Page 25 of Beneath the Surface

“I’m not saying she’s not traumatized by these notes. But I’ve seen this before, Brad. She’s showing signs of... well, submission. You noticed how she just followed your orders without question the other day? You told her to walk back into that crime scene, and she barely put up a fight. And when you told her to eat and go home? She didn’t argue. She obeyed.”

Brad bristled at the word “obeyed.” “You’re reading too much into this. It’s just that I know her.”

“Am I?” Larson pushed, his tone firm. “Think about it. The killer’s leaving notes about control, dominance. And the way Isobel’s been acting—like she’s falling into that role without even realizing it—it’s connected. Is the killer looking for her submission?”

Brad’s throat tightened, a knot forming in his chest as Larson’s words sank in. He hated how much sense they made, hated the way they forced him to confront something he wasn’t ready to admit.

He had always seen Isobel as strong, independent, an Everhart—all the women were forces to be reckoned with. But now, he couldn’t ignore the truth staring him in the face. She was being manipulated, controlled, and it wasn’t just the killer bending her will. What was obvious to this killer—well, he had seen it too, felt it in the moments they were together. Isobel was strong, yes. But unlike her sisters and mom, in the quiet moments, she was submissive.

Now he faced another revelation: she washis. His to protect. His to guide.

Brad cast a glance at Larson, then took a step away from the crime scene. He needed to pull Larson further out of earshot. This wasn’t something he could discuss openly, not here, not now.

“I need to talk to you,” Brad said, his voice low and measured as he led Larson to the side, making sure no one could hear them. “About Isobel.”

Larson followed, his brow furrowed with curiosity. Once they were far enough, Brad turned to face him, his expression guarded, almost reluctant to admit what he was about to say.

“I think you’re right.” The words tasted bitter in Brad’s mouth. “This killer... he’s not just playing with us. He’s manipulating her, using her psychology against her. But Isobel isn’t a suspect. She’s a victim in all of this.”

Larson nodded, though his face betrayed a flicker of surprise at Brad’s admission. “We can’t deny she’s being targeted. Whoever’s behind this knows her, knows how to push her. How tocontrolher.”

Brad’s chest tightened at his words. It was about power, dominance—about bending someone’s will until they broke. “We need to work together on this. I can’t do it alone, and neither can you.”

Larson paused, searching Brad’s eyes for a moment. “You’re serious?”

Brad nodded. “I know about your application to The Loft. You’re familiar with Dominance, but I hope the way the lifestyle intends, not like what happened to these victims. This isn’t just about catching a killer, Larson. We’re dealing with something darker. Something deeper.” His gaze remained sharp. “And Isobel... she’s in the middle of it.”

Larson’s expression hardened. He looked like he was about to argue but then stopped, his eyes narrowing in thought. “I’m with you,” he finally said. “But we need to be careful. She trusts you, Brad. More than anyone. If she breaks, it’s going to be because she loses that trust. You need to protect her.”

“You don’t need to lecture me about trust.” Brad exhaled slowly.

Protect her.It was more than that. He wasn’t just protecting Isobel from the killer; he was shielding her from herself—from the parts of her that were vulnerable, that she hid behind walls of strength. He felt it every time she leaned into him, the way her body softened, her guard lowering just enough to let him in. She sought safety in his presence, even if she wouldn’t say it out loud.

“We need to question her again,” Larson said, his voice steeling. “See if anything else from her past connects the dots.”

“I agree. But I’m not going to push her into a corner.”

Larson gave a slow nod, his expression darkening. “Don’t make me wait too long. She has answers, whether she knows it or not.”

Brad nodded.

On his way to Isobel’s, his thoughts were a storm. He replayed Larson’s warning, the cryptic comment about this being more than just a case of control. Isobel was part of the game now. He was sure she realized it. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep her safe, but one thing was certain—he wasn’t going to let her face this alone.

When Brad arrivedat her apartment, the sight of him sent a ripple of unease through Isobel. She had expected him, of course, but seeing him now—with tension carved into his features and heaviness in his eyes—made it all too real. Yet, when his gaze landed on her, it was like the breath left his body. His expression shifted, concern mingling with something deeper. She knew what he saw.

Isobel was a shadow of herself. Her body felt fragile, worn thin by too many sleepless nights and too many unanswered questions. Her once-bright eyes, the ones he used to tease her about for being so full of fire, were now dulled, heavy-lidded with exhaustion.

“Another one?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t need him to confirm it; the answer was already written in the lines of his face.

Brad nodded, his shoulders dipping under his unspoken burden. “Like Brenda West.”

The name hit her like a slap. Isobel’s fingers tightened on the edge of the doorframe, her knuckles white as the little color left in her face drained away. “No…” The word came unbidden, trembling on her lips. “No, it can’t be.”

Brad stepped forward, his hand reaching out to rest on her shoulder. The warmth of his touch was steadying, a reminder that he was here, that she wasn’t alone. “I need your help again,” he said softly, his voice coaxing. “This one’s also about control, Isobel. About dominance.”

The shiver that ran through her wasn’t from the chill in the air. She knew exactly what he meant, the kind of dominance that seeped into a person’s life like a slow poison, leaving them helpless, trapped. Her gaze met his, and for a moment, she felt herself leaning into him. It wasn’t intentional, not at first—it was instinct. Her body gravitated toward the strength she felt radiating from him, toward the solace his presence offered.

“You can do this,” he said firmly, his tone soothing but unyielding. “I’ll be right there with you. But I need you to think. Did anything happen in the Brenda West case that wasn’t in the reports?”

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