Page 101 of Pieces of Ash
“No. It’s, uh, Augustus Edgerton,” he says.
I look askance at Gus, my eyes wide, because I really thought I knew everything about him. “Edgerton?”
He shrugs. “Egérsounds better, baby doll.”
Simmons asks, “Is your home owned by Egér or Edgerton?”
“It was mine before we met,” says Jock. “It’s still under my name only.”
“That’s good. What about the gallery?” asks Simmons. “Is it registered under Egér or Edgerton?”
“Edgerton,” says Gus.
“That could buy a bit of time,” says Simmons, “but not much. Once Raumann figures out that Gus Egér and Augustus Edgerton are the same person, Ashley’s one step away.” Simmons glances at Jock. “You two should leave town. Go on vacation. Stay away until this is sorted out.”
“No!” says Gus, putting his arm around me.
Jock clears his throat. “Gus, honey?—”
“Don’t youhoneyme, Mr. Mishkin. I’m not leaving Ash! How can you even suggest that?”
“Because I love you,” Jock says simply. “Because if a priest is expendable, you’relessthan expendable. And I can’t lose you, baby. I won’t.”
My heart thunders as I look at Gus.Be brave, Ashley. Be brave. “Gus-Gus. You need to do what Jock says. If he says you need to go, you need to go.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Gus says.
Simmons interjects. “You should. It’s stupid to stay.”
“Excuse me,” says Jock, flicking a furious glance at the agent, “but that’s not necess?—”
“You know,” says Gus, interrupting Jock asheturns to Simmons, his brown eyes flashing with irritation, “you show up here last night, ordering us around, telling us we need to shut down the galleries. Now you’re telling me that I need to leave my goddaughter?—”
“Do you want a way out of this or not?” Simmons demands. “Do you want to help her or not? Because I feel like I’m just spinning my wheels here.”
“Do you have a plan?” I ask, turning away from Gus and staring at the FBI agent.
“I do.”
“And do you think it will work?”
He tilts his head for a second, then straightens it and grimaces. “I think it’s your best chance.”
“Then tell us what it is.”
“Ash, honey?—”
“Gus!” I cry. “We need help! We need to listen to him!”
His face is stoic and hurt as he stares back at me. “Fine.”
“Tell us the plan, Simmons,” says Julian, sitting forward on the couch, still holding my hand in his.
“Jock and Gus close their galleries and leave town. Get away from here. Somewhere obscure. Somewhere inconvenient.” He looks at Jock, who nods, avoiding his partner’s exasperated gasp from across the room. “I’ll move into the barn. Ducharmes,” he says, looking up at Julian, “I understand you were Secret Service?”
“I was.”
“I read your file.”
