Page 15 of Beneath the Surface

The commander’s tone shifted again, more serious now. “Larson’s a wild card. The fact he’s pushing this hard, this fast, suggests there’s more at play. Especially since he wants you clear of the investigation. Keep your eyes open. We’ve both been in this game long enough to know when something doesn’t feel right. And don’t worry about the complaint. I’ll deal with that. Just... keep your head clear.”

Brad let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Thanks, Boss.”

The commander chuckled. “Good. Keep me updated on this, Killian. Something tells me we’re just scratching the surface.”

Brad hung up, the room suddenly feeling quieter, heavier. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, trying to push down the churn of emotions bubbling inside him. His commander was right—this was far from over. And whatever Larson’s angle was, Brad was determined to uncover it.

Every move from here on out had to be flawless. The wrong call, the wrong word, and everything could spiral out of control. Larson had already filed a complaint against him, marking the opening move in what was fast becoming a game of chess. But this wasn't just about a territorial pissing match. This was about something deeper. What, he didn’t know.

Isobel was strong, but no one could face something like this alone. And, damn it, he wasn’t going to let her. His instincts, the part of him that always needed to protect, were sharper than ever. But this wasn't just about instinct. It was about strategy now.

Rubbing his temples, Brad leaned back in his chair, trying to clear his mind. He’d always been a tactician, calculating the steps ahead. But this? This felt different. Larson wasn’t just an obstacle—he was an enigma. And the fact that he blocked Brad from the investigation sent a clear signal: Larson was hiding something, maybe protecting someone. Maybe protecting himself.

Brad sat up tall, determination flickering behind his tired eyes. He needed Mark Dillon. Dillon was embedded deep within the Waverly County PD, running an undercover operation very few knew about. He’d been investigating drugs being siphoned off an evidence stash, stolen before they made it to the depot to be destroyed. The very people sworn to uphold the law were tearing it down from the inside. Dillon had named names, officers who were part of the racket. He was supposed to be transferred to the highway patrol, a higher-paid position, his cover intact, but Brad needed him to stay. Just a little longer.

He walked to a tall file cabinet and keyed his way inside. Mark Dillon’s contact information sat in a folder along with three other prospective transfers to the bureau. He read off his cell phone number, committing it to memory.

Brad couldn’t afford to screw this up. The police were no stranger to turf wars, and this one had the potential to get ugly—fast. He was already marked as a problem in Larson’s eyes, and that meant he had to be twice as careful. Though he was higher rank, Larson could make trouble for him. Trouble he didn’t need.

Brad dialed the number from a burner phone he kept to remain anonymous.

“Dillon,” the voice answered, cautious but firm.

“It’s Brad Killian. We need to talk about another investigation. I’ll explain more, but we need to keep this under wraps. Can we meet somewhere private?”

There was a pause on the other end, and Brad could almost feel Dillon thinking about the risks.

“Alright,” Dillon finally said. “There’s a diner on the outskirts of White Oak Springs. Joe’s Place. You know it?”

“I do. I’ll be there in an hour,” Brad replied.

He hung up and quickly changed into civilian clothing. As he drove toward the diner, his eyes kept scanning the streets, checking for tails. He knew better than to assume he wasn’t being watched—Larson was a lot of things, but sloppy wasn’t one of them.

Joe’s Place was small and unremarkable, perfect for a low-key meeting. Brad parked a few blocks away, walking the rest of the distance. Inside, the smell of cheap coffee and greasy food hit him, and he quickly spotted Dillon in the far corner, nursing a cup of coffee.

Brad slid into the booth across from him, nodding in thanks as the waitress poured him a cup. “Dillon,” he greeted.

“Killian,” Dillon replied, his expression serious. “What’s going on?”

Brad took a breath, diving straight in. “I need your eyes a little longer in Waverly PD. Two teens were found dead last week at Old Mill Lake. It mirrors a case from four years ago, which my friend, Dr. Isobel Everhart, worked. Now, there’s a note linking her to these new deaths, and John Larson blocked me from the investigation. I need to know what he’s hiding.”

Dillon leaned back in his seat, studying Brad carefully. “I heard something about the case. Word spreads fast; the detective bureau is a sieve of gossip. They talk more than a bunch of teenage girls. Larson is a hard-ass. I’m not sure if that is the most impartial view.”

He paused, then leaned forward. “He could be too demanding for some.” He looked around. “My investigation has wrapped. Arrests are coming tomorrow. I’ll see what I can findbefore I’m transferred out. Just keep your end tight. If this blows, I’m buried.”

Brad nodded and reached for a pen.

“Here,” Dillon grabbed the pen and scribbled an email address on a napkin, “use this for anything sensitive.”

Brad passed him a card with a single phone number on it. “This is my burner. You can reach me anytime. If I don’t answer right away, the voicemail connects as if you are calling a Pierre barber shop. Leave a message.” His shoulders tightened. “If things go south, call me, and I’ll get you out.”

Dillon nodded, pocketing the card. “Alright, Killian. I’ll be in touch.”

As Dillon slipped out of the booth and disappeared into the afternoon light, Brad sat there for a moment. This was only the beginning, but something told him, the deeper he dug, the more dangerous it would become for him and for Isobel.

He tossed some bills on the table and stepped out into the cold afternoon air. The wind bit at his skin, but the fire inside him burned hotter. He was in this now, all the way, and he wasn’t going to stop until he uncovered what was going on.

And if it meant protecting Isobel, he’d go to war to do it.

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