At 6:00 a.m., the regular patrol car was replaced by Rafe’s SUV and Janie fell into a sound sleep, no longer awakening every half hour.
She was safe.
* * *
“YOU MIGHT AS well admit that you miss him.”
The problem with sisters, Janie realized, especially a sister who’d taken on the role of both sister and mom, was they saw too much.
“I don’t miss him. It’s just that the Brittney Travis case has pretty much taken over my life. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“That’s only natural.”
For a moment, Janie hoped she’d succeeded in taking the focus off Rafe, but then...
“What’s not natural,” Katie continued, “is the way you look over your shoulder, as if expecting someone—”
“Every time I turn around, Rafe is there!”
“Not every time,” Katie teased, “and when he’s not there, the smile on your face disappears and the light in your eyes dies.”
“Oh, pooh,” Janie retorted. “You’ve been reading too many romance novels.”
Katie grinned. “That’s because the man who puts a smile on my face and the light in my eyes won’t let me do much of anything else until this baby is born.”
“And that same man—” Luke came up behind her, slipping his arms around her belly and holding both her and their soon-to-be baby in his grasp “—thinks it’s time for you to go and put your feet up. I’ll keep tabs on Janie.” He ended his request with a gentle kiss to Katie’s forehead.
Katie’d gotten lucky. There weren’t many men like Luke Rittenhouse around.
Janie could almost believe Rafael Salazar might be one.
Someone she could trust.
If only he wasn’t a cop.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE ART STUDENTS signed in quickly and nervously. They didn’t usually have to sign their names to anything, except their paintings. But Detective Nathan Williamson wasn’t usually at the front of their class. As they passed, a few whispered to each other and Janie heard disjointed words, phrases, questions.
“Did you see the drawing on TV last night?”
“Scary.”
“You think she’s dead?”
“Bad news.”
Janie was scared, too, and she well understood their discomfort. At one point early this morning—usually her favorite time of day—she’d sat in front of the bear’s habitat, a half-finished wall mural waiting in front of her, paintbrush in hand. But she had no idea where to begin, no idea how to continue, and the thought of what to do next terrified her.
Lately, memories of her childhood were tapping her on the shoulder quite often, reminding her that she still owned them. They hadn’t gone away as she’d pretended they had.