See Jane Die by Erica Spindler Read Free Book Online Page A

working.”
    â€œAnything good?”
    â€œReally good. A woman named Anne.” She smiled. “I hope I can include her segment in the show. It’ll depend on whether or not I finish the sculptural pieces.”
    He pulled a copy of Texas Monthly magazine from his backpack. He laid it on the table between them. “Hot off the presses.”
    Her image gazed up at her from the cover. She struggled with conflicting emotions, not the least of which was the urge to hide. She had always avoided her image, and now here she was for all of Texas to see.
    â€œWhere did you get it?”
    â€œA patient who works at the magazine. Take a deep breath, they mailed the issue out Monday.”
    She didn’t comment. Couldn’t find her voice.
    â€œYou look beautiful,” Dave said.
    She would never be beautiful. But it was a good shot. Interesting. Evocative. The photographer had used strong directional lighting to highlight one side of her face and cast the other in shadow.
    â€œThe brutal, beautiful vision of Cameo,” she murmured, reading the headline under her photo. She shifted her gaze to her friend. “I’m almost afraid to look.”
    â€œYou come off as brilliant.”
    â€œDon’t tease me.”
    â€œI wouldn’t.” He motioned toward the magazine. “Go ahead, read it.”
    She did. The interviewer hit on her past, the accident, how art saved her. The remainder of the article was about her work. The process, the recent national attention and critical acclaim she had received.
    Although the piece focused on her art, the magazine had included a photograph of Jane and Ian and one of her at fifteen, shortly after the accident.
    She stared at the grainy image, lifted from a newspaper clipping from the time, her mouth going dry.
    â€œThey had to include that,” she said bitterly. “The obligatory gross-out shot.”
    â€œStop it, Jane.”
    â€œCan’t show beauty without the beast.”
    â€œYou can’t hide from your past. It’s who you are.”
    â€œI look like a monster. Including it was gratuitous.”
    â€œJane.” At his tone, she met his eyes. “Let it go.”
    â€œI know, but—”
    â€œLet it go.” He lowered his voice. “Your art is a reflection of who you are and what you lived through. You say so in the article. It makes sense they included it.”
    She digested that, knowing he was right but hating to see herself that way. Knowing everyone was going to see her that way. “It hurts,” she admitted.
    â€œOf course it does.”
    â€œI want people to look at the art, not me.”
    â€œCan’t separate the two, babe,” he said. “Sorry.”
    â€œBastard. Prick.”
    â€œI’ve been called worse.”
    â€œBy most of the women you dated.”
    â€œI can live with that.”
    He’d always had the ability to drag her out of herself. She smiled and slid the magazine across the table.
    â€œKeep it.” He nudged it back, then looked her directly in the eye. “Time’s up, Jane. Spill it.”
    â€œSpill what?”
    â€œWhat’s bothering you.”
    â€œI can’t simply arrange a visit with an old friend without being accused of having ulterior motives?”
    He cocked an eyebrow. “Less than two weeks before your one-person exhibit opens at the Dallas Museum of Art? In a word, no.”
    â€œSmart-ass.”
    â€œJust plain smart, potty mouth.”
    Any other time she would have smiled. “The nightmare’s back.”
    He didn’t have to ask which one, he knew. “Any changes?”
    â€œOne.” She laced her fingers. “The boater doubles back, to make another pass at me. To finish the job. I wake up screaming.”
    â€œHow many times—”
    â€œThree in two weeks.”
    â€œAnything going on in your life besides a perfect marriage and impending fame?”
    She hesitated. She