Richard pulled the door shut halfway, blocking the worst of the wind.
He leaned over me, one hand gripping the inside rail.
“You think a recording protects you?” he asked.
I could barely hear him.
His wedding ring glinted between us.
“I think the truth protects me.”
He smiled without warmth.
“The truth is whatever survives.”
Then he kicked the emergency release.
The tether fell away from the helicopter.
My stomach rose into my throat.
The flotation pack caught the air, and I dropped toward the sea instead of plunging straight down. The impact still drove the breath from my body. Black water closed over my head. The cold seized every muscle at once.
I heard nothing but the deep, crushing roar of the ocean.
My hand went to my stomach.
A kick answered.
Small.
Fierce.
Alive.
I forced my legs to move.
The flotation pack brought me upward. I broke the surface choking, and a rescue swimmer was already beside me, one arm around my chest and the other gripping the collar of my coat.
“Look at me,” he said. “Stay with me.”
I tried to answer.
Only seawater came out.
Above us, the helicopter climbed.
The pilot had abandoned the landing attempt. Richard stood in the open doorway, staring down at me as the rescue boat approached.
The last thing I saw before the helicopter vanished into the low clouds was his hand lifting toward his face.
He was not waving.
He was speaking into a phone.
The boat hauled me aboard.
Two paramedics wrapped me in blankets while another pressed oxygen against my mouth. My hands would not stop shaking. The deck rolled beneath me, and every few seconds my fingers searched for the curve of my stomach.
“Pregnant,” I managed.
The nearest paramedic nodded. She had dark hair tucked beneath a wool cap and a scar through one eyebrow.
“We know. The harness transmitted your medical alert.”
“My baby?”
“We’re taking you to shore. Keep breathing.”
“Richard,” I said.
The paramedic looked at the rescue swimmer.
Nobody answered.
That silence told me more than words could have.
The boat turned toward the marina. Behind us, the helicopter became a dark speck in the clouds.
A second boat came alongside, carrying Detective Mara Ellis and two uniformed officers. Mara stepped across without waiting for the engines to settle. She wore a raincoat over a wrinkled suit, and her hair was soaked against her temples.
She crouched beside me.
“Amelia, can you hear me?”
I nodded.
“Did Richard push you?”
I closed my eyes.
The question carried me back to the doorway, to the pressure of his hands, to the emptiness beneath my feet.
“Yes.”
“Was the pilot involved?”
“Yes.”
“Was anyone else involved?”
I opened my eyes.
“My lawyer. Celia Voss.”
Mara’s expression tightened, but she did not look surprised.
“We have her on an open channel,” she said. “She has been listening since the emergency signal activated.”
A harsh burst of static came from the recorder near my shoulder.
Then Celia’s voice.
“You should have died.”
The deck went still.
Even the engines seemed to fade beneath the weight of that sentence.
