“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.Ifhe’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 headlinesand texting Rocky every hour, just in case something leaks before Sugar decides to call me back.
