Chapter 38 Tierney
Ramsay never responded to my voicemail. If he’d chosen to speak to me in person or merely ignore what I’d discovered, I wouldn’t know because fortuitously for me, I had a flight to catch the next day.
In the six weeks I’d spent recuperating, dealing with the slow, stressful, legal stuff for Shawn Prescott and Halston Cole, and seeing the B and B come together, I’d also been worrying constantly about London.
Her texts were infrequent, her calls even more so, and that didn’t make sense. Considering what I’d been through and was dealing with, London would have been the first person calling me every day to check in. Now she was cagey and uncommunicative, and I couldn’t sit by and let it go on.
Two weeks ago, I’d asked my doctor if I could fly. She’d suggested another two weeks and so I’d booked my flight for the Sunday. The day after we’d collected the Welsh dresser and I’d discovered Ramsay’s secret room.
I’d barely slept, and Taran knew there was something up with me, but I’d hoped she’d put it down to my upcoming travels and concerns about London.
She and Cammie had offered to accompany me, but I’d only bought a one-way ticket because I didn’t know how long it would take to figure out what was going on with my best friend.
And I wasn’t leaving New York until I was satisfied she was safe and happy.
We’d had a friend in high school, Shay. We weren’t best friends like London and I were best friends, but the three of us used to hang out a lot.
When we were seventeen, Shay started seeing this older guy.
Trevor. It was noticeable to me and London that Trevor quickly grew controlling.
One of the things he used to do was constantly check Shay’s phone and talk shit about her parents and us, trying to separate Shay from all of us.
Shay broke up with him after a few months and he’d hassled her for a little while until her new boyfriend put the fear of God in him.
The memory of Trevor’s behavior, along with the ick Nick had always given me, had my alarm bells ringing.
I’d left in the middle of the night for my flight from Glasgow to New York.
It was one of only a handful of airports in the UK that offered direct flights to my home city.
I arrived at four o’clock in the afternoon my time, but it was only eleven in the morning in New York.
Despite my exhaustion, I wanted to get onto eastern time as quickly as possible, so I forced myself to stay awake, checked into my hotel, ordered room service, and had a shower.
By the time I was ready, I knew London would be at work.
The restaurant in Manhattan was fancy, but I needed to be discreet with my return to the city.
Therefore, I wore a ball cap and sunglasses as I left the hotel.
I’d chosen a hotel in Soho near Nick’s apartment building to be close to London.
However, she was the sous chef of a French restaurant in Midtown.
According to live maps, it was as quick to grab a cab as it was to get the subway, so I chose a cab.
London was fifteen the first and only time she really got her heart broken by a boy.
She’d been in love with a guy we’d met while on vacation at the Cape.
One day he’d kissed me, and I’d immediately told London.
But telling her that the boy she loved had tried to cheat on her with me, her best friend, was the first time I ever had butterflies facing London.
I was so afraid she’d blame me. My mom warned me she might at first but also claimed London would come around.
In the end, London hadn’t blamed me. She was devastated, but she also felt bad for me that he’d put me in that position. Because that’s the kind of friend she was.
That day as I got in the cab, it was the first time since the summer we were fifteen that I had butterflies going to visit the woman I considered a sister.
The city passed me by, and now that I’d eaten and showered and was no longer in a plane daze, I drank in the place that had been home for most of my life.
The buzz of vehicles and people, the tall buildings, vendors, stores, and chaos of life—there was a familiarity to it, a nostalgia.
It was like a childhood house filled with memories … but it no longer felt like home.
It stunned me into silence in the back of the cab.
Because … Leth Sholas felt like home.
I’d hoped for it as soon as I walked off the ferry in Half-Light Harbor and experienced that feeling of rightness.
And my dream came true.
It was home.
New York might not be that for me now, but London still was. She was still my home too.
After paying the driver, I slipped out of the vehicle and stood in front of the French restaurant that wasn’t open for another hour. The scent of food and traffic fumes hit me as soon as I got out of the car.
It was funny, but I hadn’t realized how crisp and fresh the air was back on Glenvulin until I stood in New York again.
It felt like a smog across my chest. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed the air quality difference.
I’d been lucky to travel all over. Most cities were like that.
Smog. Fumy. A chaotic potpourri of opposing scents.
Pushing my longing for my Scottish island aside, I stepped up to the restaurant. I could see staff inside. I took off my ball cap and knocked on the glass front door.
Laurent was still the ma?tre d’. A tall, handsome Frenchman in his forties, Laurent was fun-loving with a wicked sense of humor.
But he could turn on the cliché pompous Frenchman schtick for the clientele in an instant.
Right now, he was shooting me an imperious look as he took his time approaching the front door.
As always, he was impeccably dressed in an exquisitely fitted three-piece suit.
As he neared, I took off my sunglasses. “Laurent, it’s me!” I called out, not wanting to say my name aloud.
Recognition crossed his expression and he unlocked the door, letting me in. “Tierney, what are you doing here?” He bent down to brush barely there kisses to both my cheeks.
“Hey, how are you?” It was lovely to see him, but I was impatient for my best friend. “I’m here to see London, of course.”
Laurent’s brows drew together. “London? But … surely you know London does not work here anymore?”
With that, it was as if the rug had been ripped out from under me. I reached for Laurent instinctively and he placed a steadying hand around my biceps.
“Tierney, are you all right? Do you need to sit down?”
Call it jet lag on top of shock. I blew out a breath, trying to remain calm so I could get some answers. “What happened? Why doesn’t London work here?”
He scowled, releasing me. “I have my suspicions. London quit two months ago. Said she was reevaluating her life.”
“What?” Two months! “She didn’t tell me. Is she … is she still living with Nick?”
“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.
London glanced unhappily down at her finger. “He proposed last night.”
Shouldn’t she be the happiest woman in the world then? “You look miserable.”
She flinched. “What are you doing here without warning?”
I gaped in shock at her sharp tone. “What am I doing here? Do you mean what am I doing here after being stabbed?”
She flinched again. “Silver …”
“Where have you been?” My anger made me push even as a voice in the back of my head told me to stop.
“I got stabbed. I got dumped by a man I’m pretty sure I’m in love with, even though I also kind of hate him.
I’m juggling two legal battles against the man who stabbed me and the man who ordered my murder after murdering my parents.
What am I doing here? Where the fuck have you been?
Why didn’t you tell me you got engaged?”
Tears filled London’s eyes as she stumbled back from me.
And I cursed myself.
Whatever Nick was doing to her … the last thing she needed was one more person emotionally wailing on her.
“I’m sorry.” I hurried to apologize. “I’m so worried about you, Spoon.
Laurent said you quit two months ago! He said that you’ve been cagey, that you dropped all your friends, that you came into work a few times covering up bruises and injuries.
Now you’re standing before me not looking like you at all and there are definite bruises on your arms.” I took a step toward her. “Did he do this to you?”
Fear seemed to swallow London’s entire face. “I … you should probably go. I’ll come to you. Just let me know where you’re staying, and I’ll come see you.” She gently shoved me toward the elevator.
“Spoon.” I took her hand. “Please.”
“I wanted to quit my job.” London was breathless now.
“I’m taking time to figure out what I want to do, okay?
And I d-don’t l-look like myself because you took off for Scotland and left me behind.
” She none too gently shoved me onto the elevator.
“You don’t get to come here and judge me when you left me behind.
Nick didn’t leave. He’s the only person who hasn’t left me and he won’t. ”
Oh God. “Spoon”—I reached out to stop the doors from closing—“that’s not true. I know you better than anyone. Remember that. No matter how much physical distance is between us, I will never truly leave you. I got on a fucking plane as soon as I could after the attack to make sure you’re okay.”
Her lips trembled as she tried to fight back tears and I saw her. I saw her buried behind the fear in her eyes.
“I won’t leave you alone in whatever this is,” I vowed. “I’m not leaving New York until I know you’re okay. I’ll be back. And if you need me, I’m staying at the Winton. Room 201.” I let go of the door. “I love you, Spoon.”
The doors closed between us, but I caught London’s sob before I was shut out from her.
I swiped angrily at my own tears, vowing to get her out of whatever mess this was with Nick.
Whatever it cost me.