All That Remains Page 8

  He didn’t even know why it bothered him. They weren’t in a relationship. He wasn’t hoping to get her into bed. She’d soon be tucked under the wing of her friend Molly, although Alec intended to take what measures he could to make sure Wren and her baby stayed safe.

  He kept an eye on her now, but with her back to him he couldn’t tell if she was actually sleeping. He was getting more restless by the hour. Cabin fever, his mother would have called it. Although by that she would have meant boredom, and he couldn’t say he was bored. Not when Wren was awake and talking to him, anyway. Or singing softly to her baby.

  He’d catch himself watching in amazement. How did women know instinctively to hold babies to their shoulders and pat their backs? Her body would curve around the baby, and she’d rock in place and talk in the quietest singsong voice that he would have sworn Abby recognized. Well, he guessed she did; she’d been hearing it for a while, hadn’t she?

  Carlene had changed when Autumn was born. He’d experienced the same amazement then. He felt so clumsy handling their tiny daughter, while for Carlene it seemed to come naturally. There had been moments when he’d been bothered by how utterly her focus had shifted from him to their baby, as if he barely registered on her radar. He’d told himself that was natural, too, and that he wasn’t the only new father who discovered his sex life had gone down the tubes. Carlene hadn’t gotten excited about sex again until she decided she was ready for a second baby. They had a few passionate months ended by morning sickness that wasn’t confined to morning. Looking back, Alec realized he should have seen that his marriage was in trouble long before he did.

  And that was why he was restless—because being around Wren and her baby couldn’t help but stir unwelcome memories. He’d be glad to be on the job again. Home. Even if he could hardly stand to sleep in the house, it was so damned empty.

  He paced to the window for the thousandth time. The floodwaters had dropped noticeably since this morning—landmarks were reappearing. Walking out of here still wasn’t going to be an option in the immediate future. He held on to the belief someone would come looking sooner rather than later.

  He’d cracked the window this morning so that he’d hear an outboard motor if one neared, although if it didn’t come close, a shout wouldn’t do any good. He wished he’d been carrying his handgun. To keep it from getting wet, he’d locked it in a waterproof container in the prow of the boat.

  Had anyone found his boat? Were they looking specifically for him? Unlikely—Alec could only imagine how many people were listed as missing. Most, of course, weren’t actually; it would take a while for members of families to find each other, with so many scattered across the county in shelters. Others would be holed up the way he and Wren were. No one was really keeping track of the rescue personnel like him.

  How many deaths would be attributed to the storm? He’d seen too many of the bloated carcasses of animals floating by. It would be by the grace of God if some waterlogged human corpses weren’t found as well, to join the bodies already in the morgue at the hospital in Mountfort. Momentarily he saw the faces of the two men he’d help pull from the submerged van, then managed to suppress the memory. He’d worked homicide long enough to be good at that.

  Wren eventually woke from her nap, seemingly in a better mood although without having lost that indefinable air of reserve. She seemed happy enough to talk about anything impersonal, but the only real questions she asked were about local mores, food, flora and fauna. She listened carefully when he talked about how central church was in the lives of most of the county residents.

  “I told you I’m a city boy. Most of the people I arrested in east St. Louis didn’t worry about what their pastor would think.”

  She chuckled at that, as he’d thought she would, but she didn’t ask why he’d made such a life-altering move. Just as well, he told himself.

  They were hungry enough to enjoy the tomatoes and pinto beans they shared for dinner. Neither even mentioned the energy bars. As far as Alec was concerned, they’d once again become a food of last resort. He guessed Wren felt the same.

  As he had last night, he used the down vest for a pillow and Wren used him. During one of his wakeful periods, Alec acknowledged then dismissed his many aches and pains. It was disconcerting to realize how much he enjoyed holding a woman. He could have done without having her baby squeezed between them, but Wren… Yeah, he liked having her in his arms, her head nestled on his shoulder, her hair tickling his chin. He thought about it long enough to get an erection, but the feeling wasn’t entirely sexual. Wasn’t even mostly sexual, not at the moment. It was…

  Hell. He liked her. He’d missed a lot about being married, including this: having someone to hold.

  Yeah, well, don’t get too used to it. Another day, two days, Wren and the baby would be going to the hospital to be checked out, he would locate her friend, make sure James Vincent Miner was where he was supposed to be, and that would be that.

  This uncomfortable stirring in his chest was for the memories, for what he’d once thought he had. Not for what he’d never have again.

  WREN AWAKENED IN THE MORNING, unhappily used the jar while pretending Alec wasn’t there and considered which of the decreasingly interesting remaining food options would be most bearable for breakfast.

  Lord, what she’d give for a toothbrush! Forget the hot shower and shampoo, just give me a toothbrush, she thought whimsically, then made a hasty add-on. And toothpaste.

  Alec had already assumed his now familiar stance beside the window, one shoulder resting against the frame as he stared out. She allowed herself a moment of resentment at how good he looked. His breath probably wasn’t any sweeter than hers, but his hair wasn’t long enough to become lanky and greasy, the way hers felt when she ran her fingers through it. He at least was wearing his own clothes, which formed to lean muscles.

  Wren wrinkled her nose at the sight of the saggy flannel shirt that made a knee-length dress on her over the men’s pajama bottoms with the legs rolled up. The baggy socks were a cute touch, too.

  She glanced at Alec to find him watching her with amusement in his eyes.

  “Don’t laugh at me,” she warned.

  His teeth flashed in a grin, as if he couldn’t help himself. “You can’t feel any scruffier than I do. These jeans creak when I move. I swear they feel like they got soaked in starch. And then there’s this.” He yanked at the dark growth of his beard.

  Wren sighed. “Abby loves me anyway. She doesn’t care what I look like.”

  “Kids don’t.” He resumed staring out the window.

  “Watched pots don’t boil.”

  With reawakened amusement, he looked at her. “Yeah, they do. Eventually.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d consider opening a can for me?”

  “Sure.” He straightened from his relaxed slouch. “What’ll it be?”

  “Soup, I guess.”

  It was back to tomato rice. Whoever had stocked the kitchen hadn’t gone for variety.

  Picky, picky. They would be going hungry by now if someone had cleaned the canned goods out of the kitchen.

  Bang. He drove the not-so-pointed tip of the knife into the lid of a second can. Bang.

  “Wait!” Wren lifted her head.

  His head came up, too. He looked first at Abby, his sharp gaze returning to Wren’s face only when he saw that her baby hadn’t stirred. “What?”

  “I think I hear…”

  Alec went straight to the window, Wren right behind him. She couldn’t see a thing when she peered past his broad back, but she could definitely hear the distant sound of some kind of motor.

  Alec wrenched open the window and leaned out.

  “Can you see anything?”

  “No.” He cupped his hands and bellowed, “Help!”

  Behind them, Abby let out a startled cry.

  “Oh, no.” For the first time feeling torn, Wren finally went to her daughter, who was working herself up to a serious tantrum.
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  “Maybe we should stick her out the window,” Alec muttered, and she turned in outrage to find he was again leaning out and yelling.

  Abby’s scream reached a crescendo she hadn’t even tried for yet in her short life. Groaning, Wren picked her up and rocked her.

  “You’re not hungry, are you, sweetie? You can’t be yet.”

  Abby was inconsolable. Wren had no choice but to sit down to feed her. Her daughter latched on with something that felt like desperation. She was going for comfort, Wren realized.

  Unless… Oh, dear Lord, what if she wasn’t producing enough milk? What if Abby was starving? Horrified, Wren thought, Would I know?

  For the tiniest of moments, she had the childish wish for her mother, which was absurd. Her mother hadn’t even breast-fed. She had stayed home from work for only two weeks after Wren was born, so she’d started her on formula right away.

  Suddenly Alec let off shouting and brought his head and shoulders inside to say, “They’ve seen me!”

  Her heart jumped, mostly with excitement. Apprehension… No, she told herself firmly. That could wait until she’d had that hot shower and a doctor had told her that Abby was fine.

  The roar of the outboard motor grew in volume. Wren took a chance and lifted Abby from her breast to her shoulder. She patted until her baby burped then slipped the buttons through the holes. She climbed to her feet and joined Alec at the window.

  He gave her a huge smile and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. They stood side by side, watching as a metal boat that looked not much different than the one he’d used drew near, finally bumping against the wall below them. There were two men in it, both wearing yellow rain pants and suspenders over flannel shirts.

  The sound of the motor lowered to a throaty idle. One man stayed seated at the rear with a hand on the throttle. The other, with graying blond hair and a half-grown beard as disreputable as Alec’s, stood with his head back so he could grin at them.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t Detective Harper. We got to wondering where you’d gone off to. There’s people gonna be real glad to see you.”

  Alec only laughed. “You offering a lift?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  PAPER CRACKLING UNDER HER as she moved, Wren carefully got down from the exam table. She was reaching for the tie behind her neck to remove the hospital gown when there was a quick rap on the door. After she’d agreed that she was decent, the smiling nurse popped in and handed her an unopened package of pads.

  “We keep them on hand here. I gather it’ll be a bit before you can replace your credit cards or money, and you can’t do without these.”

  Can’t? Thanking her, Wren had an inappropriate desire to laugh when she thought of the substitutes she’d used the past few days. Once the nurse closed the door behind her, Wren hurriedly dressed in the scrubs they’d supplied. It felt fabulous to be clean. Someone had even scrounged up a disposable razor so she could take care of her underarms and legs. And a toothbrush and toothpaste!

  She looked at herself in the small mirror. Her hair was wet, slicked to her head, and her ears poked out in a way that might have gotten her cast as an extra in Lord of the Rings if she’d been hanging around in New Zealand at the right time. So—she didn’t look great. She made a face at herself. It wasn’t as though she ever looked great. She just wished…

  Forget about it, she told herself firmly. The man had delivered her baby. Rescued her. Full stop.

  And she had a lot more to be grateful for. People had been so nice. Nobody had even asked her yet if she had health insurance. Instead, once Alec dropped her at Emergency, she’d been enveloped in coos of delight at how darling Abby was, sympathy for her plight and offers of help. She might not have a penny, but she now had a toothbrush and toothpaste, a hairbrush, a set of slightly faded blue scrubs, rubber flip-flops and her very own entire package of pads. Plus, while Abby was being weighed and examined, a different nurse was rushing home to grab a bag of clothes and receiving blankets that her baby no longer needed.

  “She’s my third,” she’d said, waving off Wren’s stammered protestations. “Third and last.” A freckled redhead, she had grinned. “I grabbed my husband by the collar in the middle of a contraction and told him I quit. Love every one of my kids, don’t want to do it again.”

  Now that she was dressed, Wren hesitantly stepped out into the hall and immediately heard Abby’s cry. Breasts tingling, Wren hurried to the next room, where her tiny daughter lay in the cup of a baby scale, which was metal and probably cold.

  The nurse was already lifting an indignant Abby when Wren arrived in a rush.

  “Six pounds, three ounces. A darned good weight, considering she might have been a week or two premature and you’re such a little thing yourself. And it’s normal for her to have lost some since she was born, you know.” The nurse wrapped the unhappy baby in a soft blanket and escorted them back to the room.

  A pediatrician, a woman with steel-gray hair and a friendly smile, came to examine Abby and pronounced her in good health.

  “How confident are you of the due date?” she asked. “Her lungs seem mature, her muscle tone excellent. From what you’ve said, she’s had no problem nursing. Did you have an ultrasound?”

  Wren shook her head. “The obstetrician guessed.”

  “Well, my suspicion is that she’s close to full-term, if not right on the money.” Her gaze, steady now and not amused, met Wren’s. “You do know that you were extraordinarily lucky.”

  “Yes.”

  “Traveling in the last few weeks is not recommended.”

  Ashamed, Wren knew her cheeks were burning. “I…really didn’t have a choice.”

  Frowning slightly, the doctor studied her. “I’d say all is well. There’s no reason for us to keep you. I’m going to give you a handout with recommendations for well-baby visits and vaccines. Will you be staying in the area?”

  A lump in her throat, Wren admitted, “I don’t know.”

  “If so, make an appointment for that first visit. And call if you have any concerns.”

  She talked more; gave the number for a nurse practitioner who was available to answer questions about problems with breast-feeding, sleep patterns or anything else that might plague new parents. Finally, she gently stroked Abby’s cheek and left.

  The lump in Wren’s throat had slithered to her chest, where it seemed to have swollen until it was closer to boulder-size. She’d wanted to know that Abby was okay, but a cowardly part of her had been hoping that the doctor would want to admit them for the night. As it was, as soon as the kind nurse showed up with the bag of clothes, Wren had no more excuse not to walk out, Abby in one arm and her small cache of supplies in a plastic bag clutched in her free hand.

  She’d been told there were shelters. She’d ask at the front desk; surely they’d be able to tell her where to go. That would give her some breathing space, food and a roof while she tried to find Molly. And she had to call the rental-car company. Thank goodness she’d paid for their insurance.

  Despite her personal pep talk, she felt a rush of… something—relief, probably—when the first person she saw after she pushed through the door into the waiting area was Alec. He’d been sitting, but rose to his feet at her appearance.

  Relief was swamped by completely inconvenient lust. If only he didn’t look so good. Like her, he’d had a shower, but it must have been at home because his clean jeans and thermal henley shirt fit like they were his own. He wore slightly battered athletic shoes and clipped to his belt were a badge and a holstered handgun. His jaw was freshly shaved. He’d nicked his chin, Wren saw, which only made him look a little bit human instead of formidably handsome.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  She nodded. “The pediatrician thinks Abby might actually be full-term. She’s not very big, barely over six pounds, but, well…”

  His mouth twitched. “You’re not very big, either.”

  “No. James is, I don’t know, five foot ten maybe, but I
guess she took after me.” Thank goodness.

  “Wren, I’ve made some inquiries about your friend.”

  She could tell from his expression that he didn’t have good news. She only waited.

  “Molly and her husband have moved. Over a year ago. The post office forwards mail for a year, so they should still have the address. Only there’s been a screwup, and they don’t. Nobody I’ve found yet remembers where they went.” He paused. “When were you last in touch?”

  Scared, really scared now, she could hardly breathe. Abby gave a little squeak, and Wren realized her arm had tightened around her.

  “I—I guess it has been a year. Or maybe longer. I wrote, but I didn’t hear back from her. And, well, there wasn’t any reason for me to keep a cell phone, and James found a better deal so we shared an email account and I can’t be sure Molly got my emails.”

  Alec was looking at her with pity, and she had a suspicion she deserved contempt instead. How could she have been so stupid? So weak? Why had it taken her so long to see what was happening, what James was doing to her? He didn’t want her to have her own cell phone, her own car, her own bank account. Her own anything. Molly probably had responded and he’d deleted it. She might even have called, but he’d answered. Or written, and he’d thrown her letters away. And it meant he would have her address.

  Her former address. Oh, God. And maybe her new one, too?

  Voice shaking now, Wren said, “I tried to email her from a computer at the airport, but it bounced back. So that’s no good. Can’t I find her online? You said people are easy to find these days. I’ve read about it, how it’s, like, impossible to disappear anymore.”