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Liv scanned the screen, her breath catching in her throat as Michael Wheaton's personnel record stared back at her. Two particular details sent a shiver down Liv's spine—details she never knew about Michael until now. “Born in Waverly Junction on December 15, 1979,” she murmured, her voice barely audible as the realization washed over her.
Brad watched her closely, his gaze filled with concern. “Did you know he was born here?” he probed.
Liv shook her head, her mind reeling with the implications of this newfound revelation. “No,” she whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief. “I had no idea. And the birthdate, it’s the same date Jackson was born.”
“Wow. That’s a strange twist. What about the bomb training?” Brad asked.
Liv pursed her lips. “I have the same training…but…”
The mention of a medal of valor he received during a high-risk rescue operation in 2012 made her break out into a fine sweat. “What happened?” Her voice trembled with a mixture of fear and uncertainty.
Brad hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering with a shadow of something indefinable. “I'm not sure,” he admitted quietly. “But something around that date made him come back to Waverly Junction. After a medal, you rise higher in the NYPD. You don’t leave a career builder.”
“Can we find out?” she murmured.
“It will take some time, but I’ll look into it.” He paused. “I’d also like to know if there’s any significance to them sharing a birthday.” He leaned back in his seat. “Liv, I’ll call you as soon as the lab work comes in. In the meantime, don’t work alone and watch yourself. Michael’s behavior is strange, but what makes you think he may be involved in the fires? Think, Liv. What set you off? There has to be more than him getting there ahead of you.”
She huffed out a sigh. “There’s something more, but I can’t?—”
“Liv, you’re exhausted. You need to get some rest.” He leaned in toward her. “If he’s your arsonist, he’s very dangerous.”
Twenty-Seven
Liv gripped the steering wheel tightly as she navigated the familiar roads back to Waverly Junction, her mind swirling with a torrent of questions and doubts. Why hadn’t Michael Wheaton, the man she had trusted and worked alongside, told her he was born in Waverly Junction? What transpired during that high-risk rescue operation in 2012 to make him leave New York? And was it merely a coincidence that he and Jackson shared the same birthday, or was there something more sinister lurking beneath the surface?
Was she seeing things that weren’t there? Was he just creepy?
Liv wrestled with the troubling thoughts. She couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at her. As she drove back to town, the familiar sights and sounds of Waverly Junction blurred past her in a haze, her thoughts consumed by the case files. But her thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ringing of her phone. The chief of the Waverly County PD’s name flashed across the screen.
Her heart skipped a beat as she answered the call, the anguish in the chief's voice sending a chill down her back. “Where are you, Liv?” he demanded, his tone edged with concern. “We've got a situation here.”
“I’m on the outskirts of Waverly Junction. What’s going on?” Her pulse quickened with fear.
“The power plant for the Waverly Junction Hospital is on fire. They’re evacuating the patients to neighboring Waverly County and Spring Hill.”
Jackson. The news hit Liv like a freight train. “I’m on my way.”
She redirected her course, throwing on her lights, and headed toward the hospital. She hated to make the call, but she speed-dialed Michael’s number. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the hospital. They’re evacuating everyone. All the ICUs and the nursery are going first.” He took a deep breath. “Where are you?”
“I’m about fifteen minutes away. I’ll meet you in the physician lot.” She ended the call. The next call went to her mom.
“Liv, where are you? I’m with Martha. The hospital staff is trying to get Jackson out of the hyperbaric chamber. It’s on battery power. They’re reversing the dive.” Charlotte’s breath caught. “Liv, there’s so much smoke.”
“Mom, you and Martha get out of there. Get outside. I’ll try to figure out what they’re doing,” she pleaded. Next she dialed Turk Crenshaw. “Turk?”
“I’m trying to get to him.” She could barely hear him over the sounds of shouts and radios. “The hyperbaric chamber is in the hospital basement.”
“Turk… don’t let Michael Wheaton near him,” she yelled. She hoped he was just jealous of Jackson, but she wasn’t going to take any chances.
“I can’t hear you!” he roared.
Her own breaths were coming too fast. She tried to slow herself down. By the time she was able to be heard, Turk had ended the call.
As she neared the scene, the acrid scent of smoke filled the air. She tamped down her nerves as she navigated through the throngs of emergency vehicles and panicked bystanders, her senses on high alert.
A scene of commotion, confusion, and frantic hustle met Liv when she arrived. Smoke billowed ominously from the power plant attached to the hospital, casting a dark shadow over the surrounding area as flames exploded through the rooftop. After parking in the physician's lot, Liv’s heart twisted with conflicting emotions when she spotted Michael leaning casually against his parked car, the picture of calm amidst the chaos raging around them.
