Chapter 56 Nothing to Do but Wait
NOTHING TO DO BUT WAIT
ASHLEY
The phone rings only once before it picks up.
“Who is this?” the woman snaps, sharp and suspicious.
There’s noise in the background—conversation, a phone ringing, like she’s in an office or something.
I suck in a breath. “This is Ashley Carrington. Beckett’s wife.”
Silence.
“I know you know what’s going on with him.” I say. “Where is he? Is he okay? He’s not really in trouble, is he? Do I need to get him a lawyer?”
The questions pour out of me too fast, tangled together, and I hate how desperate I sound—but I am desperate.
There’s another silence. Then, “How did you get this number?”
“I—” I glance down, feeling like I need to tread carefully. “I found it..” I don’t want to make things worse for Beckett.
My heart thuds against my ribs.
“But that doesn’t matter,” I say quickly. “What matters is my husband. I know he isn’t behind all those crimes. He’s not the type of person to take advantage of people like that. You know that too, don’t you?”
More silence.
Then she exhales—careful. “I can’t tell you very much until… certain pieces are in place,” she says, her voice quieter. Lower. Older than I expected—closer to my mom’s age than mine. “I will tell you he’s safe. You’ll know more soon.”
“Where is he?”
“Honestly, Mrs. Carrington… The less you know right now, the better.”
I press a hand to my forehead. “Why?” This doesn’t make sense.
“There is a very good reason,” she cuts in. “But I’m warning you. For Beckett’s sake, stay quiet. Stay home. Are you at home right now?”
Why does she want to know? I am alone, aren’t I? I glance around and the hair on my arm raises. “I’m… out,” I say.
“Then go home,” she says. “Now. Just trust me. I shouldn’t even be talking to you, ma’am—just go home. Don’t talk to anyone. If anyone asks, you don’t know anything. Not yet. Not until you hear from me again. Do you understand?”
“No,” I whisper. “Not really. How do I know I can trust you?”
There’s the faintest sound of a chuckle—dry and knowing.
“Your husband gave you this number, didn’t he?”
I stare at the pencil-sketched note still clutched in my hand.
“…Okay,” I whisper. “Okay.”
The line goes dead.
Noah and Luna are both up when I get back to the house.
The scent of cinnamon and maple hits me before I’ve even kicked off my shoes. The boys are at the table, faces sticky, plates piled with French toast and what looks like some kind of berry compote. Luna’s doing.
Everyone looks up the second I walk in.
“Were you with Dad?” Max asks, mouth full. “When is he coming home?”
It’s a question I’ve heard a hundred times this past year—one I used to flinch at, used to resent Beckett for leaving me to answer alone. But not now. Not after everything.
I force a smile and walk over, brushing a hand across Blakey’s hair.
“I talked to someone who’s with him,” I say carefully. “She said he’s okay. He’s safe.”
Luna, mid-pour, with the bottle of syrup poised over Max’s plate, freezes. Noah, rinsing a pan at the sink, turns off the water.
I swallow, then finish. “She couldn’t tell me anything more yet. Just that things need to… fall into place. And that I should wait. That I… need to be patient.”
Even though the boys look rightfully skeptical at my answer, they eventually nod and go back to their breakfast.
Luna turns around and sets a heaping plate on the table right in front of me. “Eat,” she says.
Noah sets a cup of coffee down in front of me. Luna follows that up with a dash of my favorite creamer.
And I know they have a ton of questions, but we wait until the boys have finished eating and retreated to their bedroom.
Today is definitely not the day to worry about how long they’re playing their Avengers game on the PlayStation.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the slip of paper with the shaded pencil writing. Luna’s eyes go wide. "Seriously?"
“Yeah,” I say. “I found it in his apartment. I called it—her.”
Then I tell them everything—about the woman who called herself Sugar, about how cautious and cryptic she was. How she insisted we stay quiet.
But sitting still? Just waiting? That’s impossible.
Noah’s already opening his laptop. “Let’s see what I can find…”
He types in the number, then frowns. “Huh. 703 is Northern Virginia,” he says. “Quantico.” He squints at the screen. “Beyond that it just says, ‘Restricted entity.’”
“That makes sense, doesn’t it? Those agents were FBI, right?” I ask.
He nods. “Right. But then… this means that Beckett was in contact with one of these people before his arrest.”
My brow furrows, and I wrack my brain, trying to figure out when it was that I first saw Sugar’s name in Beckett’s messages.
I remember I had asked about her even before the cruise, at least a month earlier, maybe.
It was one of the final triggers before I asked Beckett to move out.
I mean, with a contact name like that, what was I supposed to think?
But if “Sugar” was actually some FBI agent all along…
“Maybe…” Noah continues, tapping one finger idly against his laptop. “Maybe he’s been working with them.”
“Oh my God!” Luna exclaims. “What if he’s actually some sort of spy for the FBI?”
I just shake my head. “But then why would they arrest him?”
Neither of them has an answer for that.
It just doesn’t make sense. None of this is adding up and nobody—not Beckett’s lawyer, not this mysterious Sugar person—nobody is explaining anything of importance.
So, what do I know?
I know that Beckett’s a good man, that I love him and he still loves me. I know he wouldn’t hurt anyone, not on purpose, not if he could help it.
I know that Sugar, whoever she really is, told me he’s safe and that I just have to wait. For what, I have no idea.
But if Beckett really meant for me to find her number, if he left that crazy, over the top-secret clue on purpose… then I should trust her.
I don’t have much choice, do I?
Luna tilts her head. “So, should we bake cookies or a cake?”
I let out a breath. I’m not hungry. At all. But if I sit here refreshing financial headlines every fifteen minutes, I’ll lose my mind.
“Banana bread?” I suggest.
Luna nods. “Got it.”
It’s Beckett’s favorite—and maybe if we make it, he’ll come home. The thought makes sense even though it doesn’t.
Luna moves easily beside me in the kitchen, preheating the oven while I mash overripe bananas with a fork. Working like this, it should be comforting, but the pit in my stomach doesn’t budge.
When we slide the loaf into the oven, Luna pulls out one of my barely-used cookbooks and flips through the pages.
“Let’s make something for dinner later too,” she says, checking the index and then flipping through the pages.
“Coq au vin. I made it last year when I came to visit, remember? Beckett couldn’t stop raving about it. ”
I nod, numb. “It tasted even better the day after.” In case Beckett doesn’t return today, but tomorrow. Another nonsensical thought I don’t say out loud. Because the truth is, I have no idea when he’ll be back. If he’ll—
Nope. I refuse to go there.
Luna just nods along with me. “Exactly.”
I don’t need to keep refreshing the news—Noah takes over as soon as he gets back from the grocery run Luna sent him on. Between hanging with Max and Blakey, he’s checking headlines and texting Rocky every hour, just in case something leaks before Sugar decides to call me back.
We build the stew in layers—rendered bacon, seared chicken, sautéed mushrooms, caramelized pearl onions, garlic, carrots.
Then we add the tomato paste, sprinkle in flour to thicken, and finally pour in an entire bottle of bold red wine.
Luna tucks in a few bay leaves, a generous handful of thyme, and a final grind of pepper before clamping on the lid.
The oven door thuds shut once again. I wipe my hands on a dish towel and catch Luna watching me.
“Now, we just have to wait,” she says softly.
“I hate waiting.”
“I know.”
From their bedroom, I hear the boys shouting at their game, their uncle Noah’s voice laughing. Even though it’s a Monday, it feels like Sunday dinner.
And then my phone rings.
I snatch it up so fast I nearly drop it. “Beckett?”
“This is Agent Sugarbaker,” the woman says. “Mrs. Carrington, do you have a pencil and paper? I’m going to give you an address.”
Address for what? A holding facility? An arraignment? Do I need to make bail?
“Go ahead,” I say quickly, already reaching for the nearest pen, my hand shaking hard enough that I have to steady it against the counter.
She gives me the address, repeats it once, then adds, “Bring identification. And make sure no one from the press is following you.”
That’s it. She doesn’t give me a chance to ask questions.
When the call ends, I just stare at the address. I have no idea where that even is.
But, hey, that’s what GPS is for.
I grab clothes from the back of our closet for Beckett—just in case—jeans, a button up, socks, fresh underwear. I shove them into a tote along with our checkbook, my wallet, a new toothbrush.
Before I head out, I stop at the boys’ bedroom. Blakey is kneeling on the floor, and Max is standing on one foot, both gripping their controllers, absorbed in their Avengers game. Captain America is mid-battle on the screen.
“Hey, guys?” My voice is softer than usual.
They pause the game immediately and look over. Blakey’s face falls. “Are you leaving?”
“Just for a little bit,” I say, walking over and crouching between them. “I’m going to see Dad.”
Their eyes widen.
“He’s okay,” I say quickly. “I promise. I talked to someone who’s with him. But I need to go make sure, and bring him a few things.”
“But he needs to come home,” Max says. Because home is where dads belong.
“We’ll have to wait and see…” I don’t want to scare them, but I don’t want to promise something I have no control over.
“Then can we come?” Blakey asks, hopeful.
“Not this time, bud.” I touch his cheek. “But I’ll bring him a message. Anything you want me to tell him?”
“Tell him I made it to the boss level.” Max grins, though it wavers.
Blakey hugs me without a word, arms tight around my neck. I close my eyes and hold them both, hard.
“I love you guys more than anything,” I whisper.
“We love you too,” they say in unison, and for a second, I almost can’t let go.
But I do. I have to.
Back in the kitchen, Luna’s waiting with a canvas bag full of food—banana bread, sandwiches, little containers packed and neatly labeled.
She doesn’t say anything at first, just hands it to me and opens her arms.
I fall into her hug.
“Don’t worry about anything here,” she murmurs.
Noah steps into the doorway, keys already in hand. “I’ll drive.”
I don’t argue. I can’t. My hands are trembling, my chest tight, every thought moving too fast and not fast enough at the same time.
“Thank you,” I say, because I know—right now—I couldn’t trust myself behind the wheel even if I tried. “Thanks, both of you. For staying with me and hanging out with the kids and for—everything.”
Luna chuckles, the sound a little watery. “Anytime. But seriously, that’s what sisters are for. Just go get him, okay?”
“I will.”
And then we’re out the door.