Page 21 of Beneath the Surface

Brad didn’t rise to the bait. He took a step closer, his voice calm but unyielding. “You want to trade barbs, fine. But don’t lose sight of what matters here. Someone’s escalating, and they’re using Isobel to send a message. You can play your power games later. Right now, we’ve got a killer to stop.”

Larson’s smirk faded slightly, his gaze sharpening. Brad held his ground, the tension thick between them. Whatever this case brought next, he wasn’t backing down—not for Larson, and certainly not for anyone threatening Isobel.

After a long minute, Larson let out a slow breath. "Fine," he said, his tone losing its edge. "I’ll share what we have so far. But make no mistake, Killian, this is MY CASE. I’m the lead, and you don’t get to take over just because you’re playing the concerned friend."

Brad nodded. "Not here to step on toes, Larson. I’m here because this case has echoes of something from our past. I want to help, not interfere."Keep telling yourself that, Killian.

Larson's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, as if searching for something unspoken. Finally, he turned back toward the body, his tone all business again. "The victim was found a little after three, posed just like the Vernon case. I had someone bring me the original crime scene photographs. Same positioning, same markings. Preliminary look shows signs of asphyxiation. First canvas showed no one noticed anything unusual. We’re waiting on family for a confirmatory ID. We believe she was a medical student. In the Vernon case, it was a nurse. The only thing that was different is the killer left a note.” He picked up the evidence bag. “It was addressed to Isobel.”

Brad nodded, absorbing the details. It was exactly what he feared, a pattern, a deliberate recreation. "You think it’s the same killer?"

Larson shrugged. "Could be. Or it could be a copycat. Too early to tell. But the fact that Isobel is here, and this case mirrors your old one? That’s a complication I don’t like."

Brad crossed his arms, his brow furrowing. "It’s not a complication. It’s a connection. We need to figure out why this is happening now."

“Hmm, I also need to know how Isobel beat me to the crime scene. According to her, she received a call from her assistant, Kathy, telling her about the murder, yet no one I spoke to called Kathy. I’ve put in a request for the phone records.” Larson turned to face him directly, this time with a more serious expression. "And what exactly do you think you’ll get out of this, Killian? Closure? Some sense of peace about the Vernon case?” His voice lowered. “Or are you playing the concerned friend to get a piece of Isobel Everhart’s very fine ass?"

Brad took a step forward, ready to strangle Larson. He was furious. Behind him, something clattered loudly to the floor, causing him to turn. Officer Dillon had dropped his clipboard. It saved Brad from killing Larson.

He turned back to the smug detective. "This isn’t about closure. It’s about preventing someone else from getting hurt. Whoever’s doing this—they’re sending a message. And if we don’t figure it out, this isn’t going to stop." He took a breath. “And if you say anything derogatory about Isobel Everhart again, I will bury you.”

Larson was silent for a beat, then gave a small nod, "Alright. But remember—this is my case.”

Brad met his gaze with a determined look. "I’m not going anywhere, Larson. Not until we stop this."

Eight

Molly Everhart stepped out of the coroner's van, her very pregnant belly making it a little more difficult to maneuver. Her assistants followed closely behind, lugging equipment, their faces grim and professional. As the coroner, it was Molly’s job to remove the deceased woman from the scene and begin the examination. But as she approached the room’s door, her heart tightened. Her sister, Isobel, was pacing outside in small, frantic circles, her hands clenched and her brow knitted in concentration.

“Izzy, what are you doing here?” Molly called softly, but loud enough to catch her sister’s attention. Isobel turned, and without hesitation, Molly wrapped her arms around her. Isobel melted into her, seeking comfort.

"Mols," Isobel choked out, “it’s like the Vernon case. Why is this happening again? There was another note.”

Molly didn't know. She wanted to give her sister a real answer, but none came. Instead, she gently wiped a stray tear from Isobel’s cheek with her thumb. “I’m sure the police will solve this,” she offered, the words rehearsed like a script. It was what she was supposed to say, what people expected to hear. “Let me do my job. We’ll get some answers.”

“I hope so,” Isobel whispered, her eyes filled with worry as she pulled away.

Molly nodded, offering one last comforting squeeze before she stepped inside the room.

What she didn’t expect, however, was to see Brad standing in the room, his posture stiff but his eyes warm as they landed on her.

"Molly,"Brad greeted.

Detective Larson rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Another family friend, huh?"

Brad’s jaw clenched as Molly’s eyes snapped to Larson. She turned her head, her voice cool but her words cutting. “Detective,” she began, “I am Isobel Everhart's sister. Commander Killian is my sister Detective Olivia Everhart's dear friend and also a family friend. My husband is in charge of the FBI resident agency in Pierre, and my mother’s boyfriend is a special investigator for the state's attorney's office. So, before you roll your eyes in my direction ever again, I’d be careful.”

Larson's face paled at the not-so-subtle and undeniable warning in her voice, but Molly didn’t wait for a response. She turned toward the body, her professionalism slipping back into place. She pulled on her gloves, the familiar snap bringing the room’s focus to the task at hand.

With practiced movements, she inserted the liver probe and frowned as she checked the temperature reading. "Was the AC in this room on high when you came in?" she asked, her voice sharp and to the point. Something was off.

"No," Larson answered, his irritation from earlier gone, replaced with confusion.

Molly shook her head, her frown deepening. “She’s partially frozen.”

Larson blinked, caught off guard by her statement. Brad shot him a look, the implication settling in.

“Wrap her,” Molly ordered her assistants. “Wrap the bedsheets and pillowcases, each pillow, and the mattress, all separately. Bring it all in.”

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