All I Need

by Christa Conan

  “Shannen—”

  “No, wait,” she hurriedly interrupted. “I understand how you can’t not be involved, but I can’t live with it any more than I ever could. I used to think it would get easier, that I’d get used to it, but I didn’t.”

  The arm he had around her tightened.

  He bit out a curse that served to tell her how deeply the pain ran, but how shallow it was buried. “I know.” The two words were shrouded with despair, with resignation.

  Instead of saying anything further, he took a tried-and-true track, like he always had. He changed the subject. “I can’t believe that idiot took the bullet.”

  The thought of what would have happened if Brian hadn’t tried to act the hero struck her with horror. But what was the point of expressing her feelings? Rhone would only discount them.

  “He respects you.”

  He stroked her hair. Tension and stress began to drain from her body. He continued to talk in a low tone that soothed her, lulled her. She couldn’t tell where reality ended and fantasy began.

  “But one thing’s never changed, Shannen.”

  She didn’t respond, couldn’t, as exhaustion claimed her. She struggled to stay awake but the dream that overtook her consciousness was too compelling.

  “I love you, Shannen.” Darkness absorbed the whispered words. “With my heart and soul. With what’s left of them, anyway.”

  * * *

  Morning came too soon. She opened her eyes, looking at the man who’d seemed so accessible last night, so remote this morning. She remembered the dream and wished it’d been real.

  “Morning,” he said, barely looking up from the pack he was zipping.

  She sat up, realizing he was nearly ready to go. “A ghost doesn’t move as quietly as you,” she said, rubbing her hand over gritty eyes.

  “Practice,” he responded. “Lucky you, I found an apple in the bottom of the pack. It’s a little bruised, but...”

  “Manna from the gods.” Despite being groggy, she snagged the piece of fruit he tossed in midair.

  “I’ve seen graduating members of the academy who didn’t have reflexes like yours.”

  “It was a good toss,” she said, giving him his due. After devouring the fruit, she started rolling her socks back on. “You sure you’re not holding out on the Epsom salts?”

  “Sorry.”

  It felt as though her boots were two sizes too small. Still, she persevered. Going barefoot six months of the year and wearing moccasins the other six, hadn’t left her prepared for the torture.

  She grabbed her gun. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

  “Where are you going?”

  She scowled at him.

  “I’ll walk out with you.”

  “Thanks, but I can do this alone.”

  “Humor me.”

  Outside, he performed a quick check of the area.

  Shannen pulled on the outhouse door handle, surprised when the door quickly opened. A dull thunk sounded.

  She glanced down.

  Screamed.

  A woman’s body fell at Shannen’s feet, a dried pool of blood matted in her hair.

  Instantly, Rhone was at Shannen’s side, gun tightly cupped in his palm.

  She looked away, fists clutching the fabric of Rhone’s shirt. “It’s the woman who was with Norton.”

  Chapter 14

  The sun slipped into the sky, bloodred, and dripping with the promise of retribution.

  Jimmy stood beneath that sky, rage threatening to destroy all he’d worked for. He tipped back his head and roared into the uncaring heavens.

  He screamed, the pain slicing his heart into tiny scraps that his mind then fed to him.

  Because of Rhone Mitchell, Jimmy had lost everything important. He grabbed a knife strapped to his thigh and stabbed it into the trunk of a tree.

  Over and over. Over and over.

  “Your family for my brother.” With a final yank, he ripped the blade free, wiping the sticky sap from the gleaming metal, not caring that he left his own blood behind. Jimmy the Brain had to think. Had to have a plan.

  That’s right. Had to have a plan.

  * * *

  In a stupor, Shannen failed to respond.

  Rhone saw the vacant expression in her eyes and fought a desperate urge to shake her until it disappeared. He hated the feeling of helplessness that swamped him, hated worse the fear that any hope they’d had of reconciling had been smothered, cruelly snuffed out by the actions of a madman.

  It had been Rhone’s experience that revenge fought countless battles and won few.

  How had Norton won this one?

  Every muscle in Rhone’s body grew taut as rage and a fierce need for a chance to balance the scales coursed through him. The realization that he had nothing to lose and everything to gain made retaliation boil beneath the surface. It wasn’t revenge that drove him. It was survival of a dream he couldn’t bear to let go.

  Rhone holstered his gun and moved forward, stepping between the dead woman and his wife, blocking her view. He wanted her attention, needed to replace the emptiness. “Get a grip, Shannen. I don’t have time to coddle you while you go to pieces.”

  “Well, excuse me.” She glared up at him, reacting to his harsh tone as he’d wanted her to, though in part, he’d meant his last remark. Norton had been too close for comfort—would continue to be as long as he lived.

  “I’m not as accustomed to seeing...” Faltering, Shannen pointed, unable or unwilling to say the words.

  Anger sparked his own. “And you really think I am?”

  He could see she thought him callous, unfeeling.

  “You’d have to be—to do what you do.” She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. “I hate it, Rhone. I hate it.”

  He nodded tightly. “Yeah, I know,” he said wearily. “You never get used to it, Shannen.” Rhone looked at her intently. “Through the years, you were constantly on me for my chosen profession. Obviously, had I chosen a different path, we wouldn’t be standing here on the side of this mountain having this conversation, much less these problems. My profession has been the crux of our problems from the very beginning. Finding a way to explain the importance of why I do what I do eludes me. I can only say that if you don’t understand by now, it’s probably safe to assume you never will. I can’t change who I am, Shannen. Just as I can’t change who you are.”

  With weariness, he added, “Go back to the cabin. Get your gear and bring me the radio.”

  Not looking back, Shannen strode away. As soon as she was out of sight, he knelt by the woman. Though common sense told him it wasn’t necessary, he felt for a pulse. Finding none, he shook his head in disgust. Another senseless waste of human life.

  Gently he eased the woman’s upper body back into the wooden structure and closed the door, protecting her from scavenging wildlife.

  The image of a child—an innocent grin captured on film—formed in Rhone’s mind. Fervently he prayed for his son’s safety, prayed for infinite guidance to reach Nicholas before it was too late.

  Shannen met him halfway, handing him the radio. She remained at his side while Rhone made contact with Doug, informing him of the latest developments.

  “Roger,” Doug acknowledged. “You and Shannen okay?”

  “Affirmative. How’s Yarrow?”

  “After two hours in surgery, he’s critical but stable. Prognosis looks great. What’s your heading?” Doug asked.

  Like Doug, Rhone knew secrecy was moot on the air—Norton knew exactly where they were, where they were going. A blind man could’ve followed the tracks.

  “West-southwest,” Rhone answered.

  Signing off, Rhone clipped the radio to his belt and reached for the backpack Shannen held out to him.

  Her glance darted around him. He heard what he supposed was a sigh of relief when she discovered the body was no longer in sight.

  Rhone absently reached out to tuck a strand of windblown hair behind her ear. She looke
d dejected, alone. Feelings he could relate to. In spite of himself, he wanted to hold her. And never let go.

  She nodded, seeming to understand.

  “Where to from here?” Shannen asked, adjusting her pack.

  Rhone pointed up the steep, rocky incline behind her.

  “No,” she corrected hesitantly. “I meant with us. Where do we go from here?”

  Rhone shrugged. “If you’d asked me that this morning, I’d have told you it was up to you. Now, honestly, I don’t have a clue.”

  The glare of the sun overhead made him squint as he studied Shannen’s face. Digging sunglasses out of the breast pocket of his shirt, he put them on.

  He watched a play of emotions cross her face, recognizing the ones that lingered, having experienced them himself. How many times had he also wished things were different or wished he’d had the control to change them? Too many to count.

  It was the feelings she tried so hard to hide that interested him most. They were the ones too painful to face, the ones to avoid whenever possible. They were the ones that truly told the story of what resided in the heart. And the harder you tried to suppress them, the more vigorous their battle to surface became. How well he knew. And understood.

  “Ready?” he asked with feigned nonchalance. At Shannen’s nod, he turned, picking their way over loose rock and around brush and boulders.

  He knew Shannen loved him. He’d seen it in her eyes. Yet for reasons known only to her, she failed to say the words. Not that it mattered. It was too late. He and Shannen were like the proverbial two ships...so close and yet miles apart.

  Twice, they stopped to rest. Shannen was strong, he knew, but she wasn’t used to day-long treks over mountains and through forests. She was holding up well, and when he told her so, she beamed, though she avoided looking directly at him.

  Rhone uncapped his canteen, offering it to her.

  She took a long drink, and sighed, leaning against a sun-warmed boulder. “Thanks,” she said, handing back the water. “How much farther, do you think?”

  “I’m not certain. I’m surprised Jimmy hasn’t left any recent signs or clues—Shannen!”

  She’d moved against the rock, trying to lever herself onto it. Unbalanced, the rock shifted.

  Scrambling toward him, her foot slipped. “Rhone! Help me, I’m stuck. The rock—Rhone, it’s moving!”

  In three long strides, he was at her side as the boulder tipped precariously. Concentrating his strength on moving the smaller rocks that held Shannen’s foot captive, he watched the boulder out of the corner of his eye. In what seemed like slow motion, it began to roll to its side. Or maybe he was the one moving in slow motion. Like in a nightmare.

  Rhone saw Shannen wince, but she didn’t yell. He did, for both of them—at the same time, yanking and pulling the last rock out of the way. Finally freeing her, he half carried, half dragged her from the path of the giant chunk of granite that had begun its descent toward them. Picking up speed, the ground vibrated as it thundered past. Chips of rock and dust spewed in its wake.

  A safe distance away, Rhone found a grassy area and set Shannen down. Before he could tell her not to, she put her weight on the injured foot. Crying out, she doubled over. At the same time, favoring her ankle, she lost her balance. Rhone caught her, lowering her to the ground.

  “It’s best if you don’t try to stand on a foot supported by a sprained, or possibly, broken ankle,” he told her dryly.

  She closed her eyes on the pain as he probed gently. “I wasn’t thinking. It’s not broken, is it?”

  “I can’t tell with your boot on. Shannen, we need to take it off.”

  She pushed his hands away. “Uh-uh. Hurts too much.”

  “Not wimping out on me, are you?”

  “Goading me will get you nowhere this time.”

  “I promise you when it swells, it’s going to hurt worse if we don’t get it off now. Not to mention it’ll be a lot harder to remove.”

  In response to his advice, she grimaced. Then apparently concluding there was no other way, she took a steadying breath. To help brace herself, she wrapped her hands around her shin, supporting her leg, trying to hold her foot still.

  “What was that you were saying about no signs or clues from Norton?” she asked.

  Rhone took in her pallor, noted pain-filled eyes.

  “As much as I’d like to blame Norton, I don’t think he was responsible. He couldn’t have moved that boulder into so shaky a position without help.”

  “You’re probably right. Erosion is most likely the culprit.”

  He saw Shannen’s eyes widen when he withdrew the steel blade from inside his boot. “Don’t worry. I’m reasonably certain we can save your foot. However, your boot’s about to become history.”

  Shannen glared. “I’m glad you find this so amusing.”

  After effortlessly slicing a seam down the front of the brown leather, he sheathed the knife. “Would you rather I complain about how your timing stinks?”

  Frustration mingled with her discomfort. “It does, I know,” she said.

  Rhone got up to grab his backpack. Returning to her, he eased the boot away from her foot. Cradling it in one hand, he carefully examined the swollen ankle. When he touched the area just above her instep, she flinched.

  “Well, the good news is, you seem to have one bad sprain. Unfortunately, sprains tend to be worse than breaks. I don’t think I need to tell you how important it is to stay off it.”

  “No, you don’t. Listen to me, Rhone. I want you to go on without me. We’ve wasted so much time as it is.”

  He reached for an elastic bandage, wrapping it snugly in a figure-eight pattern around her ankle. “When we’re close, I’ll leave you nearby, but I’m not about to leave you here.” He shook aspirin into his palm and handed them to her along with the canteen. “These’ll help the pain. Wish we had something stronger.”

  “I wouldn’t have taken it. We don’t know what’s ahead of us.”

  When the first-aid box and canteen were packed away, Rhone handed Shannen the canvas bag. Still in a crouched position, he turned, presenting his back to her. “Let’s go find out,” he told her.

  “This is crazy, you know.” Hobbling on one foot, Shannen leaned over, wrapping an arm around his neck. “You really should leave me here.”

  “Forget it.” Rhone didn’t want to offer false hope, but he felt sure they were close to Norton.

  So sure, that a couple hours later, Rhone chose a more wooded route as they neared the top of the mountain. Not ten yards back, he’d noticed a tree. Part of its trunk had been mutilated. Rhone didn’t doubt for a minute the damage had been caused by a wild animal—but not the four-legged variety. The marks on the tree weren’t from sharp claws but from the blade of a knife. Not wanting to frighten Shannen any more than she already was, he kept the information to himself.

  Near the summit, Rhone found an area thick with brush and buffalo grass, surrounded by huge boulders.

  Shannen glanced at the rock formation with skepticism. Seeing it, Rhone reassured her. “These are near-permanent fixtures. It would take dynamite to budge them.”

  Her features were drawn, her coloring still pale. He easily read the mix of anguish, exhaustion and tension that registered in her gaze as she looked up at him from the protective cover. “If you say so.”

  “I’m going to have a look around.” Rhone set his backpack within her reach. “Here’s the radio,” he said, unclipping it and handing it to her.

  “What if Norton’s listening?”

  “If you have cause to use it, it won’t matter.” He gave cursory instructions on using the piece of equipment. “Got your gun?”

  Brows drawn together, she said, “Rhone, you’re scaring me. You’re only going to look around, right? We’re not on Norton’s doorstep, are we?”

  He hesitated, debating. Bravery was a fine tool to motivate one into action, but when finally faced with the confrontation, it was often a different matter
entirely. Nevertheless, concealing the truth didn’t prepare her for possible consequences. Besides, he needed as much backup as she could provide, even if it was only by using the radio.

  “He’s in the vicinity—which means, so is Nicholas. We’re close, Shannen. We’re so close to getting back our son.”

  At his words, Shannen’s shoulders straightened and the fear he’d seen moments before faded to steely determination. In answer to his question, she withdrew her gun, laying it on her lap.

  Rhone nodded. Though he’d taught her how, he knelt, taking her gun to check the clip. Satisfied, he clicked the magazine back into place and returned it to her. “If you hear or see anything out of the ordinary, use the radio to call Doug. Likewise, he may contact us shortly. I think you’ve got everything else you need.”

  In his mind, he checked off water, first-aid kit with aspirin, spare ammo, flare gun. Yep. She was set.

  He rose, taking a few steps backward.

  In the silence that fell between them, gazes roved freely, hungrily, as though needing to commit the image, the uniqueness of the other, to memory.

  Rhone wanted to tell her she was beautiful. That he loved her. That everything would be okay.

  He said nothing.

  Shannen opened her mouth to speak.

  “Come back to me, Rhone. For good this time.”

  Her comment surprised him, catching him off guard. She’d spoken so quietly, he could almost believe he’d misunderstood. That her invitation had cost her a great deal was evident. Her hands twisted together while she nipped at her bottom lip. Even so, her glance met his.

  More than anything, he wished he could go back. Wished she could accept him for who and what he was...that she’d said the words he’d ached to hear for two long years.

  Wished it wasn’t too late.

  * * *

  A shot punched a hole in the sky.

  Birds stopped their chatter and the forest air hung still with tense expectancy.

  Oh God, not again. Not again.

  The sight of the woman’s body flashed in Shannen’s thoughts, only to be superimposed by the memory of Brian crumpling in a heap.

  She shoved to her feet, tears matting on her eyelashes at the piercing pain. But she had to get to Rhone. She took a step, and another. Then crashed to the ground.