Beth Cornelison - To Love, Honor And Defend

“You won’t tell me no.” His grin was confident and disarming. “As I recall, you never could.”

Libby scowled at his back as he sauntered toward her living room. Maybe the old Libby never could tell him no, but since he’d walked out on her five years ago, she’d changed.

Nothing had changed at Renee’s apartment since he’d been by earlier in the week. Except perhaps a few more crusty dishes were piled in the sink and on the coffee table. A stronger stench of rotten garbage permeated the air.

Cal watched Libby react to the scene. With her eyes wide and her stance rigid, she pressed a hand over her mouth and took in the chaos of clutter and filth.

“You’re early.” Renee stumbled back from the door, tripping past the spot where her boyfriend Gary—or Jerry, or whatever the creep’s name was—lay passed out on the floor. Judging from Renee’s glazed expression, she was high again. Surprise, surprise.

“Actually I’m not. It’s past nine. Where’s Ally?”

“Asleep, I guess. Try her room.” Renee rubbed her face hard and winced. Black circles ringed his ex’s eyes, and baggy clothes hung on her rail-thin frame. She’d lost too much weight in the last few months. Cal’s stomach knotted. Renee had been vibrant and beautiful when they’d first met. Her mind had been sharp. He hated seeing her like this. If Renee took such poor care of herself, what did Ally endure?

“Renee, look at this place. Don’t you understand that the authorities could take Ally away, put her in foster care, if you don’t get your act together?”

Renee scoffed. “I’m her mother. They can’t take her from me. And neither can you. I have rights.”

“They can take her away, and they will. What about Ally’s right to have a clean home? To have someone love her and take care of her?”

“I love her!” Renee wobbled, and Cal steadied her with a hand on her arm.

He mustered every ounce of his patience. “Then get clean. I’m not fighting for custody to hurt you, Renee. I’m doing it because I love Ally. I don’t want to see her suffer.”

Renee pulled free of his grip. “She’s fine.”

Grunting his disgust and frustration, Cal stalked toward the back of the tiny apartment and nearly collided with a scruffy man who came out of the bathroom, zipping his pants.

“Look where you’re going, man,” the hoodlum grumbled, bumping past Cal on his way back to the front room.

“Who the hell are you?” Cal followed the man into the living room and divided a glare between the man and Renee.

“Who’s askin’?” The stranger gave Libby, who still hovered by the door, a suspicious look. “Hey, do I know you?”

Cal tensed, ready to intervene if the scumbag took another step toward Libby.

She raised her chin and appraised the man with a honed look, one that doubtlessly brought hostile witnesses to their knees. “Not unless you’ve had a reason to appear in court recently.”

Cal felt a quick tug of pride. Libby personified strength under fire. Cool and poised. Other than two nights ago in the parking garage, when she’d been so uncharacteristically rattled, he’d only seen her experience meltdown between the sheets. During sex, she let go, burned hot and fast like a forest fire in a drought. When his libido pulsed to life, he firmly pushed thoughts of tangling limbs with Libby aside for another time.

“That’s right.” The slimeball wagged a finger toward Libby. “You’re the skirt from the D.A.’s office.” When the disheveled man stepped toward her, Cal instinctively moved to Libby’s side.

“So, you’re familiar with the prosecutor’s office, Mr.—” Libby tipped her head, tapping a finger to her lips as if trying to remember something. “I’m sorry, who did you say you were?”

The bum flashed an oily smile. “You can just call me Roach, lawyer babe.”

“Roach, huh? Interesting. Family name?” Libby parried.

Roach chortled and flopped back onto the stained cushions of Renee’s couch. On the floor, Gary/Jerry/whatever-his-name-was, stirred, coughed then lurched for an empty glass as he retched.

Cal felt Libby’s shudder only because he’d put his hand on her arm to guide her away from Roach. “Come on. Let’s find Ally and get the hell out of here,” he said under his breath.

With a nod, she followed him back to the corner bedroom, where Ally’s toys littered the floor.

The bed was empty.

Anxiety flashed through Cal with the force of a backdraft. “Ally?”

Darting forward, he ripped the covers from the bed, searching for his daughter, even though the girl clearly wasn’t there. He cut a sharp glance toward Libby, whose face reflected the same concern and confusion that knifed him.

“Renee!” He stormed out to the living room, his body tense with fury, his stomach knotted with dread. “She’s not there! Where the hell is my daughter?”

Renee clutched her head and slouched in her seat, curling into a tiny ball. “Don’t yell! Damn, my head’s gonna explode.”

“Where’s Ally? She’s not in her room!”

His ex sighed heavily. “Have you looked in her closet?”

Beside him, Libby gasped. He spared her only a brief I-told-you-so glance as he rushed back to look for Ally.

When he snatched open the closet door, the flood of light from the bedroom revealed hidden horrors in the small, dark space. Cal winced as the odor of urine hit him. A spider scurried under a box in the corner.

A raven-haired moppet raised bleary eyes to squint at him. “Mommy?”

Emotions slammed into him. A tangled mix of relief, outrage and anguish squeezed his heart and brought him to his knees. “Oh, baby girl. It’s Daddy. Why are you in here?”

Ally whimpered when he leaned down to scoop her up in his arms. “No! Leave me alone!”

“It’s all right, Ally. It’s Daddy. Remember last weekend when we went to the park, I asked if you’d like to come visit me sometime? You said you did.”

Ally nodded.

“Well, I’m here so you can visit my apartment, stay with me for the weekend. Would you like that?”

“Can we go to the park again?”

“Sure, kitten. Whatever you want.” He tucked Ally under his chin and turned to carry her out. Her clothes were damp. “Ally, what happened to your nightgown? It’s wet.”

Ally sniffed. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Cal coaxed.

“Wet my pants,” she whispered. “That man was in the potty, and I had t’go.”

“Aw, sweetie. It’s okay. We’ll get you cleaned up. C’mon.”

Libby stood two paces from the closet door, her face white and her features a mask of horror. He’d never seen Libby cry, but tears filled her eyes now. Her whole body shook.

“Still think you can tell us no?” he rasped, wishing he could cry, too. Wishing he could throw back his head and howl for the suffering his little girl had endured without him.

Sucking in a harsh, strangled breath, Libby bolted from the room.

Libby sat inside Cal’s truck and wrapped her arms around herself. She concentrated on calming her ragged breaths and erasing the ugly memories that had chased her from Renee’s apartment. When a movement outside the pickup caught her eye, she jerked her gaze up, her pulse jumping.

Deep breaths. Don’t lose control.

Cal approached the passenger’s door, carrying his daughter on one shoulder and a duffel bag slung over the other. Libby climbed from the truck on shaky legs and pulled the seat forward so he could put Ally in the back. A biting January wind whipped around her, and she shivered.

“Thanks.” Sparing Libby a quick glance, Cal settled Ally on the back seat and gently tucked his jacket around her. “Sorry we took so long. I had to pack her things and get her changed into something clean.”