Suddenly One Summer (FBI/US Attorney #6)(34)
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“SO TONIGHT, WE come up with our list of baby-daddy contenders,” Ford said, setting his laptop on the table.
Victoria took a seat on the stool next to him. “Great. How do we do that?”
“That’s what I’m about to show you, Ms. Slade.” He typed in the Web address for Tracers Info Specialists, and entered the log-in and password he had via his status as a Tribune reporter. Then he angled the computer toward Victoria so she could see what he was doing. “This is a people-search database. From here, we can generate a list of all possible Peter Sutters in Chicago.”
“Are we even certain the guy lives in Chicago?”
Good question. “Nicole said he mentioned being a Cubs fan. So keep your fingers and toes crossed that he’s somewhere in this city, or we’re essentially screwed.” Next, he clicked on the link to run a new search. “First, we enter the information we do know.” He typed in the blanks he could fill—all two of them. “Name: Peter Sutter. City: Chicago.”
When Victoria leaned in closer to watch, Ford noticed her perfume. Something light and feminine. And kind of sexy.
“How do we know that’s how he spells his last name?” she asked. “What about S-u-d-d-e-r? Or just one ‘t’?”
He blinked, refocusing. “Nicole remembers him making a joke about being nicknamed ‘Peter Butter’ and ‘Peanut Butter’ when he was a kid. So I think we should start with a double ‘t’ spelling and then try other options if we strike out.” He clicked “search” and, within seconds, onto his screen popped a list of approximately twenty Peter Sutters and their respective info. “Okay. Now we have something we can work with.” He pointed to the screen. “This gives us dates of birth. Nicole said she thought her Peter Sutter was between twenty-five and forty years old, so let’s be overcautious and go with an age range of twenty to forty-five. That means we take out anyone with a birthday before 1970 and after 1995.”
“The first guy on the list is out,” Victoria said. “And the second.”
Ford removed the eliminated candidates as they scrolled through the entire list. When finished, he sat back as Victoria did a quick count.
“Eleven men left,” she said.
“Yep. One of these Peter Sutters is likely the dickhead who had sex with my sister, got her pregnant, and then sneaked out while she was sleeping.”
She gave him a sideways look. “This is probably a good time to reiterate my don’t-do-anything-stupid-and-screw-up-my-case speech.”
“Maybe it is,” Ford growled. Because right then, he was trying to remember all the reasons he shouldn’t give Peter Sutter a swift kick in the ass when he found him.
Victoria leaned her elbow on the table, angling her body to face him. “Okay, so I can see you’re going into caveman mode or whatever. But remember, we agreed that we would do this my way. That means the professional way. So while it’s sweet that you’re protective of your sister, if we’re going to do this, you have to take off your big brother hat and simply be an objective investigator.”
Like that was even remotely possible. “Do you have a brother?”
She sat back and looked at him, as if already aware of what he was going to say. “No,” she conceded.
“Okay, your father, then. Think about how he would feel if he was in my shoes.”
“I haven’t seen the man in over twenty years, but fine—I get the point you’re trying to make. But can you at least fake being objective while you’re out and about and doing . . . whatever it is you’re going to do to track down the right Peter Sutter?”
He gave her a look that said, yes, he could be cool. He wasn’t dumb enough to do anything that might cause trouble for Nicole. “I can manage that.” He turned back to his computer and continued on. “All right. For each of the eleven remaining Peter Sutters, this report gives us a home address, phone number—which could be home or mobile, depending on what he’s provided to credit agencies—and a social security number. And with those social security numbers, I can run additional searches that’ll tell us all sorts of interesting things.”
She appeared amused. “You’re getting into this, aren’t you?”
“Hell, yes. I’m a journalist. Information is my currency.” He saw her smile. “What?”
“Nothing. I’m just picturing you at your desk at the Tribune, typing away with a little ‘Information Is My Currency’ sign framed on your desk.”
“Cross-stitched and everything.”
She laughed. “Really?”
“No, not really.” He raised an eyebrow. “But if these hot-reporter fantasies are something you have often, Ms. Slade, we could always explore that in more detail . . .” He smiled innocently at her withering look. “Or maybe we should just get back to the search.”
“Good plan.”
Hands hovering over the keyboard, he paused and looked over. “I’m going to begin typing now, so you might want to brace yourself for the onslaught of sexiness.”
“I’m braced.”
Rather enjoying himself now, he turned back to his laptop. “So, like I was saying, with the social security numbers, we can run additional searches for all these guys. I’ll go ahead and pull one up . . .” Using the first Peter Sutter as an example, he clicked on the link for “Premium Profile” and scrolled through the various categories. “Okay, so here we can see if he has an arrest or criminal record. Also, whether he’s ever filed for bankruptcy, has an eviction record, has ever had any judgments filed against him in a civil case, holds any professional licenses, is a registered sex offender, has any tax liens against him, and any outstanding warrants.”