Page 66 of Beneath the Surface

Brad’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “This—this isn’t just about recreating an old crime. This is a message meant for Isobel. It’s an attack on her, designed to tear her apart from the inside.”

Brad moved forward, his fists clenched as he approached Kathy’s body, now lying in the open body bag on the stretcher. He forced himself to breathe, to stay calm, though the rage simmered just beneath his skin. Someone had done this to hurt Isobel, and they had succeeded. “Whoever did this had to have left something behind. Where is it?”

His eyes scanned the room, searching for the one detail he knew would be there—the calling card, the final piece of the puzzle that would make it all painfully clear.

And then he saw it: jagged letters scribbled on the wall behind Isobel’s desk in blood he assumed belonged to Kathy.

Isobel.

Brad’s own blood ran cold. The letters were crude, hasty, dripping down the wall like an accusation, like a sick parody of a signature. This was meant for her. Kathy’s life had been taken as collateral, a warning shot in a war the killer had begun. Her nipples lay in the candy dish on her desk.

“There has to be a note.” His breath came faster, but he forced himself to stay focused. There had to be more. Something else. He and Larson scanned the desk, the floor, the other walls, searching for anything else the killer might have left behind.

And then Brad found it.

A note, folded neatly, peeking out from her desk blotter as if waiting for Isobel to find it. It stood out among her special filing system, too deliberate to be accidental. With a sinking feeling in his chest, Brad slipped on gloves and reached for it. The paper felt heavy in his hand. He unfolded it slowly, allowing Larson to see it too, their eyes scanning the jagged, erratic handwriting.

Dear Isobel,

It’s all falling apart, isn’t it? You couldn’t save her, just like you couldn’t save the others. The more you try, the more people will die. Maybe you should stop me before it’s too late. Or maybe... you like watching them suffer. Maybe you’re just like me, Belle. Maybe you enjoy the pain. It won’t be long now before you’re mine.

I’m always watching.

The words clawed at Brad’s mind, sinking in like poison. His hands shook as he placed the note flat on her desk, his vision narrowing with a hot, blinding rage. This wasn’t just a murder—this was a declaration of war. The killer had targeted Isobel directly, playing with her mind, trying to break her.

But Brad wouldn’t let that happen. Not to her.

He shot a picture of it. A picture just like he had of the others. He slid the note into the evidence bag Larson held, his mind already working through the next steps. He needed to protect her. He needed to track down this monster before they could get any closer. Whoever they were, they had crossed a line, and Brad wasn’t going to stop until they were behind bars—or worse.

With one last glance at Kathy’s body, Brad lifted his chin to Larson, turned and strode out of the office, his fists clenched tightly. He had work to do, and he wasn’t going to let anyone stop him. Isobel needed him more than ever, and this time, he wasn’t going to fail.

Brad paced nervouslyin the small office. The space was cramped, barely furnished except for a desk and two chairs, but it had become their makeshift command center. The office was right next to Isobel’s, and that proximity was what made Brad anxious.

“We need to assume he’s listening,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around the room. “I don’t know how, but we can’t rule it out.”

Larson, standing by the door, nodded in agreement. He pulled off his shoes and checked them, then inspected his jacket and shirt, mirroring Brad’s nervous actions. They both knew the killer was methodical, and Brad couldn’t shake the feeling that every move they made was being watched or overheard.

“How is he doing this?” Brad called out, almost to the air itself, frustration lacing his voice. “He’s always a step ahead, always knows what we’re doing.”

Larson looked up from where he was checking his shoes. "It’s like he’s in the room with us, hearing every word we say."

Brad stopped pacing and looked at Larson, a grim realization setting in. “I’ve got Isobel’s profile. She wrote in it that the killer would target someone close to her. And now Kathy’s dead.”

Larson frowned. “And Kathy wasn’t just a random choice, was she?”

Brad shook his head. “No, she wasn’t. Isobel’s been spot-on with her predictions. Kathy’s murder lines up with her profile—it’s personal. He’s doing this to hurt Isobel, and by extension, us.”

Larson leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. “We need to go over the details of Kathy’s murder again. Every single thing we’ve got.”

Brad nodded. “Agreed. But first, we need to talk to building security. I want to see those tapes, find out if there’s anything we’ve missed. Maybe he slipped up.”

Larson followed Brad as they left the small office and headed toward the security office down the hall. Kathy’s death pressed heavily on them both, and neither of them could shake the sense that they were being outmaneuvered by the killer at every turn.

When they reached the security office, Brad knocked firmly on the door. The building’s security manager, a middle-aged man with a serious expression, opened it and let them in.

“We need the security footage from the last twenty-four hours,” Brad said without preamble. “Everything from the lobby, hallways, any cameras outside the building. Especially the hallway outside of Isobel Everhart’s office.”

The security manager raised an eyebrow. “You looking for something specific?”

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