Suddenly One Summer (FBI/US Attorney #6)(58)

The doorman shook his head. “Nah, unfortunately, the Mr. Sutter in this building has red hair.” He looked apologetic. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help—it sounds like good story.”

“Should be. We want to reunite the dog and the woman with the guy who rescued them. Get some nice photos of them together.” He shook the doorman’s hand. “Anyway, thanks for your time.”

Inside the elevator, Victoria waited until the doors shut. “You didn’t even have to bribe him.”

Nope, he didn’t. “And that, Ms. Slade, is how it’s done.”

* * *

FORD’S COVER STORY about Peter Sutter, Good Samaritan, similarly worked like a charm with the next two doormen. Unfortunately, they were unable to eliminate either candidate based on the information they learned—Peter Sutter Number Ten was Caucasian with brown hair, and Peter Sutter Number Five was Caucasian and bald.

“It’s been over a year since Nicole met him. It’s possible he shaved his head or lost his hair in that time,” Victoria said as they walked out of the lobby.

“I’ll circle back to him if need be,” Ford agreed.

They were in the heart of downtown, right by Millennium Park. Walking along Monroe Street, they passed by a crowd of kids playing in the Crown Fountain, a shallow pool between two fifty-foot glass towers that projected video images of people’s faces while spouting water.

“Who does that leave on our list?” Victoria glanced at Ford as they walked side by side. He had his sunglasses on, and the sun highlighted the warm tones of his brown hair.

That cute stray lock had fallen across his forehead again.

“There are the guys we need to circle back to,” he said. “And we also have Peter Sutter Numbers Four and Nine left. Both of them live in three-flat condo buildings with no exterior front door to their units. We’ll have to get creative with those two.”

“Plan D?”

“Plan D.” He ran a hand through his hair, as if trying to brush the errant lock into place.

When it fell right back, she smiled. “I’ll get it.” Pausing on the sidewalk, they faced each other as she reached up and tucked the lock into the rest of his beautiful, dark hair. “There.”

“You must have the touch.” He took her hand and ran his lips over the back of her fingers.

Criminy, that was smooth. A warm feeling spread across her stomach.

“I was thinking we could grab something to eat,” he said.

“You know what happens every time we do that.”

His lips curved wickedly at the corners. “Indeed, I do.” He tugged her by the hand, toward the street corner. “Come on.”

While they waited for the light to turn, Victoria looked around. “Where are we going? There aren’t any restaurants this way.”

“Sure there are. Seventy of them.”

Seventy restaurants? It took her a moment, then she realized they were heading in the direction of Grant Park. “Oh, no. We are not going to the Taste.”

Every July, the city hosted the Taste of Chicago, an outdoor food festival with musical bands that brought in over two million people. Chicagoans tended to fall into two camps about the annual bacchanalia, viewing it either as a time-honored tradition or something to be avoided like the plague.

Generally not the biggest fan of teeming masses of sweaty people, Victoria considered herself among the latter.

“It’ll be fun,” Ford said.

“Famous last words,” she grumbled.

But she allowed him to lead her across the street anyway.

* * *

IN FAIRNESS, THE scene at Grant Park wasn’t as bad as Victoria had feared. Food vendors in brightly colored tents stretched along both sides of the street. Surrounded by green parkway, and with the Chicago skyline an impressive backdrop against the gorgeous blue summer sky, she and Ford grabbed some food and strolled leisurely while they ate.

She looked over and caught him eyeing her Lou Malnati’s pizza. “I told you that you chose poorly.” He’d given her a big speech about trying something new in the spirit of the festival—hence the smoked alligator hot dog in his hand.

When he grumbled something about it being part of the experience, she smiled and decided to take pity on him. She held out her pizza. “Here.”

He leaned down and took a bite straight from her hands. “Mmm.”

She felt a flutter in her chest, momentarily caught off guard by the playful intimacy of the moment. “I’ve been meaning to ask: how did it go the other night, when you babysat Zoe?”

“Total disaster.” He proceeded to tell her all about Zoe’s volcano-like throwing up and him lying half-naked on the floor outside her room.

She laughed at the story. “Aw, the mighty Ford Dixon, taken down by a four-month-old.” Looking at him as they walked side by side, she was curious. “Volcanic vomiting aside, you do seem to have a way with Zoe. Is that something you want someday? Kids of your own?”

He considered this. “I’m not sure. I like kids, but there’s the obvious issue of who I would have one with. Not all of us have stockpiles of frozen eggs lying around.”

“You know, if you settled down with some nice girl, she just might give you access to her eggs,” Victoria teased.

He nudged her arm playfully. “Well, if it were that easy, it probably would’ve happened already. And then I wouldn’t be here, walking with you on this nice summer day, eating this . . . disgusting alligator hot dog.” He made a face, looking down at it.