All I Need

by Christa Conan

  She stopped, ducking behind a tree. Her watch beeped, signaling the top of the hour. She jumped, then instantly silenced the noise that seemed to ricochet everywhere. Slowly, scared of what she might see, what she might not see, she peered around into the clearing.

  Empty, except for a poised and alert deer nearby.

  Light faded as the sun disappeared behind the peaks.

  Shannen swore.

  Norton hadn’t showed.

  Her shoulders sagged and she fought back equal measures of anger and frustration. How stupid that she’d fallen for the trick.

  A snap split the air.

  The deer vanished.

  Then she smelled it...the cloying, gagging scent of an unwashed person.

  “Don’t move.”

  She froze. The thunder of her pulse nearly overwhelmed her. Her knees trembled. But Shannen forced herself to hold her shoulders rigid, not betraying the terror that had captured every nerve in her body.

  How he’d snuck up behind her, Shannen didn’t know. She must have been totally consumed with her own thoughts. “Where’s my son?” She forced the words around the tightness in her throat and past the teeth she ground together.

  “Safe.”

  He laughed, a thoroughly diabolical sound that made goose bumps rise on her flesh.

  Just as suddenly, he stopped. “For now, anyway.”

  That was every bit as unnerving as the gloating chuckle.

  “You didn’t bring Mitchell, or any of his cronies, with you, did you?”

  She wanted to reply with a flip answer, but couldn’t get it out.

  “Did you?” he demanded again.

  He leaned closer. The summer breeze wrapped his stench around her so she couldn’t breathe anything but his putrid odor.

  Norton wrapped a hand in her hair then yanked. Hard. She winced but refused to give him the satisfaction of crying out.

  He dragged her back half a step, slamming her into his body. Her cheek and neck were exposed to his yellowed, rotting teeth. The other day, she hadn’t noticed just how much bitterness made him ugly, but up close, there was no disguising it. Unable to help herself, she closed her eyes.

  “Look at me. I wanna see your fear.”

  “Never.”

  He laughed again.

  “Where’s my son?” she demanded, each word an aching effort to get out.

  “It’d be easy for me to kill you, you know?” he said in an almost conversational tone. “And I wouldn’t have to use my weapon to do it.” With that, he shoved the unyielding barrel of the gun against her temple.

  Her knees sagged.

  “That’s it, Shannen, baby. Let me smell your fear.”

  She groaned, as much from pain as revulsion.

  He chuckled.

  She contemplated bringing her foot down on his instep. But such a maneuver might cause him to tighten on the trigger. Rhone had taught her enough to know the gun was cocked, but not locked. A squirm might see her dead. And as long as she lived, she had a chance to save Nicky.

  “Mitchell has good taste in his women.”

  Sickness engulfed her entire body, making her feel dirty, even the places he hadn’t touched. She wanted a shower. But most of all, she wanted to be free of him.

  “As I was saying,” he continued easily, “with your neck stretched back like that, all neat and purty, I don’t need no gun to kill you.” Still gripping a handful of hair, he moved his hand so that his palm covered the column of her throat, her hair fanning about his hand.

  She tried to swallow.

  Couldn’t.

  Panicking, she started to squirm, the survival instinct consuming her common sense. She screamed, then realized no sound emerged.

  She was going to die.

  And Rhone didn’t even know where she was. She would die with him believing lies about her.

  “Fact is, rather kill you this way, then none of your blood gets on Jimmy’s clothes.” He laughed again.

  His voice and chilling laugh reached her from a great distance.

  “Ain’t gonna, though.”

  She sucked great gulps of air deep into her lungs, the bitter taste of unconsciousness stinging her. The cooling air burned into her lungs, but it was the best feeling she’d ever had.

  “Yep, much as I wanna kill you right here and now, I ain’t gonna. Gonna make that man of yours suffer first. In ways he ain’t never dreamed.”

  “Rhone isn’t going to suffer if I die,” she managed, throat raw and scratchy. Her words sounded as though they’d been grated over sandpaper. She wondered if the lie made them any rougher.

  “Huh?”

  For the first time, she saw confusion painted on his twisted features. “Rhone isn’t going to suffer,” she repeated slowly, trying to make each word clear. “He doesn’t love me.”

  “He’s here, ain’t he?”

  “So? He’s here because he wants you, not because he cares about me. Or my son.”

  “Rhone’s son,” Jimmy corrected, frowning as if Shannen were stupid.

  “My son,” she corrected. “Not Rhone’s.”

  “But they look the same. Any fool can see that. And Jimmy ain’t no fool.”

  She hated this position. Her back ached and the tension of his hand in her hair made her eyes tear. Thank God for that, though. At least the sheen of moisture blurred her vision, making it more difficult to focus on his face. Her thigh muscles protested the awkward position, as did her feet as she battled for balance on her tiptoes. “No, you’re not a fool,” she agreed, wishing for water—anything to ease the pain in her throat. “But Rhone doesn’t have any children. Think,” she urged. “If you know Rhone that well, then you know he couldn’t possibly be my son’s father.” Consciously, she avoided using Nicky’s name, hoping beyond hope that the omission would somehow make Nicky safer, not reveal her utter weakness. “Rhone was out of the country. That’s why I left him.”

  Jimmy cursed savagely.

  “I don’t love Rhone. I had a baby to get even with him. Harming me or the child won’t get Rhone. I swear to you that—”

  “Shuddup!” He kicked her in the back of the knees so that she toppled. “Let me think!”

  She would have fallen completely, if not for his hold on her hair. Shannen bit her tongue to avoid crying out.

  She hoped Rhone would forgive the lies, hoped she could live with herself for telling them. “Why do you think he let me come alone?” Tears that had been stinging the inside of her eyelids began to slip toward her temples. Yet she refused any other sign of the excruciating pain. “He doesn’t care about me, Jimmy. How could he?”

  Viciously, Jimmy yanked again. For a few seconds she wildly wondered if she’d pushed him too far. Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut.

  “We’ll see.” The nauseating odor of his breath washed over her face. “Yeah. That’s it.” He nodded, then began a slow, evil smile. “Jimmy’ll see.” As quickly as the smile came, it vanished. His face settled into the harsh lines of a sneer. “And if you’re lyin’ to me...”

  She squeezed her eyes closed.

  Jimmy shoved her so she tumbled headlong into the darkened floor of the forest. She heard scampering and scurrying. Shannen struggled to stand, then gasped when he toppled her again. The wind knocked from her lungs, she lay still for several seconds.

  Before she could recover, Jimmy dropped down next to her, jamming a knee in the small of her back. She fought desperately, but to no avail, except to cause him to laugh hideously.

  The bitter taste of dirt stung her mouth, and pine needles poked through her clothes.

  With efficient movements that proved how callous and cold he was, he pulled her hands behind her back to bind them. He tugged so hard, she thought her shoulders would dislocate.

  With horrific memory, the sight of Maria’s bloodstained wrists burned into Shannen’s memory. Raw, consuming panic began to build. “Don’t,” she said, then wished she could snatch back the show of weakness.

  He
pulled harder.

  This time she forced back the terrorized scream.

  “Sit up.”

  “I can’t.”

  Jimmy grabbed the tender area where her wrists were shackled, then pulled up, forcing her to her knees.

  With a few quick motions, he looped a rope between her hands, then moved away so he could secure her to a tall aspen.

  Crouching near her, he turned on a flashlight, propping it against a rotting branch.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I git so sick of women who won’t shut up.”

  “Well, I get sick of men who feel they can bully their way into getting people to do what they want.”

  From a distance, she heard the crackling of branches.

  Jimmy’s eyes opened wide. The solid glow of the flashlight reflected off his eyes.

  Insanity.

  Nothing more.

  His dried lips cracked into a sinister yet gleeful smile. “Thought you said he didn’t care none.”

  “It’s probably just a deer.” Her heart pounded. Was it Rhone? Could help possibly be so close? Oh, please, let it be, she silently pleaded.

  “That ain’t no deer.”

  Seizing what might be her only chance, she screamed. “Rhone!”

  Instantly, Jimmy’s huge palm slapped over her mouth. He tutted, the noise almost a chant. “That wasn’t smart. No sirree, that wasn’t smart a’tall. Thought Mitchell liked his women to have brains.” He shrugged. “Guess not. Maybe you’re right about him not giving a damn and all.” He stared at her breasts. “Course, maybe, jus’ maybe, he likes what’s underneath all them baggy clothes.”

  Bile rocked inside her.

  “Now, so’s you don’t do anythin’ so stupid again...” He broke the word stupid into two long, distinct syllables. “I’m gonna have to gag you.”

  She dropped her head back against the tree. She refused to beg. Refused to show him any more weakness. If she protested, he would probably just shove a rotten rag even deeper in her mouth. Resolving to be brave, wondering how in creation Rhone had ever survived the hell he’d lived through, Shannen held still, desperately trying to think about anything but here and now.

  She shook her head violently when he unknotted the bandanna at his dirty throat.

  Again she tried to scream, but only bit a fleshy part of his hand. Not able to conjure the calm she’d hoped, she thrashed, catching him in the groin with her knee.

  She saw the supreme battle on his face as he fought not to succumb to the pain.

  Good.

  He deserved to suffer—especially after abducting the most precious part of her.

  He cursed and grunted, but he didn’t move away. “I ought to kill you right now. Nobody, but nobody, hurts Jimmy and lives to tell about it.”

  Shannen had every intention of being the first.

  He grunted a second time, then jammed the sweat-soaked bandanna inside her mouth. Her stomach rolled violently and she gagged.

  Efficiently, he unhooked his belt and yanked the leather free of the jeans loops with a sharp snap. He raised it before her. Shannen cringed.

  With methodical, unhurried motions, he tied her legs together. “So you won’t be kickin’ nobody for a while.”

  He stood, surveyed her and folded his arms over his chest. “One more thing. A Jimmy Norton special touch, if I may say so.” He bent to unzip a small knapsack and pulled a tape recorder from the canvas.

  The eerie sound of Jimmy’s mechanical laughter spilled from the small recorder.

  He set the machine down, then grabbed his flashlight. “Yep, Jimmy the Brain has left his signature.” He shone the light in her face until she closed her eyes to escape the glare. “Mark my words, Shannen love.” With bruising pressure, he grabbed her chin between his fingers. Again his breath washed across her face. “I ain’t done with you.”

  After turning up the volume, he disappeared into the forest, whistling as he went.

  For what seemed an eternity, the sick sound of Jimmy’s incessant laughter crashed through the night. She wanted to escape, needed to escape. Needed Rhone.

  Oh, Lord, she needed Rhone.

  “...I love you, always have...”

  The tape repeated Shannen’s words over the sound of Jimmy’s voice.

  He had recorded their telephone conversation! He’d changed it though, inserting crude obscenities.

  Never before had she wished for unconsciousness to claim her. She did now.

  * * *

  Weapons drawn, Rhone and Doug separated, circling the perimeters of the house, looking for any clue that would indicate which way Shannen had gone.

  Cox and five other agents whom Rhone had handpicked himself, based upon their reputation and unique expertise in the field, fanned out behind him and Doug.

  Unspeakable fear clutched at Rhone’s heart.

  Not Shannen.

  Dear God, not Shannen, too.

  He forced himself to endure the struggle to maintain a professional detachment. A chirping whistle that an untrained ear would interpret as a cricket drew Rhone’s attention. He acknowledged it, then silently pointed to a dense area of trees, watching as Doug headed for them.

  With more gut feeling than familiarity, Rhone followed the path leading toward the river. Shadows blended as dusk rapidly gave way to nightfall.

  The air hung still. The deafening quiet was oppressively unsettling. As though sensing the danger to come, nature held her breath in wary anticipation.

  Moving cautiously, aware of his surroundings, he recalled the words Shannen had said into the phone...words he’d believed she said to her lover.

  Words he now knew had been forced by Norton.

  Rhone remembered the haunted look in her eyes as she’d gazed at him, directing the words to him, rather than to the slime on the other end of the phone. Could she have meant what she said?

  Rhone’s insides twisted, the way they had a thousand times or more in Colombia as he’d dreamed of hearing her say the same words to him once again. Had the look in her eyes when she’d turned around been a silent plea for understanding and forgiveness for what she’d been commanded to do?

  He let out a long sigh. Why was it that misunderstanding and a lack of trust always harmed their relationship?

  Doug circled back.

  Rhone shook his head.

  Then a sound, too indistinct to identify, carried to Rhone. Unaccountably, his gut clenched. That damn beast was out there. With Rhone’s wife.

  Stock-still, he cocked his head. He pointed into the forest to their right. Doug inclined his head in mute agreement. Leaving the path, they moved from one tree to another, in a practiced pattern, alternating trees, each guarding the other’s back.

  Rhone stopped again to listen.

  A keening wail of triumphant laughter penetrated the stillness.

  The softer sounds of a woman’s strained voice followed.

  Hair on the back of his neck rose. If...when...he got his hands on Norton’s neck...

  The mocking laughter swelled, surrounding them. It came from everywhere and nowhere at once. The hunt was on. And Rhone intended to be victor.

  They rushed faster, following the same fashion as before. At a signal from Doug, Rhone dropped to a crouch behind an evergreen, acknowledging their prey was nearby.

  The sickening laughter tripped through the air, once again a painful reminder that Norton had Shannen. Rhone started a prayer, then stopped. He refused to believe the universe could be so callous as to take the two most important people from his life. Shannen was okay. She had to be.

  Quietly he started counting.

  On three, both men spun from behind cover, guns aimed and cocked, ready to fire.

  In a single glance, eyes attuned to the darkness, Rhone assessed the situation. Then cussed.

  Doug did the same.

  “Go to Shannen,” Doug urged. “I’ll get Norton.”

  As difficult as the order was to follow, Rhone agreed. Doug was an excell
ent tracker and Shannen needed Rhone, as much as he needed to hold her, convince himself she was all right.

  Her eyes—reflected by the flashlight Norton had trained on her—were wild with fright. Raw, unadulterated rage raced through Rhone, making him want to chase Norton down and bare-handedly kill him.

  Trembling with suppressed anger, Rhone holstered his Beretta and advanced toward her. That he was the cause of the pain and suffering she endured nearly undid Rhone.

  Recrimination washing over him, Rhone dropped to his knees next to Shannen.

  Chapter 11

  Her gaze, wide-eyed and terrified, met his.

  Rhone forced away his own anguish and acted on automatic pilot, like he had so many times before.

  Hands shaking, he silenced the recorder then reached for the gag, the motion taking him close to her. With his heart hurting, he noticed the track of a single tear down her face, disappearing into the filthy fabric binding her.

  Bastard.

  Clenching his teeth, Rhone gently pulled the rag from her, wanting nothing more than to torch it.

  “Are you okay?” he asked gently, not surprised that his voice had thickened with his own emotion.

  She shook, and he knew it had little to do with the dipping temperature customary to nightfall in the mountains.

  “He touched me.”

  Shannen sounded detached. Far away. As if she was starting to retreat someplace where no one could reach her.

  Rhone swore, softly and succinctly as he unsheathed his knife and desperately sliced at the leather belt. He knew what she was going through, recognized the mind’s attempt to shut out unspeakable things.

  “He’s got my son, Rhone.”

  He froze. Looked at her. And realized she was looking through him, not at him.

  His breaths squeezed through pain-filled lungs. Jimmy had terrorized her as effectively as Jack had terrorized Rhone.

  But damn if he would lose anything more to the debilitating grip of a twisted Norton mind.

  Galvanized by desperation to hold her, Rhone sawed through the remaining bindings, then leaned toward her, cradling her as he might a child, wanting to absorb the hurt. Erase from her memory what had happened.