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.”