The red handle resisted for half a second.

Then the emergency pack exploded open behind Amelia.

A black canopy snapped into the air, catching the wind with such force that the harness crushed against her shoulders and dragged a cry from her lungs.

The violent fall became a swinging descent.

Her vision blurred, and every instinct told her to curl around the child inside her.

She pressed one hand over her stomach.

“Stay with me,” she whispered.

Above her, Richard’s helicopter circled.

For one desperate moment, Amelia believed he might return.

Perhaps seeing the parachute had broken through whatever greed had consumed him.

Perhaps he would lower the aircraft, call for rescue, and pretend the push had been an accident.

Instead, the helicopter tilted toward the coast.

Richard left her hanging over the Pacific.

That final choice hurt more than the fall.

The man who had shared her home, slept beside her, and placed his hand on her stomach each night had watched her survive—and decided the ocean might finish what he had started.

Amelia forced herself to look down.

A white rescue vessel appeared between the waves, following the signal from the beacon sewn inside her sleeve.

Jonah Reed stood at the bow, one arm raised as he shouted instructions she could not hear over the wind.

The landing had been planned for water because the cliffs were too dangerous.

Even so, nothing about it was safe.

Amelia had received only emergency training.

She was nineteen weeks pregnant.

The parachute had been chosen as a last resort, not a guarantee.

She pulled the steering toggles carefully, guiding the canopy toward the boat’s orange marker.

The ocean rushed closer.

Her feet struck the surface first.

Cold water swallowed her, twisting the harness around her body.

For a terrifying instant, the parachute dragged her beneath the waves.

Then Jonah’s hand closed around the back of her coat.

Two crew members cut the lines and hauled her onto the deck.

“Medic!” Jonah shouted.

Amelia coughed seawater and clutched her stomach.

A woman in a red rescue jacket knelt beside her, checked her pulse, then pressed a portable monitor against her abdomen.

The seconds before the sound came were longer than the fall.

Finally, a rapid heartbeat filled the cabin.

Amelia covered her mouth.

The baby was alive.

Jonah crouched in front of her.

His face was pale with controlled anger.

“We recorded everything,” he said.

“The hidden camera transmitted until you went out the door.

Your brooch captured his voice clearly.”

Amelia looked back toward the shrinking shape of the helicopter.

“He knows I survived.”

“He saw the canopy.”

“Then he’ll move faster.”

Jonah nodded.

“Mara is ready.”

Ten days earlier, Amelia had still wanted to believe there was an innocent explanation.

Mara Chen had called her shortly after midnight and asked her to come to the law office without Richard.

Mara had represented Amelia’s father for twenty-two years.

She was not a woman who frightened easily, but that night she had locked the conference-room door behind them.

She placed a laptop on the table.

“Someone attempted to enter the protected section of your family trust,” Mara said.

The access originated from Richard’s private computer.

The search history showed repeated questions about inheritance after accidental death, control of a spouse’s company, and