He cleared his throat, and added, “Especially now, when she’s so close to finding out if she’s going to South Africa.”
Away from him.
Well, at least she no longer seemed to be in pain. That had killed him the most: the blood on her chin, the agony in her eyes right before they closed and his unwanted, unwelcome sense of helplessness.
“Rafe!”
“What?” He’d been in a land all his own, just him and Janie. But Katie’s exclamation brought him back to earth.
“I was going to ask if you’d gotten any farther in your investigation into Patricia’s death, but now I’m more interested in what’s going on between you and Janie.”
“Patricia? Were you on a first-name basis with Patricia Reynolds?”
“Of course. A few years ago, some students did a documentary at BAA. Patricia brought her art students to design the sets. Now, what’s going on with you and Janie?”
“Nothing’s going on, except she’s involved in an investigation.”
“Yeah, right,” Katie said, switching from the lullaby to “Here Comes the Bride.”
Rafe ignored her—it was the pregnancy hormones, that’s all—and addressed Katie. “By all accounts Patricia accidentally ingested nuts that were in some brownies left in her office.”
“Who would leave brownies with nuts in Patricia’s office? She’s allergic.”
“You knew that?”
“Everybody did. She keeps an EpiPen in her purse as well as in the top drawer of her desk.”
“Georgia mentioned that she carried one,” Rafe said. “They found Patricia’s purse locked in the cabinet in her office. Exactly where Georgia said she put it. The EpiPen was there. Nothing appeared to be disturbed. And while the EpiPen was missing from the top drawer, the key to the cabinet was there, right where it was supposed to be.”
“You think she ran out of time?” Unspoken were the words or was someone preventing her...
“That’s a question we hope the medical examiner can answer.”
“Well, one thing’s for sure...” The words were throaty, as if the speaker needed a drink.
“Janie!”
If Katie wasn’t occupying the chair by Janie’s hospital bed, Rafe would have slid into it. Good thing, because he’d have taken Katie’s place and clutched Janie’s hand, and Katie would have started asking questions all over again.
Janie opened her eyes. They were dark and brooding. Not typical for her, but better than closed. And throaty had never sounded so good.
“What’s for sure?” Rafe asked, retreating to lean against the wall, by the window, away from the bed.
“My life’s in danger.”
“No,” Katie said quickly. “They’ve already spoken with the kid, Max Carter, who grabbed your book bag. It was an accident. He’s beside himself.”
“It wasn’t the grabbing of the bag that sent me down the stairs,” Janie protested. “It was whoever tangled their feet in mine, found the back of my knee and gave a little push.”