Page 62 of Saving Her Heart
"Unless what?"
"You resign. Publicly. Tonight. Make a statement that you're leaving due to stress, incompetence, whatever story you prefer. Then actually leave. Tonight."
"And if I do?"
"Then the devices you haven’t found don't activate. Simple."
"What about your wife? Morrison?"
"They've served their purpose as scapegoats—pun intended." He laughs coldly. "Perhaps it'll be a tragic murder-suicide. My wife, overcome with guilt over her affair and crimes, kills her lover and then herself."
My blood runs cold. "You're going to murder them?"
"I'm going to tie up loose ends. You have one hour to decide. Your career and exile, or hundreds of lives."
He hangs up.
"Did you get a location?" Jax asks Declan.
"Burner phone, but the tower ping puts him near the marina."
"He's got a boat," Captain Ramirez realizes. "The Sunset Dream. Hundred-foot yacht."
"We need teams at the marina," Jax says. "And we need to find Valerie before he does."
My phone buzzes. Valerie's number.
"Valerie?" I answer cautiously.
"It's William," his voice comes through, cold and amused. "Using my wife's phone. She's a bit... tied up at the moment."
"What have you done to her?"
"Nothing permanent. Yet. She's become a liability, you see. Too emotional, too sloppy. Did you know she was actually falling for Morrison? Pathetic."
"Where is she?"
"Somewhere safe. For now." I hear muffled sounds in the background—someone trying to speak through a gag. "She wants to say hello, but her mouth is otherwise occupied."
"Let her go. She's your wife?—"
"Soon to be ex-wife. Or late wife, depending on how this evening goes." His tone is conversational, like we're discussing the weather. "A murder-suicide would tie things up nicely. Distraught wife kills her lover, Morrison, while in jail, then herself. Leaves behind a confession taking responsibility for everything."
"No one would believe that."
"They would if she's found at the scene of the next fire. Building 2, perhaps. Overcome with guilt and smoke inhalation."
"You're insane."
"I'm practical. Now, I believe you have a decision to make. Your resignation, or more fires. One hour."
The line goes dead.
"We need to find Valerie," I say. "He's got her somewhere, planning to kill her."
"Could be anywhere," Declan says grimly.
Then my phone buzzes with a text from Valerie's number. It's a photo—Valerie tied to a chair, mouth taped, in what looks like a pool house. The timestamp shows it was just taken.
