Running Away With You (Running #3) (33 page)

“Good morning, Chief.”  His hair is wet and he smells heavenly.  Who knew a sweaty man could smell so damned good.  “How long have you been up here?”

He looks at the timer on the treadmill.  “About ten minutes.  Gimme another hour or so, then I’ll be down after a quick shower.”

“Do me a favor,” I tell him, licking my lips at the mere thought.  “Come get me
before
you shower.”

He raises just one eyebrow and gives me an unapologetic half smile.  “I can do that.”

Heading downstairs, I grab a yogurt and some fresh fruit while I wait for my laptop to power up.  I have an hour to myself and it’s time to begin unraveling a mystery.

I begin by doing a generic Internet search for birth announcements.  I try entering the keywords
Laci Keilani
and
Kai Keilani
, but it turns up nothing.  It doesn’t help that I have no idea where she was living when the baby was born.  I search Los Angeles, where the Sports Focus headquarters is located.  I search Monmouth County, where her family now resides.  I search San Francisco, where I know she has some extended family.  I search Houston, where Evan was living at the time of their chance meeting.  No luck whatsoever.

I’m not going to find any public records.  Maybe it’s because it’s been over two years and the public announcements have all been archived.  There have been no articles written and no interviews given.  She’s obviously done a stellar job of keeping her child shielded from the public.  But why?

It’s time for a course correction.  My new focus is on tracing Laci’s whereabouts over the last three years.  Perhaps if I can find out when she changed jobs, I can create a timeline that might generate some helpful clues.

I focus my search criteria on
Sports Focus
,
Laci Keilani
, and
resignation
, which returns hundreds of hits.  There are several press releases and numerous interviews with Laci following her resignation.  I even pull up a video of her final on-camera report as one of their field reporters.  No sign of a baby bump.  She states over and over again in each interview that she is leaving for personal reasons.  Her father seems to have suffered a stroke, and she tells the viewers that she needs to return to the East Coast to help care for him.  Her last day on the job was in April, two and a half years ago.

I make note of the exact date and move on. 

How long was she unemployed?  I know she was working for the Celebrity News Network for some time.  It takes me quite a few searches, changing the search parameters and terms, but eventually I find an announcement on the Celeb News Net website announcing the arrival of Laci Keilani to their news team.  According to the article, she began working with them in February.

I take additional notes and scribble my calculation.

Note:  Unemployed April – Feb, 10 months.

So what does all this mean?  She wasn’t showing when the departure video aired in April and she was no longer pregnant when she began working in February.  Kai was born sometime between those dates.  If she spent a few months at home with her new baby, that means the child was born sometime in the fall.

Time for a change of direction:  conception.  When would Kai most likely have been conceived?  Evan said she interviewed him after a playoff game they lost.  He was the back-up quarterback for the Houston Texans at the time.  I search for the NFL playoff brackets three years ago and it’s easy to see in which round the Texans were eliminated.  It was the wildcard round, and they lost to Cincinnati Bengals.

Another quick search gives me the exact date of the game.  It was held on Saturday, January 5
^th
.  I add more notes, along with another calculation.

Note:  Conception, Jan. 5?

You don’t have to have a medical degree to know it takes nine months for a baby to be born.  That would make her due date sometime in September, which fits very nicely into my calculations.  A quick tap on the keys and I’ve found an online pregnancy due date calculator which puts the actual due date at September 28
^th
.  I update my previous notation and move on from there. 

Note:  Conception, Jan. 5?  DOB, September 28?

An interesting ad catches my eye on the webpage.  There’s an at-home DNA Paternity test available at my local pharmacy for less than thirty dollars.  I click on the ad and it takes me directly to the pharmacy’s website.  The item description is fairly detailed and straightforward.  As I read, I begin to get excited.  The kit includes cheek swabs, release forms, and a postage-paid envelope.  It says the results are available in as little as forty-eight hours.  I can have my answer before the new year.

I begin to get a familiar tingle in all the right places.  I turn around and I am rewarded with the glorious vision of a sweaty and shirtless Evan McGuire.  He heads straight to the refrigerator and grabs a cold bottle of water.  I watch, captivated, as he brings the bottle to his lips and empties it, leaving nary a drop.  “Thirsty?” I ask, closing my laptop and giving him my complete and undivided attention.

He tosses the empty bottle in the trash and takes a few determined strides directly toward me with a twinkle in his eye.  “Not anymore.”

“M
arcus, I have something I need you to do,” I tell him.  “I need you to send some staff home – the hostess, a few waitresses, and one bartender.  I’d be surprised if we had more than ten covers all day, and I can’t afford to pay a full staff for another shift.”  The local colleges have been closed for almost a month, and I haven’t seen my seats completely filled in nearly as long.

Marcus looks over the staffing schedule I have spread across my desk.  “Okay, boss.  Who should I send home tonight?  Emmy or Derek?”

“I think Derek can afford to take a day off.  Let’s keep Emmy on for tonight.” 

A few minutes later, Derek comes into my office to grab his wallet and keys.  “Thanks for the time off, Jette.  I have a thousand things to do before I close on the house tomorrow.”

“Oh, my God, Derek – I totally forgot tomorrow is your closing.  Are you moving in right away?”

He plops himself down on my couch.  “I am.  Shea and I are thinking about inviting everyone over for New Year’s Eve.  I know it’s a little last minute, but do you think you guys can make it?”

“Absolutely.  Who else are you inviting?” I ask.

“Everybody.  Anybody.  Open door.  It’s nice to be able to say that and actually feel proud to show off my house.  Can you bring dessert?”

“Dessert, beer, wine – I can bring anything you need.  Text me a list of what you want.”

Just as Derek is about to say something, the door to my office swings open and in walks Auggie, carrying a bag.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  I should have knocked.”  Auggie shifts awkwardly, unsure what to do with the bag in his hand.

Derek gets up to leave.  “No worries.  I was just leaving.”  He walks over and shakes Auggie’s hand.  “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning,” he tells him as he walks out the door. 

“Tomorrow morning?” I ask.

Auggie nods.  “Yup, we’re doing a final walk-through first thing in the morning.  Then the actual closing will be done at my agency.  That’s one of the perks of working with me – we take care of all the details so you don’t have to.”

“Speaking of details,” I whisper, “did you get it?”

Auggie closes the office door and empties the contents of the bag onto my desk.  Out spills a red-and-white box labeled
IdentiGene DNA Paternity Test Collection Kit
.  We sift through the contents.  There are three swabs, and postage-paid envelopes to return the samples. 

“Auggie, this is absolutely perfect.  Thank you for picking it up for me.  Can you imagine what would happen if I was spotted buying this?”  I slip the swabs into the envelope and hide them in my purse.  I shove the wrappings back into a bag and hand it to Auggie, who agrees to take it home and get rid of it for me.  “One question, though – how do I collect my DNA sample?  It says here in the directions that the most accurate results come from collecting cheek cells.  How the hell am I going to pull that off?”

“Oh, Jepetto, I have complete confidence that you can stick anything you want into that boy’s mouth and you’ll have him begging for more.”

“Oh my God, Auggie.  Seriously?  How do I explain sticking a cotton swab in his mouth?  The minute he sees me coming at him with a stick, he’ll know something’s up.”

“So don’t let him see you,” he suggests.  “Blindfold him first, then feed him.  Turn it into a game.  I have a blindfold you can borrow if you need one.”

“Why would you have a blindfold?”  Auggie opens his mouth to answer, but I stop him, “Wait – never mind.  Forget I ever asked.  Keep your blindfold. I’ll find something.  It’s actually a great idea.” 

But the question remains, how do I get samples from a toddler I’ve only met once?  I’ll have to keep the swab with me just in case an opportunity presents itself.

Auggie leaves and I wander aimlessly around the bar.  I clean what I can, water the plants, and replace twinkle lights that have lost their glow.  When I make it to the bar, I see Emmy has half the bar covered with all sorts of bottles and she’s busily scratching notes in a journal.  She looks up from her book and spots me.  “Jette, thank God you’re here.  I need your help.  Come taste this for me!”

Relieved to finally have something to occupy my anxious mind, I happily take a seat at the bar and look over the array of liquors and mixers spread across the bar.  “What’s going on, Em?”

“I’ve started following some bartending blogs and there’s a new craze I want to bring to Rush.  Everyone’s experimenting with beer and lager cocktails and I thought I’d give it a try too.  If you like it, maybe we can make it one of the drink specials on our next menu.” 

She looks so thrilled, I can’t help but feel a little excited too.  “Sounds great.  What are we trying first?”

“Well, the first one I’ve been experimenting with is called an End Zone.”  She takes a pint glass and fills it half way with a beer and tops it off with apple cider.  She adds a shot of Chambord and passes it to me to taste test.  I have to admit, the thought of mixing beer with, well anything, really, does not immediately resonate with me.  But I’m willing to give it a try.

I bring the beer to my nose and inhale.  It definitely smells like cider, but it has a foamy head.  Hints of hard cider ales come to mind.  When I taste it, there’s no mistaking the taste of beer infused with apples and cinnamon.  “Emmy, this is really good.  What kind of beer did you use?  Why do I taste cinnamon?”

“Blue Moon just came out with a new ale, Cinnamon Horchata.  I picked some up on the way to work.  It’s pretty good, right?”  I take a second taste and nod enthusiastically.  “I knew it!” she proclaims.

“Emmy, this is really good, but we have an apple and cinnamon cocktail on the menu – remember?  The Turnover?  I’m not so sure.  What else do you have for me to try?”

“Well, I do have one more, but it’s not very original.  They call it a Lagerita.  It’s a combination of beer and Margarita.  Want to try one?  I think I got the ratios right.”

First she rims a highball glass with salt, and then she proceeds to add traditional Margarita ingredients of tequila and fresh lime juice.  The next unexpected ingredient is a shot of Cointreau.  She puts it in a shaker and strains it over ice, but only half the glass is full.  Emmy tops it off with Corona and garnishes it with a wheel of lime. 

“Emmy, if it tastes half as good as it looks, we’ve got a winner.”  With one sip, I know she’s found something special.  It’s light and refreshing, and it’s something that might appeal to both men and women.  “Wow!  This is really good, Emmy.  Nice job.”

“She makes a mess of my bar, and you tell her she’s done a nice job?”

“Oh, so now it’s
your
bar?” I tease, jumping off my barstool and throwing my arms around Evan’s neck. 

“What’s mine is yours still works both ways, doesn’t it?” he asks, lifting me off my feet.  He bends his head down and presses his lips lightly to mine, sending chills down my spine.

The front door chimes as a small group enters the restaurant.  “Stay here.  I’ll be right back.”

Evan grabs my hand and pulls me back before I can get very far.  “Let the hostess get it.  Stay.  I just got here.”  Evan looks down at me with his sapphire-blue eyes.  It’s hard to look at anything else.

“I can’t, I sent her home.”  I wiggle out of his embrace and head straight for the door.  Another couple files in right after them and I seat them too, grateful for the little bit of business.

When I return to the bar, Emmy has Evan tasting her concoctions and they seem deep in conversation.  Evan takes another experimental sip and is struck by a thought.  “Okay, these aren’t bad.  But how about this – a Bloody Mary made with a stout, and instead of a big stalk of celery sticking out ... ”

Emmy blurts out before Evan can even finish his sentence, “Bacon!”

“Yes!  Evan agrees.  Only let’s call it a Hail Mary.”  Evan sits back in his chair, immensely proud of his suggestion.  Emmy hurries off to the back to see if Reese can make her a few slices of bacon to experiment with.