My energy spikes, and I don’t waste a second. I grab my robe, throw it on, and practically sprint to the office.
I flick on the light, bypass my own desk, and drop into Beckett’s chair.
Nick Watson. Nick Watson… I rifle through drawers until I find what I’m looking for—his stack of business cards.
Nick Watson, Trusts and Estates Attorney.
It’s not even six a.m. but I don’t care.
I tap in the numbers and hit call.
It goes to voicemail. Because of course it does. Because it’snot even six a.m.
“Hi, this is, uh, Ashley Carrington. Not sure if you remember me but, um… I’m not sure if you’ve seen the news, but Beckett…” I have to take a deep breath. “He’s in trouble. But… before… He said I should call you. Please, please call me when you get this message. I’m… I need to know. I need…”Help. I need help.“Thank you.”
I hang up and just sit there. Then I nearly jump out of my skin when my phone vibrates in my hand.
“Hello?” My voice comes out breathless.
“This is Nick Watson. Is this Mrs. Carrington?”
“Yes. Yes?” And honestly, I don’t know what to say. Because Beckett said go to Nick.If anything happens.His arrest by federal authority, I’m sure, more than qualifies.
“I met with Beckett a few weeks ago.” Nick gets right to the point. “Can you meet me at my office in an hour?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you remember where it is?”
I do. I think. Then again… “What’s the address?”
I jot it down on a sticky note from Beckett’s desk, and the second we hang up, I start moving again.
Back in my room, I yank on a pair of jeans and one of Beckett’s old hoodies, tie my hair into a messy knot without evenbrushing it. I’m already reaching for my keys when Luna appears in the guestroom doorway, still in pajamas, her brows knit with concern.
“Did you hear from Beckett?”
“No. But I remembered… I don’t know if it’ll help but I'm meeting with our lawyer,” I tell her, breathless. “He might… he might know something.”
She opens her mouth to ask more, but I cut in gently, “I’ll tell you everything when I get back. When I know something. Promise. Just—call me if anything comes up here.”
“Okay. Want some coffee first?” she asks.
“No time.” I glance around, thinking I’m forgetting something, and then head for the garage.
The door rumbles open.
I slide behind the wheel, start the engine?—
And drive.
SEARCHING FOR ANSWERS
ASHLEY
“Are you sure this is everything?” I stare down at the stack of documents spread across the polished surface of Nick Watson’s desk—titles, bank statements, account summaries. It’s all laid out in front of me, but instead of feeling reassured, my stomach turns.
Because none of this looks good.
