Chapter 1 - The Button on My Wrist
Nine months pregnant, drugged unconscious, and strapped to a jet ski being dragged across open water, I woke with salt water in my mouth and my husband’s mistress laughing ahead of me.
“Hold on tighter, honey.”
My name is Genevieve Vance.
Thirty minutes earlier, I had been standing on the private marina behind a luxury Miami resort with both hands resting protectively over my stomach.
My pregnancy was high-risk. My obstetrician had specifically told me to avoid boating, jet skis, falls, dehydration, and anything likely to trigger premature labor or placental complications.
My husband Julian knew every one of those restrictions.
He mocked them anyway.
“If you actually trust me, get on the jet ski and stop acting like some porcelain pregnant woman.”
Twenty executives heard him.
Two investors heard him.
Victoria Hayes heard him.
Victoria had been sleeping with my husband for six months.
I knew.
She knew I knew.
And judging by the satisfied smile on her face, discretion had stopped mattering.
I refused the ride.
Julian changed tactics immediately.
His public smile came back. He kissed my forehead and apologized loudly enough for everyone to hear.
Then he handed me bottled water and two white capsules.
“Take your prenatal vitamins, babe.”
I trusted my husband.
That was the last stupid thing I did that day.
An hour later, freezing water slammed into my face.
My eyes opened to sky, spray, engine noise, and pain.
I was on a white jet ski far from the dock.
A heavy canvas strap had been fastened around my waist beneath my belly. My wrists had been zip-tied loosely enough to the handlebars that I could move them a little but not free myself. A yellow tow rope connected my jet ski to Victoria’s.
She accelerated.
The rope snapped tight.
My body slammed forward.
Pain tore through my pelvis.
“Victoria!”
She looked over her shoulder through designer sunglasses.
Behind us, Julian stood on the dock with binoculars in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other.
Watching.
Not running.
Not shouting.
Watching.
“I’m pregnant!” I screamed. “Stop!”
Victoria laughed.
“Then hold on tighter.”
She made another hard turn.
My hip struck the fiberglass.
Then warmth spread between my thighs.
I looked down.
Blood.
Something primal replaced panic.
My father had given me a tactical satellite watch two years earlier after I’d gotten stranded alone during a hiking trip. He had made me promise never to take it off when traveling.
Julian thought it was just another expensive watch.
He had never known about the recessed emergency switch beneath the side guard.
I twisted my left wrist against the plastic restraint until my thumb reached it.
Pressed.
Held.
Three seconds.
The watch vibrated once.
Encrypted distress signal transmitted.
Live GPS.
Open audio.
A voice cracked through the tiny bone-conduction receiver.
“Genevieve?”
My father.
Admiral Henry Sterling, retired.
“Dad…”
His voice changed instantly.
“What happened?”
I looked down at the blood spreading through the wake.
“They drugged me.”
“Who?”
“Julian. Victoria.”
My breath broke.
“They’re trying to kill us.”
My father did not command the Coast Guard.
He did not need to.
Thirty years in military crisis operations had taught him exactly what to say, which emergency center to call, and how to make people understand that two lives were in immediate danger.
Six minutes later, a Coast Guard response boat turned hard out of the harbor.
Then I heard rotors.
Victoria heard them too.
She slowed.
For the first time all afternoon, her smile disappeared.
May you like
And from the dock, I watched Julian lower his binoculars.
He had finally realized his helpless pregnant wife had just brought witnesses into an accident he had carefully designed to happen without any.
