Page 4 of Beneath the Surface

"I’ve been doing these grab-and-go meals with the Everhart girls for a long time.” He tried to keep the mood light.

As he handed her the bag, the serious look returned to her face. "Brad, you don’t think Larson suspects me, do you?"

As Brad's grip on the steering wheel tightened, the feeling of wanting to control the situation, to shield her, surged within him again. "Angel, I don’t know what Larson thinks. But that’s why you’re waiting for Ruth and offering no opinions. He’s a shark, and you’re not giving him any chum.”

He watched as she took a bite of the sandwich, her expression thoughtful, processing what he'd said. She trusted him—that much was clear—but the fear was still there. Brad could see it, lingering beneath the surface.

"You did nothing wrong," Brad reminded her. "That case from four years ago—it was a mess. And you did everything you could to bring the truth to light."

Isobel took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I was just an intern,” she began. “It was my first case, and I didn’t expect to uncover what I did. Everyone thought those girls drownedaccidentally, but the bruising, the fibers, the water in their lungs… none of it added up.”

Brad listened intently, his protective instincts flaring stronger with every word she spoke. He could picture it, the meticulous work she must have done to uncover the truth—how hard she’d fought against the tide of doubt.

She explained the key pieces of evidence, the details that shifted the case from accident to murder, and with each word, Brad’s grip on the wheel tightened. The facts were damning—Isobel had uncovered something no one else had. And now someone was making sure she remembered that.

“You did incredible work, but that also means someone out there knows you exposed the truth.”

Isobel’s voice wavered. “And now the killer is sending me a message. But what do they want, Brad?”

He didn’t know. He hated that he didn’t have the answer, hated that the control he craved, the power to protect her, was out of his reach. He squeezed her hand, the need to offer reassurance overcoming the tension in his gut. “You’ll figure it out, Belle. Just stick to the facts for now.”

As they approached the police station, Brad’s chest tightened further with unease. The parking lot was dimly lit, shadows stretching long over the pavement. His instincts screamed at him—Detective Larson wasn’t just fishing for information; he was setting a trap. For what, he didn’t know. But Brad had no intention of letting Isobel walk into it unprotected.

He parked the car and turned to her. “Remember what I said. Keep it simple. Ruth will be here soon, and she’ll handle the rest.”

Isobel nodded, though the tension in her shoulders hadn’t eased. They both got out of the car, and as they approached the station, Brad resisted wrapping his arm over her shoulders.

Larson’s presence, cold and calculating, had set him on edge from the start. The interaction with the detective was charged with an underlying tension, an unspoken struggle for control. Brad could sense the power play in every question and sideways glance Larson threw Isobel’s way, each word calculated to unsettle and assert authority. But Brad wasn’t one to back down, not when Isobel’s fate hung in the balance. He met every probing look with unwavering resolve, refusing to let Larson rattle either of them or gain the upper hand.

Inside the station, Larson was already waiting for them. He stood with his arms crossed, his piercing black eyes locked on Isobel as if he was already peeling back her defenses, looking for cracks. Brad’s gut tensed at the sight of him, returning Larson’s steely stare.

“Dr. Everhart,” Larson greeted icily, “we need to discuss your findings from four years ago, how they might relate to these deaths.”

Brad felt a growl rising in his throat. The prick didn’t even offer them a cup of coffee.

“Commander Killian, I’m letting you listen to the interview as a matter of courtesy,” Larson’s voice dripped with condescension. “I don’t need to remind you Waverly County has jurisdiction in this case. The highway patrol was called in error tonight.”

Brad would send a bottle of whiskey to the sergeant for calling him. His eyes darkened, but he gave a curt nod, keeping his response measured. The urge to dominate the situation pulsed under his skin, but this wasn’t the time for that. This was Isobel’s battle, and he had to let her fight it her way, no matter how much it killed him to hold back. “I understand the parameters. But this feels very adversarial. How about something to drink?”

Larson frowned. Brad’s request seemed to knock Larson off his rhythm. “Okay.” Coffee became the beverage of choice for everyone in the room.

Isobel took a seat across from Larson, her posture composed, though Brad could see the stress in the way her hands rested on her lap. He stood behind her, his presence solid, unwavering. He was her shield, even if Larson didn’t realize it yet.

“Let’s start with the psychological profile you built around the original case,” Larson began, leaning forward slightly. “What did you find that could indicate why someone would murder those girls?”

Isobel took a deep breath, her voice steady as she laid out her theory. “I think the killer is a man,” she said, her tone firm but quiet. “It started as a kidnapping. The girls were poorly supervised and needy. He wanted power, control. But when the girls stopped fighting and gave in, submitting to what he wanted, that’s when it turned into murder.”

Despite her composure, Brad could sense the stress woven through her words. She was navigating a minefield, aware that any misplaced syllable could be turned against her. And Larson? He leaned back, eyes cold and calculating, barely concealing his skepticism. It was clear he saw this conversation as a waste of time, just another lead to dismiss. But he was listening, waiting for her to slip, to confirm what he already believed.

Finally, the door to the interrogation room swung open, and Ruth Everhart swept in, her sharp eyes taking in the scene with the precision of a hawk. Relief flooded Brad’s chest as her commanding presence filled the room. Larson wouldn’t push Isobel any further now, not with Ruth standing between them.

Detective Larson’s eyes narrowed as he leaned in, his voice low and relentless. “Isobel, you were there. You must have seensomething. Two more teenagers, same pond, same method. What aren’t you telling me?”

Isobel swallowed hard, her throat dry. “I told you everything I know. I saw the bodies, the same as everyone else did. Two girls, lifeless on the shore—just like before. I have no idea the cause of death at this time.” Her voice was steady, but her hands fidgeted under the table, fingers interlaced tightly.

Larson’s pen tapped against his notepad, each tap echoing in the brightly lit and overheated room. “Why were you there, Isobel? Why bringyouto the scene?”

“Commander Killian brought me,” she explained. “The note was addressed to me. He thought I should see it firsthand.”

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