Page 41 of Beneath the Surface

Her tears spilled over, and she shook her head. "I don’t know, Brad. I don’t know…"

"Shh," he soothed, his grip firm but comforting. "It’s okay. We’ll figure this out together."

For a moment, she simply let the tears fall, the overwhelming fear and uncertainty finally breaking through. Brad stayed with her, holding her hand until her breathing evened out and her body relaxed. Eventually, exhaustion claimed her, and she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Once she was asleep,Brad leaned back in his chair and pulled out his phone, tapping through his emails. One caught his eye immediately—an update from his friend in the FBI, Tripp, who was assigned to the Los Angeles office. He also was a house Dom at Bliss.

His heart skipped a beat as he opened it.

Brother,

It was good to hear from you. My family is doing well. Kids are growing up too fast. I wish I had better news. I have some background on John Larson that may provide more context to his recent actions and behavior with the WaverlyCounty PD. Larson, as it turns out, has a significant past. His membership at Bliss wasn’t casual. He was deeply involved in its more extreme activities, engaging in sessions of violent Domination and submission. There were frequent instances where Larson reportedly pushed boundaries well beyond established safe words. Yet no complaint was made by the submissives involved or the ownership of Bliss.

While none of this is illegal in and of itself, it raised significant concerns for me. At my discreetly dropped information, the FBI flagged his behavior as troubling. They were not able to find a direct violation of the law in his work as a police officer.

Unfortunately, this isn’t the full extent of his issues.

Larson transferred to Waverly County for a couple of reasons. On the surface, it appears to be for personal reasons—moving into an inherited home and distancing himself from his reputation as a cop who often bent the rules to close cases.

However, the real motivation was far more personal and sad. Larson's daughter was initiated into a gang in Los Angeles through a violent and traumatic process, leaving her physically and emotionally scarred. Out of fear for her safety, Larson relocated her to your neck of the woods, hoping to provide a safer environment.

According to a friend in the department, Larson’s methods haven’t improved. He continues to operate as a lone wolf at Waverly PD, withholding key information from his co-workers and going rogue during investigations. His refusal to be a team player has caused issues, and it’s becoming harder for the higher-ups to overlook his problematic approach to police work.

Please let me know if you need any further details. Stay safe.

Tripp

Brad's stomach twisted as he read the final lines. Larson wasn’t hiding from his past—he was running from it.

He rubbed his eyes. Could Larson be involved? Was his move to Waverly County more than just a bid for safety? And if he was willing to bend the law for his daughter, what else might he be hiding?

Before he could think further, his phone vibrated in his hand with a message from Jeff Brewster.

Another body found. Note to Isobel at scene. Same setup as one of Isobel’s cases. You need to get here fast.

Brad’s heart dropped. He stood up, moving quietly so as not to wake Isobel. Another murder. Another victim, staged like one of her cases. The killer was killing faster, taunting them, pushing them closer to the edge with each new death.

As he slipped on his jacket and left the room, only one thought echoed in his mind: He had to stop this. Before it was too late. Before it claimed Isobel. He checked in with the two patrol officers at the door and headed out.

Seventeen

The warehouse was dark and cold, the rain outside beating down on the roof like a steady heartbeat. Inside, the scent of blood and decay hung heavy in the air, the oppressive violence bearing down on everyone in the room. Brad’s boots echoed on the concrete floor as he moved toward the center of the scene, his stomach twisting with dread.

The body of the young woman was still where they’d found her—bound to a chair, her face beaten and bruised beyond recognition. The thick leather collar around her neck was still connected to the chain that hung from the ceiling, pulled tight as if to make sure she couldn't move an inch without suffering. The marks on her wrists, the deep gashes on her skin, all screamed of domination, of cruel and coerced submission. The killer had made sure she felt utterly powerless before her death.

Brad’s eyes swept over the grotesque display, his chest tightening with every gruesome detail. Beside him, Jeffrey Brewster stood silent, his face pale, his eyes hard.

But it was John Larson, leaning against a rusted beam, who spoke first. “It’s from one of Isobel’s old cases, isn’t it?” his voice was cold, detached.

“Rapid City, a few years back. Same setup. The collar, the ropes, the way she’s posed like… like she was nothing,” Brewster said. “She was an observer. I traced the case through NCIC. It occurred during her last year in grad school.”

Brad didn’t respond right away, his mind still trying to process the horror in front of him. The only difference was that the killer had added his own twisted touch. The message wasn’t just about domination. It was personal.

“There’s something for you, not just Isobel,” Brewster broke the silence. He handed Brad a small evidence bag. “I think he made the victim write it before he killed her.”

Inside was a note, its edges stained with blood, but the handwriting this time was precise, taunting in its clarity. Brad’s heart raced as he pulled on gloves and opened the bag, unfolding the note. The second he saw the words, his blood ran cold.

Assistant Commander Killian:

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