The Trapped Girl (Tracy Crosswhite #4)(64)

“Hello?” His voice sounded like he was speaking through a drainpipe clogged with pea gravel and water. He cleared his throat. “Hello?”

“Hey, Faz. How’s it going?”

“What?” he said, confused.

“How’s it going?”

“Who the hell is this?”

“Who is it?” Vera asked, rolling toward him and sitting up. “Did something happen to one of the kids?”

“It’s Nik,” the caller said. “Your favorite skip tracer.”

Faz struggled to sit up. Vera turned on the light on her side of the bed. The two of them squinted at the brightness. “Nik?” Faz asked, looking at the nightstand clock radio.

“Who’s Nik?” Vera asked.

“What the hell time is it?” Faz said.

“It’s three thirty-two.”

“In the morning?”

Nik laughed. “Hey, April Fool’s, Fazio!”

“Son of a bitch,” Faz said under his breath. “What is wrong with you? My wife is worried sick something happened to one of the kids.”

“Yeah, and my wife is still pissed at me for throwing her cell phones in the damn lake. So maybe now we have a truce?”

Faz blew out a heavy breath, looked at Vera, and said, “I’m sorry, it’s a business call.”

“At this hour?”

Faz knew he deserved it. He spoke into the phone. “Is this the only reason you called, to even the score?”

“Come on, Faz, I’m an asshole but I’m not that big an asshole. I got some information for you on that job you asked me to look into . . . for free.”

“Strickland?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Faz said, reaching for his reading glasses and the pen and pad of paper he also kept on the nightstand. “Go ahead.”

“Shit, Fazio, it’s three thirty in the morning. Call me later and we’ll set a time and place to talk.”

“Wait, are you telling me you called just to wake me up?”

“That would be vindictive, Faz.” He paused. Then he said, “I’m a night owl—in case you think of being funny again.” Nik hung up.

“Who was that?” Vera asked, still looking worried.

“You know how you’re always telling me I’m not as funny as I think I am?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re right.”



When Faz called later that morning, Ian Nikolic told him to meet for lunch at Duke’s Chowder House. Duke’s was located at the end of a pier on Lake Union.

“Does this guy do anything that doesn’t involve the water?” Del said as the waitress led them through the restaurant to the wood deck out back.

Nik sat beneath the shade of white umbrellas shielding the tables, talking on his cell phone. The other tables were full, diners dressed in light shirts and summer dresses enjoying a breeze off the lake that made the temperature tolerable, though Faz could already feel trickles of sweat beneath his shirt.

“I’m going to have to call you back,” Nikolic said, holding the phone to his ear, half standing and reaching out a hand to Faz. “My lunch guests just arrived. Yeah, yeah. Today. I told you, I’ll get to it today.” He disconnected and shook Faz’s hand. “Hey, Fazio, you’re looking a little tired. Didn’t you get a good night’s sleep?”

Del laughed and removed his sport coat.

“Yeah, all right, you got me. Now we’re even. Vera nearly kicked me out of bed she was so mad.”

They settled into seats. Three chairs had a view of the dazzling blue water teeming with boats and yachts leaving and returning to the marina, but Del draped his jacket over the back of the chair facing away from the water.

“You got something against natural beauty?” Nik said.

“That’s what the doctor said to his mother when he was born,” Faz said.

“I’m good right where I am,” Del said.

The waiter appeared, handing them menus. Faz ordered an iced tea. “Make mine an Arnold Palmer,” Del said.

“Get the chowder,” Nik said, not bothering to open his menu. “You can’t go wrong.”

Faz and Nik ordered the chowder. “And a loaf of bread,” Faz said. “I’m a big dipper.”

“Scallop ravioli,” Del said, considering the menu. “Look at that, Faz, they got seafood for Italians.” He looked up at the waiter. “Is it good?”

The waiter assured him it was.

After the waiter departed, Faz sipped his water. “So what do you got for me, Nik?”

“Someone was looking for that name you came asking about.”

“Andrea Strickland?”

“No, Lynn Hoff.”

“Yeah?” Faz glanced at Del. Only someone who knew Andrea Strickland had created an alias would have known to ask about Lynn Hoff. “Do we know who?”

“No, and the guy I got the information from is jumpy as all hell, given what happened to her. He said he’d tell me everything so long as I leave his name out of it.”

“That’s gonna depend on what he told you, Nik. You know I can’t make that promise,” Faz said.

“I know, but he doesn’t. I told him the same thing, but I also said I’d do my best to keep him out of it, act as a go-between. This is one of those instances when the information is more valuable than the source. Am I right?”