Page 92 of Pieces of Her (Andrea Oliver 1)

He had so much trouble trusting people. Everyone in his family had turned their backs on him. He had been forced to live on the streets. He had managed to pull himself up entirely on his own. Time and again, he had trusted people who had hurt him. It was no wonder that Jane had to repeatedly prove herself.

They were like yo-yos he could snap back with a flick of his wrist.

“Jane,” Andrew said.

She felt Danberry’s words echoing in her head. Was she like a yo-yo? Was Nick a con man? A cult leader? How different was he from Jim Jones? The People’s Temple had started out doing wonderful things. Feeding the homeless. Taking care of the elderly. Working to eradicate racism. And then a decade later, over nine hundred people, many of them children, were killed by cyanide-laced Kool-Aid.

Why?

“Jane, come on,” Andrew said. “The pigs don’t know anything. Not for certain.”

Jane shook her head, trying to banish the dark thoughts. Nick had said that the police would try to separate them, that their psyches would be poked and prodded in the hope that they would eventually turn on each other.

If nobody speaks, then no one will know.

Did Nick really believe the crazy-sounding things that came out of his mouth, or was this how he pulled Jane back in? She had spent six years of her life chasing after him, pleasing him, loving him, fighting with him, breaking up with him. She always went back. No matter what, she always found her way back.

Snap.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Jane let Andrew help her up. “Take me to Nick’s apartment.”

“He won’t be there.”

“We’ll wait for him.” Jane got back into the car. She searched her purse for some tissue. Her mouth felt like it was rotting from the inside. Maybe it was. Maybe everything was rotting, even the child they had made.

She anticipated Nick’s wry reaction—problem solved.

“It’s going to be okay,” Andrew turned the key. The Porsche fishtailed as he pulled away from the curb. “We just need to drive a bit. Maybe we’ll swing by Nick’s?”

Jane was confused by his avuncular tone, but then she realized that Andrew was talking for the bug that might be in the car.

She told him, “Danberry compared Nick to Donald DeFreeze.”

“Field Marshal Cinque?” Andrew gave her a careful look. He instantly got the portent of Danberry’s observation. “Does that make you Patricia Hearst?”

She said it again, “They think we’re in a cult.”

“Do Hare Krishnas drive Porsches?” Andrew didn’t realize that she wanted a real answer. He was still speaking for the benefit of a phantom listener. “Come on, Jinx. This is crazy. The pigs don’t like Nick, which is understandable. He’s being an asshole for no reason. Once they figure out he’s playing them, they’ll move on to investigating the real bad guys.”

Jane wondered if Andrew had accidentally hit on the truth. Why did Nick have to constantly play games? They were supposed to be taking this seriously—and since Oslo, everything had become deadly serious. What they were about to do in San Francisco, Chicago, and New York would bring the full weight of the federal government down on them. Nick couldn’t keep flying so close to the sun. They would all end up plummeting into prison cells.

“It’s nothing,” Andrew said. “We’re not a cult, Jinx. Nick has been my best friend for seven years. He’s been your boyfriend for six. Those agents are focused on him because they have to focus on someone. There always has to be a boogeyman with those people. Even David Berkowitz blamed his neighbor’s dog.”

Jane felt no relief from his cavalier words. “What if they don’t move on?”

“They’ll have to. Our father was murdered in front of our eyes.”

Jane winced.

“The FBI won’t fail us. Jasper won’t let that happen. They’ll catch whoever did this.”

She shook her head. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

That was exactly what she was worried about.

The car banked around a steep curve.