Page 19 of Beneath the Surface

The truth was, she didn’t know why her assistant, Kathy, had called her. She hadn’t even questioned it in the moment. She reacted on instinct, driven by dread more than reason.

But Larson wouldn’t accept that as an answer.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. “It’s...not something I can explain right now.”

Larson stepped closer, whispering, “You’re shaking, Isobel. Are you afraid of the dead body, or are you afraid of me?”

She could feel his warm breath against her ear. Her body betrayed her. She hadn’t realized it was that obvious. The tremors running through her, the slight unsteadiness in her breath. She was barely keeping her fear under control.

“I’m fine.” She knew she wasn’t convincing either of them.

“You’re not,” he retorted.

Isobel swallowed hard, nodding slightly. The room seemed to close in around her as the memory of the Vernon case and John Larson’s behavior tightened its grip on her mind. She had fought to put that case behind her, but now, thanks to this and John Larson, it was all flooding back with terrifying clarity.

And she knew Larson sensed something deeper.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Larson said. “But I’ll need all the pieces. Everything you know.”

Isobel nodded again, but her mind was miles away, trapped between the present and the past. The familiar staging of the body, the echo of the Vernon case, the unshakable feeling that someone was taunting her. None of it made sense yet. And then there was John Larson. She would have to face him, no matter how much he terrified her. She had no choice.

“I’ll talk to Kathy,” Larson added, his eyes still on her. “But you should talk to her too. If there’s something she’s not telling us…”

Isobel’s stomach twisted. Something was wrong, and the uneasy suspicion that her assistant knew more than she was letting on chewed at the edges of her mind.

Brad tipped backthe last of his beer, savoring the cool bitterness as it slid down his throat. The Loft was quiet, a rare moment of peace, but as soon as he stepped outside, the soft buzz of his phone shattered the calm. His screen flickered to life with a stream of messages, and he sighed, swiping through them absently as he walked toward his truck.

As he slid into his seat, he leaned back, sifting through his messages. One from his brother made him laugh—a lighthearted invitation to Monday Night Football, and the usual banter between them. Then a message from his mom, reminding him about Thursday family dinner. He smiled at that, shaking his head. Thursday dinner was a regular event, but she still called every week to remind him, as if he’d ever forget.

The next message, from an unfamiliar number, made him pause. His fingers hovered over the screen, a sense of alarm creeping up his spine. The text was short, blunt, but it sent a shudder through him:

“Murder at psych hospital, Room 312. Larson is lead. Isobel Everhart is here.”

Brad clenched his jaw, turning over the ignition. His mind raced, piecing together the fragments of information. Dillon. It had to be Dillon who sent the message. No one else would give him a heads-up like that.

But then he saw it. The missed call and phone message from Isobel.

He thumbed over it, his stomach tightening. Her voice, usually composed and sharp, was frantic, almost panicked. She was trying to hold it together, but he could hear the tremor in her words, the fear just beneath the surface. Belle was afraid.

Brad cursed under his breath, flipping on the lights of his truck as he peeled out of the parking lot. He headed straight for the psych hospital. He prayed the room number was a coincidence. He remembered a case from four years earlier. A young nurse was murdered. Isobel had written her first report. The scene was clear of any usable physical evidence. It went down as unsolved.

Waverly County's detective bureau handled cases in neighboring Spring Hill, a smaller department that leaned on them for major crimes. In another miscue, HPB was called. He’dbriefly been there. But it wasn’t his case four years ago, and it wasn’t his case now. This case belonged to Waverly County. This case belonged to John Larson.

The body must have just been found. Why was Belle there? His gut twisted at the thought of Larson being anywhere near her.

Brad didn’t trust him, not because Larson was bad at his job, but because of something else. He knew Larson’s type. He saw it in the way the man carried himself, the subtle yet unmistakable aura of control that clung to him. Brad’s instincts told him Larson wasn’t just a lead detective. He was a member of Bliss—he was a Dominant. Brad suspected a sadistic Dominant. And, if Larson got too close to Isobel, he’d pick up on the fact that she was naturally submissive... It could complicate everything.

He needed to reach out to a guy he went to an FBI academy training with. He had heard through the grapevine that he was one of the house Doms at Bliss. He needed to know what he knew about John Larson.

Brad’s jaw tightened. It felt like he was a bull about to lock horns with Larson, the tension already brewing in his chest. The idea aggravated him, and suddenly, Jesse’s words replayed in his mind.

Was Belle his?

It was a question he hadn’t been ready to answer, not then. Not now, either, if he was being honest. But as he pressed down harder on the gas, racing toward the psych hospital, the thought refused to leave his head.

Was Belle his?

If she was, that complicated things even more. He wasn’t just up against the case. He wasn’t just dealing with whatever trauma Isobel was reliving. He was about to face Larson and possibly more than one kind of battle.

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