Page 114 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
I ran a palm down my face as Big Dick scrambled out of the chair. The door opened but never closed. When I looked up, I caught Fika hovering near the entryway like a confused puppy unsure how to use the stairs for the first time.
Delilah Lowell.
She could never mind her own business.
“Delilah sent you here,” I stated, taking in the newfound weight Fika carried.
His tan had returned since I had last seen him. I’d never seen his eyes this crystal clear, too. He wore a fitted purple Henley sheathed over scraggy muscles, but his skin no longer glowed a shade of death.
He paired the same distressed jeans he always wore with Nike slides and red and gold tube socks with the number seven stitched on the sides in white. Even the sallow cheeks I’d gotten used to had filled out.
“Delilah called me last night and said I might wanna make a day trip to Haling Cove.” Fika rubbed the top of his head, brushing four strands of stringy blond hair to the side. The Jonas Brothers wig no longer covered his scalp, but he had the same amount of hair as Rosco. He also didn’t look tired. “Not much to do for me in Eastridge, so I said, yeah, I’d make the trip. Saw your Ma at the supermarket the other day. She said Reed is coming back to town soon.”
I ignored his last comment, slid Emery’s wallet back into my pocket, and gestured to the chair opposite of mine, wondering if I had any cigarettes in my desk. I didn’t smoke, but I used to keep them around for Fika’s visits. “You look like shit, but less shitty than usual.”
“The tumors in my lungs are basically gone.” He rubbed around his ribcage before taking a seat. “Hopefully for good this time.”
I booted my laptop up and searched for Emery’s shell company. “Why are you here?”
“I know you paid off my medical bills.”
Fika looked two seconds from thanking me, so I cut him off, “It was anonymous.”
If I wanted his gratitude, I would have cooked him dinner and complimented his eyes. Never happening in the next ten lifetimes.
“What do you know?” His shrug emphasized how much he had filled out since I’d last seen him. “I’m a good P.I. I’m good at following clues.”
“Funny, considering you haven’t clued in on the fact that I want you out of here.”
I didn’t.
Not yet.
I had questions.
He had answers.
“Fine.” Fika held up both palms in the universal sign for surrender. “I was only here to say thanks.”
I let him walk to the door, searched for any signs of exertion, then stopped him. “Wait.”
He did. “Yeah?”
“Emery Winthrop—”
The few wisps of hair on his head flopped forward as he shook it. “I already said I ain’t sharing more about the Winthrop family, Nash.”
“Let me ask the fucking question first,” I bit out.
In front of me,
my search for the shell company had come up empty. It would always. Unlike her pigeon-brained mother, Emery had a head on her shoulders. Fika, on the other hand, possessed answers. I needed them.
Fika heaved a sigh before returning to the seat and crossing his legs at his ankles. “Fine. Make it quick.”
“Look at you, Fika.” I toyed with the business card Brandon had left me a while back. It laid at the edge of my desk since. “Did your doctors swap your chemo drugs with something to grow your spine?”
“You’re an ass. You know that?”
