“Same as Will and me.” Well, not the off-and-on part. He and Will had been apart, yes, but never in their hearts. Corny as it sounded, he really believed that.
“Where’s Josip now?”
“He couldn’t get a travel visa.”
Hm.
“Where are you living in Europe? What do you do now?” Taylor asked.
“Croatia. I’m a director.”
“Director of?” He was thinking in terms of corporations, financial institutions, his new reality. A reality dominated by Webster Fidelity.
“Films. Movies. I direct films. I make movies.”
He couldn’t understand why Ashe’s eyes were suddenly bright and glittery, why he so abruptly sounded upset. “I had no idea. Wow. Good for you.”
Ashe said bitterly, “You don’t remember I was studying film in college? Do you remember anything? Do you ever think of me?”
“Well, of-of course,” Taylor was so startled, he actually—to his chagrin—stammered a little. “Of course I remember. Of course I think of you sometimes. I always hoped you were doing well, that you were happy and…things were good.”
“But you couldn’t be bothered to find out for yourself?”
What. The. Hell?
He said helplessly, “Ashe…”
Ashe laughed, shook his head. “I’m being an ass. Don’t mind me. You were my first love, so obviously it had an impact.”
“It had an impact on me too,” Taylor said. “It’s not like I was—am—so much older than you. I know I was sometimes oblivious. Maybe self-centered—”
“Insensitive, overbearing.”
Taylor fell silent.
“I’m kidding,” Ashe said quickly. “You were a kid. We were both kids. I don’t hold a grudge. I just wish it had meant more to you. You were one of the most important relationships in my life. I wish it had been that for you too. But that’s not realistic. I know.”
“It was an important relationship in my life as well. You were important to me. I was glad to see you last night, and I’m glad for the chance to help. I’m…sorry for any hurt I caused. Hopefully, helping you out now makes up for some of that.”
“No good deed goes unpunished,” Ashe said. “Can you just forget I said all that? You’re right about the Mexican coffees for breakfast. They’re a bad idea.”
Taylor refrained from comment, said instead, “Okay, well, I think I’ll go check in with the sheriff’s department. See what they can tell me.”
Ashe had gone back to searching the desk. “Don’t believe—” He broke off, saying, “Hey, look what I found!” and lifted out a Ruger LCP. “This was my dad’s.”
Taylor was not afraid of guns, not even after being shot, but something in the way Ashe handled that piece prickled the hair on the back of his neck.
He said without emotion, “I’m surprised your squatters left it.”
Ashe, still examining the pocket pistol, shrugged. “Missed it, I guess. They didn’t steal as much as you might think. That’s the funny part. But I guess that’s because Zamarion thought—thinks—he’s going to get it all anyway.”
He weighed the Ruger for a moment and then aimed it at Taylor’s face. His hand wasn’t quite steady. He smiled.
Time seemed to stop. Taylor could hear the wind moaning down the chimney, hear the clock ticking across the room, hear his heart thumping hard and steady in his ears.
“Remember teaching me to shoot?” Ashe said.
“I remember,” Taylor said. His mouth was dry, spitting the words out like bits of gravel. “We used to practice at the Beverly Hills Gun Club. Could you not point that at me?”
“It’s not loaded.”
Yeah, actually, that fucking gun was loaded. When you knew weapons as well as Taylor did, you could tell just from the heft of someone picking up a piece. It was loaded all right. But he knew with sickening certainty that if he said so, Ashe would fire at him just to prove a point.
He said in a flat, no-nonsense voice, “Put the gun down, Ashe.”
Ashe shrugged, lowered the Ruger. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Taylor resisted the desire to relieve his feelings by punching Ashe in his vacuous, glassy-eyed face. He said, “I was shot in the line of duty a couple of years ago. It…leaves an aftertaste.”
Ashe whistled. “You’re kidding. I’m really sorry. What was that like?”
“I don’t remember much about it,” Taylor lied, “but it’s not an experience I want to repeat.”
“No, I guess not. Obviously, I didn’t know.”
Until that very moment, Taylor had taken it for granted Ashe didn’t know, but something in the way he said it made him wonder.
Maybe Will had been right to question how Ashe had known where to find them. Maybe Ashe had been keeping track of Taylor through the years. It seemed unlikely, but some people did that—tracked their exes through social media, kept tabs through friends of friends. Clearly, Ashe had some unresolved feelings toward him, so maybe.
If that was the case, Ashe pointing a gun at him hadn’t merely been a dick move, it had been sadistic.
“Sure.” Taylor headed for the door, saying, “I’ll let myself out.”
Ashe followed. “You’ll keep me informed, right?”
“You bet.”
They walked down the long, tiled hall, out through the wood and iron door. The sunlight was almost blindingly bright, the air sweet. A seagull sat on the edge of one of tall blue urns, cranking its head this way and that, the better to see them.
Ashe said, “I don’t think I even thanked you for this, for trying to help me.”
“It’s okay.”
Taylor started down the wide front steps. From behind him, Ashe called, “I hate being here alone at night. I’m always afraid they’re going to come back. Like the Manson family.”
There was a grim thought. Taylor turned back to face him.
Ashe said, “But then that’s the same reason I don’t dare leave. In case they’re waiting for a chance to move back in.”
“I’ll try to locate Zamarion today,” Taylor promised. “I’m pretty sure we’ll manage to work something out.”
“You were never short on confidence,” Ashe agreed.
Taylor grimaced. “No. I just knew how to fake it.”
Ashe shook his head. Blurted, “You know, you could come back
