Page 77 of Beneath the Surface

She swallowed hard. "Did you ever see him involved directly? Or know if he had... other properties where this kind of thing happened?"

"I didn’t want to know," Carter admitted, his voice tinged with guilt. "After that night, I tried to stay as far away from him as possible. I heard whispers about him having events out in the desert, maybe up in wine country, but I never saw anything myself. Just rumors. And honestly? I didn’t care enough to check. I was too busy trying to pretend it didn’t happen."

“And you? How did you survive?”

“I kept my head down and my mouth shut. I wasn’t going to let him ruin my career before it even started. But things changed when he got involved in that high-profile case.”

“The Hollywood kid? I remember that case. The Dominant theory… He was trying to prove that the whole lifestyle could turn someone into a killer.”

“Yeah. That case changed him—or maybe just brought out who he really was. Hale had this obsession with proving his point. He was convinced he could tie Dominance, sadism, all of it, to homicide. He thought if he could prove it, he’d make his name in both psychology and law. But…”

“But?”

“The data didn’t back him up. Every study, every analysis, even the sadistic Dominants in the sample—none of it pointed to violence or homicidal tendencies. The opposite, actually. He hated that. And that’s when he started… cooking the research.”

Isobel inhaled sharply. “He falsified the analysis.”

“Yeah. It was subtle at first. Small adjustments here and there, enough to skew the results. But then it got worse. He’d cherry-pick cases, throw out data that didn’t fit, even manipulate stats outright. He was desperate to make the numbers tell his story.”

“And no one caught on?”

“Not until Professor Murdoch. You know him?”

“I know him. He proved him wrong. I was part of the statistical analysis for his paper,” she whispered.

“That was you? Small world. Yeah, Murdoch tore his work apart. It was a clean takedown too—methodical and thorough. After that, Hale’s credibility took a hit, but he spun it as jealousy from the academic community. Said they were out to get him.”

“Of course he did. What happened after that?” she asked under her breath.

“He left academia. After the scandal, just… disappeared. I heard he went into consulting or something. But, Isobel, why are you digging this up now? What’s going on?”

She grew tense. “Let’s just say I can’t sit on the sidelines anymore. Hale’s in the middle of something dangerous, and I need to figure out exactly what he’s capable of.”

“Be careful, Isobel. If Hale’s involved, you’re stepping into a minefield. He doesn’t just go away quietly. If he’s resurfaced, it’s because he has something to prove. And he won’t stop until he does.”

If you only knew.Isobel’s jaw tightened. "Thank you for being honest with me," she said, forcing a measure of calm into her voice. "You’ve given me a place to start."

Twenty-Eight

The rain lashed against the windshield as Brad navigated the slick streets, the rhythmic thrum against the roof doing little to calm the storm inside his head. He’d just left Isobel at Sophie and Tristan’s, and now he was heading to The Loft, a private club where he’d meet John Larson and Jesse Gentry. Jesse wasn’t just a club owner; he was a man who, as a psychologist, understood the undercurrents of the BDSM community, a gatekeeper to the BDSM corners of their world. Today, Brad needed his expertise.

The Loft’s door was even more hidden by the rain as Brad parked and jogged to the door, his jacket doing little to shield him from the relentless downpour. He was soaked by the time he entered, shaking off droplets as he made his way to Jesse’s office. Inside, John Larson was already waiting, seated across from Jesse, who lounged behind his desk. The room was warm, the soft lighting and dark wood paneling at odds with the grim nature of their conversation.

“Brad,” Jesse greeted, gesturing for him to take a seat. “You’re late.”

“Rain,” Brad replied curtly, shrugging off his wet jacket. His mood matched the weather.

Jesse leaned forward, his piercing eyes scanning both men. “All right, let’s hear it. Bring me up to speed.”

Brad exchanged a glance with Larson before diving in. “We’re dealing with a predator who isn’t just operating in the shadows—he’s using psychology as both his weapon and his justification. Malcolm Hale is targeting psychologists. All highly trained.”

“And all but one dead,” Larson added grimly. “Horrendously tortured before he killed them.”

Jesse nodded, his expression unreadable as he folded his hands on the desk. “I’ve read the reports. Painful days before death. Systematic wounds, as if designed for study. Autopsies that suggest they gave up, surrendered, and then he ended them.” He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers thoughtfully. “First question: these psychologists—were they submissive by nature?”

Brad frowned. “Submissive? We don’t know. They were all strong in their profession.”

Jesse raised an eyebrow. “In their professional lives, yes. But was that their nature? Or a façade?”

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