CHAPTER 1
ARTHUR
I sat behind the counter at Safe Haven animal rescue, listening to my shelter manager calling me from across the ocean. “Did you see the video?” The happiness in Shane’s voice made me smile. “Was that cool or what?”
“Hang on.” I swiped my phone over to where I had a waiting text from Shane’s boyfriend, Theo. Sure enough, there was a video attached. When I hit play, I saw Shane with his little white cat Mimsy doing their routine of Mimsy-tricks with the iconic architecture of Paris behind them. In this short clip, Mimsy jumped from the ground up to Shane’s shoulder, then balanced on his head and raised one paw in a salute.
I said, “Did you just busk in front of Notre Dame?”
Shane had lived off his wits and Mimsy’s skills for a long time, but Theo was rich enough he no longer needed to.
“Not busking,” Shane told me. “I didn’t put the hat out. Wouldn’t risk breaking the law here. But Mimsy was riding on my shoulder and these two kids asked if she was a real cat, speaking English with the cutest French accents, and I couldn’t resist letting her show off a bit.”
Of course he couldn’t. Shane would deny it till he was blue in the face, but he was a sucker for kids, and for that little cat. Letting her shine while making kids laugh was his favorite thing. Aside from being with Theo, of course.
The newfound brightness of Shane’s voice warmed me, even as I pushed aside an unworthy pang of jealousy. Shane had lived a much harder life than I had—forced to leave his family as a teenager, going homeless, sometimes going hungry, so independent it’d taken Theo months to persuade him love didn’t have to come with strings.
My own family might’ve lost interest in me long ago, but I’d never gone without a meal. Now Shane and Theo had a relationship so solid even Shane was willing to trust it. I should be happy for my friend and stop thinking about how I was ten years older and far more alone. “Sounds like fun.”
“France is something else.” Shane laughed. “The history’s just everywhere, the food’s amazing, and the cafés all let me bring Mimsy inside.” His tone became less animated. “Are you sure you’re okay without my help? We’ll be out of touch for a week, once we hit Africa and get out in the bush. I feel guilty?—”
“Don’t,” I cut in. “The shelter’s doing well. I have Neil on the office side and plenty of volunteers to help with animal care. Safe Haven will get along just fine without you for a month. Not that you aren’t super valuable,” I hurried to add, because it was the truth. “But we’ll survive. I’m counting on some pictures of the charismatic megafauna when you get to Kenya.”
Theo had a photo safari planned for them, and Shane had researched every wild critter they were likely to see and a few they weren’t. His latching onto the scornful term charismatic megafauna for the big popular critters hadn’t masked how eager he was to see them all.
Unless we were hit by a tornado here in SoCal or a plague wiped out all our volunteers, I wasn’t going to ask Shane to cut their trip short.
Shane added, “And how’s Foxy doing?”
“Hah. The ulterior motive,” I teased. “You really only called me to talk about your dog. Nina’s doing great with her, you know that.” I’d offered to dog-sit, but Foxy didn’t really like the hustle and bustle of the shelter. She was happier with one of the volunteers, and I’d visited her at Nina’s where she was getting thoroughly spoiled.
“You are checking up on her, right?”
“Yes, Shane—” The chime of an incoming call interrupted us.
Kevin.
“I’ve got to go,” I told Shane. “Our favorite thirteen-year-old is on the other line.”
Shane chuckled. “A voice call from Kevin? Yeah, better find out what limping otter or mangy raccoon he wants you to help now.”
“I’ll send you Foxy pics.” I ended that call and switched over. Shane wasn’t pulling examples out of thin air. Last time, Kevin had wanted me to figure out how to get thirty-dollar flea-and-tick chews into a wild fox with mange… “Hey, Kev. What’s up?”
Kevin’s breathless tones came sharp over the phone. “There’s a dog and I think it’s hurt and this guy’s going to shoot it!”
“Whoa. Wait.” I jumped to my feet, waving at Vicky, today’s volunteer who was straightening up the store, to gesture that I was heading outside. “If someone has a gun, you get yourself out of there now, kid.”
“He’s not pointing it at me. He’s pointing it at the dog.”
“I don’t care. Get well away from him, you hear me?”
Kevin’s voice sounded distant and muffled, as if he was speaking away from the phone. “She’s just scared, sir. She’s not going to hurt you. I swear. Don’t shoot her.”
“Kevin! Leave the man with the gun alone.” I jogged to my elderly pickup in the shelter parking lot, digging in my pocket for the keys. “Where are you?”
I heard the bass rumble of an adult male voice, the words inaudible. Then Kevin said, “Culver Street. 3027. Hurry.”
“Get yourself to safety. Call 9-1-1 and then call one of your dads.”
