All I Need

by Christa Conan

  She tried to push herself up, but failed. Excruciating agony ripped up her leg, settling in her stomach until nausea threatened her. Cold perspiration racing down her back, she forced herself to draw deep breaths into her lungs.

  Rhone’s all right, she told herself. He had to be. He wouldn’t fall at Norton’s hand. “Please,” she prayed, nearly sobbing on her frustration and agony. Tenaciously, she clung to the belief Rhone was okay, that he’d return for her at any minute.... Blindly she fumbled for the radio, remembering Rhone’s instructions to call for help if anything went wrong.

  A rustle behind her grabbed her attention. She dropped the radio into the open canvas bag. Relief flooded her—it sounded as if Rhone were returning, unerringly remembering where he’d left her.

  She turned quickly, already ordering her heart to return to a more normal beat.

  Several more branches broke and twigs snapped. The familiar rush of fear snaked up her spine. Rhone was never that noisy.

  Her pulse began to pound at the thought Rhone might have been the victim of the gunshot. If so, Rhone wasn’t heading for her.

  Panic held her momentarily paralyzed.

  Galvanized into action by a burst of adrenaline, she palmed her gun in a single rush. She was frustrated by the way her hands shook.

  Seconds later, Norton’s twistedly ugly face came into view. Frantic, she looked for signs of her son, her heart sinking when she realized Norton was alone.

  “Stop,” she said, dredging the note of authority she didn’t know she possessed.

  The look of startled surprise in his eyes gave her momentary satisfaction, but the look disappeared quickly, replaced by a sneer meant to intimidate.

  Suddenly she remembered the feel of his hands on her, the revulsion as his breath swam over her, the anguish of a life without Nicky.

  With a flick, she released the safety. Twelve bullets.

  He threw up his hands. The sneer vanished. “You wouldn’t shoot ole Jimmy in cold blood, would you?”

  His scratchy tone held a whine that made her skin crawl. A thousand thoughts crowded her mind, each battling to be uppermost.

  “Now would ya?”

  “Where’s my son? Where’s Rhone?” Keep him talking, she told herself. She had to gather her wits, sort through the confusion and figure out how to help her husband.

  “I’ll take you to him, show you where he is.”

  She wouldn’t fall for it. This was crazy. The man had abducted her son, maybe killed her husband.

  He advanced.

  She blinked.

  “Come on, sugar,” he wheedled. “Your husband needs you.”

  “Stop.”

  “You wouldn’t shoot Jimmy, not really.” A triumphant smile began to play at the corners of his mouth. Obviously seeing her indecision, he took another step closer.

  “Don’t,” she commanded, trying to still the wavering. Damn, damn. She shouldn’t let him push her buttons.

  “Mitchell’s lying in a pool of his own blood,” Jimmy said with a touch of pure glee. “He was askin’ for you. I’ll take you. I’ll show you. Maybe you can save his life.”

  She supported her wrist with the opposite hand, fighting nausea and blinding pain as she tried to shore herself against the rock.

  “If ya loved him, ya’d go to him.”

  Her hand shook. The gun wobbled. She couldn’t do it. Dear God, she couldn’t do it.

  As if he stood next to her, she heard the echo of her husband’s words as he’d patiently taught her everything she knew about the semiautomatic pistol in her hand.

  “Commitment,” he’d said. “You have to commit to use it, to follow through. Two things turn private citizens who try to defend themselves with guns into victims. One is lack of knowledge and training.” She’d had both. “The second,” he’d added, “is commitment to use it.”

  Finding hidden strength, her hands steadied.

  Jimmy didn’t seem to notice. He laughed cruelly. “Mebbe I’d let you live, even though ya lied to me.” He arched an eyebrow as if in deep, contemplative thought. Jimmy’s tongue darted out and he licked his lower lip. “So as you can bury your husband next to his brat.”

  She flinched—dying a little as the meaning of each word sank in as he intended. With stunning clarity, she now understood what Rhone went through when doing his job.

  She’d never seen it before, never even caught a glimpse of the myriad of things that had gone into his decision to return to Colombia.

  Cold metal curved into her palm, becoming one with her. She knew if Norton ever escaped after having harmed her son or husband, she wouldn’t rest until he’d been stopped.

  Rhone was no different.

  Norton had abducted Rhone’s son and tortured his wife.

  No, she couldn’t ask Rhone to give it up. Couldn’t be selfish enough to demand it of him. A hurting soul, a burning desire to right the wrongs inflicted with casual disdain, none of them could be ignored.

  They’d all made Rhone the man she loved.

  But now she might never have a chance to tell him how she felt.

  The cost of her foolishness, she realized with twisting bitterness, threatened to blur her vision.

  Her selfish stubbornness could well have cost her the man she loved. Certainly her demands had cost them any chance of a happily-ever-after.

  In less than a blink of an eye, Norton pulled a gun.

  He laughed. Blood-lust crazed his eyes.

  He aimed.

  She gulped for air. Fought panic. Prayed she was faster.

  Then pulled the trigger.

  * * *

  In a haze, Rhone heard the gunshot. Knocked down but not out, he struggled to his feet. His head pounded. It was impossible to fill his lungs. His vision doubled, then cleared as he ran, stumbling between the trees.

  Dear God, not Shannen, too. But in Rhone’s heart he knew she didn’t stand a chance against Norton’s barbaric skill.

  Rhone remembered thinking earlier that he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. He’d been wrong. So wrong. He had everything to lose.

  Everything.

  Unable to bear the suspense, unwilling to picture her dead, he yelled her name. Panic gripped his heart and squeezed when he heard no response.

  Red-hot jabs of pain slowed his progress as he ran up the slope, panting, toward the cover where he’d left her.

  Uncertain of Norton’s whereabouts, Rhone thought to slow his pace and move cautiously. His injured body demanded it, but reaching Shannen took precedence over safety for himself, took precedence over the agony of ripped skin.

  “Rhone!”

  At the same time he heard her call his name, he saw Norton facedown in the dirt several feet away. Rhone nudged the still form with his boot, his gun held firmly in both hands.

  Somehow managing to rise, Shannen hopped forward. “I shot him. I know he’s dead.”

  Fighting off blackness, he didn’t bother to confirm the obvious. Instead, he bent to drag Norton’s body out of view, all the while knowing the act taxed his remaining strength.

  When he turned back to his wife, he fully understood the internal battle she’d endured.

  Rhone caught her against him. She pressed closer to him, seeking comfort; he gave it, even though he had to fight off the waves of nausea the hug caused. “It’s okay, babe. You did what you had to do.”

  “I could do it again,” she said without hesitation.

  Her response took him by surprise.

  Shannen drew her hand back from his side. Blood covered her palm. “Oh my God, you’re hurt!”

  “In a struggle for Norton’s gun, it went off. The bullet grazed me. It’s nothing,” he stated. Compared to what he’d been through in Colombia, it was nothing.

  “But—”

  “A stitch or two will take take care of it later.” The fact her focus was on him rather than on having shot Norton convinced Rhone she was truly all right. Relief flooded through him. But the sensation was only tempor
ary.

  Ignoring what felt like heated barbed wire sinking into his flesh, he squeezed her tightly. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I have to bandage it at least.”

  Rhone’s gut twisted with enough intensity to match the injury.

  Tears welled in her eyes. “You’ll pass out,” she stated.

  Though he tried to deny her truth, he couldn’t. Wooziness swept through him. With great reluctance he nodded. He’d be no good to her—or Nicholas—if blood loss overtook him.

  He eased to the ground with her, unbuttoned his shirt. He ground his back teeth together when she gingerly pulled the flannel away from jagged skin.

  “Sorry.”

  He nodded.

  His head spun when she doused the area with tepid water from the canteen. It’s only a flesh wound, he reminded himself.

  Closing his eyes, escaping to a world without suffering, he allowed her to tape gauze onto the jagged tear.

  “You okay?”

  The softly haunting tone of her voice dragged him back. He read horror and anguish in her gaze, knew he’d give anything to erase both. “I’ll survive.”

  When she was finished, he told her, “Nicky wasn’t with Norton.” Even he heard the quiet grief that edged his words.

  Shannen moved back to look up at him. Stark fear, unvoiced, reflected his own feelings.

  She gulped. “Norton was headed that way,” she said, pointing the opposite direction. “He seemed fixed on his destination before he spotted me.” Her voice shook with a combination of fear, dread and hope.

  The same feelings overwhelmed Rhone, rendering him speechless. “If I support you, can you hop on one foot?”

  Shannen nodded.

  They didn’t have far to go. Camouflaged with tree limbs and dried brush, Rhone spotted the entrance to a mine shaft the same time Shannen did.

  Rhone helped her to a tree. She sat, using the trunk for support, waiting while he cleared the entrance.

  Rotted timber framed darkness that stretched into the bowels of the mountain. He glanced over his shoulder, unable to hide the same concern he saw in Shannen’s eyes. “This is it.”

  She turned her attention toward the opening that men had long ago carved into the mountainside, staring into the pitch blackness. Hours and days of pent-up emotion split the air, the single word piercing the quietude with disturbing precision.

  “Nicholas!”

  Chapter 15

  “Maa-Maa?”

  The echo of Nicky’s faint response emerged from the jet-black cavity, but only barely. It was enough.

  Rhone met Shannen’s wide-eyed gaze. His throat tightened. Shannen’s broken voice as she’d shouted their son’s name had ripped his heart. Now, hearing the answer to their prayers from Nicholas himself and seeing the joy, the triumph in Shannen’s eyes brought tears to his own.

  Was it possible, Rhone wondered briefly, that Norton had had even a shred of decency? How very easy it would have been for him to take Nicky’s life—the cruelest revenge of all.

  Rhone’s relief that Nicky was alive rapidly became despair. And panic.

  Damn.

  For the first time, Rhone saw—really saw—the yawning darkness that separated him from Nicholas. It might as well have been a million miles. He could think of at least as many dangers he would rather confront than the strangling fear of closed-in places.

  As though reading his mind, Shannen said, “Rhone, what are we going to do?” Her expression revealed her concern for Nicholas, her angst over the predicament Rhone faced.

  In her understanding, he found strength—and out of their mutual concern for the well-being of their son, he found courage. “I am going after our son. Unfortunately, once again, you’ll have to wait.”

  She cast a rueful glance at her ankle before giving an accepting nod. “Rhone, I would go if I could.”

  He forced a smile. “You know, Shan, I believe everything in this life happens for a reason. Sometimes we’re lucky enough to get to know what it is. Need I say more?”

  Shannen shook her head. He saw the glisten of moisture in her eyes. He wanted to go to her, hold her, pour out all the feeling in his heart, to ask if there was a chance for a future together.

  But he held back and kept his distance. Instead, he needed to cling to the belief that there was a chance—real or imaginary. Believing there was a future for them to share would light his way through the darkness. Just as thoughts and memories of Shannen had gotten him through hell before, belief that a future together was finally going to be reality would get him through again.

  He radioed Doug with an update, asked for reinforcements.

  Doug promised he would be there with a chopper within thirty minutes.

  “I don’t want to wait,” Rhone told Shannen.

  She nodded slowly, as if torn between his safety and needing her son. He understood all too well.

  With a final glance back, Rhone smiled, knowing it was as much a grimace. To compensate, he gave a thumbs-up.

  At last, facing his demon of darkness, he took a step, immediately struggling to ignore the corresponding churning in his stomach and pain in his side. He took several slow deep breaths.

  “Rhone.”

  He turned his head to glance back at Shannen, keeping his face in shadow, needing the obscurity, knowing whatever color had resided beneath his tan had since faded.

  “I’m with you,” she told him. “Every step of the way.”

  Greedily, he gathered her words of encouragement close, drawing strength from them before he answered, “Babe, you always have been.”

  * * *

  Rhone disappeared from view.

  As long as she lived, she knew she would never forget the pure panic in his eyes, mixed with steely determination to see this through.

  More than anything, she wanted to do this for him, wanted to spare him the agony of confronting his claustrophobia head-on in the coal darkness of an underground cavern.

  His expression had been tight, his complexion devoid of any color.

  She shivered.

  Her pulse thundered as the events of the previous days took their heavy toll.

  Shannen felt as though someone had climbed inside and grabbed her heart, ripping it in two. She wanted her son, wanted him with an intensity that shook her to the core, but the price to her husband seemed more than any human should have to pay.

  It was as though Norton had uncovered Rhone’s weakness with the razor-sharp edge of a butcher knife and sliced him bare. Even from the grave, Norton had the last laugh.

  Seconds that seemed like minutes dragged into eternity. She cursed her ankle, angered by the fact she had to patiently sit and wait, depending on Rhone to save their son...and her sanity.

  Shannen knotted her fingers into fists as emotions bombarded her shattered mind and body.

  She would never forget the way Rhone had looked when he’d been forced to leave her alone when going to confront Norton. The anguish in her heart had been tattooed on his features, too.

  In the past, she’d said things to Rhone that she didn’t mean, things she wished she could take back. She realized now, compared with love and being together, no matter how short that time together was, it was better to take a chance.

  If he wanted to head out into the field, she knew she’d find a way to build her strength and allow him to do that. Their tender reunions and shared memories would make it worthwhile.

  Burying herself and pretending he didn’t exist had been a shallow way to live. Rhone had taught her the meaning of life, of joy, of hope and despair, all of which made their love deeper, more lasting.

  Never again would she be so afraid, so hesitant. It had been wrong to deprive Rhone and Nicholas of each other’s presence. Because of her fear, she’d cost both of them a bonding experience.

  “I swear,” she whispered aloud to the waning sun and teasing breeze, “if you give us one more chance, I’ll make it work.”

  The whistle of wind through towering pin
es was her only answer.

  “Come on, Doug,” she said, again wishing Rhone had waited for Doug before taking a breath and plunging into the stony unyielding fortress of solid mountain.

  Shannen hadn’t protested too much, though, she thought with a twinge of guilt. She’d wanted Nicholas back in her arms, wanted him with desperation that made the misery truly an unbearable Catch-22.

  A sudden crash, the unearthly echo of mountain giving way, captured her attention.

  “Rhone!”

  A cloud of dirt burst from the mouth of the mine.

  They couldn’t have made it this far only to fail. Surely no force was that unutterably cruel.

  “Damn you, Doug, where are you?”

  Tears stinging her eyes, Shannen struggled to her elbow and grabbed for the radio, needing to urge Doug faster. Her fingers shook worse than when she’d stared down the sight of the pistol.

  Huge sobs choked her.

  She had to have help, had to reach Doug. Rhone and Nicholas were depending on her. Taking the walkie-talkie-shaped radio into her hand, she turned it on. When it emitted a loud hissing noise, she turned another dial, trying to squelch the sound. In the frenzy of her efforts, combined with her lack of experience, she accidentally punched a button that switched the channel from the one Rhone had used when talking to Doug earlier. Distraught, she pushed buttons, pausing long enough between each to speak into the mike, trying to find the channel Rhone had been using. Loud static was her reward.

  What was taking so long?

  Frustrated beyond words, Shannen tossed the radio back into the pack. Rooting around, her searching fingers felt for the flares and gun to shoot them with. Biting the inside of her lip, she focused, firing one straight up into the sky, all the while praying someone in the promised helicopter would see it.

  Her ankle throbbed and her heart ached almost more than she could bear. Shannen pulled herself into a tight ball, praying with fevered passion for the sound of the chopper.

  * * *

  The ceiling was low and Rhone had to stoop as he walked. Inching forward was more like it, he decided. He’d once heard of the superstitions miners had regarding the lamp on their hard hats. As the beam of Rhone’s flashlight sliced through the inky darkness, he understood firsthand a miner’s terminal fear of his lamp going out.