“But that doesn’t matter,” I say quickly. “What matters is my husband. Iknowhe 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 Lunaare 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, platespiled 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?"
