Suddenly One Summer (FBI/US Attorney #6)(42)

Yep. Long enough.

With a sigh, she put her hand on the door. “Do you think it would possible for me to get just a bit of privacy once in a while?”

“That’s loft living for you. The sound proofing is terrible in this place.”

So she’d noticed.

He took a step toward her, his blue eyes warm with amusement. “I have a proposition for you.”

“What kind of a proposition?”

“Invite me in and I’ll tell you.”

Hmm. Not sure what this was all about, she kept one eye trained on him as she stepped back to let him inside her place. He followed her toward the kitchen.

“By the way, I like what you did with the space.” He looked around at her furniture. “Is the condo you bought also a loft?”

She went to the blender to finish making her smoothie. “No, it’s a more typical two-bedroom layout. Probably about the same square feet as this place, though.”

Ford helped himself to a seat at the counter. “Where at?”

“The Trump Tower.”

“That’s hardly a ‘typical’ two-bedroom.”

She smiled in acknowledgment. “Maybe not.” She turned on the blender and mixed the strawberries, banana, and orange juice together. “So. About this proposition of yours,” she prompted him as she poured the smoothie into a glass.

“I wanted to see if you’re free for dinner tonight.”

She blinked, not having expected that, and felt a strange flutter in her stomach. “You want to have dinner with me?”

“Yes. At Public House.”

It took her a second. “That’s the bar where Nicole met Peter Sutter.”

He nodded. “I talked to an FBI agent today about the situation. Based on some things he and I discussed, I think it would be helpful if you check out the bar with me.”

“Me?” She laughed. “What am I now? Your sidekick in this?”

“Not a sidekick. I need a front man. See, I thought about it: what if, when I go to the bar and ask around, Peter Sutter is a regular? Maybe the bartender will know him, and he’ll want to know why I’m asking. I can come up with some excuse, but it would be less suspicious to have a woman doing the asking.” He waited as she considered this. “Think of it as an adventure. An adventure that would help your client, the struggling single mom who’s really hoping to catch a break with this.”

“Now that’s just playing dirty.”

He grinned and stood up from the counter. “I’ll pick you up at six. Wear something cute—like you’d wear on a first date.”

Her eyes met his archly. “I didn’t say yes.”

He peered down at her, his voice a little huskier than usual. “You didn’t say no, either.”

* * *

A FEW HOURS later, Ford knocked on Victoria’s door. When she answered, he was rendered momentarily speechless.

She looked drop-dead gorgeous in a black pencil skirt, short-sleeved white shirt with a scoop neck, and the hottest pair of high heels he’d ever seen—black, with a strap that wrapped around her ankle in a way that had him thinking all sorts of naughty, decidedly non-platonic-neighbor thoughts.

“I knew it,” she said at his silence. “It looks like I’m trying too hard, right? I hate dressing for first dates—even fake ones.” She held out her hands reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I have a backup outfit.”

She turned around, but he caught her hand and stopped her.

Over his dead body would she change that outfit.

“Leave it.” His voice was so low it sounded like a growl.

Her lips quirked in a smile. “Okay,” she said, imitating his growl. “Let me just grab my purse.”

Seemingly, a comedy routine was going to be part of their amateur sleuthing tonight.

In his car, they went over their plan as they drove to the bar. Ford managed to mostly keep his mind out of the gutter, except for one brief moment when she crossed her legs, hiking up her skirt and exposing several inches of bare thigh.

“So I’m supposed to pretend I’m nervous about a blind date and trying to get intel on the guy before he shows up.” She pointed to the traffic signal ahead. “Green light.”

The cars behind Ford laid on their horns.

Christ. He hit the gas, forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand. “Yes. Act chatty. Casual. Tell the bartender your date mentioned that he’s been to the bar a few times, so you thought he or she might be familiar with him and could give you some insight.”

“Let’s say worst-case scenario here. What if the bartender is friends with him, and he’s like, ‘I don’t remember Peter saying anything about having a date tonight.’”

Ford shrugged. “Play it off. Say you just texted him back confirming the date a half hour ago. Or, act flighty and say you must’ve gotten the day wrong. A male bartender isn’t going to think you’re suspicious. Men are always clueless about what’s really going on in a woman’s head.”

“True enough. But what if it’s a female bartender? What if I say I’m meeting Peter Sutter for a date and Peter Sutter is her boyfriend?”

He thought about that. “Then you’d better run.”

“Run?” She looked appalled. “That’s your suggestion?”