What Janie Saw(9)

                The human predator wasn’t all that different.

                “Right now,” Rafe said, “we just have to focus on finding out what was in the art book so we can take the next steps. Derek’s not a threat to Janie.”

                Janie’s fingers tightened around the pencil, but she didn’t look at the paper. Instead she stared at Rafe. “What do you mean he’s not a threat? How can he not be a threat if what I read is true?”

                A case that already set his cop teeth on edge was going to get even uglier. She needed the truth. “Chaney’s dead. He died this weekend in a meth-lab explosion.”

                * * *

                GUILT PRICKLED UP the back of Janie’s neck even as she felt the floor tilt. She started to stand, wanting to run but unsure of where to go. Derek’s death wasn’t something she could escape from. Nor could she escape her guilt that she’d been relieved by Derek’s absence this past week.

                She hadn’t realized it would be permanent.

                She should have tried harder to reach the kid, to find out what made him so unhappy, so dark.

                Katie opened her mouth to say something, but Janie settled back into her seat and stopped her. “I’m fine. Really fine. I know what I need to do.”

                But crowded with three people, the walls of the office started to close in on her. The room was devoid of color.

                It made her remember living with her aunt. They’d rented a barren apartment, with no real colors anywhere to brighten the mood of the place. Until she picked up her paintbrushes and created.

                Rafe must have picked up on her assessment of his office. “We can do this somewhere else if you’d like? We have a nice conference room.”

                No, the brown, black and beiges of his office were fitting colors for what she was about to do. If they walked through the police station again, she’d have to see the men in uniform. She’d have to think about how they shone their flashlights while they searched for people on the run. Rafe was dressed like one of those cops, even though he was the sheriff. His badge was bigger, too.

                “Here’s fine,” she managed to say.

                Katie excused herself and went to find the ladies’ restroom. Janie relaxed a little bit. She should have come by herself, should never have dragged a pregnant Katie along.

                “I’m sorry you have to go through this,” Rafe said.

                She’d heard that line before, from cops even.

                Rafe didn’t look like any of the cops she’d met, though. His black hair was somewhat short, straight, and only mussed where he’d run his fingers through it in frustration. His piercing eyes were as black as his hair. He gazed at her as if he could see past the facade she presented the public. He was a big guy, solid. He was the kind of guy who would catch you when you fell and not grunt because you weighed more than one-thirty.

                She got the feeling he really was sorry.

                But many of the cops she’d dealt with had been sorry for what they’d put her through. Rafe was no different. She didn’t need his sympathy. After all, he would only be sorry until he didn’t need her anymore. Then he’d forget her as the next day, the next crime, dawned.

                Typical cop, or sheriff, or person in authority, or whatever.

                Janie’d learned at a young age to only trust herself and her sister, Katie. That was why Janie drew animals. They gave no false pretenses, had no ulterior motives.