Nicolas was in a meeting when he got the first call from his mother. He frowned, wondering what was wrong. He did not, however, pick it up. He had a few minutes left in the meeting and his mother could wait. He loved her, but she could wait.
When the meeting was over, he went to his office and dismissed Little, who wanted to say something to him.
"Not now," he said to the man as he looked at his phone, a frown pinching the space between his brows.
It was ringing again. His mother never called twice unless it was serious. His heart galloped as he considered the possibilities. Had something happened to one of his sisters or his dad? He received the phone and put it to his ear.
"Hello?"
"Nicolas." His mother's voice was soft, careful. "I want you to come home tomorrow."
He walked over to his desk and sat behind it, something he could not define wrapping its cold fingers around his throat and constricting.
