All That Remains

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “No, you were so quiet I kept wanting to check to be sure you were still with me.” He sounded a little embarrassed at that.

  “So you don’t find yourself on your own with a newborn?”

  Oh, lord—what would happen to Abby if I died? The last thing in the world Wren’s mother would want was to raise another child. And James… No. Never.

  The thought filled her with anxiety. Molly. She would find Molly, and ask her to become Abby’s godmother and agree to raise her if something happened to Wren. That’s what she’d do.

  “Hungry?” Alec crouched beside her. The position emphasized his muscular thighs in a distracting way. And there was the rather significant bulge that his jeans clasped so lovingly.

  She couldn’t possibly stare. Instead she focused somewhere past him. “Yes, but I can wait. In case we’re here for another day.”

  Or more, but she didn’t want to say that.

  His hand caught her chin so that she had to look at him. “If either of us goes hungry, it will be me. I told you, I’ve eaten more recently, and I’m bigger. I haven’t gone through childbirth. For Abby’s sake, you have to eat. Snack now, another bar for dinner later.”

  After a minute she nodded. “Okay.”

  “The water level is going down some. Did you look for food in the kitchen?”

  “A little bit, but I wasn’t all that hungry then.” Considering she’d been in labor, that was no surprise. “There were some canned goods.”

  “We’ll see how it goes. If no one comes by morning but the water has dropped enough, I might go downstairs and see what I can find.”

  He meant push his way through waist-deep, or higher, water. The way her stomach was chewing on itself, she would have been willing to go swimming for a can of baked beans, say. Surely they could figure out how to open it.

  “So eat.” He tore open a chocolate bar without asking and thrust it at her.

  Grateful, Wren ate. It didn’t begin to fill her up, but it did help.

  Although she’d noticed books in some of the boxes she’d opened, the dim gray light that fell through the narrow window didn’t encourage reading. Instead they spent the afternoon talking, told each other the paltry collection of jokes they remembered, played some word games and sang—Wren did, Alec insisted he couldn’t carry a tune and had been shushed from age five on when he tried to belt out hymns in church.

  The light deepened and darkness crept up on them. Wren sat cross-legged beside the sleeping baby, while Alec, apparently restless, paced and from time to time stood staring at the night outside the window.

  There had been silence for a while when he said, in a tone she hadn’t heard yet, “There’s something we need to talk about.”

  She looked up in alarm. She knew—knew—what he was going to say. He was a cop. Of course he couldn’t let her hints go.

  And she was right. Voice somehow implacable, he said, “It’s time for you to tell me about Abby’s father.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WREN FELT HER EXPRESSION grow mulish as she stared at Alec’s dark silhouette. Part of her knew it was useless to argue—he was being pushy because he thought it was necessary—but that didn’t make her any happier. Her stomach tied itself in knots when she even thought about James.

  “He can’t find me here.”

  “True. But what if he’s waiting in Saddler’s Mill or Mountfort?”

  Saddler’s Mill she knew—even though she hadn’t seen the town that was Molly’s mailing address. But the other place she’d never even heard of. “Where?”

  “Saddler’s Mill is the closest town. Mountfort’s the county seat. He could have traced you here.”

  “How? I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I didn’t bring a cell phone because of the whole GPS thing, even though I don’t understand it.”

  “Your friend. Does he know her? Of her?”

  She shivered, but said, “I don’t think so.”

  Alec didn’t have to say anything, only wait.

  “I had an address book, but a couple of months ago I hid it.”

  “Was he the kind of man who would have already copied the information in it?”

  Wrapping her arms around her knees, Wren rocked slightly. “Maybe. If he thought…”

  “You might run?”

  She nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see her any better than she could him. “Yes.”

  “You thought he’d come after you. Did he threaten to?”

  “Yes. And also—” She swallowed. “I tried one other time.” She hated having to remember. Tell him fast so I don’t have to relive it. “I didn’t even get out of the condo.”

  “What happened, Wren?” Suddenly he was speaking much closer to her, relentless. The quilts compressed and the air beside her stirred. He was sitting down.

  “I told him I was leaving.” She closed her eyes, as if that would help. Kept rocking. “He, um…”

  When she faltered, Alec finished for her. “He hit you.”

  It was the astonishing gentleness in his deep voice that brought tears burning in her eyes. She didn’t cry. She didn’t.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Over and over. He was enraged. When I fell down, he…he kicked my stomach. Because…he didn’t want—”

  “That son of a bitch.” Even in the dark, Alec found her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tugged her forward, until her forehead rested against his chest. “Did someone call the cops?”

  “A neighbor.”

  “Didn’t they offer to take you to a women’s shelter?”

  “Yes, but I couldn’t believe—” She cleared her throat. “I was so stupid. The thing is, he’d never hit me before. That’s why it was so shocking. And then he cried when he called me. And…I’m pregnant. That ties me to him. He swore he wanted Cupcake, that he didn’t know why he went so crazy, that he’d get counseling.” A small laugh that was closer to a sob broke from her. “I wanted so much to believe him.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “A month.” She shuddered. “I knew within days that I should have escaped when I could have. I thought at least this gave me the chance to plan. You know. To secretly pack and make sure I had some money.”

  “I hope I get a chance to meet this guy,” Alec said grimly.

  “No!” She straightened. “No, no! Don’t even say that. All I want is to never see him again!”

  He tugged her back, a big hand curved around her nape. “You’re talking about living on the run. What if he doesn’t lose interest right away, Wren? What are you going to do? Move every couple months? Never establish a bank account under your own name or take a job where you have to give a social security number? Never see your mother?”

  “I guess you think I’m being dumb.”

  “No.” Alec squeezed her neck. “Of course not. What I think is that you’re not aware how easy it is to find someone nowadays. Anyone good with a computer and the phone can do what they’d have once had to hire a P.I. for. Running to your friend…”

  She saw, dully, that he was right. “Was stupid. I thought—”

  “You needed help. Someone who cared.”

  Wren nodded, burrowing her face, just a little, against his chest.

  “Well, right now, you have me.”

  That made her heart squeeze, but the right now also rang clear. He cared because it was his job. And maybe because they’d shared a lot this past few days. He’d been the first person to hold Abby; he’d cut her cord. That had to mean something. So he wanted to be sure she and Wren were okay, because he was that kind of man. Just so they both understood that his caring was temporary. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. You named your kid after me.” Suddenly there was a smile in his voice.

  She stiffened. “I wasn’t trying to bribe you.”

  “I know.” He bent down and…well, she was pretty sure he’d kissed the top of her head. “Never crossed my mind.”

  “So, um, what do I do now?”
<
br />   “Now? You get a good night’s sleep.”

  She made a noise. “You know what I mean.”

  “First, you tell me his name. I check around the minute we get back and make sure he isn’t here in the county somewhere. I call… Where are you from?”

  “Seattle. That’s where he lives.”

  “I call the Seattle P.D. and ask them to verify if he’s there. That gives us a starting point. We consider getting a protection order.” His voice was a comforting rumble in the dark, but…

  “You mean, from the court?”

  “Yes.”

  “But doesn’t that give him one more way to find me?”

  “Only if he’s figured out you’re in Arkansas and thinks to scan court orders.”

  “Everything I’ve read said those don’t do any good. If the guy is crazy enough to stalk a woman who’s left him, something like that won’t stop him.”

  “If he’s sane at all, it sends the message that this isn’t okay. That when you said no, you meant it. It also gives law-enforcement officers the power to take action if the man even comes near the woman. You.”

  “I still want to find Molly.”

  “We’ll do that, too.”

  She wished she could see Alec’s face. She wished she was still leaning against him, but she’d eased away when he brought up the order..

  “James Miner.” Wren didn’t like the wobble in the middle of his last name, but she’d gotten it out. She took a deep breath. “James Vincent Miner. He didn’t like the Vincent part. Vincent is his dad’s name.”

  “Did he not like his father?”

  “He’s dead.” She frowned, thinking about it. “James didn’t say much, but I’m pretty sure he was angry at his dad.”

  “His mother?”

  “I never met her. She lives in Oregon somewhere. I heard him talking to her on the phone, though, and sometimes he sounded so scathing.” Even in the early days, when she thought she was in love, that had worried her. Whether he liked his mother or not, did he have to talk to her that way, his voice sharp with contempt? It was as if he thought everything she did was stupid. Wren had wondered why she even called.

  “If his father abused him and his mother failed to protect him, that might have left him angry,” Alec said matter-of-factly. “Worse, if the dad also abused the mom, James would have seen her as weak. He wouldn’t want to identify with her.”

  “You mean, he might deliberately copy his father’s behavior?”

  “Not necessarily, but our subconscious does funny things. Hey.” His voice had changed. “I’m reading a whole lot into your impressions. Maybe he had great parents. Maybe he’s simply an—” He swallowed whatever he’d been going to call James. “A domineering SOB.”

  “Well, he is that.”

  “When we get back, you can give me his address, phone number, place of employment. Anything you can think of.”

  Resigned, she said, “Okay.”

  Abby snuffled, sounding like a dog rooting around in the shrubbery for delicious scents. Both adults went still, waiting. A thin wail followed.

  “Mommy’s here,” Wren murmured, unbuttoning her flannel shirt. At least in the dark she didn’t have to worry about modesty. Silly as that was, she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  Alec laughed. “I swear she hasn’t slept more than two hours at a stretch. That doesn’t bode well.”

  “Babies are supposed to keep Mom and Dad awake, haven’t you heard?”

  He was silent. In the act of settling Abby to her breast, Wren didn’t notice for a moment. Then she said, a little uncertainly, “You don’t have kids, do you? You said you only have your sister and her family.”

  He didn’t answer for a minute. She quailed a little inside, thinking she’d been nosy and that he didn’t like it. If he’d wanted to tell her more about himself, he would have. It wasn’t as if it was any of her business.

  Finally Alec said, “I have two daughters. I’m divorced. They don’t live with me.”

  “You said you’d delivered a baby once, but you didn’t say—”

  “Carlene was one of those women who thought she had a little heartburn and an hour later gave birth. Not normal.”

  Wren made a face even though he wouldn’t see it. “You mean, not fair.”

  “No.” Amusement had momentarily relaxed his voice. “My oldest daughter, Autumn, was born within an hour of our arriving at the hospital. I missed India’s birth entirely. I was working. It came fast.”

  “How awful.”

  He grunted. “Carlene wasn’t happy.”

  “I meant for you. Well, her, too, of course. You must have been sad you weren’t there.”

  “I was.”

  That was all. Two words, clipped. He was not encouraging her to ask more.

  Even so, after a minute, during which Wren was switching Abby to her other breast, she asked one anyway. “How old are they?”

  “Six and eight.” He rose abruptly and floorboards creaked as he walked away.

  Escaping her as best he could, she realized unhappily. She should have kept her mouth shut.

  Of course, she’d told him all kinds of really personal things. But Wren’s stirring of resentment didn’t last long. He’d asked because he needed to know so that he could help her, not out of idle curiosity. This wasn’t a date, where an even trade was required. If your house was broken into, you didn’t start asking the investigating officer personal details about his life, even if he did now know your bra size because he’d seen the one hanging on the towel rack.

  “I’m sorry,” Wren whispered, so softly she wasn’t at all sure he heard her.

  If he had, he didn’t say anything. He stayed away, doing whatever he was doing—staring out the window at the impenetrable darkness was her best guess. Wren burped Abby, settled her under the covers again, then herself. She didn’t even say good-night.

  MUTTERING CURSES under his breath, Alec pushed his way through the waist-deep water that flooded the first story of the house. He’d stripped to his boxer shorts, and he was shivering but had no desire to dive in and acclimate himself the way he might have during a summer swim at the lake. He watched warily for the sinuous movement of a snake. From his boat, he’d seen both harmless northern banded water snakes and dangerous water moccasins. One could easily have washed into the house through a broken window.

  Wren had told him she’d poked through lower kitchen cabinets, but not all the upper ones. He could see why as he reached the kitchen. As with most older homes, this one had ten-foot ceilings, and a petite woman like her would have needed a step stool to reach into those cabinets even if she hadn’t been hugely pregnant. Unusually for a house of this era, there was no pantry. He started opening doors and in the first couple of cupboards found only dishes, sturdy workday stoneware. Mixing bowls with chipped rims, an ancient handheld blender. Cookbooks, now saturated, with frayed spines.

  In the third cabinet, he hit pay dirt. Canned goods. Around a dozen cans of soup, creamed corn, pinto beans and tomatoes. He was so damned hungry it all looked good. Without being obvious about it, he’d skipped having an energy bar that morning; they were too close to being out of them. Wren looked peaked enough without having to quit eating altogether. The baby needed her milk.

  He’d brought down a gunnysack he’d found in the attic, and now loaded up his trove, waded through the house and climbed the creaking steps to the attic. He was glad to be out of the water. Alec really hated snakes.

  “Did you find— Oh, Alec!” Wren had obviously been hovering around the opening. Her big brown eyes longingly fastened on the sack.

  “Lunch,” he said, handing it to her.

  In turn, she offered a pair of well-worn denim overalls to use as a towel. Not ideal, but they might need the flannel and knits for other purposes.

  “Turn your back,” he suggested, and when she did, he stripped off the wet boxers, roughly dried himself and pulled on his jeans. Once he’d scrubbed his hair and tossed aside the overal
ls, he walked over to where Wren sat cross-legged, savoring the sight of each can as she pulled it from the sack. She crowed when she found the spoons in the bottom.

  “I’m starved!”

  “Me, too.” He put on his flannel shirt and buttoned it, then dropped beside her. Affecting a French accent, he said, “Now that madame has had a chance to examine ze menu, what would be her pleasure?”

  She gave a little bounce. “Soup. Or…no. Creamed corn. I love creamed corn. Well, I love it warm, but who cares?”

  Unfortunately, like her, he hadn’t found a can opener. The baby slept, though, right through the racket of him hammering the knife through the lid repeatedly until he could pry it up. With a flourish, he presented it to Wren, who was waiting with spoon in hand.

  “Not sure those are clean…”

  “Don’t care.” She shoveled a bite in then closed her eyes in bliss. A moment later, she thrust the can toward him. “Your turn.”

  “I’m opening my own,” he said, suiting action to words.

  Both of them ate their way to the bottom and all but licked the insides. Then Wren fastened her gaze on the unopened cans.

  “Do we need to conserve?”

  “I don’t think so. The water’s dropping. I can’t imagine we won’t be out of here by tomorrow, no matter what.”

  He hammered open a can of tomato-rice soup for her and cream of mushroom for him. Neither of them was even slightly deterred by the gelatinous texture of the concentrated soups. When she finished hers, Wren gave a small burp, which made him laugh.

  “I hope that wasn’t too much for you, when it’s been days since you’ve had a decent meal.”

  “Oh, but it was so good!” Her face all but shone. “Thank you. You didn’t see any snakes, did you?”

  “Not a one, thank God.”

  “I didn’t even think about that when I got out of my car.” She shuddered. “We don’t have poisonous snakes in western Washington.”

  He knew vaguely that rattlesnakes liked dry country. Seattle was famous for coffee, not for being dry.

  Wren made her excuses and retreated to a corner of the attic to use a jar, dumped the contents out the window then lay down next to her baby. He guessed it was natural that she was tired, but she was also more reserved this morning and Alec knew it was his fault. He’d been a jerk last night, so unwilling to feel the pain talking about his daughters brought, he’d shut down Wren without even a pretense of civility. He couldn’t say that she was sulking today—that didn’t seem to be in her nature—but she wasn’t as chatty as she’d been yesterday, either. When he started a conversation, she participated, but the first real enthusiasm he’d seen had been for the creamed corn.