What Remains

Subscribe to our newsletter for title recommendations, giveaways and discounts reserved only for subscribers. Join here. praise for What Remains “Perfectly plotted and beautifully written, I was gripped from the first page.” —Alice Feeney, New York Times bestselling author “I can’t recall the last time a thriller kept me so alert, as though the muzzle of a gun were pressed to my temple . . . This is from beginning to end absolutely splendid storytelling, a book to entertain, to immerse, and to challenge.” —A. J. Finn, New York Times bestselling author of The Woman in the Window “Finely crafted characters, great plotting, and so much tension you’ll have trouble catching your breath. This is Wendy Walker at her best!” —B. A. Paris, New York Times bestselling author of Behind Closed Doors “A heart-pounding page-turner, Wendy Walker’s What Remains is an exploration of love and fidelity and of the secrets that bind us and tear us apart . . . A gorgeous and compelling emotional thriller.” —Jean Kwok, New York Times bestselling author of Searching for Sylvie Lee “What Remains starts with a bang—literally—and doesn’t let you go until the final, exquisite resolution. This book is Wendy Walker at her best!” —Julie Clark, New York Times bestselling author of The Lies I Tell “An addictive, immersive, propulsive thriller . . . [Walker] is absolutely one of the genre’s best.” —Jennifer Hillier, internationally bestselling author of Things We Do in the Dark “Incredibly tense, utterly authentic, and endlessly intriguing—I dare you to put this book down.” —Catherine Ryan Howard, internationally bestselling author of 56 Days “What Remains begins with a (literal) bang and doesn’t let up until the final shocking conclusion . . . Walker immediately made me want to know what was happening, but I never guessed THAT ending! A tour de force.” —Catherine McKenzie, USA Today bestselling author of You Can’t Catch Me and Have You Seen Her BOOKS BY WENDY WALKER All Is Not Forgotten Emma in the Night The Night Before Don’t Look for Me Hold Your Breath American Girl What Remains Copyright © 2023 by Wendy WalkerE-book published in 2023 by Blackstone PublishingCover design by Kathryn Galloway EnglishAll rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidentaland not intended by the author.Trade e-book ISBN 979-8-200-87254-1Library e-book ISBN 979-8-200-87253-4Fiction / Thrillers / GeneralBlackstone Publishing31 Mistletoe Rd.Ashland, OR 97520www.BlackstonePublishing.com To my late aunt, Arthea Kempf,who found her greatest peace reading books. Chapter One I’m in the towel aisle at Nichols Depot when I hear the shots. Two pops followed by a chorus of screams. I think the sounds might be distant, from outside the store. But this place is enormous, a vast warehouse of goods stacked floor to ceiling, wall to wall. The screams echo, then stop. Elevator music fills the void. I stand frozen in these seconds, my eyes taking in several brands of towels in two dozen shades of pink. I’d pulled one from the middle shelf and brushed it against my cheek, wondering if it was soft enough for my girls. It’s still pressed to the side of my face when the sounds come and go. There is a place inside me that knows this is gunfire even as I think instead of balloons from Amy’s ninth birthday party and then Fran jumping on a piece of Bubble Wrap and then the generator backfiring after the last power outage, which caused Mitch to haul it from the garage. None of those were followed by screams. I don’t move because fear has reached my body before conscious thought catches up. Racing heart. Shallow breath. Narrowed vision. They come again, two shots. Pop. Pop. Bright balls of color tied to folding chairs in the backyard as I carried a cake from the house. Corkscrew curls flying around the gleeful smile of a five-year-old in the kitchen. The smell of gasoline. That is where my mind goes, and I feel a fleeting rush of warmth as I see the faces of my children and husband, even as I drop the towel to the floor and reach for my gun. I am suddenly aware that, after twelve years in the department, this is the first time I have drawn my weapon in the outside world. My four years on active patrol had been quiet, and for the last eight, I’ve worked cold cases. It’s difficult enough for me to face the anguish of the ones left behind, the loved ones of the missing and the dead. That has been my battlefield—balancing the empathy and the implications of horrific crime with an otherwise normal life. I had never sought the thrill of a chase or a crime unfolding before my eyes. And now, as a crime does unfold, I feel as much a civilian as anyone else in this store. It is an old reflex, a relic from my training, that causes my hand to grip the handle, though it shakes through to my arm and down the back of my spine. I am ill-equipped for what I now know for certain is happening. I was just here to get towels—soft pink towels for my daughters. My partner, Rowan, is circling the parking lot because I said I wouldn’t be long. Megastores unnerve me—the height of the shelves, the length of each aisle, the endless choices in every department from produce to video games to home goods. Towels. Pink towels. Two dozen shades. All of it wreaks havoc with my anxiety, which Rowan has had to endure these eight years. There are small things, like checking twice that we’ve locked the car, and bigger things, like never letting anything go—a piece of evidence, an unlikely suspect, a witness who lies. Things that are