Page 118 of Pieces of Her (Andrea Oliver 1)

Andrew coughed into the crook of his arm. Jane reached out to touch his face. His skin had the texture of cotton candy.

Nick said, “Glad you practiced now, aren’t you, troops?” Like Andrew, his face was splattered with blood. His hair had fallen into his left eye. He had that familiar look of exhilaration, as if everything was perfect. “Imagine going over that ladder for the first time without having your training to—”

Jane sat up. She should have gone to Nick, but she leaned her back against the hump over the tire. Could she call Jasper? Could she find a telephone, beg him for help, and wait for her big brother to swoop in and save them all? How would she tell him that she had been responsible for helping to kill their father? How could she look him in the eye and say that everything they had done until this point was not the result of some form of collective derangement?

A cult.

“Jinx?” Nick asked.

She shook her head, but not at Nick. Even Jasper could not save her now. And how would she reward him if he tried, by being part of a plot to send him to prison for healthcare fraud?

Nick crawled on his knees to the locked box that Quarter had bolted to the floor. He dialed in the combination on the lock—

6-12-32.

They all knew the combination.

Jane watched him push up the lid. He removed a blanket, a Thermos filled with water. All part of the escape plan. There were Slim Jims, a small cooler, various emergency supplies and, secreted beneath a false bottom, $250,000 in cash.

Nick poured some water into the cup of the Thermos. He found the handkerchief in his back pocket and cleaned his face, then leaned over and wiped at Andrew’s cheeks until they turned ruddy.

Jane watched her lover clean blood from her brother’s face.

Maplecroft’s? Quarter’s?

She said, “We don’t even know his real name.”

They both looked at her.

“Quarter,” she said. “We don’t know his name, where he lives, who his parents are, and he’s dead. We watched him die, and we don’t even know who to tell.”

Nick said, “His name was Leonard Brandt. No children. Never married. He lived alone at 1239 Van Duff Street. He worked as a carpenter over in Marin. Of course I know who he is, Jinx. I know everyone who is involved in this because I am responsible for their lives. Because I will do whatever it takes to try to protect all of you.”

Jane couldn’t tell whether or not he was lying. His features were blurred by the tears streaming from her eyes.

Nick put the cup back on the Thermos, telling him, “You don’t look so good, old pal.”

Andrew tried to muffle a cough. “I don’t feel so good.”

Nick grabbed Andrew’s shoulders. Andrew grabbed Nick’s arms. They could’ve been in a football scrimmage.

“Listen,” Nick said. “We’ve had a hard time, but we’re back on track. You’ll rest at the safe house, you and Jane. I’ll be back from New York as soon as I can, and we’ll watch the world fall down together. Yes?”

Andrew nodded. “Yes.”

Jesus.

Nick patted Andrew’s cheek. He slid across the van toward Jane, because it was her turn for the rousing pep talk that pulled her back on side.

“Darling.” His arm looped around her waist. His lips brushed her ear. “It’s okay, my love. Everything is going to be okay.”

Jane’s tears came faster. “We could’ve died. All of us could’ve—”

“Poor lamb.” Nick pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Can’t you believe me when I tell you that we’re all going to be okay?”

Jane’s mouth opened. She tried to pull breath into her shaking lungs. She wanted so desperately to believe him. She told herself the only things that mattered right now in this moment: Nick was safe. Andrew was safe. The baby was safe. The ladder had saved them. The tunnel had saved them. The van had saved them.

Nick had saved them.