those kisses hadn’t been entirely for show. There’d been serious heat behind them, no matter what Ernest might say to Bill, and Toby had to know it. He must have gotten the wrong idea. Or maybe the right idea. Shit.
Bill went back to typing. “When’s this retreat?”
“This coming Friday in Cambria.”
“Cambria?”
“That’s what Toby said.”
“On the central coast?” His fingers kept clicking on computer keys.
“Yeah. He said the retreat starts on Friday. I’m not sure how they expect people to get there in time. It’s a five-hour drive without LA traffic.”
“Yeah, that’s a pretty out-of-the-way place.”
Ernest sighed. “I guess so.” He rose, restlessly, tucked Cat under his arm, and stalked into his bedroom. Three more weeks of this total isolation and he’d go insane, and he could barely stand to think what a mess he’d made of Toby’s life. Of course, pretending to your controlling employers that you had a fiancé when you didn’t was pretty career-limiting, so Ernest wasn’t entirely to blame. Still, he’d thought he was providing a win/win. How would he feel if Toby had suddenly disappeared from his life?
Cat wriggled and Ernest set him down on the bed where he promptly pranced onto Ernest’s pillow, kneaded a soft spot and sank into his nest.
Ernest walked to the window and looked out. He had no great view. Just the vista of an open field and a busy road beyond. His apartment building delineated the end of the Corona del Mar village, looking over at regular Newport Beach beyond it. Ernest’s apartment was in the least desirable location in that building. He’d acquired it for its anonymity, not because he couldn’t have afforded better. For good or ill, Santorelli’s cheating had made Ernest well off. Before Ernest, or actually Jack, realized that Santorelli’s so-called genius investment scheme was actually a Ponzi scam, he’d benefited from the legitimate investment research he’d done to help Santorelli. While Santorelli used Ernest’s data to convince people the businesses they were buying into were hidden moneymakers, Ernest had actually invested in the companies he uncovered.
Lotta good it did him. When Ernest had contacted the authorities and offered to testify against Santorelli, he’d assumed that the financier, like Madoff and others before him, would go down without a fight once he’d been found out.
Yeah, no.
Now, there Ernest sat, hidden away, hundreds of miles from his home and anyone he knew—with a potential killer searching for him.
He turned and stalked to the bathroom where he brushed his teeth, just to have something to do, then leaned on the sink.
Bill was going to attempt to keep Ernest alive for three more weeks so he could testify. After that, Ernest could live his life. Assuming the hired assassin’s contract expired when Santorelli went to prison, of course.
But what would his life be? He had no job, no home, or even friends. Most of the people he’d left behind had been from the world of big investment, and in that community, Ernest was a suspicious character, either because he’d worked for Santorelli or because he turned him in—or both. Plus, he didn’t even want to go back there.
What do I want to do?
Hell, if he applied that question to the rest of his life, it was way too huge to contemplate. He barely had any choice about what to do with his present.
But he did have some.
His attention crept up to his reflection in the mirror, and he smiled.
“Woof.” Tenor bark.
“Woof.” Baritone bark.
Molly held Harry back from jumping into the car as Toby fastened the back of the super-complicated dog car-seat he’d installed on top of his console. Batshit sat in it like the freaking queen of the world. After inspecting a full aisle of options, it became clear that Bat would never accept a seat that didn’t let her look out. At her size, that was no easy thing. This ridiculously expensive accoutrement had been his only option. Bat appeared to approve, but she was vibrating with tension.
Toby said, “Ironic that Em and Finn didn’t take Bat because she hates the car, and now she has to ride with me all the way to the central coast.” He carefully put a chicken chew into the car seat, and Bat gave him a look like, You can’t fool me, bucko. I know when I’m being bought off.
Molly said, “You’re really sure this is a good idea? I mean, it could get ugly when they discover Mr. Rat Bastard isn’t there. I don’t want you going through that, bro.”
Toby shook