“Who knows.”
What did he mean? Laurent and the staff here were London’s friends. They didn’t only work together, they socialized together because they were the only people who shared the same crappy schedule. “You haven’t spoken to her lately?”
He tsked and shook his head. “London pushed us”—he gestured to the restaurant—“all away these last few months. I tried to talk to her. So did Cynthia.” Cynthia was his girlfriend and the restaurant’s sommelier. She and London were good friends. At least, I thought they were. “But she stopped answering our calls and texts. When she quit, that was the last we heard of her.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” My unease grew by the minute. “Did you notice anything off about her behavior?”
“Oui.” Laurent nodded, anger flashing in his dark eyes. “Little bumps and bruises she tried to hide. Cynthia tried to get her to open up … but she was completely shut down. Sorry.” He shrugged unhappily. “We did try, but she didn’t want to talk.”
I felt sick to my stomach. “Are you saying Nick is abusing her?”
“I don’t want to say anything without facts.”
And they’d left her to it? I glowered at him. “You suspect it and you let her leave? You didn’t do anything?”
“Do what? You cannot help someone who does not want to be helped.”
Like hell!
Throwing him a look of disgust, I stormed out of the restaurant, shoving my hat and sunglasses back on.
It took me fifteen minutes to find a cab, and I cursed myself for not jumping on the subway. By the time we reached Nick’s apartment building in Soho, I’d had to talk myself down several times from a ledge that might lead me to murdering Nick!
Nick’s building, unsurprisingly, had every amenity possible beneath the apartments. It also had twenty-four-seven doorman service, a receptionist, and key card security. Nick had a private elevator to the penthouse on this side of the building, which meant I couldn’t go up. The doorman let me in, and I asked the guy at reception to call Nick’s apartment, hoping the asshole was at work and London would be home.
My wish came true, and London agreed to let me up. I was vibrating with anxiety when the receptionist swiped a key card over the pad on the wall beside the private elevator.
As the elevator rose, I did a little meditative breathing to slow my pulse. It helped. A little. The doors opened, revealing Nick’s large, stylish home. It was an open-plan concept with floor-to-ceiling windows along two walls overlooking the city.
I’d seen his home before. Therefore, my attention wasn’t on the expensive furnishings and one-of-a-kind artwork I’d always thought were pretentious.
I was looking at my best friend who stood before me.
Her pretty face was gaunt, her cropped T-shirt and cardigan drooping on her small shoulders, her baggy jeans barely clinging to her slim hips. It wasn’t only the weight loss that shocked me.
It was the way she stood almost hunched into herself, a hand wrapped around her opposite wrist, knuckles white with nervousness. It was the hollowness in her stunning turquoise eyes.
She forced a wide smile and reached for me. “What are you doing here?”
I walked out of the elevator and into her arms, feeling how delicate and fragile she was, and I had to fight back tears. Burying my face in her neck, I trembled, trying to hold back the emotion and failing.
“Hey, hey, hey …” London tightened her embrace. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
It was so typical for London to be in the midst of something awful and still offer me comfort.
Pulling back, I ignored the tears drying on my cheeks and took her in.
Her lush red hair was in a messy topknot, so it only accentuated the hollowness of her cheekbones. Her freckles were covered with a thick layer of foundation, which wasn’t her usual style. When she wasn’t at work, London wore multiple piercings in her ears and a small hoop in her nose. She didn’t wear any jewelry now. “Oh, Spoon, you don’t look like yourself at all.”
Her expression tightened and she dropped her hold on me.
The sleeves of her cardigan had pushed up when she embraced me. I caught sight of the dark smudges around her forearms, and fury flushed through me.
“Are those bruises?” I reached for her, but London quickly shoved her sleeves down and crossed her arms. A huge diamond glinted on her ring finger, momentarily stunning me. Not just because London tended not to wear rings because she had to take them off for her job but because my friend was engaged.
And she hadn’t told me.
“You’re engaged?” I whispered.
