Suddenly One Summer (FBI/US Attorney #6)(57)
Ford set the camera down on the passenger seat, thinking it was time for Peter Sutter Number Two to take his tank top and his pesky questions and mosey on back to his apartment. “We all set, babe?” he called out from the car.
Sutter started at the sound of his voice—clearly not having noticed him. Victoria looked over, appearing amused by this breach in mission protocol.
“Yep, all set,” she called back.
“Great.” Resting his forearm on the window, Ford leveled his gaze on Sutter. “How’s it going?”
“Uh . . . good.” The guy mumbled a thank-you to Victoria for bringing over his package, and then hastily headed back into his apartment.
Victoria climbed into the car and raised an eyebrow at Ford. “‘Babe’?”
“It felt like a ‘babe’ kind of moment.” He threw the car into drive, took off, and parked two blocks up the street. His camera was synched via Bluetooth to his phone, so he sent the best of the photos to his cell, and then texted them to his sister. “I told Nicole to be on standby this afternoon, so hopefully she’ll get back to us right away. If Peter Sutter Number Two isn’t our guy, I was thinking we could try our luck charming a few doormen.” He flashed her a mischievous grin. “You’ll want to brace yourself for another onslaught of sexiness, since I’ll be doing my reporter thing.”
He chuckled as she looked out the window, shaking her head and muttering something about his ego.
So much fun.
A few minutes later, Ford’s cell phone rang, sounding through the car speakers via Bluetooth. Seeing it was his sister, he answered on speakerphone so Victoria could hear. “Nic, hey. I’ve got Victoria in the car with me.”
“Yay, my favorite lawyer.” She sounded slightly winded. “Ford said he roped you into helping him find Zoe’s dad. Not sure how he managed that one.”
Victoria gave Ford a wry look that said she wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed it, either.
He winked, whispering, “All charm.”
Victoria turned her attention back to Nicole. “I assume you saw the photo Ford sent you? What’s the verdict?”
“It’s not him,” Nicole said without hesitation. “This looks like the kind of guy who gets your number at a bar and then drunk texts you dick pics at two A.M.”
Ford began to roll his eyes, and then paused.
Actually, he did look like that kind of guy.
“Oh, crap.” In the background, the roar of an L train drowned out Nicole’s voice. It took several moments for the sound to fade away—a sound that was replaced by that of Zoe crying. “Sorry, I’m out running errands—I have Zoe in the stroller and the L woke her up. Shit, and she’d just fallen asleep, too.”
Zoe’s crying grew louder, as if Nicole was holding her close to the phone. “I know, sweetie, that train was really loud. Anyway, like I said, it’s not our Peter Sutter,” she told Ford and Victoria. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Zoe’s totally melting down here. I’ll call you back later. And thank you.” She said a quick good-bye and hung up.
Ford glanced over at Victoria. “She sounded okay, right?”
“Nicole? I think so. I mean, it’s obvious Zoe is keeping her on her toes. Babies do that, I guess.”
He nodded, making a mental note to drop by Nicole’s apartment tomorrow to take her and Zoe out to lunch. He caught Victoria watching him. “What?”
“It is sweet, the way you’re looking out for her.” Her eyes held on him for a moment before she changed the subject. “So. Who’s next on our list?”
Next on the agenda, in order of proximity, were Peter Sutter Numbers Seven, Ten, and Five—all of whom lived in high-rise condo buildings. Their first stop was the residences at the Bloomingdale’s Building, which had an attached garage with guest parking.
“You think the guard will go for it?” Victoria asked, as they rode the elevator down to the lobby level.
“Tough to say. It’s a pretty exclusive place. They should have decent security.”
She adjusted her dress so that the front of it dipped a tiny bit lower, and then winked. “Just in case that reporter ID of yours doesn’t do the trick.”
When the elevator doors opened, they stepped out into the marble lobby and headed for the security desk. A man dressed in a gray suit greeted them. “Can I help you?”
Having spent years trying to get information from people who weren’t always thrilled to provide it, Ford knew that the best approach in this situation was to act friendly and casual. “I hope so.” He introduced himself, showed the doorman his Trib ID, and explained that, as part of a human interest piece he was writing, he was trying to track down a man named Peter Sutter who’d helped rescue a woman who’d jumped into Lake Michigan yesterday to save her dog.
“Apparently, both the woman and the dog were struggling, when this guy jumped in and saved them,” Ford explained.
Victoria gave him a subtle look of approval, seemingly impressed by his cover story.
For added effect, he pulled a small notebook out of his back pocket. “The paramedics on the scene didn’t get Peter Sutter’s address, but they did say that he’s Caucasian with brown hair, somewhere between twenty and forty-five years old. Does that fit the description of the man who lives here?”