All That Remains

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “No,” she whispered.

  Alec’s expression softened. “Don’t look like that. He’ll show his hand, sooner or later. We’ll find him.”

  “But what can you really do? You can’t put him in jail and throw away the key. In fact, you can’t even arrest him, can you?”

  “We might be able to briefly, given that there’s a record of him assaulting you in Seattle. But you’re right. We can’t keep him. What I can do is scare the crap out of him.”

  “Will that work?” She wished she didn’t already know the answer. She might be naive, but not quite that naive.

  Alec hesitated. “I don’t know. Not all stalkers progress to the final phase. Some do give up eventually. They move on to another woman and start the cycle all over.”

  Wren gave a broken laugh. “I’d wish for that, except I don’t want any other woman to go through what I did. There should be a way to brand men like that.”

  He smiled at her ferocity. His eyes held warmth again, as if he liked seeing her mad instead of wimpy. Well, she couldn’t blame him. She liked herself better that way, too. Holding on to the mad instead of scared wasn’t always easy, though.

  Her arms tightened on Abby and she laid her cheek against her baby’s head. “Will I ever be able to stop looking over my shoulder?”

  “We’ll find a way.”

  Wren didn’t let herself look at him. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  He was silent for a long time. At last he said, “I’ll do my damnedest to keep this one.” He rose. “She’s asleep, Wren.”

  The small body had gone lax without her realizing. “Yes.” She cleared her throat and, careful not to jostle Abby, stood. “I’m ready for bed, too.”

  When she reached the doorway, Alec hadn’t moved. She couldn’t help herself; she paused and glanced back. His mouth was tight, his eyes dark and turbulent.

  “I’m sorry for scaring you,” he said.

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did.”

  She gave a little shrug.

  “Thank you.” He made an abortive gesture. “For what you did in here.”

  “I actually enjoyed it.” Wren paused. “Do you want me to tackle the bedrooms, too?”

  “If you’re willing, I’d be grateful. Although there may be more up there you’ll have to ask me about.”

  “Okay. Good night, Alec.” She almost—almost—started to thank him again, but his eyes narrowed as if he’d read her mind and she stopped herself. Instead she nodded, feeling awkward, and hurried for the stairs.

  ALEC HAD GOTTEN NOWHERE on identifying either of the two bodies left in the morgue. At first he’d assumed it was a matter of time; eventually it would become obvious which missing people were still missing. But as the days passed he wondered increasingly whether these two were men who happened to be passing through. It might not occur to family or employers that they had been in Arkansas at all, never mind that they could have been caught by the flood. He’d like to be hopeful that fingerprints would identify them, but the fact was that most Americans weren’t in fingerprint databases at all. Why would they be?

  The man who’d been shot was likelier to have a criminal history. But there were no guarantees. Alec hated the idea of ending up burying them in anonymous graves. It felt like a form of failure to him.

  Saddler’s Mill was not, at the moment, a pleasant place to live. For one thing, it stunk. The sludge had its own peculiar stench, not helped by the decomposing bodies of animals still left where they lay. No one had had time yet to deal with the sodden heaps of what had once been people’s treasured—or not so treasured—possessions, either. Today Alec had paused behind the pharmacy at the sight of a bloated, dead cat tangled in black VHS tape still attached at one end to a cracked case. Beneath had been part of an upholstered chair, what he thought had been a blender, a Revere Ware pan made distinctive by its copper bottom, mangled, muddy books and too many things he couldn’t even identify.

  Then then there was the day-to-day refuse heaped in black plastic bags in alleys and at curbs. Garbage service hadn’t yet resumed, although the need for it was growing desperate.

  Hard times like this brought out the best in people, and the worst. Looting continued to be a problem. At the same time, even people who had lost everything were pitching in to help friends and neighbors tear out the damaged parts of homes and businesses and rebuild. The shelters gradually emptied as folks found somewhere else to go. There was talk of schools opening this coming week. They might be short on both teachers and students, but neither the elementary school nor the combined middle school/high school had suffered damage and the consensus seemed to be that the kids belonged in them. Everybody wanted life to be as normal as it could be.

  Alec felt guilty leaving Wren alone so much. She didn’t show any signs of cabin fever, but she must be feeling it. She hadn’t left his house in almost two weeks now. But when he said something Friday night, she shook her head.

  “I wouldn’t want to be taking a newborn out much anyway.” She turned from the stove, her smile shy. “I’ve actually been really happy. I enjoy cooking, and helping you work on the house was the perfect project for me. I think it satisfied some kind of nesting thing.” Her eyes widened then, as if she hadn’t meant to say that, and color rose in her cheeks.

  Nesting thing. Alec felt a dull thud of surprise. Was that what had gotten him started on making changes? Something about having a woman and a baby in the house? Or was it because of this particular woman and the confusion she seemed to be awakening in him?

  Wren’s back was to him, and, unable to help himself, he looked at Abby asleep in the bassinet only a few feet from where he sat at the kitchen table. Most of the time, he did his best not to look at her, but occasionally he couldn’t help himself. Every time he did, he felt a painful mishmash of emotions.

  Some had to do with her birth. There had been that burst of relief and exultation and something too much like a parent’s instant love for this small being. His hands had received her. He’d held her first. Cut her cord. The effect might have faded faster if the three of them hadn’t been trapped in that attic for days. As it was, he had been consumed by an intensely primitive need to protect both mother and baby.

  The fact that she looked so much like her mommy bothered him, too, given his increasingly complicated feelings for Wren. Feelings that were churning in his belly right now.

  Of course he couldn’t help but think of India and Autumn when they’d been tiny and defenseless like this. He had loved them both so much from the moment they were born. It wasn’t the same as what he felt for his parents, for Sally. For Carlene. The love for his two daughters was so powerful, he’d been helpless before it from day one. He’d known he would do anything—anything—to keep them safe and happy.

  This was the first time he could remember that he was seeing Abby without the filter of a superimposed image of one of his daughters. Newborns did have a sameness, but her face was gaining character already. He stared at her, realizing she was her own self. Her mouth was her mother’s, with a deep indentation in the upper lip that made him think of a pretty bow tied atop a wrapped gift. India and Autumn both had his dark hair, despite the fact that Carlene was blonde. Abby’s was a soft, wren-feathered brown, but seemingly determined to stand straight up even though he remembered how fine and wispy it had been to the touch. Her face was squarer than her mommy’s, her chin not so pointed and elfin. Of course, there were the ears. A smile tugged at his mouth. She was probably going to hate her ears, but he thought they were adorable.

  Adorable? He almost lurched from his seat in horror. The chair legs scraped the floor.

  What kind of word was that? Not one that should cross his mind. He couldn’t afford to be tempted by a woman who, pretty clearly, had no intention of staying a day longer than she had to. Even if he was willing to try again. Which he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. The more he cared, the more he’d hurt when they left.

  Some sma
ll movement in his peripheral vision brought his head around and he found Wren watching him. Her lips were slightly parted. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but her brown eyes looked more all-knowing than he was comfortable with.

  He returned her regard, willing his expression to be blank. He realized she hadn’t been blinking when she finally did.

  “Dinner’s ready,” she said, as calmly as if the air between them hadn’t been shimmering with tension. “Why don’t you grab a plate and dish up?”

  “Thank you,” he said, rising, pleased at how normal he sounded. “You’ve got me spoiled rotten.”

  The beef Stroganoff smelled so good, he told himself, that the churning in his gut might be hunger and not emotion. Relief swept him. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to love anyone again.

  As things were, he could help Wren and her baby. Keep them safe. He’d meant it when he’d told her it was his job. Okay, he’d gone a little over and above for Wren, but that was natural given what they’d been through together.

  Love was something different. Eventually he let down the people he loved, and hurt himself in the process.

  Thinking a baby was cute didn’t mean he loved her, any more than his struggle to keep his eyes from the luscious fullness of Wren’s breasts or the subtle curve of her hips meant he was in love with her. The fact that all day long, all he thought about was getting home only meant he worried about her and Abby being here alone. And it was true that she was spoiling him. He did love walking in the door to the smell of dinner cooking. He loved the changes in the house, too, and having someone to talk to. He loved the new glow of accomplishment on Wren’s face, the tenderness of her smiles for her daughter, the increasing strength he sensed in her.

  Okay, he liked being able to do something for her. But that didn’t mean he felt anything romantic for her.

  He insisted on cleaning the kitchen after dinner and made his excuses soon after, reminding her that the appraiser would be there at ten the next morning. He’d check later that the house was secure. No reason to think it wouldn’t be—Wren was scared enough to be ultracareful—but he felt better once he’d made a last check.

  He sat in the easy chair in his bedroom pretending to read until he heard Wren’s soft footsteps on the stairs and in the hall, a lingering whisper of a lullaby, followed by silence. Still he waited until she used the bathroom and finally returned to her—to Great-Aunt Pearl’s—bedroom and shut the door.

  Only then did he go downstairs, driven by a protective instinct so powerful it had taken him all evening to decide it didn’t mean anything special.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE APPRAISER CAME AND WENT Saturday morning, leaving Alec stunned at the value of some god-awful pieces. Who would want Aunt Pearl’s sofa, even if it did date to the 1840s? They sure as hell wouldn’t if they planted their butts on the cushions and tried it out.

  Wren laughed at him for his surprise but pointed out that he wouldn’t get anywhere near full value if he sold to dealers.

  He shook his head. “It’s not like I want to go into business.”

  “There’s eBay.”

  “Too much trouble.” He saw a gleam in her eyes. “You’d think it was fun, wouldn’t you?”

  “I would,” she admitted. “But it’s not as if I’ll be here long enough to follow through. It would take a digital camera, and the time to write up descriptions, and then every single item has to be packaged carefully and mailed to the winning bidder.” Her smile was quirky and a little sad. “And you don’t have time.”

  No, he didn’t, but he wished she did. She’d follow the bidding wars with glee. Alec imagined her greeting him at the door to tell him triumphantly that the ugly china shepherdess had sold for thirty-five dollars or the weird triangular table that fell over if he brushed against it had gone for a hundred and fifty. It wouldn’t occur to Wren to wish she was making the money for herself; if he offered to pay her to do the work, she’d turn him down. But making a small fortune on Aunt Pearl’s legacy for Alec would boost her belief in herself. He wished he could give her that.

  Part of him wanted to say, Will you do it for me? Or even, Maybe you can stay long enough to do it for me. But that wasn’t smart, was it?

  No.

  He cleared his throat. “I wish I had a better picture of James.”

  Her face pinched and he regretted not having chosen some other subject, but he would give a lot to be able to recognize James Miner if he saw him. The town was filled with strangers, and every time he encountered one in the right age range he’d find himself eyeing the guy and stacking him up against her description of the guy as well as the two, equally crappy photos he’d seen: a copy of Miner’s Washington State driver’s license that Lontz had faxed to Alec, and a group snapshot Wren had found on a friend’s Facebook page. The trouble was, Miner was a common type: five foot nine or ten, dark blond to light-brown hair, hazel eyes that could, according to Wren, look green or gray or even blue depending on what he was wearing and the lighting, and a build that was neither extremely muscular, pudgy or skinny.

  “He’s really handsome,” she’d concluded sheepishly because she had to know how useless that description was.

  The problem was, hair and eye color were both easily changed. Alec had next to nothing to go on.

  Now Wren ducked her head. “I didn’t have a camera.”

  Or her own cell phone with a camera. She didn’t have to tell him. Wouldn’t have mattered anyway, since they would have been swept away along with her purse and suitcase. And if she’d downloaded photos at home, they would have been on James’s computer.

  “You’re not wearing your gun,” she said suddenly.

  “Yeah, I am.” He hadn’t realized she’d been so aware that he was constantly armed. “I have it in a shoulder holster.”

  She studied him, and he flipped his twill shirt aside to show her.

  “Do you always have it with you? Isn’t that kind of…” She hesitated.

  “Paranoid?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.” He smiled. “No, I’m not one of those guys who won’t go to the john without my gun. Usually I take it off the minute I get home.” It was his turn to hesitate, but prevaricating wouldn’t do any good. She wasn’t stupid. “I’m keeping it close right now because of you.”

  He saw the quick dilation of her eyes, but she only nodded. He tried to think of what to say to ease the moment, but his cell phone rang. Looking at the number on the screen, he gave serious thought to not answering, but finally groaned and flipped it open.

  “Sally.”

  “You sound so enthusiastic,” she said dryly. “Be still my heart.”

  “Did you call to chat, or do you want something?”

  “I called to invite you and Wren to dinner. And Abby, of course, although I don’t have to feed her.”

  “You know I don’t want to take Wren out.” He glanced at her, afraid to find her looking hopeful. What he saw was worse. She’d retreated into that quiet place inside herself, as if she thought…what? That he would be ashamed to be seen with her? The idea enraged him.

  “For goodness’ sakes, who’s going to see?” Sally said. “She must be sick to death of your company.”

  Gritting his teeth, Alec pointed out, “She’s had yours already. Probably too much of it.”

  Wren was edging toward the door.

  “You are such a jerk,” Sally said. “Why don’t you ask her what she wants to do?”

  He felt like a jerk, even though he had no idea whether he was misreading Wren’s body language entirely. He didn’t know how to make this right.

  Catching her gaze, Alec pitched his voice for her. “Would you enjoy going to Sally’s?”

  She gave him a startled, shy look. “If you don’t think it’s a good idea…”

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly.

  “There’s no reason you couldn’t go.”

  “You think I’d do that?”
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  As her gaze searched his, she caught her lower lip between her teeth. Why that was so damn sexy, he didn’t know, but it was, and desire tangled with everything else he was feeling.

  Her gaze became warier, and he wondered what she’d seen on his face. “Maybe this is a bad idea, but…if you don’t think I should go out, what if we had them here for dinner?”

  He’d forgotten his sister had been able to hear the entire conversation until her tinny voice came from the phone. “I heard that. Alec Harper, don’t you dare say no just to be mean.”

  He was startled into a chuckle. His eyes lingering on Wren’s face, which had relaxed, Alec lifted the phone to his ear again. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t you bring the kids and come over here for dinner?”

  “And Randy.”

  Oh, hell. Was it too much to hope that his brother-in-law was dying to head to the tavern to shoot pool with his buddies tonight?

  “And Randy,” Alec said reluctantly.

  They settled on six o’clock, and he’d no sooner ended the call than Wren was eagerly planning a menu. Her obvious pleasure made his chest cramp because he wanted to see her happy all the time.

  Yeah, look what a great job he’d done making Carlene happy.

  Wren fussed about what to serve, with him only pretending to listen. When she paused, he heard himself say, “Tell you what. I’ll see if I can get some antique stores to take the furniture off my hands, and I’ll hold off on the small stuff. If it looks like you’re going to be here much longer, maybe you’d think about starting on the eBay thing.”

  “Really?” Wren’s face brightened, instigating another throb beneath his breastbone. “We can pile those boxes out of the way easily enough. I was thinking you should give Sally a chance to look through them anyway. Maybe she can do that tonight. In case she does want something.”