Third Time's a Charm (23 page)

He gave her hands a final squeeze, then left the cubicle. Tori settled back in her seat, aware that Mitch was staring at her with barely concealed curiosity.

She shrugged. “Phil needed help filming a commercial for one of his accounts this morning, so I filled in.”

“You went out on a commercial shoot?”

“That’s right.”

The smirk had disappeared completely, replaced by undisguised envy. “How did you wrangle that?”

“I didn’t wrangle anything. He asked for help. I said yes.”

That he didn’t believe her was apparent. He watched her suspiciously, then rose and edged toward the exit. When he stepped out of her cubicle, Tori stopped him.

“Oh, Mitch?” She gave him a bright smile. “About that dinner tomorrow night. Great idea. What time do you want to go?”

Judging from his expression, he regretted asking her. She half expected him to back out. Instead, a shadow of his former smugness returned as he said, “Let’s plan to head over around seven.”

When he was gone, Tori sat back with a sigh of satisfaction. Any day she managed to get one over on Mitch was a good day.

13

The office was blessedly quiet all day Saturday. The few people unfortunate enough to be working kept to themselves— even Mitch, Tori was pleased to note. The phone was satisfyingly silent. Kate’s cell phone battery must have died or something.

Drawing on her notes and her memories of the atmosphere at Maguire’s, Tori came up with a few rough advertising ideas that she thought held real promise. She also assembled some ideas for an approach to the question of Place for her marketing plan. By early afternoon, she’d made enough progress that she felt justified in taking a break to do some research for Joan.

She pulled up her favorite search engine. The screen displayed a multicolored logo, the cursor flashing in the search box. Fingers poised over the keyboard, Tori hesitated.
Wedding gifts for groom.
Her brain sent the signal to her fingers. But her heart supplied a different phrase.

Find a person.

The words appeared on the screen as though put there by someone else. She stared, her finger hovering over the mouse key. In her ears her heartbeat sounded like somebody held a microphone to her chest and cranked the volume. Seeing the request on the monitor flooded her with dread. If she’d come far enough in her decision process to actually type the words that might lead to her finding Daddy, what did that mean was happening inside her? Was she really ready to confront him, to ask him the question that hurt so much she could barely phrase it to herself?

Why did you leave me?

Her finger plunged downward. The mouse clicked.

A list of URLs appeared—52,100,000 of them, according to the statistics at the top of the page. A frantic laugh burst through her lips. Apparently lots of people had someone they’d like to find. She scanned the ones at the top. Find a Person. Free Person Search. Find a Missing Friend. Well, it didn’t matter which she chose, did it? She clicked the first link.

A simple-looking search box opened up, along with a few instructions. All she had to do was enter a name and, if she had it, an old address. They didn’t even ask for a social security number.

Her throat tightened as she typed
Thomas Alan Sanderson
. No hesitation before clicking the search button this time. When the results flashed up on the screen, for a moment Tori sat there, stunned. This site listed over a hundred Thomas Sandersons from all over the country. And the amount of data it gave was pretty amazing. Besides the name, the page displayed aliases, age, the cities and states where that particular Thomas Sanderson was known to have lived, and—most amazing of all—a list of possible known relatives. The entries appeared to be in no discernible order, so she paged down, looking for a sixty-one-year-old Thomas.

A name in the relative column of number twenty-nine snagged her eye before she even noticed the man’s age. The pounding of her heart stuttered when she saw her own mother’s name.
Carla Hancock Sanderson (age 55).
She’d found him!

But right below Mom’s name was another.
Patricia Ann
Parker (age 38).

Blood buzzed through her head. Who was Patricia Ann Parker? She was listed below Mom, in the relative column. But Daddy had no relatives. Had he remarried? If so, he’d married a much younger woman. Allie was twenty-nine. That meant this woman was closer to his daughter’s age than his! Did Mom know? Tori remembered Mom’s expression on Sunday. No, she didn’t think so.

And look at that list of addresses. Apparently he’d moved around quite a bit after he left Danville. In fact, Danville wasn’t even included in the list, but five other cities were, including Phoenix, Las Vegas, Dayton, Columbus, and . . . Tori gulped. The last city listed was Cincinnati. Did that mean Cincinnati was his most recent address? Was he, even now, living only ninety minutes from here?

A button beneath her father’s name invited her to
View
Details.
Tori tried to wet her lips with a dry tongue. Did she want details? Yes, she certainly did, but this site couldn’t tell her what she wanted to know. The details she wanted all had to do with
Why
, but this search engine could only tell her
Where.

And what if it turned out he lived in Cincinnati? How could he be so close to them and not let them know? Anger flickered at the edges of her thoughts. Ninety minutes was nothing. He could have driven down for Joan’s band concerts. Or to see Tori cheer at basketball games. Heck, Allie got her license a year after he left. If they’d known he was so close, they could have driven up to visit him.

The mouse button took the brunt of her anger. She clicked
View Details
with force. The display revealed a menu of choices, each one with an associated price tag. This was where the website made its money. The first option was an expanded version of the report she’d just seen, only with full addresses and phone numbers. For ten bucks she could get that address in Cincinnati. But the second option provided even more information for only five additional dollars. Tori scanned the list. People search. Property search. Marriage search. Divorce search. Her pulse faltered as she read the next item on the list.

Death search.

With a savage gesture, Tori closed out the browser window and then clasped her fingers in her other hand as though they’d been burned. No. That was one detail she couldn’t handle knowing.

The walls of her cubicle seemed to press in on her. She couldn’t sit here in front of this computer one more minute. Where could she go? Home? No. Danville? Her stomach formed a knot at the thought of facing Joan and Allie with the news that their father had lived only ninety miles away for who-knew-how-long. Where, then?

She jerked open the drawer and picked up her purse, hating the way her hand trembled as she draped the strap over her shoulder. The mall. Perfect. She’d go shopping for something to wear to Monday’s meeting. They didn’t call it retail therapy for nothing.

The slamming of the drawer echoed through the nearly empty office as Tori exited her cubicle at almost a run. She took the long way around to the elevator so she could stop by and tell Mitch she’d meet him at Maguire’s at seven.

Mitch beat Tori to the restaurant. She parked her car next to his and wound her way through the nearly full parking lot. As she approached the door, a well-dressed couple exited, and the gentleman politely held the door open for her to enter. She stepped into the crowded waiting area and stopped, blinking in the subdued light.

A familiar voice sounded in her ear. “Wow, Sanderson, you look great.”

Tori rounded. Mitch stood so close she had to tilt her head to look him in the face. His crooked smile held the hint of a leer that brought an uncomfortable warmth to her cheeks. Her afternoon at the mall had proven profitable, yielding not only a new suit for Monday’s meeting but a stunning new Italian silk satin dress. Hardly everyday attire, but she justified the expense with the assurance that she could wear it tonight to go out with Mitch, and again the next time Ryan asked her to dinner, and a third time at Joan’s rehearsal dinner. But judging from the way Mitch’s gaze lingered, maybe the draping neckline should be a little higher for an evening with a co-worker.

“Thank you.” She couldn’t help flashing a dimple at him, even as she turned sideways and unobtrusively hitched up the silky fabric on her shoulder to disrupt his view.

“The hostess said it’ll be a few minutes while they get our table ready.”

Tori glanced at the black-clad pair of girls behind the hostess stand. Neither was the blonde from Tuesday night. Beyond them, every table in the restaurant was full, and the dining room was noisier tonight. Once again, firelight flickered from gas logs in the far wall, adding a nice ambiance to the room. Romantic. Tori cast an uncomfortable sideways glance at Mitch. He was watching her with a stare so direct it might almost be interpreted as impertinent. But then again, that was Mitch.

“Mr. Jackson?” One of the hostesses smiled in their direction. “We have your table ready.”

Tori trailed the girl through the first dining room into the second, aware that Mitch followed close enough so she could hear his breath. The diners seated at the tables they passed formed a more diverse crowd tonight. No jeans, but she saw a few casually dressed couples interspersed with the elaborate dresses. There was even a family in the corner, a boy about ten years old and a girl a few years younger. They sat with an older couple who Tori guessed were their grandparents. She hid a grin at the idea of Gram and Grandpa bringing the Sanderson sisters to a restaurant like this when they were that age. Her grandparents hadn’t been poor, but she doubted if Gram had ever been in a restaurant more expensive than Cracker Barrel. She would have been outraged at the menu prices here.

Tori’s foot stumbled when the hostess led them to the same table she had occupied with Ryan on Tuesday night.
O-kay.
That felt a little weird. Mitch reached out a hand to steady her, his touch electric on her bare arm. She straightened away from him and shot him a quick smile of thanks.

“Steady there, Sanderson. Don’t want you falling off those ridiculous high heels you’re wearing.”

“Ridiculous?” She allowed a chill to creep into her tone as she slid into the chair he held out for her. Someone needed to give the guy lessons in dating etiquette. And maybe a lesson on recognizing quality footwear.

“I meant ridiculously high.” His soft voice purred in her ear as he settled the chair beneath the table. “But I guess a four-inch heel makes a big difference when you’re only five feet tall.”

“I’m five-two, thank you very much.”

She took the menu from the hostess and opened it, even though she’d memorized it a few days before. Tonight she intended to eat without worrying about the price. This was honest-to-goodness field research, and Connolly and Farrin would pick up the bill.

“Kind of a snazzy place.” Mitch’s eyes moved as he scanned the room. “Surprising for a restaurant in a strip mall, don’t you think?”

Tori followed his gaze. Candles flickered on every table, the light reflecting warmly off of silver and crystal. Was Mitch starting to have the same suspicions about Maguire’s new location as she? If not, she didn’t want to give him any leads. In fact, she’d prefer not to discuss any of her ideas with him. She shrugged and went back to her examination of the menu.

His grin deepened. “Ah. I get it.” He picked up his own menu and opened the leather folder. “Not giving anything away, are we?”

“That’s right.”

The waiter approached, and Tori bit back a groan when she recognized the same man as on her last visit. What would he think of her, coming to the same restaurant with two different guys within a few days of each other? She sank a little behind her menu as he filled their glasses with ice water.

“Can I bring you something from the bar?”

“We’ll have a bottle of Shiraz,” Mitch said instantly.

Tori hesitated. The firm would reimburse them for wine without even a question. Liquor flowed freely in the marketing community. The large conference room at the office even boasted a well-stocked bar for client meetings that ran late. But after Mom’s revelations about Daddy, the thought had occurred to Tori more than once that addictive tendencies seemed to recur in families. Apparently her paternal grandmother was an addict, as was her father. She’d rather not take a risk with something like that.

“I’ll just stick with water,” she told the waiter.

Mitch’s eyebrows arched. The waiter, who didn’t appear to remember her, thank goodness, picked up the wine glass from the setting in front of her and disappeared in the direction of the bar. They kept their attention focused on their menus until he returned with the wine.

When the waiter left again, Mitch raised his glass toward her in a silent toast, sipped, and then asked, “So, how are you coming along on your presentation?”

“Fine. You?”

“Good. Great, in fact.” He sipped again, then set the glass down. “I’ve got some good ideas, I think.”