Running Away With You (Running #3) (42 page)

He holds out the plate of fried spring rolls and bowl of dipping sauce.  Sure enough, it’s scrumptious – full of flavor and packed with interesting textures.  I close my eyes and savor the complexities.  I’m startled by the light touch of a finger swiping across my bottom lip.  My eyes flick open and I find that the hand belongs to Derek.

“You got a little sauce, right here,” he teases.

“Hey, I was saving that for later,” I tell him.

Suddenly the smile Derek had just moments ago fades.  A familiar voice echoes behind me. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

I swing around, and sure enough, Evan is standing there shaking his head.  “Glad to see some things still haven’t changed.” 

I decide to ignore his remark and return to my job of putting out the appetizers for Derek.  Despite the awkwardness, Derek offers Evan a cold beer and a tour, which he gladly accepts.

As they disappear to other parts of the house, I get a glimpse of Shea playing joyfully with Kai.  They are surrounded by all sorts of cars and racetracks from the movie
Cars
.  Kai is completely captivated by his cars and seems to have an affinity for one in particular – a sleek black racecar that looks inexplicably similar to Evan’s Porsche.  I’ll have to remind myself later to add that observation to my notebook.

Out of nowhere, Kai picks up the car and throws it across the room.  Shea wastes no time in gathering up the little man and parading him straight to an upstairs bedroom.  As the two pass me by, she adds, “Be right back – I think it’s someone’s bedtime.”  I check my watch, and sure enough, it’s nearly eight o’clock.

Shea walks right past Derek and Evan on their house tour, carrying a cranky two-year-old, and I wait for Evan to take notice, make mention, or react in some way, but he doesn’t.  Like most men, even mine can be completely oblivious to the world around him. 

Soon enough more guests arrive, and I have plenty of distractions to keep me from worrying too much about the distance Evan has put between us.  Everyone is here except for Auggie and Lucas.  They are spending New Year’s Eve at a party in Manhattan.  Auggie doesn’t like to name-drop, but he let it slip that Neil Patrick Harris is the host.  I believe Lucas and Neil briefly worked together on Broadway with the short-lived musical
Hit List
.

In typical fashion the women gather in the kitchen, and most of our discussion is taken up discussing babies.  The hot topic of the moment seems to be diapers:  cloth vs. disposable.  I know the landfills are overflowing with diapers that will take hundreds of years to decompose, but I can’t imagine ever being persuaded to use cloth diapers.

The men, however, congregate in the living room in front of the television, watching Duke take on Texas A&M in some sort of College Bowl.  I overhear Derek asking Evan about his hand, and Evan assures him it’s a minor sprain and he’ll be more than ready to take on the winner of the wildcard round.  The men seem to think that the Texans will advance, making the playoff game a true grudge-match.  Will Evan’s years with the Texans help or hurt his chances?  Only time will tell.

As it gets later in the evening, it gets harder and harder for Evan and me to avoid each other.  I head into the garage to get a fresh bottle of Pinot Grigio and practically walk into the brick wall that is Evan McGuire, carrying a cold six-pack of Smithwick’s Red Ale, his favorite.  No words are exchanged as Evan walks past me, filling my senses with the rich scent of his sandalwood soap.  The familiar smell triggers powerfully emotional memories of happier times.

Time to suck it up and move forward.  My faithful Magic Eight Ball predicts that Evan will forgive me, and I have to stay positive.  I’ve made some poor choices and this is my penance.

Everyone is having a great time, and I’m incredibly hopeful.  Reese is actually talking to Shea, Evan is laughing at one of Adam’s lame jokes, and Emmy isn’t giving me a hard time about anything.  I can usually count on her to give it to me straight, so I’m basically just waiting for the shoe to drop and for her to let it rip.  But so far, all my friends have been very respectful of my privacy.

Derek is doing a great job as host tonight.  He checks in with me and Reese on the food, serves drinks, and even cleans up the trash the moment someone puts their plate down.  As a result he runs out of paper plates much sooner than he planned, and I offer to run next door and grab some.  I know Evan and I have a large stash in the garage. 

So I bundle up and head outside.  But the moment I do, I’m faced with the unthinkable; a bevy of police cars are parked in my driveway and all the lights are on in my house.  I turn around and race inside, hurrying to find Evan.

All eyes follow me as I sprint through the house.  Not caring who can hear me, I grab him by the hand and pull him to his feet, pleading,  “Evan, the police are in our house right now.  We have to go.”

Everyone rushes to the front of the house to look out the window as Evan and I sprint to the front door.  Adam must know what’s happening, because he grabs Evan and stops him.  “You can’t go there without an attorney present.  Let me call Gavin.  He can come right over.”

“Like hell I can’t go.” Evan tries to break free of Adam’s grip. “It’s my fucking house and I have every right to be there.”

“Yes, you do.  And you also know they’ll try to interview you the minute you walk through that door.  Give them their space and let them do their job.”

We all stand and watch, horrified, as detectives and uniformed police go traipsing in and out of our house.  Reese and Emmy are whispering together in the corner of the room.  It’s not hard to figure out why.  I’m sure Adam told Emmy what’s going on and now she’s telling Reese.  The fact that Camilla isn’t asking any questions tells me that Marcus has filled her in too.  So much for keeping things tightly under wraps.

A black sedan pulls up and a well-dressed man in a long wool coat steps out of the car. I recognize him as our attorney, Gavin Wolff.  Evan and I race outside to greet him.  “Evan, Juliette, please return to your party.  Let me handle this.  I don’t want either of you here right now.”

“Bullshit,” Evan argues.  “I’m going in.  You had a chance to handle things and you blew it.  You were supposed to stop this from ever happening with some kind of injunction or something.  What the fuck?”

“Things changed.  They found more evidence at David’s home.  I couldn’t get them to stop their investigation, but I did get them to do their search at night so there aren’t as many prying eyes.”

Evan insists on being in the house during the search and I know from experience that once he makes up his mind, he’s not easily dissuaded.  Gavin gives in, but insists that we remain completely silent.  “They’re almost done with their search and no one from the press has arrived.  They’ve agreed to keep this quiet, Evan, and I’d like to keep it that way.  Are you sure you can handle yourself in there?” he asks.  “They’re going to watch you like a hawk.  Every remark, facial expression, and interaction will be under scrutiny.  I’d rather not put you out there yet unless you’re one hundred percent sure you can handle it.”

“I’m positive,” Evan tells him. 

“Do you know where my dog is?” I ask him.  “Her name is Maddy and I don’t hear her barking.”

“I do.  She’s in the K-9 vehicle right over there.”  He points to a police van clearly identified as K-9.  “They have handlers that take care of pets.  She’s in good hands,” he assures us.

Gavin leads us down the driveway toward the front door.  We’re asked to provide proof of both identity and residency by the young uniformed cop stationed at the front door.  He examines our ID and allows us entry.

There’s a flurry of activity throughout the house.  No less than eight investigators are there, rifling through every drawer, closet, and cabinet.  Gavin escorts us to the kitchen and demands that we sit there, where we can monitor everything that walks out the door.  “Remember, not one word.  If they ask you a question, you tell them to speak with me.  No exceptions, got it?”  Evan and I agree.

These investigators must have some sort of sixth sense, because the moment Evan and I are alone, Detectives Harper and Guardino make a beeline straight toward us, carrying some papers with them.

Detective Harper offers his hand to Evan. “Mr. McGuire, nice to see you again.”  But Evan doesn’t budge, refusing to return the gesture.  His normally kind and polite façade is gone, replaced by a cold-as-ice persona.  “I understand.  This must seem like quite an intrusion.  I assure you both, our investigators are under strict orders to be respectful of your property and your privacy.  We’re just carrying out a court order.”

Detective Guardino places a form on the table before us.  “Here is your copy of the search warrant.  It gives us access to the residence and any occupants within it.  But I don’t see the need to search either of you.”  He turns around and begins to walk away, but stops and swivels back again.  “Oh, I almost forgot.  I’m going to have to ask you for your cell phones.  Communication devices are listed in the warrant.”

I reach into my purse to get mine out, but Evan stops me.  “You’ll have to go through our attorney,” he tells Guardino.  The two men stare each other down.  Guardino makes a sucking sound between his teeth and walks away.  I don’t know if playing hardball is in our best interest, but I’m not about to tell Evan that right now.

We watch helplessly as they finish their search.  Gavin collects our phones and hands them to Guardino, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. 

I’ve heard horror stories about homes being trashed during a search;  contents of drawers dumped onto the floor, closets emptied, personal belongings broken and destroyed.  But as I look around, I have to admit that the investigators were very respectful and considerate in our home.  Being a well-known public figure has its advantages.

Detective Harper comes to speak with us as the last of the investigators packs up and heads out.  He hands us yet another piece of paper.  “This is a list of the items we’ve taken with us today.  You can get them all back once the investigation is complete.”

Evan and I glance over the list and it’s short.  They have our phones, my iPad, and both our laptops.  “Gavin!” Evan shouts.  When Gavin doesn’t immediately materialize in front of Evan, he shouts again, “Gavin Wolff, get in here!”

“Mac, I need you to calm down,” he tells Evan as he turns the corner.  “What happened?”

“That laptop has confidential information on it.  It’s got our entire team playbook on there, and game plans for the playoffs.  Get it back.  Do your fucking job and get it back –
now
!”

The investigators watch as Evan loses his cool.  This is not the time or place to show how short his fuse can be.

Gavin tries to calm the situation down.  “There’s nothing I can do about this right now.  Let them take it, and I’ll get in front of a judge first thing in the morning.  Trust me.”

Evan opens his mouth to say something, and I place a hand on his knee, squeezing gently to remind him to be more self-aware.  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Guardino watching every move Evan makes.  He’s testing him, seeing what it takes to push Evan’s buttons.  And Evan’s giving him quite the show.

Detectives Harper and Guardino are the last two in our home besides Gavin.  They are discussing something I cannot hear, but it seems Guardino is doing all the talking.

As Evan is reading all the fine details in the search warrant, our
friend
Detective Harper approaches with an envelope in his hand.  It doesn’t register immediately, but when it does, I can’t hide the horror on my face.

“Mr. McGuire, Detective Guardino wanted to take this to headquarters, but I told him it was not specifically listed in the scope of the warrant and we wouldn’t be able to take it.”  He hands Evan the postage-paid envelope labeled
IdentiGene Laboratories
.  “Good luck with your paternity test.”  Evan’s jaw drops, and he releases the papers in his hand.  I could swear he actually stops breathing.

I look over and Guardino is grinning, clearly pleased with his little ploy.  I want to strangle him.

When it Rains, it Pours

E
van wastes no time in emptying the contents of the envelope.  There’s a partially completed submission form with the name of the
potential father
listed as Evan Thomas with a checkmark under the column entitled
cheek swab
.  The fields for
potential mother
and
child in question
are still blank.

He reaches back inside and finds the swab encased in a sealed vial.  I can’t imagine what must be going through his mind right now.

Seconds go by agonizingly slowly as he waits for the detectives to leave, closing the door behind them.  I place my hand on his arm and plead for him to remain calm, “Evan, listen, I can explain ... please.  Just wait until they’re gone and I’ll ... ”

He rips his arm away from me and abruptly stands, tossing his chair to the side like it’s nothing more than a small toy.  “Oh, you’re going to explain all right, and you’re going to do it in front of my fucking attorney,” he hollers.