his owner around.” Ernest chuckled because it was funny, but he also might get a response.
Erica pulled her stethoscope out of her ears. “Yeah, Harry’s a lot for Toby and Molly to manage, but they try. God knows. They’re so hard-working, but one of them has always got Harry, even if he does pretty much run things. Maybe someday, one of their dog-training courses will actually train them instead of just training Harry, and they’ll discover he’s a lot more obedient than they think.” She laughed and typed something into her tablet.
Ernest smiled, but a trickle of disappointment tiptoed across his heart. There was something about that guy. Toby. From the first time Ernest had noticed him with that insane dog. Some combination of innocence and steadiness. It was crazy. It pulled at Ernest. He smiled. Like Harry pulled at Toby. Ernest let out a long, slow breath. He’d assumed Toby was married to that cute girl when he first saw him and had tried to look away. The two times he’d seen him since, he was once again with the cute girl. Suspicions confirmed. But today, something in his eyes and when he said, I’m Toby, by the way, gave Ernest a little ray of hope. Hope for what? Hell, who knew? And, of course, everything Erica said verified Toby, as presumed, was married. Just as well. With Ernest’s life, what would he do about it if Toby wasn’t married?
He walked out of the clinic, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. The black SUV slid to the curb beside him and Ernest climbed in, balancing the carrier on his lap.
Bill Henry said, “How’s the cat?”
“Doing good.”
They fell into tense silence as Bill drove through the stop-and-go traffic of Corona del Mar. Finally, Ernest said, “Have you gotten any confirmation?”
Bill sighed and shook his head. “Only the rumor.”
Ernest stared out the window and tried to sound casual. They both knew he wasn’t. “Hired assassins aren’t exactly Santorelli’s style. He really specializes in white-collar crime.”
“People learn all kinds of skills when they’re desperate. And he hasn’t had this kind of motivation before.” He glanced at Ernest. “Sometimes, criminals get to witnesses by threatening their families or loved ones.”
Ernest gave him a knowing nod. “And I don’t have any of those.”
“Exactly.”
Ernest snorted. “That’s a sad commentary. I’m so disconnected from the human race that all they can do to get rid of me is shoot me. And then nobody’ll miss me.”
Bill grinned. “There’s that cat.”
“I expect him to give me up as a bad job any day.” He sighed. “At least Santorelli doesn’t know where I am.”
“That’s our ace in the hole. Hopefully, if you maintain a low profile, we can get to the trial date without mishap. Transporting you in and out of the courtroom will be the real test.”
“Oh yay.” Ernest snorted.
“Don’t worry. That kind of protection’s our forte. Until then, though, we figure anyone looking for you will be asking about young men who are holed up somewhere with no obvious reason for being there. That’s why we want you to go out, take the cat to the vet, buy groceries, look like a regular guy. It’s less suspicious than someone who’s hidden away.” He pulled to the curb a block from Ernest’s apartment. “See you inside.”
Ernest climbed out and tucked the carrier under his arm. He stuck a finger through the grate on the carrier door and Cat rubbed his head against it. “I sure like having you around, buddy. But if the risk and inconvenience get too much, I’ll understand if you want to take off. I wouldn’t want to bet on me either.”
He walked toward the condo complex, soaking in a little of the afternoon warmth against the chill of his circumstances. Those pretty blue eyes of the guy, Toby, flashed in his mind. Maybe I’ll see you again. That sure was an odd thing for a married straight guy to say to another man.
Monday at four forty, Toby ran around the corner on the Corona del Mar street, cell phone pressed to his ear. “Please take Harry for his walk, Molly. I have an, uh, unexpected meeting I have to attend.”
“Toby, you know this is my evening with Rachel and Wendy.” Yes, she sounded exasperated, but he didn’t miss his assigned dog-walking evenings often.
“I know, but they won’t die if you’re fifteen minutes late. Will they? Come on, you forgot the vet appointment.”
She sighed loudly. “But I have to drive all the way to the