What Janie Saw

by Pamela Tracy

  He thanked Amanda and shook her hand as she and her mother left.

  “I think that girl stood a bit taller on her way out the door,” Katie said.

  “And they’d both stopped crying,” Janie added.

  “You should have called me the minute she started talking.” Rafe studied the drawing again. He didn’t recognize the man. It wasn’t someone who called Scorpion Ridge home.

  “They would have bolted,” Janie said. “Amanda’s mom was talking about the whole family leaving, going on vacation.”

  “I hope not. I may want to talk to her again,” Rafe said.

  Janie quickly filled him in on what they’d done to arrive at the final sketch. He was impressed. He’d only watched a sketch artist at work once before, and that woman had come with lots of stock pictures of noses, eyes, ears, facial shapes.

  “You’re good. Maybe painting animals is not what you’re meant to be doing.”

  She frowned.

  “Just giving you a compliment.”

  “He’s right,” Katie said. “I had no idea you could draw people quite this well.”

  “I’d have nightmares,” Janie said finally, “if I had to listen to people describing criminals who’d done horrible things. It was hard enough with Amanda. She kept crying, and I felt helpless.”

  “You’re not helpless,” Rafe said. “A helpless woman wouldn’t have put this, my first real lead in days, in my hands.”

  Unfortunately, even as he said the words, Janie backed away, shaking her head, rejecting the compliment.

  Rejecting him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “DID YOU KNOW,” the student standing next to Janie said, “that art students accrue more debt than students with any other major?”

  Janie believed it. And, because it had been more than two weeks since she’d been able to work at the Adobe Hills Community College, she’d essentially just taken a salary reduction. Speaking of her major life change, she glanced around. Officer Candy Riorden leaned casually against a wall, checking something out on her cell phone, keeping Janie in sight.

  Janie only liked being cosseted when her bodyguard was Rafe, and lately, he’d more often been sending Candy or Chief Summerside to watch over her.

  The around-the-clock bodyguard detail was getting old, and unnecessary. With Patricia Reynolds’s death, the news media had seized on the story like a dog on a bone. They, more than anything or anyone, assured Janie’s safety.

  Too bad the stories hadn’t aired before the murderer decided to eliminate Patricia. Over three hundred people had attended the funeral. Of that number, at least a hundred had sought Janie out afterward, wanting to talk about Patricia. In the end, Rafe had put a protective arm around her and escorted her to his SUV and then home.

  A chill peppered Janie’s spine and she looked over at Candy. Having a bodyguard wasn’t all bad.

  Still, she was attempting to get her life back to normal. This morning, along with about thirty other university seniors, she was helping set up an art exhibit that she was participating in. Not just any art exhibit, but one that came with a prize.

  That Janie was desperate to win.

  “I’m glad you could help,” said one of Janie’s instructors.

  When she’d first been asked to be part of the exhibit, she’d had to refuse. Her tutoring and lab-assistance work kept her from doing any extras here at the university—she needed the money more than she needed to raise her profile. Truth was, sometimes she felt more like a visitor than a student at the university in Tucson. She did most of her art at BAA and she interacted more with students at Adobe Hills Community College.

  This event, the John Tompkins Exhibit, was part fund-raiser, part spotlight. Most of Janie’s peers were into abstract. Janie was the sole wildlife painter. She didn’t mind. It made her work stand out. She had three pieces in the exhibit, all boasting residents of BAA. The one of Crisco the bear was her best, but she’d painted him the most. She’d titled the offering First Step, and it showed Crisco walking out a door—no one had to know it was actually the door of the zoo’s infirmary. Her next piece depicted Cheeky. He was standing by the biggest tree in his enclosure, looking up at a hot-air balloon. It was a vantage-point painting, and a scene Janie had glimpsed on a crisp morning before the first visitor had come through BAA’s doors. She called it There’s No Place Like Home, because she was sure Cheeky was wishing himself somewhere else. The last painting was of her sister’s black panther, Aquila. He was dancing, up on two legs, and looking both regal and predatory. She’d entitled it One Owner Heart, and intended to give it to Katie for her birthday.

  Aquila, as a black panther, was a breed that didn’t tame. And yet, Aquila had always been Katie’s, just as Janie had.

  By three that Friday afternoon, they’d finished setting up the exhibit. Tables were ready for food, chairs were ready for people and the director of the art department was already figuring out more ways to get patrons to part with their money.

  In this case, most of the “patrons” were parents who had already parted with their money. It was called tuition.

  At four, Janie’s phone rang. It was Georgia, and she sounded a bit frantic. “We lost Gabriella, Patricia’s temporary replacement. She fell off a ladder as she was painting a wall. Four broken ribs. Her doctor says she can’t return to work for six weeks.”

  “That’s almost to the end of the semester.”

  “Yes,” Georgia agreed. “She only taught the one class.”

  “My Monday/Wednesday.”

  “The students have made their wishes very clear to the school president. They want you as their teacher, or they want their money back.”

  “I’m not qualified—”

  “They can do it as a special assignment, one semester only, emergency contract.”

  “Is it safe?”

  Even over the phone, Janie could hear the gush of breath that Georgia released. “I’m not sure I’ll ever feel safe again. But the campus police haven’t relaxed. They’re persistent. And now we have community-watch volunteers driving through the parking lot and handing out whistles in the cafeteria.”

  “But is it safe for me to return?”

  “I can’t answer that. One of the deans will be calling you shortly. I’m just supposed to make you aware of the job offer. You’ll need to make a choice by four-forty-five so I can get the paperwork started.”

  “Let me call...”

  No, she wasn’t going to call Rafe. He wasn’t her boss, only her protector, and she could make her own decisions. She’d worked hard to get to where she was: living with Katie, majoring in what she wanted and giving her dreams a chance to become real. She didn’t need a man to mess with her mind.

  She had goals.

  He was already getting in the way.

  If she gave him a toehold, he’d take over. Cops were like that; it was the way they were wired.

  Even though he kept trying to make her forget that.

  “I’ll give you an answer now—yes.” Janie followed her yes with a quick call to the dean. Then, she was once again gainfully employed as a teacher—one of the stipulations for getting the summer artist-in-residence position in South Africa. She was back on track.

  * * *

  “I DON’T LIKE IT,” Rafe said that evening when he came to the exhibit to take over as her bodyguard. “They can get someone else to take the class. Your safety is more important.”

  Janie stood next to him, wondering at his taste in art. He seemed drawn to a watercolor of seven horses running toward a sunset. Judging by the details, she doubted the artist had ever been near a real horse. These animals were too perfect. And besides, pastel colors could never catch the real essence of a living, breathing equine.

  Rafe was somewhat color-blind, she reminded herself.
That could be the only reason he found the watercolor remotely interesting.

  “It’s been two weeks, nothing’s happened.”

  “Yes,” Rafe agreed, “and we’ve worked hard to make sure nothing did happen.”

  Janie hadn’t seen him dressed up before. Mostly, he’d been outfitted in his uniform—brown khaki pants, a tucked-in tan shirt with sheriff patches on both arms. His badge was usually over his left breast. He finished up the attire with cowboy boots.

  Maybe he was a closet cowboy.

  Tonight, though, for her exhibit, he’d dressed up—dark gray pressed slacks, a tucked-in white shirt and a gray-and-black sweater. For once, his hair didn’t look as though he’d just run his fingers through it.

  She’d always been aware of how black his hair was, just not how thick. Even in different clothes, however, she was sure he still carried a gun, and she noted his police radio clipped to his belt. Other than that, he could have been her suave date for the evening.

  “Whoever was worried about Derek’s art book has probably realized that if something substantial was in it, the police would have discovered him by now.”

  Rafe frowned. “Or you were out of sight, out of mind. Heading back to the Adobe Hills campus could put you in his sights again. Remember, we’re working under the assumption that there’s a connection between the school and whoever killed Derek and Patricia.”

  Rafe had told her earlier that Derek’s body had finally been released to his parents. To Janie, it felt like closure. Going back into the classroom would cement that feeling even more.

  “Yes, but messing with me would keep him in the spotlight when he should just slink away.”

  “That’s how a rational person would think. Killers aren’t always rational.”

  She had no argument for that, and, luckily, Rafe let the subject drop.

  “Yours are the best,” he said, stopping in front of her drawing of Aquila dancing.

  “You’re prejudiced.”

  “No, cops aren’t allowed to play favorites. It gets us in trouble.”

  “We certainly wouldn’t want that.”

  She almost missed his response because he muttered it under his breath. He, however, had a deep voice, rich and full. It was like hot chocolate on a cool night, wrapping her in a cocoon that promised safety and something else.

  Something she’d never let herself dream about.

  Making that toehold she’d worried about earlier an even bigger reality.

  He said, “I’m already in trouble.”

  * * *

  A GUITAR QUARTET, made up of two men and two women, stood behind a microphone and started strumming. The tune was upbeat, something Spanish-y, but they kept the volume low enough so the people milling through the John Tompkins Exhibit could still talk. Rafe just wanted to grab Janie and get out of there.

  Some of the displayed art had price tags displayed; others had bid sheets nearby. Janie clearly was in her element as she spoke to the people admiring her work. The picture of Crisco got her the most attention, as his story had been in the news. Rafe and Janie had both been there when the young cub was discovered.

  Keeping his eyes on Janie as she sipped from a bottle of water and answered questions, Rafe remembered that the day he’d met Crisco was actually the first time he’d met Janie. He ambled over to study the painting of the bear. The highest bid was seven hundred and fifty dollars.

  Rafe couldn’t remember if he’d ever purchased any art to go on his walls. He lived in a small house just north of the Corner Diner. He had two bedrooms—one that he used for an office—plus a living room, kitchen and bathroom. He’d decorated in two ways. One, with stuff he’d carried over from his childhood. Or two, with stuff his mother had bought him because she couldn’t bear his sparse bachelor’s pad.

  If his mother had her wish, he’d still be living at home.

  She should have had ten children instead of just Ramon and Rafe.

  And all she wanted now was grandchildren.

  Taking the pen attached to the stand holding the bid sheet, Rafe wrote eight hundred on the paper. Then, he crossed the number out. Without another thought, he wrote one thousand.

  He wanted the painting.

  But what he really wanted was the woman.

  She possessed the one trait he really valued in a woman—she was willing to change. She’d been open to viewing cops in a different light. Plus she could be soft and creative when necessary, but then switch to sturdy and focused if need be. And she did it with courage and beauty.

  If he didn’t watch out, he’d fall in love. The annual policemen’s banquet was fast approaching. Rafe usually took a date. This year, there was only one woman he wanted to invite. And yet, he hesitated to blur the line between business and pleasure.

  Falling for her, right now, wasn’t a good idea. It meant questions he wasn’t ready to answer, commitments he wasn’t prepared to make, feelings he wasn’t prepared to share. Not to mention the fact that she distracted him so thoroughly that he could miss something important in the case.

  So, after battling with himself, he decided not to invite her, taking the joy out of his evening.

  By ten, the finger food had vanished, the quartet had packed up and the last of the art students hurried around making sure nothing was left behind.

  Janie had earned almost two thousand for the art department; half of that came from Rafe’s now protesting checkbook. She’d also, because of the painting Rafe now owned, earned an honorable mention.

  “The judges were blind. You should have won the award,” was Rafe’s comment.

  “The competition was fierce. The program has a lot of talented artists enrolled.”

  “Yes, but first place went to a watercolor of weirdly colored horses.”

  She stopped hustling about, picking up bid sheets, broken pencils and such. The look she shot him then was priceless, and for the first time in his life, he realized he’d said exactly the right thing to a female.

  At exactly the right moment.

  The Arizona moon glittered in a blue velvet sky. The slight breeze seemed to nudge him closer to Janie. Close enough so that he could bend down and kiss her.

  So he did.

  His fingers cupped her cheeks gently, tilting her face upward as his lips met hers, hesitantly at first, but then claiming ownership and something else, something that spread warmth right to his heart and made him want.

  If someone hadn’t dropped an easel right behind them, he’d have explored more, touched more, gotten lost in the feel of her lips on his. If someone hadn’t dropped an easel right behind them, he’d have had to admit that he wanted her, like he’d never wanted before.

  And that was exactly why Janie was dangerous.

  * * *

  AS A LAB ASSISTANT, Janie had taken whatever classes Adobe Hills had offered her. Thus, both classes she’d helped in were evening classes. Even her tutoring stint was in the late afternoon. But now suddenly Janie was on campus during prime time, and the days were different. There was a liveliness to the campus that was missing during the evening.

  Today, her return to campus, she’d dressed with a little more care than she had as the lab assistant. After all, it was her first time as the actual instructor. Surely there was no other reason.

  And her disappointment that, instead of Rafe, one of Nathan’s police officers was her escort around campus had nothing to do with Rafe not seeing her on what she considered a big day.

  Though he’d promised he’d be here as soon as he finished in court. Maybe he’d be at the door when she ended her class. He could take her out for ice cream or something, to celebrate.

  Her ultimate goal was not to be a teacher, but it would look good on her résumé. Just this morning she’d sent off her virtual portfolio to the search committee in
South Africa. She hoped they were wowed by it. An honorable mention from the John Tompkins Exhibit at the University of Arizona was something to be proud of.

  Funny, she’d spent the whole weekend not thinking about the award but instead about the sight of Rafe carrying her painting to his SUV.

  And the fire in his eyes that said he wanted to carry her to the SUV.

  Since moving to Scorpion Ridge, she’d had a few dates here and there. For a while, Adam had seemed like the perfect guy for her. And he was—the perfect guy friend. For a while, Georgia had talked about her son, but Janie had only joked about enjoying her single state.

  She’d even, at Katie’s insistence, gone out with Rafe well over a year ago. Janie had only done it to appease her sister and prove to Katie that a cop would never be the perfect male, and she hadn’t been disappointed when he didn’t call for a second date.

  Maybe she should have given him more of a chance. She’d been overly flippant with him, purposely distant and somewhat rude.

  She’d had her defenses up, for sure.

  A whole year later, she realized those defenses had been unnecessary.

  Once this investigation was over, she was going to get more of a life. She’d not just teach and spend her days either lost in her art or with family. She’d start socializing. Maybe she’d even listen to what Katie had to say about falling in love, how it changed your life but didn’t have to change your dreams.

  Then again, Rafe was so committed to Scorpion Ridge, and nothing was keeping Katie from her dream of actually painting a lion in its natural habitat. She was so close.

  First, though, she had to get through the next month—alive.