoot.” It was more a statement than a question.
“Yes. I know how you feel about guns, but...”
Rhone paused, watching a gleam of anger kindle in Shannen’s eyes. He felt a measure of relief. In fear, there was weakness. Preying on weakness was Norton’s strong suit. But in anger there was strength.
“I’ll do anything to get my son back. Teach me,” she said. Her tone was positive, the words spoken without hesitation.
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