“I wouldn’t get too complicated. Stick as close to the truth as possible. Just tell her that we met when you moved into the place next to mine, and things developed from there.”

Victoria nodded. “Okay. And how long have we been dating?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Three years?”

“Three years?” She threw him a look. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

“What’s wrong with three years?”

“I’m just saying, if I were actually the type to be in a serious relationship, at thirty-three years old I would hope it wouldn’t take three years for him and I to figure out whether we’re compatible enough to live together.”

Ford considered that. “All right. So we’ve been dating, let’s say . . . six months.”

“Six months? And we’re already moving in together?” Victoria snorted. “How’d you manage to talk me into that?”

“Okay, why don’t you pick a length of time between six months and three years after which you would feel comfortable fake living with me, and we’ll just go with that?”

That got a smile out of her. “Sorry. I get a little nervous before these missions.”

Yes, she did. And he found it more adorable every time they were together.

Per his instructions, the cab pulled to a stop at the end of the block. Victoria climbed out while Ford paid the driver, who—having overheard their entire conversation—gave him an odd look.

“Long story,” Ford said, handing over a twenty. Then he stepped out of the cab and met Victoria at the sidewalk. Together, they walked toward Sutter’s three-flat. “Remember, this is a brokers’ open house, so it’ll be mostly real estate agents. But you and I were driving by the other day, saw the open house sign, and thought we’d check it out. We’ve been eyeing this block for a while, given how close it is to both the L and Wrigley Field.”

“Big Cubs fans, are we?”

“Oh, huge. We’re on the waiting list to get season tickets.” He crossed his fingers. “Here’s hoping for next year.”

“Okay, you are way too good at this.” As they headed up the front steps of the building, she looked sideways at him. “One year.”

He cocked his head, not following.

“That’s how long I’d want to fake date someone before fake moving in with him,” she explained.

“One year. Okay.” With a smile, he took her hand, leading her up the stairs to the unit on the third floor.

The door was open, so he and Victoria walked right in. There were several people milling about the penthouse condo, and a handful more gathered around the kitchen island, where light refreshments had been laid out.

It was a nice space, with lots of sunlight, vaulted ceilings, and maple hardwood floors. Two bedrooms, two baths, according to the listing sheet Ford took from the dining table as part of their cover. He and Victoria meandered into the living room, where he spotted several framed photos on the fireplace mantel.

Including a wedding photo.

Exchanging glances with Victoria—she’d spotted it, too—the two of them made their way over to get a better look.

“Any questions I can answer about the place?” asked a male voice from behind them.

Ford turned around.

The man smiled and gestured over his shoulder. “My wife, Melanie, is the real estate agent, but since she’s a little busy, I’m helping out.” He held out his hand to Ford. “Peter Sutter.”

Ford shook his hand, taking in the man’s brown eyes and short brown hair. Good-looking and built, this man would undoubtedly meet even Nicole’s standards of “cute” and normal looking. And there was one other thing that stood out about Peter Sutter Number Four.

He was the spitting image of Zoe.

Twenty-two

FEIGNING INTEREST, VICTORIA nodded along as Sutter talked about the upgrades he and his wife had made to the unit, and told them not to miss the private rooftop deck.

After he excused himself to greet another visitor, Ford turned to her. “Should we see the bedrooms next?”

“Definitely.”

Playing their parts, they checked out the second bedroom first, which the Sutters were currently using as an office, before moving on to the master suite. Victoria smiled politely as a woman passed them on her way out. Then she turned to Ford, whispering, “I think it’s him.”

He nodded in agreement. “I’m pretty sure it is.”

The bedroom had a contemporary-style décor, lots of clean lines and white fabrics. Victoria spotted another wedding photograph on one of the nightstands—a close-up of Sutter and his wife, smiling and looking adorably happy.

“Watch the door for me,” Ford said.

She blocked any incoming traffic by putting her hand on the doorframe and pretending to study the room. Ford grabbed his phone from his back pocket and took a picture of the Sutters’ wedding photo. He checked the image, then tucked his phone away.

“What do you think the odds are that Sutter and his wife met and got married all in the last fourteen months?” she asked.

“About fifty-fifty.”

She agreed, which meant they were quite possibly looking at an infidelity situation here. Maintaining their ruse, Victoria checked out the large master bedroom closet as another couple entered the room. Ford came up behind her.

“Plenty of room for your shoes,” he said teasingly, in a normal volume.

The setup of the closet reminded her of the closet in her old townhome, the one in which she’d blacked out during the break-in. Remembering that moment, she suddenly began to feel slightly . . . off.

No. Not here. Drawing on her relaxation techniques, she focused on taking steady breaths from her diaphragm.

I feel calm and relaxed.

“Look there,” Ford said quietly, clueless to the rising panic she felt. He moved around her, into the closet, and pointed to a row of men’s red T-shirts, zip-ups, and polo shirts, all bearing the same black logo. “He works at XSport Fitness.”

The comment diverted Victoria’s attention and grounded her. Instead of focusing on whether she felt light-headed, the lawyerly wheels in her mind began to spin in. Knowing that Sutter worked at an XSport Fitness club was helpful—she could likely contact him at work, instead of at home, to tell him about Nicole and Zoe.

She exhaled, feeling steadier than she had moments ago, and then noticed that the other couple was waiting to check out the closet. “Oops, sorry. I’ll get out of your way.”