All I Need Read online

  All I Need

  Christa Conan

  For our loving families—

  whose encouragement never wavered.

  For Chris—

  whose hand joined mine, reaching for the same star.

  And especially for Vickie—

  whose belief and talent made a dream a reality.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Suffocating waves of heat rose from concrete and asphalt, enfolding Rhone Mitchell in their embrace, making it difficult to breathe.

  Stalled cars backed traffic for blocks while out-of-sync signal lights congested intersections. Tempers flared. Blaring horns competed with angry shouts and screeching rubber.

  When Rhone’s cab stalled, too, he’d given up hope of arriving at his office in air-conditioned luxury. Now, on foot, he regretted not letting the driver call him another. Still several blocks away, downtown Dallas shimmered like a mirage.

  Rhone muttered under his breath, wondering what was so terrific about breathable cotton. The white shirt and khaki slacks pressed against his damp body like a second skin. The back of his neck itched, dark brown hair sticking to it, sweat turning natural wave into loose spirals.

  Welome home.

  Rhone sneered at the thought. Within minutes of his plane landing, he’d rebelled at his reentry to civilization. After returning from Colombia, he’d spent a month recuperating in a rented house on the Northern California coast.

  And at the moment, he wanted nothing more than to prop his bare feet on the deck railing, a cold brew in hand, and watch the sun set over the Pacific. Instead, in exchange for the ever-present ocean breeze, he would have to settle for a cool shower.

  But even that would have to wait. Business before pleasure, however basic.

  Among the cluster of high-rise buildings, Rhone spotted the one that housed his office. He groaned as lunch-hour pedestrians surrounded him, slowing his progress.

  With thoughts tuned to the upcoming meeting with his partner, Rhone felt a twinge of reluctance. He considered how Doug Masterson would take the news that Rhone intended to resign. For good, this time. Undoubtedly, Doug would be disappointed. Rhone felt only relief. Solitude had forced him to face facts.

  He should have quit while he was ahead. Had tried to, but just couldn’t turn his back on unfinished business. He’d botched it. The realization that he should have recognized the trap was a bitter pill to swallow.

  Rhone had piled a heap of guilt onto himself because of the failure. He’d risked his life as well as that of his friend...Doug, who’d rescued him from his incarceration in hell. Besides, Rhone was tired of his lifestyle. Tired of the ugliness and damned tired of the nightmares.

  He wanted roots, space. And freedom. Things he’d once taken for granted. Somehow, Rhone vowed, he would find a way to pick up the threads of his life, re-create something meaningful.

  Nudging through the crowd to the revolving door, he sighed with relief, a blast of cool air greeting him as he entered the forty-story building. Crossing the lobby, he nodded to the armed guard. Along with a group returning from lunch, Rhone stepped into the elevator.

  Too late he realized his error.

  Before he could react, the doors closed. The soft whooshing sound might as well have been the clank of metal against metal. Immediately, his head swam and his chest tightened familiarly. He groaned silently. How could you be so stupid? It was happening again, and he was powerless to stop it. Seconds stretched into eternity.

  He leaned into the corner, resting against the paneling. Sunglasses, still in place, concealed his anguish. The nightmare that so often awakened him in a cold sweat collided with reality, prompted by the confinement of the elevator. He remembered another time, another place.

  As though sensing his weakness, the swirling black void descended, distorting perspective, mingling past with present. He was confined in a concrete coffin, three feet wide by five feet tall. A six-inch square at the top had been the only source of air. He remembered the heavy stench of sweat, blood and fear.

  At the time, it hadn’t occurred to him it was his own.

  Rivulets of perspiration had dripped down the sides of his face, across the strap of leather around his neck. The heat tightened the leather like a tourniquet, choking him. With hands and ankles bound, he was helpless to save himself.

  Breathe, Mitchell. Deep, slow breaths. Think about something else. Think about Shannen. Rhone struggled, reaching deep in his mind for the memory that had ended his terror so many times before.

  His sense of survival forced him to fight the dark void threatening to consume him, to drive him to his knees. He envisioned viridescent eyes, more green than blue, with tiny flecks of gold. Hair the color of sunlight with streaks of mink brown framed a face that was delicate planes and angles. He remembered soft curving lips, a smile that prodded hidden dimples into view. And her skin... He could almost feel the smooth, silky texture.

  When the elevator swished to a stop at his floor, it took every ounce of his strength to exit with dignity and walk to the rest room around the corner. Once there, he collapsed against the wall, legs weak and shaky. Cold ceramic seeped through his damp shirt. He closed his eyes on a wave of nausea. Then he breathed deeply, slowly, forcing his lungs to fill with oxygen, willing his stomach to settle.

  As the blackness diminished and his senses cleared, he opened his eyes. He knew a trace of illness would linger for several hours. It always did.

  Rhone splashed cool water on his face and neck. Close, confined or crowded areas had never bothered him before—until Colombia.

  In his mind he still heard the drug-ridden taunting laughter of the man who had directed his brutal punishment.

  Jack Norton had been more rabid animal than human, the substance that yielded his wealth eating away at his sanity. The real kicker was, early in his career, Rhone had worked with Jack. Then Jack’s life fell apart. He had been in hock up to his ears. His wife left him for another man. Jack saw greener pastures, most likely thinking a fortune would bring his wife back. The quicker the better.

  To this day, Rhone didn’t think Jack had recognized him.

  Rhone wanted only to forget. But as time went on, the past returned to haunt him. He may have escaped physically, but mentally, he was still a hostage. Gritting his teeth, he wadded the paper towel into a tight ball and threw it. It landed in the trash can with a dull thud.

  Heading down the hall, he paused at a door marked Suite 801. Using a coded key card, he entered. Gloria, their secretary, looked up from a desk littered with files. Her ageless eyes sparkled when she saw Rhone.

  “Well, well. Look who’s back.” She stood, coming around her desk to hug him. Hands on his arms, she leaned back to scrutinize him. “Gads, darlin’, you look awful.”

  Rhone grinned and opted for a half-truth. “My cab broke down about a mile away and I walked.”

  “In this heat? Knowing you, I suppose you paid full fare anyway.”

  “Don’t tell anyone,” he whispered. “It might ruin my image.”

  “Rhone. I thought I heard your voice.” A sandy-blond counterpart to Rhone leaned against the doorjamb. At six foot three, Doug’s eyes leveled with Rhone’s, then narrowed, taking in the pallor beneath his friend’s tan. Silent communication born from years of working together, of protecting each other’s backs, of saving each oth
er’s lives, passed between them. Giving an imperceptible nod, Doug turned back into his office.

  Rhone followed Doug, then closed the door behind him.

  “Your vacation didn’t help,” Doug said flatly.

  “The coast was fantastic. It was the elevator I could’ve done without.”

  Doug laughed. “Old habits. And everyone thinks you take the stairs for exercise.”

  Rhone gave a rueful grin, appreciating Doug’s ability to make light of a dark memory. “Yeah, well, everyone should see you when a spider invades your space.” Bypassing burgundy-upholstered chairs, Rhone strolled to a window, gray carpeting absorbing the sound of his footsteps.

  “Ah, but I had you to protect me.”

  “Sure.” Rhone laughed. “Until you took away my machete.”

  With a smile, Doug sat, crossing his ankles over the corner of his desk. He linked his hands behind his head, his expression turning serious. “I tried to reach you earlier. When I got no answer, I figured you might be heading back.”

  “No more overseas assignments, Doug.”

  “Can’t say I’m surprised. You tried to tell me before, but I wouldn’t listen. Just couldn’t believe you really wanted to give it up.”

  “I don’t think I ever could completely. I’ve decided to put in for a permanent Stateside location.” Rhone gave a shrug and grinned. “I guess I still need the action, but on a more domestic basis.”

  “I wouldn’t let the home boys hear you say that.” At Rhone’s answering laugh, Doug went on. “Where are you planning to relocate?”

  “I’ve been encouraged to consider returning to New York. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “So.” Doug spoke with a nonchalant tone. “Where is Shannen these days?”

  Rhone’s gaze sliced through the space that separated them. “I don’t know. Besides, she has nothing to do with my decision.”

  “I was hoping she had everything to do with it. You two had a good thing going.”

  “On the surface I suppose it appeared that way.”

  “Come on, Rhone. Surely you can work out your differences. I’d hate to see you throw it all away without trying.”

  Doug’s comments struck a nerve. Rhone had thought of little else but his estranged wife. In a word, Shannen was the reason he hadn’t yet decided where he wanted to settle down. At the same time, he knew she wouldn’t appreciate his proximity. Not at this late date.

  “Colorado.” Rhone’s voice was distracted, distant.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I found out last week Shannen’s in Colorado. She took back her maiden name of Richardson. I never anticipated she’d do that. Her phone number is unlisted. She works from her home near the mountain community of Dillon, about sixty miles west of Denver. Keeps a low profile. Apparently, she’s sharing the house with a woman who has a kid. Does that sound to you like Shannen is interested in a reconciliation?”

  Rhone continued, not waiting for Doug’s response. “I don’t think so. She made it as difficult as possible for me to find her. The message is clear.”

  “Aw, hell, Rhone. I’ve seen you work around, over and through any obstacle thrown in your path. And now, one hundred ten pounds of femininity stops you cold.” Doug shook his head. “My guess is your conscience is bothering you. I can only imagine you must have been a real jerk.”

  Rhone winced, returning his gaze to the window. A jet crossed his line of vision but it was the anger and pain in Shannen’s eyes the last time they were together that he saw.

  It was true. He’d thought he could have it both ways. A wife, a home, eventually a family. On the flip side, he could carry on with his job, doing what he did best: thriving on the danger, flirting with death, expecting Shannen to sit home. And wait. Thinking only of himself, he’d given no thought to the stress, the anxiety he’d put her through.

  When Shannen demanded he choose between her or his job, he’d laughed at her uncharacteristic show of assertiveness. He’d been so sure that’s all it was. A show. Rhone winced again. When he’d finally returned home, Shannen was gone. There had been no note, no forwarding address.

  Rhone changed after that, though for some time he’d denied Shannen had anything to do with it. He denied that when she left she’d taken a part of him with her. There was a gap in his life, an emptiness that he’d tried to fill by taking on back-to-back assignments. He took stupid risks. Made serious mistakes.

  Agreed to go to Colombia.

  There, caged like an animal, he’d been forced to face his feelings, confinement becoming as much self-inflicted mental torture as it was physical abuse. He’d vowed to find Shannen, to somehow find a way to make it up to her. If she would let him. He knew she had once loved him. He also knew the possibility of her rejection would be the most difficult risk he’d ever taken.

  It was this same mental fencing that kept him from deciding where he wanted to go. He was at a crossroads, unsure of whether to follow his heart or his head. And yet, he always came back to the same conclusion. It would be a shame to walk away from Shannen without trying to make amends, never knowing what the outcome might have been.

  Rhone sighed. Changing the subject, he turned back to Doug. Weariness edged Rhone’s words. “Any particular reason why you tried to reach me in California?”

  Doug’s expression turned grim. He motioned Rhone to a chair closer to his desk. Once Rhone was seated, Doug answered. “Yeah. At six o’clock last night, Jack Norton’s twin brother, Jimmy, became a free man.”

  A string of colorful adjectives filled the silence. “Mandatory parole?”

  Doug nodded.

  Irritation rankled. Norton—the clichéd bad penny. Rhone curled his lip, thinking that once again he had to put his future on hold. But on the heels of that thought came another.

  Maybe Jimmy’s turning up again was a blessing in disguise. Maybe it was the opportunity he needed to exorcise the past, to exorcise the nightmares once and for all.

  “Jimmy will be coming after me.”

  “Not if he values his freedom,” Doug said.

  Rhone’s neck rested atop padded leather. He stared at the ceiling, the tone of his voice matter-of-fact. “He blames me for his brother’s death. To Jimmy, I was the man in charge of the operation that killed his brother, and that’s enough.” He sat up again. “Kill me and he’s evened the score. It would be worth spending the rest of his life behind bars.”

  “There was a spray of gunfire. No one knows who killed Jack. Could’ve been one of his own men.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Not to Jimmy.”

  “Okay, then, we’ll go after him.”

  “No. He’s my problem. Not yours.”

  “Are you crazy?” Changing positions, Doug leaned forward. “Jimmy will have enlisted Jack’s army of throat-slitting scum to back him up.”

  “I disagree.” Rhone picked up a pencil amid the clutter on Doug’s desk. “Jimmy’s different. Jack felt powerful when he could order others to do his dirty work or fight his battles for him. Jimmy’s a loner. He’s sly like a rattlesnake and meaner than a school of piranha that’s caught the scent of blood. Not hard to figure why Jack is dead and Jimmy is still alive.”

  “Regardless, we started this ugly mess together. We’ll finish it the same way.”

  They glared openly, each defying the other to argue, neither willing to back down.

  The buzz of the intercom interrupted their stalemate.

  “There’s a man on line one demanding to speak to Rhone. Says it’s a matter of life or death.”

  The pencil laced between Rhone’s fingers snapped in two.

  “Norton.” Rhone and Doug spoke in unison.

  Rhone stood. “We’ll take it on the box.”

  Doug turned to his computer, punched keys in rapid succession, then nodded.

  Pushing the button on the speaker phone, Rhone elicited a lazy drawl. “Mitchell.”

  “Don’t bother with a trace,” the muffled, distant voice advised. “I know exactly ho
w much time I have.”

  “What’s on your mind, Norton?”

  Jimmy gave a low laugh, the sound reminding Rhone of Jack. Unconsciously, Rhone’s hands curled into tight fists.

  “I want you to suffer. The way you made me suffer. Before I put you out of your misery, Mitchell, you’re gonna know what it feels like to lose someone—”

  “Norton, wait!” Rhone couldn’t help the note of desperation.

  The line went dead.

  Both men cursed. Doug raised his arms in frustration. “Just a few more seconds, I would’ve had him.”

  Instant rage, unlike any he’d ever known, shook Rhone to the core. His voice reverberated with it. “Never mind. I already know, if not where he is, where he’s headed.” A white line formed around his mouth. He felt the constant flicker of muscle along his jaw, and his gut twisted with the effort to harness his anger, maintain control.

  He had to get to Norton first. Dear God, before it was too late.

  When Rhone spoke again, his voice was raw with a strangled mixture of ice-cold fear and boiling fury. “The son of a bitch is going after Shannen.”

  Chapter 2

  “Maa-Maa!”

  The sound of her son’s childish excitement stole her attention. Smiling, Shannen glanced up from the drafting table in time to see him struggling to push to his feet. Stubborn determination glittered in his eyes.

  “You can do it,” she coaxed softly.

  Shannen held her breath as her fifteen-month-old knotted his face into a furious frown of concentration. She uncurled from her position, cramped muscles complaining from the hours she’d worked without a break.

  “Maa-Maa?”

  “I’m right here, honey,” she promised, slipping from the chair and kneeling on the floor. “You can do it, Nicky.” Shannen worried her lower lip as she studied him, not wanting him to give up as he had so many times recently. “Walk to Mommy.”

  With a plop, he landed on the floor.

  She fought the urge to rescue him, knowing she had to allow him to take these first steps into the world by himself...as much as she wanted to shield and protect her precious gift forever.