Then she gave him a glare that almost stopped him in his tracks. He was used to people being grateful, looking up to him, believing him, wanting to be taken care of, trusting him. Janie Vincent didn’t trust him.
Before he was quite ready, she stood, practically tapping her foot in impatience. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
“You want me to stay, Janie?” Katie asked.
“No, you go on back to work. I’ll find—”
“I’ll make sure she gets home,” Rafe asserted.
Janie’s eyes narrowed. For some reason, Little Miss Vincent didn’t appreciate his offer.
Rafe gathered up what he needed for court, and then followed Janie and Katie out his office door. Katie hurried toward the exit, checking her watch, too. Before Rafe could steer Janie toward the back room, she caught the attention of one of his auxiliary officers. The cop gave her an appreciative once-over before Rafe sent him packing. Then he gently guided Janie to the back room and set her up in front of a computer before summoning his chief of police, Jeff Summerside.
It took her a moment to realize what he planned and then her only question was, “I’m surprised, as small as Scorpion Ridge is, that you’re not still using mug-shot books?”
“I’m not even sure they still make Polaroid film,” he told her wryly. “As a border community, CopLink is a necessity. It saves time and manpower.”
He typed in some keywords and soon Janie was perusing faces. It was all Rafe could do to walk from the room, away from her and what she was doing, and hurry to court. He wanted to be sitting next to her, noting her reaction, and seeing if any of the faces meant something not only to her but also to him.
But he trusted his chief of police.
He wasn’t sure he trusted the officer who’d given her the once-over. At least, not when it came to Janie.
And that made no sense at all.
* * *
JANIE TOOK A deep breath and looked at yet another young, angry face. Chief Summerside had typed in various bits of information, bringing up the type of people who might be associated with Derek Chaney.
Just as Janie was wondering what type of keywords Summerside had used in his search—scary, mean, glowerer must surely have been among them—the officer left to take a private call. Leaving Janie to sit on a hard chair and feel alone. Vulnerable. It wasn’t Janie’s first time at a police station. It was, however, the first time she’d entered the doors without a police escort. And this time her sister, Katie, had been escorting her in instead of out.
Rafe’s words, I’ll make sure she gets home, had taken Janie back to a low point in her life. Janie had just turned thirteen, and her big sister Katie, now of legal age, had left Aunt Betsy’s.
Alone with her alcoholic aunt, Janie had been terrified, and for a solid year the system couldn’t be convinced that an eighteen-year-old guardian—one who had a job, was in college and with no police record—was better than a fifty-year-old aunt who couldn’t hold a job, keep an apartment, and had lost her driver’s license thanks to her best friend vodka.
“I’ll make sure she gets home.”
Janie closed her eyes. He couldn’t have picked a worse declaration. During the year Katie had fought the system, Janie had run away eight times.