Page 24 of Beneath the Surface

They climbed the outside stairs in silence, the day still clinging to both of them. Once inside her apartment, Brad paused, watching as Isobel dropped her purse onto the kitchen counter and leaned against it, exhausted.

“You need to sleep, Isobel,” Brad said quietly. “You’re running on fumes.”

Not appearing to notice his formal use of her name, she nodded absently but didn’t move toward her bedroom.

“I mean it.” He stepped closer. “You’re no good to anyone if you don’t take care of yourself. The case can wait till tomorrow. I’ll be here in the morning, and we’ll pick up your car.”

Isobel’s eyes flickered with hesitation, but, finally, she gave a slight nod. “Okay… I’ll try.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Brad offered a small smile.

He nodded and left, pulling the door closed behind him. Once outside, he let out a deep breath, his mind already spinning with what Brewster had told him. But for now, Isobel needed peace. Tomorrow, the hunt for answers would begin again.

The call camein just after dawn. Brad’s phone buzzed on the nightstand, the shrill tone jarring him awake. He squinted at the screen and saw the name flashing—Larson. He groaned inwardly. Whatever it was, at this hour, it wasn’t good.

“What is it?” Brad answered, voice rough with sleep.

“We’ve got another one,” Larson replied, his tone far too serious for this early in the morning. “You’re gonna want to see this. Crime scene’s at 212 Evergreen Lane. A note was found addressed to Dr. Everhart.”

Brad sat up, suddenly wide awake. “Who’s the victim?”

“Elizabeth Henson. Mid-twenties. Found in her apartment. It’s bad, Brad.”

Brad’s blood ran cold. He knew immediately what Larson was hinting at: the unsettling pattern of crime scenes mimicking cases from Isobel’s past. The fact that there was another one... this fast. It was enough to make his heart pound.

“I’ll be there in twenty,” Brad said, ending the call.

When Brad arrived at 212 Evergreen Lane, the scene was swarming with officers and the familiar glow of crime scene tape. Larson stood just outside the doorway, his expression grim. Brad’s jaw clenched as he walked up, his eyes already scanning for details, looking for anything that would help find the killer.

“What do we have?” he asked as he approached Larson.

Larson glanced back toward the open doorway, his eyes narrowing. “It’s almost a copy of the Brenda West case. Eighteen months ago. You remember that one, don’t you?”

Brad’s stomach churned. Of course he remembered. Brenda West, a twenty-six-year-old artist, had been found strangled in her home, her wrists bound with the cord of her own hairdryer. The words DIE WHORE were written on the wall in her blood. It was brutal, the kind of crime that kept you up at night.

Brad’s voice was low as he asked, “The same method?”

“Down to the finest detail,” Larson confirmed. “Wrists bound, strangled with the cord of her hairdryer. Even the positioning of the body. DIE WHORE in her blood. It’s a complete copy.”

Brad stared at him. “And the note?”

Larson’s lips pressed together into a thin line as he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a plastic evidence bag. Inside was a small piece of paper with messy handwriting scrawled across it:

You can bind their wrists, but you can't bind their will. The one in control is never who you think.

Brad took the bag from Larson’s hand, reading the words again, the note pulling at him. His grip tightened on the plastic. “It’s about dominance.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Larson agreed, though his tone held an edge of something else. “Isobel’s involvement in these cases can’t be ignored anymore. It’s too close. And now this? The killer’s taunting her specifically. Or she’s…”

Brad exhaled slowly, his mind racing. The idea of dominance... control... The killer wasn’t just mimicking pastmurders. He was sending a message about power, about submission. Each crime was a reenactment, but with an added layer of twisted psychology. Brad’s mind immediately went back to the connection he’d been making between Isobel’s past and the present-day murders. The killer seemed obsessed with control over her memories, her trauma. Over Isobel.

“I’ll need to bring Isobel in.” Larson’s eyes darkened. “We need her, but—” He hesitated, glancing toward the door as if to make sure no one could overhear them. “Brad, have you noticed something about Isobel?”

Brad’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” He didn’t have to guess where Larson was heading. He had been dancing around him since he met him, and his application for The Loft had confirmed it. Any experienced Dom would be ninety-nine percent sure Isobel was submissive.

“The way she responds to you. To me. There’s a pattern.” Larson’s voice was low, almost conspiratorial. “She’s scared, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s like she’s... deferring. Submitting, in a way.”

Brad stiffened. He didn’t like where this was going. He didn’t want Larson’s dominance anywhere near Isobel.His Belle.“If she seems off, it’s because she’s dealing with two cases where she’s seen taunting notes, and this makes three. She also keeps a heavy work schedule. There’s trauma in every case she works on.”

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