So he was having a little fun with this amateur detective mission. “It doesn’t matter what these guys think. By the time they open the package, we’ll be long gone.”

She looked at the spread on the counter before them, then took a deep breath and nodded.

“All right. Let’s go deliver some pens.”

Seventeen

JUST FOR THE hell of it, Ford decided to start with Peter Sutter Number Six since Victoria had randomly mentioned him in an earlier conversation.

For all you know, Zoe’s father is Peter Sutter Number Six. And Peter Sutter Number Six is going to turn out to be a really good guy.

Here was hoping.

This particular Peter Sutter lived on a tree-lined street in a single-family home in Roscoe Village, a neighborhood on the north side of the city. There were no street spots available within camera range—even with his zoom lens—so he double-parked the car across the street.

Ford grabbed his digital camera from his messenger bag and lined up the shot. There were steps leading up to Peter Sutter Number Six’s front door, providing the perfect angle for a picture. Satisfied, he showed Victoria. “Now, when you get to the door, make sure you stand off to the right side, so you don’t block my shot.” He pointed on the screen. “See? You want to stand here.”

She leaned in to get a better look at the camera, moving closer.

Christ, she was wearing that sexy perfume again. While practically sitting in his lap.

“Right side. Got it.” She pulled back, her hand accidently brushing against his thigh.

Kill him now.

“And remember, you’re supposed to be his neighbor, so walk to the end of the block and head west when you’re done,” he said, forcing himself to stay focused. “I’ll pick you up on the next street.”

“Sounds good.” She reached into the backseat and grabbed the envelope addressed to Peter Sutter Number Six. “Wish me luck.”

Victoria climbed out of the car and got her game face on. She crossed the street and headed up the front steps of the house, a brick three-story set on an extra-wide lot. Being careful to stand off to the right side, she took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

Here goes nothing.

After a moment, the door flew open and she found herself looking down at a boy wearing a baseball cap, whom she guessed to be around seven or eight years old.

He could be Zoe’s half brother, she realized.

His attention drawn to the handheld game device he played with, he barely spared her a glance.

She smiled brightly. “Hi, there. Is . . . Peter home?”

“Dad!” the kid shouted over his shoulder. “He’s in the bathroom.” Engrossed in the game, he walked away, leaving the door open.

Thanks for sharing. But then Victoria realized—holy shit—Peter Sutter was home. She was actually doing this, like now. Moving a few inches farther to the right, she looked around, as if admiring the yard.

“Can I help you?”

She turned and got her first look at Peter Sutter Number Six.

Average height and build, in his late thirties, he had light blond hair that was thinning at the top. Victoria smiled and held up the package. “I think this belongs to you. I live one street over and it was delivered to my place by mistake.” Given his hair color, she had a feeling this wasn’t Nicole’s Peter Sutter. Nevertheless, she paused for a split second before handing over the envelope, so Ford could snap his photo.

“Oh, sorry about that. Thanks for bringing it by.” Peter smiled and took the envelope from her.

“No problem.” She turned and headed down the steps, just as Ford’s car pulled away. Around the corner, she found him waiting for her as promised.

“It worked,” she said excitedly, while climbing into the passenger seat. “Did you get a photo?”

“Sure did.” Ford held out his camera and showed her on the screen. “But it’s not going to be him. The hair color is wrong.”

“Still, that’s now two Peter Sutters out of the eleven that we can eliminate.” She looked over approvingly. “You may actually find this guy, after all.”

Unfortunately, they struck out with the next two addresses. No one was home at Peter Sutter Number Eight’s place, and a woman answered the door on behalf of Peter Sutter Number Three—his wife, Victoria guessed, given the wedding band she wore.

After that, they drove to the Edgewater neighborhood, where Peter Sutter Number Eleven lived in a two-story row house with a wide front porch. Parking was easier to find in this neighborhood, and Ford scored a spot directly across the street.

“I just thought of another worst-case scenario,” Victoria said. “What if someone sees you snapping photographs and charges the car, demanding to know what you’re doing?”

“On the off chance that happens,” Ford said, while adjusting the zoom lens to line up his shot, “I’ll show him my Trib ID and say that I’m a photographer, getting photos for a Home and Garden feature we’re doing on the neighborhood.” He grabbed the envelope out of the backseat, handed it to her, and winked. “But it’s really sweet that you’re worrying about me.”

She didn’t bother responding to that as she exited the car.

Well familiar with the drill by now, she headed up the steps to the front door, got into position, and rang the bell. No one answered, so she rang again to be certain.

No luck.

With a shrug, she turned to go, and made it halfway down the steps when the door opened.

“Sorry,” the man said, out of breath. “I was running on the treadmill and had earbuds in.” He flashed her a perfect smile. “Luckily, I heard the doorbell between songs.”

Chiseled jaw, striking light blue eyes, African American, he was shirtless and sweaty with a towel thrown over one shoulder, and had muscles rippling everywhere.

Victoria blinked, vaguely remembering something about a mission. “Are you Peter Sutter?”

He nodded. “Sure am.”

She held up the envelope. “I live on the next block. This was delivered to me by mistake.”

“Those tricksters at the post office—always keeping us on our toes.” He headed down the steps to take the envelope from her. “Thanks for bringing it by.”

“No problem.” She walked away and met Ford at their rendezvous point around the block.

“Nicole said that her Peter Sutter is white?” she confirmed, climbing into Ford’s car.