Page 20 of Beneath the Surface

Brad pulled into the hospital’s squad car-filled parking lot. He hadn’t even stepped inside, but he already felt the confrontation coming.

Unwrapping a mint and sucking on it, Brad approached the hospital doors with heavy footsteps. His gold badge hung around his neck, catching the harsh fluorescent lights. The crisp air outside had done little to ease the tension in his chest, and now, with every step closer to Room 312, that knot of unease only tightened.

As Brad turned the corner toward the room, his steps faltered. There, in the hallway, was Isobel, sitting on the cold, tiled floor with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her head hung low, her hair falling in messy strands around her face. Though her posture screamed defiance against the emotion threatening to overtake her, Brad could hear the faint sound of uneven breaths—the kind that came from fighting tears she didn’t want anyone to see.

Brad’s chest ached at the sight. Isobel wasn’t someone who let herself fall apart easily. She was spunky, sharp-tongued, always quick with a retort or a biting observation. But now, the fear she worked so hard to hide seeped through the cracks.

He slowed his pace, careful not to startle her. “Belle,” he said softly.

She jerked upright, her body stiffening in alarm. Her eyes were wide and wild as she scrambled to her feet, fists clenched defensively. “What—?” Recognition swept over her, and in the next moment, she deflated, her hands falling to her sides. “Oh. It’s you.”

“It’s me,” he confirmed, his voice steady, calming. He stepped closer, arms open slightly in reassurance. “It’s just me.”

Before he could say more, she closed the distance between them in a rush, her small frame colliding against his. Her arms wrapped around his waist tightly, and she buried her face inhis chest. Brad felt her trembling against him, her rapid breaths brushing through his shirt. She wasn’t breaking down, not fully, but she was rattled—shaken in a way he’d seen once before. When she read the note at the pond.Was there another note?

He held her without hesitation, one hand smoothing over her hair while the other settled firmly on her back, grounding her. “It’s okay,” he murmured, rocking her gently. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Isobel let out a breath that was almost a laugh, though it cracked under her fear. “Safe?” she muttered, her voice muffled. “Not likely.”

Brad didn’t argue, didn’t push. He just held her, waiting as her breathing evened out. Slowly, she leaned back, her grip on his jacket remaining firm even as she tilted her head to look up at him. Her hazel eyes, always so bright and full of spark, were shadowed with fear.

“What happened?” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “What’s got you this shaken?”

Isobel swallowed hard, her gaze darting toward the closed door behind her as if it were a living thing ready to strike. “It’s the same,” she said, her voice low but fierce. “The same as the Vernon case. Room 312, the way she’s posed, the marks—everything. But this time…” Her voice broke, and she took a sharp breath. “This time, they left me a note.”

Brad’s stomach twisted. “A note? For you?”

She nodded, her lips trembling. “I don’t know how to stop this, Brad. I don’t even know why it’s happening. How do you fight something when you don’t even know what the hell it wants?”

Brad tightened his grip on her shoulders, bending so his eyes were level with hers. “Belle, listen to me. You’re not alone in this. We’re going to figure it out, together. You hear me?”

Her gaze flicked back to the door, fear rippling across her face. “Larson’s in there,” she whispered. “He’s been inside for a while. He’ll know—he’ll see I’m—” She cut herself off, biting her lip hard.

Brad frowned. He could feel the undercurrent of dread in her words, her fear, not just of the situation but of Larson himself. He didn’t need her to explain. Larson was the kind of man who thrived on finding people’s vulnerabilities and exploiting them. Isobel wouldn’t just be another witness or investigator to him—she’d be a puzzle to pick apart.

“I’m going to talk to him,” Brad said, his tone firm but calm.

Isobel’s eyes widened. “No, Brad, please… it’s his case. He’ll use this—he’ll use me.”

Brad placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “I know who he is, and I know what he’s like. But I’m not leaving you, Belle. I’ll handle Larson. You stay here, okay?”

She hesitated, her lip trembling as she searched his face for any sign of doubt. Finding none, she gave a reluctant nod.

Brad leaned down, pressing his forehead gently to hers. “You’re not alone,” he said again, his voice a low murmur. “You’ve got me. Always.”

Her breath hitched, and she nodded again, this time with more conviction. Brad lingered a moment, feeling her pulse still rapid against him, then he straightened and turned toward the door.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, the fluorescent bulb overhead buzzing faintly. The hospital bed dominated the space, and on it lay the victim, posed with chilling deliberation. Brad’s stomach churned at the sight. Standing over the body was Larson, hands casually in his pockets, his stance almost nonchalant.

Larson glanced up as Brad entered, his face breaking into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Killian,” he drawled. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Bullshit,” Brad muttered under his breath, keeping his voice steady. “I heard about the case. Thought I’d offer the state’s resources.”

Larson’s smirk deepened. “Your resources?” His tone was mocking. “Appreciate the gesture, but it’s my jurisdiction. We’ve got it handled.”

Brad crossed his arms, standing his ground. “This scene mirrors the Vernon case. Isobel’s connected to both. If someone’s targeting her, it’s bigger than your jurisdiction. We need to work together.”

Larson’s eyes gleamed, the smirk never leaving his face. “And what’s your interest, Killian? Protecting Isobel? Or something else?” His tone was light, but the insinuation was sharp.

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