“I do.” I can’t help but get a little misty-eyed thinking about how well everything’s worked out. Would Evan and I have been so open-minded about all of this if things had turned out differently? Would he have so easily stepped back and given up so much control? I can’t help but think not.
There’s one more thing on my mind, though. “So do you think Derek will be coming back to work? I know he’s on the schedule, but, well ... when he took off on Sunday, he didn’t quit, did he?”
“Oh, he’ll be back. I asked him if I could have his head bartender job if he didn’t want it anymore, and he told me to go pound salt. That’s good, right?” she asks.
“That’s very good,” I tell Emmy.
As Emmy finishes getting the bar ready, I head out front to open up for the day. It’s a cold day, even for January, but the sun is shining and I’m feeling optimistic for the first time in quite a while.
I hear a commotion going on in the dining room, so I tear myself away from my duties to investigate. Sure enough, there’s a buzz in the air because the co-owner of Rush Dessert Bar, Evan McGuire, has just arrived. Evan warmly greets his fans, signing autographs and even hugging a couple of them.
“What a nice surprise,” Emmy remarks in my ear.
“It is,” I wholeheartedly agree.
Laughing at something one of the fans has just said, Evan turns his head and spots me. His smile brightens on seeing me watching him. He tears himself away from the small group and meets me at the bar. Evan grabs my hand, squeezing it as he places a light kiss on my lips, nodding toward some empty seats at the bar. “Let’s chat,” he mutters in my ear.
Chat? Shit. That’s hardly ever good news. I’ve had a lot of chats over the past few weeks, and they rarely turn out well. I have no choice, really, since he hasn’t let go of my hand, so I follow him to the far corner of the bar and plant myself on a barstool.
Emmy meets us at the end of the bar and places two napkins in front of us. “What’ll it be?” she asks cheerfully.
“I’ll take and Irish Black and Tan,” he tells her. “Juliette? Have a drink with me?”
“I can’t, I’m working,” I tell him.
“She’ll have an Irish Coffee. Double Irish, please.”
It’s a reasonable compromise, so I decide not to argue. I look at his face to try to gauge his mood, and I’m greeted by dimples and a big, toothy grin. He’s happy, and I immediately calm. “You look pleased, Chief. What’s going on?”
“I just got a call from the front office. Carlo and I were nominated for the Pro Bowl. I received the second highest number of votes this year. I have to be in Hawaii in less than a week for the draft. We’re staying in a suite at the Ihilani Resort and Spa. I thought we could ...”
“Oh my God! Evan’s playing in the Pro Bowl,” Emmy announces to the room. “Isn’t that great?” She places our drinks in front of us as the room erupts into hoots and cheers. “Congratulations!” she proclaims.
Evan just shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Emmy. I’m glad to see someone is happy for me.”
They look at me, clearly unhappy with my reaction, or lack thereof. “What?” I ask.
“You could at least pretend to be happy,” Evan moans.
“I’m sorry, baby, I am happy. And proud. No one deserves this more than you. Do I have to be there for the draft?” I ask.
Evan says nothing. The shocked look on his face says it all.
“Yes, you have to be there!” Emmy decrees. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing, Emmy. I want to go, really I do, but it’s not that easy to just take off like that. Who’s going to do payroll? Who’s going to place the food order? We have to start planning for Valentine’s Day. It’s one of the biggest days in the restaurant business,” I try to explain.
The truth is, I’m scared. Suppose the police arrest me at the airport thinking I’m trying to run? My every move is still being watched and monitored.
“Blah, blah, blah. Your mouth is moving, but all I hear are lame-ass excuses. Close it,” Emmy tells me.
“My mouth?”
“No, the restaurant. Close it. No payroll to worry about. No stock to reorder. No staff shortages. End of problem.”
“That, Emmy, is a great idea!” Evan agrees as he high-fives her across the bar.
“No, it’s a terrible idea. I can’t just close the restaurant for two weeks. The waitresses need their jobs. They can’t go two weeks without getting paid. They have bills to pay, you know.”
“So pay them,” Evan commands. “Call it a paid vacation. Isn’t that what most employers do for their staff anyway?”
“I don’t know, Evan. How long will we be gone?” I ask.
“That depends on a lot of things; ten or fourteen days, maybe. The team is getting us a suite right on the ocean. It’s ours for as long as we want it. What do you think?”
I have to be brave and trust that things will work out. I refuse to make any more decisions based on fear. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I’d be a fool to turn it down. “I think I need to start shopping. I’m definitely going to need a new bikini.”
Evan gets up and sweeps me up into his arms, lifting me off my feet. He announces to anyone listening, “Now, that’s my girl!” and squeezes me tightly.
I go back to work, leaving Evan to enjoy the moment. There is a palpable buzz in the air as friends and strangers alike take turns congratulating him. The magnitude of it sinks in as I learn more about the nomination process by listening in to his conversations. I thought that the Pro Bowl players were selected by the fans, but as I listen to Evan talk about it, I learn differently. The fans only get one third of the votes. The other two thirds come from players and coaches. Earning respect from fans can be the effect of a successful publicity team. But garnering the admiration of teammates and opponents is an honor I don’t think Evan expected to receive.
As I sit at my desk, responding to emails and paying bills, I dutifully check my social network sites for activity. There’s a tweet from @BigMac_McGuire that reads, “I'd like to thank all of you who voted for me for this year’s Pro Bowl. I'm honored to represent the NJ Sentinels.” I join the hundreds of fans who retweet his post.
Just as I close my laptop, Auggie comes strolling into my office looking every bit the polished professional he is. “If the mountain won't come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain.”
“Are you calling me a mountain?” I ask Auggie as I get up from my seat and give my best friend a hug.
“Just making a point, Jette, my pet. So how are you holding up? A lot has happened over the past few days.” Auggie saunters over to my couch and I follow him, eager to talk about some of the things that have happened.
“How was your police interview?” I ask.
“The attorney Gavin arranged was great. I was in and out in less than an hour. How was your first big television appearance?”
Auggie listens eagerly as I detail my first official television interview and Evan’s nomination to the Pro Bowl.
“So what’s new with you? I feel like we haven’t really talked in ages. I know that’s my fault. I haven’t really been plugged in lately. Any big commissions you’re working on? How’s Lucas?”
“Lucas’ career is really taking off. He’s up for a pretty big part in a movie based on a novel about young people stuck in a futuristic prison run by computers. He’s reading for the role of Keiro, the main character’s best friend and oathbrother, although I have no idea what an oathbrother is. I guess I’ll have to read the book to find out. It’s got some pretty good reviews.” I make a mental note to buy the book on my Kindle as soon as he leaves.
“Auggie, that sounds like a great opportunity,” I tell him. “If they offer it to him, is he going to take the role?”
“Lucas and I are in negotiations,” Auggie answers.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The film will be shot entirely on the West Coast. Mostly
in L.A., but with some location shoots in Oregon.”
“Wow. How long would he be gone?” I ask.
“Well, they say three to six months, but it’s probably going to be more like six to nine.” A sadness fills his eyes as he talks about it. I hate it when Evan travels overnight for a game. I can’t imagine what would happen in he left for a game in February and didn’t return until November.
“You can’t hold him back and stop him from doing what he loves, you know. He’ll resent you for it. Maybe not right away, but eventually he will. You have to let him go.”
He closes his eyes and nods. “I know.”
I reach out and hold his hand, giving him a comforting squeeze.
“I flew out to Indianapolis for you, you know,” Auggie reminds me.
“I remember.”
“Do you think you would fly out to L.A. with me a couple of times to see him?” Auggie asks. “I’m not ready to fly by myself, but if you went with me, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“James August Deegan, there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for you. Absolutely nothing.”
“What kind of trouble are you two cooking up now?” Evan asks as he saunters into my office.
“Auggie just asked me if I would fly to L.A. with him once Lucas starts filming his next movie.”
Evan looks at me dejectedly. “You give me a hard time about a free trip to Hawaii, but don’t even bat an eye when Auggie asks you to fly to California. That’s not right,” he moans.
“Is that jealousy rearing its ugly green head?” Auggie teases. “You know, I get my favors by making her feel sorry for me. It’s the only leverage I have against your influence.”
“You might be right,” Evan happily agrees.
“Just to show there’s no hard feelings, why don’t you let me buy you a drink?” Auggie asks as he gets up to shake Evan’s hand. “On second thought,” he stops dead in his tracks, “why don’t you buy me a drink? Rumor has it, you can afford it.”
Evan and Auggie slip away while I get back to my work. I have more than enough to keep me busy for hours. There are only a few interruptions; once when Evan leaves to pick up Adam and once when Emmy brings me back a soft drink. “You can’t stay locked up here all day,” she warns me. “You should come see how busy we are.”
Reluctantly I agree and follow Emmy out into the dining room. The instant I step out, I’m glad I did. Nearly every table is full, there are customers at the bar, and it’s not even five o’clock yet. They say no publicity is bad publicity, and I’m starting to realize exactly how true that statement actually is. At this rate, I’ll be able to cover my payroll next week, even while the restaurant is closed.
We don’t have a full wait staff on schedule today. Wednesday afternoons tend to be slow, so I quickly decide to pitch in and help. I tell the girls on the floor not to worry about drinks and just to concentrate on the customers’ food orders.
I make my way around table by table, taking and filling drink orders. About halfway through my rounds, I visit a two-top table filled by a young couple, not much older than me. I begin with the young woman, who orders a glass of Chardonnay. I turn my attention to the young man, and a familiar pair of friendly brown eyes smiles up at me. “Hello, Miss Fletcher. I had a feeling I might run into you here,” he says.
“Of course you did. You know this is my restaurant. Where else would I be?” I curtly respond. “What can I get you today, Officer ... I mean Detective Harper?” The good detective isn’t dressed for work today. He’s dressed casually in jeans and a Banana Republic zip-up sweater jacket. I almost didn’t recognize him without his badge.
“A few minutes of your time would be nice.” He smiles so kindly at me, I’m reminded of the young officer I met last spring, whom I once trusted implicitly.
I frown at his words. Why would he say such a thing? “We both know I can’t speak to you without my attorney present.”
He takes a swig from his beer bottle and holds it up. “I’m off duty today. Besides, you wouldn’t have to say a word. I’ll do all the talking.”
I look back at the young blonde sitting across from him. “I’d hate to drag you away from your dinner date.”
“I’m sorry. This is my wife, Megan. Megan, this is Juliette Fletcher – the woman who’s taken up so much of my time at work.”
Megan offers her hand and we shake. I’m always impressed by a woman with a strong, confident handshake. Megan immediately strikes me as someone who can handle herself. “So nice to meet you, Miss Fletcher. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Juliette, please. I hope you don’t believe everything your husband tells you. Things aren’t always as simple as they appear.”
“Oh, no,” she quickly responds. “Philip hasn’t told me a thing. He would never discuss any of his cases with me. I’ve learned not to ask a lot of questions over the years.”
I have a little more respect for Detective Harper now, but not much. “Well I hope you don’t believe everything you hear in the news. I promise you, most of it’s not true, and they rarely get the true stuff right anyway.”
The detective stands up. “Megan, would you mind if I spoke to Juliette alone for just a minute? I promise we won’t be long.” He gives her a quick kiss, and then returns his attention to me. “Do you have someplace private where we could chat?” Damn, another man who wants to chat.
“So it’s Juliette now? Okay, Philip, why don’t we step into my office?” As I lead him toward the back, I bump into Lindsay. I tell her loudly enough for my friend to hear, “If I’m not out in exactly five minutes, come get me.”
My office is my private space, and I immediately regret inviting this man in. Hoping to keep things formal and brief, I take a seat at my desk and offer him a chair. “What is so important that you would drag me away from my guests and leave your lovely wife sitting alone in a restaurant?”
Philip sits back in his chair and studies me for a moment before answering. He purses his lips as he considers his answer. “Do you know why I became a cop, Juliette?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I tell him.
“I was abused as a child and bullied daily. I became a cop because I hate bullies and I wanted to make sure that the victims had a voice and a defender. I swore that I would always use my power and authority to make other people’s lives better, not worse,” he says grimly.
“What does that have to do with me?” I ask.
“It has everything to do with you. You and I both know that you didn’t have anything to do with Mr. Jorgenson’s disappearance. The cops like you for the collar because it’s easy. You had motive and opportunity. Like you told Megan, things are not always as simple as they appear, and something inside bothered me right from the start.”
“That didn’t stop the police from turning my life upside down.” I remind him.
“I couldn’t tell you at the time, but the Denver police were sitting on a lead that would take the investigation in a completely different direction. The Indianapolis P.D. didn’t want to pursue it because it’s extremely complicated and could take months or years to resolve. But now they have no choice.”
If he’s moving the investigation back to Denver, then that leaves out Derek, Adam, and Auggie as suspects. Since I don’t interrupt, Philip keeps talking.
“It seems your ex-boyfriend has a little bit of a gambling problem. They have received credible accounts that suggest David fell victim to foul play and organized crime due to his gambling debts,” he says. “Although with David, I hate to use the word victim.”
I’m dumbfounded. “But that ... wait ... how did ... when was ...”
“All kinds of tips started pouring in after your interview last night. His so-called friends readily spilled the beans when they heard your story. Which explains all the evidence that was discovered in Jorgenson’s hotel room.”
“You mean my pictures and videos?” I ask, embarrassed to think about anyone seeing them, especially a room full of
men, even if they were officers of the law.
“Not entirely. There were pages and pages of financial statements for both you and Evan, along with NFL Vegas odds, betting lines, and point spreads. He had notebooks filled with your comings and goings. We believe he was planning something big. We know he was in contact with Mac, and it was only a matter of time before Jorgenson used you to get to the real cash cow – your fiancé.”
He pauses to let that sink in.
“Here’s the thing. David’s disappearance may have saved your life. We know what he was capable of, we just don’t know how far he was willing to go.”
“Do you think I’m in danger?” I ask, terrified of the response.
“No. Not now that you’ve gone public. If he’s still out there, and I seriously doubt he’s still alive, he’s not going to come within a hundred miles of you or Mac.”
Philip goes into great detail to tell me what they know about David’s disappearance. It’s much worse than I’d imagined.
“Why did you have to come here to tell me like this? Why not call my attorney or stop by my house? I know you know how to get there.”
“Indianapolis P.D. is not going to discuss an ongoing investigation with you or anyone else outside the department. If the real perpetrators think we’re still concentrating on you, they might get lazy and comfortable. That’s when mistakes are made. And when they slip up, which they eventually will, they will get caught.”
“Thank you for telling me. I know you risked your job discussing this with me, but you have to know I’m going to tell Evan.”
Philip gets up from his chair and walks toward the door. He grabs the doorknob, and just before he walks out, he turns to me and says, “I know.”
And with no more words, no fireworks or confetti, it’s over.
Chapter Thirty
Words Fail Me
Philip and I return to the dining room, where he rejoins his wife Megan, who’s occupying her time reading Rolling Stone Magazine. “Thank you for allowing me to steal away your husband. I hope we didn’t leave you alone for too long.”
Running Away With You (Running #3) Page 43