Chapter 2
Two
T he chill in the air wasn’t just from the cold; it seemed to seep from the ground beneath her feet, curling up her legs and freezing her from the inside out. Isobel wrapped her jacket tighter around herself as she stood by the edge of the scene, the lake shimmering under the pale moonlight. Divers were still pulling equipment from the water, their movements slow and deliberate. She tried not to look too closely, knowing two bodies had been lifted from the murky waters.
Brad stood beside her, his presence solid and comforting, even though his expression was drawn tight. They had now been there for hours, and exhaustion weighed heavy on her bones. The joy of Sophie’s party was long gone.
From the shadows near the perimeter, a figure emerged, tall and imposing. A shiver ran down Isobel’s spine before she even saw his face. As the man stepped closer, the glow of the emergency lights revealed him, a towering man with jet-black hair slicked back from his forehead, and eyes so dark they seemed to absorb the light around him. His shoulders were broad, tapering down to a narrow waist, his movements controlled, like a predator. There was something unsettlingly precise about the way he walked, his polished shoes making no sound on the gravel.
When he reached them, his presence was suffocating, dominating the space. The air seemed to thicken, and Isobel instinctively took a step back, her breath catching in her throat. The man’s black eyes flicked over her, taking in every detail like he was cataloging them for later use. His mouth was set in a hard, thin line as he paused in front of them.
“I’m Detective John Larson, Waverly County Homicide,” he introduced himself, his voice clipped and cold. It was the kind of voice that made it clear there would be no room for negotiation. “Dr. Everhart, we need to go over every detail you remember from four years ago.”
Brad, ever watchful, immediately stiffened beside her.
She could sense the change in him, and she knew exactly what Larson was thinking. She’s a dumb woman. He had already written her off.
“Detective,” Brad spoke up, “I’ll take her to the station.” He glanced at Isobel, his tone softening slightly. “It’s cold out here, and we can handle this better indoors.”
Detective Larson turned to Brad slowly, like a wolf sizing up an opponent, his sharp features hardening further. His dark eyes narrowed as he looked Brad up and down, his lips curling in slight distaste. “And who are you?” he asked, his tone condescending. “Her boyfriend? I’m sorry, but we can take it from here.”
Brad’s expression didn’t change, but his hand slipped into his back pocket, producing his own leather badge holder. In one smooth motion, he flipped it open, revealing his credentials. “Assistant District Commander Brad Killian, State Highway Patrol.” He was calm, but the underlying tension was unmistakable. “And I’ll be taking Dr. Everhart to the station to answer your questions.”
For a split second, Larson’s mask of icy control slipped, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. He didn’t respond, just stared at Brad for a beat longer than necessary, as if assessing whether to push the issue. Eventually, Larson turned away without a word, striding toward where the divers had placed the first body. His sharp features disappeared into the shadows, but his presence lingered, a dark cloud hanging over her.
The sergeant standing nearby, a shorter man with tired eyes and a weathered face, seemed almost relieved to have Brad take over. He gave a small nod, glancing at Isobel with something like sympathy in his gaze. “Alright. Commander, meet us at the station.”
Brad’s tension softened slightly as the sergeant walked away. He turned to Isobel, his eyes filled with concern as they met hers. “Come on, Belle. We’ll stop and get you something to eat on the way.”
As they walked to his car, Isobel’s heart pounded in her chest. Detective Larson’s icy stare was still burned into her mind, his unreadable gaze a reminder of how quickly things could spiral out of control. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the detective had already made up his mind about her, that no matter what she said, he’d find her incompetent.
Brad opened his passenger door for her, his movements careful and deliberate, as if he knew how close she was to falling apart. She slid into the seat, trying to steady her breathing, but her mind was racing. Two bodies. Two more bodies. Her stomach churned at the thought. She hadn’t known the first pair of victims, hadn’t been near the lake since, but that didn’t matter now. Her name was tied to this, and there was no escaping it.
Brad got into the driver’s seat, glancing at her with a softness in his eyes that made her feel like she could breathe again. “I’m sure they called Molly.” Her sister Molly was the county coroner. “You should call Ruthie,” he said gently. “She needs to know what’s going on.”
Isobel hesitated for a moment, then pulled out her phone with trembling fingers. Ruth, her younger sister, had always been the strong one, the one who knew how to handle these kinds of things. But calling her now made everything feel more real, more terrifying.
She pressed the call button, and Ruth picked up on the second ring. “Izzy, what’s going on? Liv isn’t being told anything, and Molly left to go into work.”
Isobel swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady. “Ruth, I’m being brought in for questioning. Two more bodies were pulled from Old Mill Lake. The detective, John Larson, wants to know the details of my previous case. I don’t know what I can tell them. Are some of my interviews protected?” She took a deep breath. “Brad’s driving me to the station.”
There was a beat of silence on the other end, then Ruth’s voice hardened. “Honey, I’m sure they just want to be brought up to speed about the old case. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She sighed. “Promise me you’ll wait for me before you say anything you know doesn’t exist in the police file.”
“I promise,” Isobel said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Brad glanced at her as she ended the call, concern etched in every line of his face. “Ruth is on her way?”
Isobel nodded, trying to ignore the growing knot in her chest. “She said not to say anything important until she gets there.”
“Good advice,” Brad said calmly, though his grip on the steering wheel was tight. He reached over and took her hand, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. “It’ll be okay, Belle.”
For a moment, the touch of his hand grounded her, pulling her away from the fear that had been swallowing her whole. Her eyes searched his face for the reassurance she so desperately needed. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”
Isobel's mind drifted back to her very first case as an intern, one that had haunted her ever since. Two teenage girls, believed at first to have drowned, had actually been murdered—a truth she uncovered by meticulously reexamining the overlooked evidence. Driven by her instincts, she chased down every lead, piecing together fragments long after the case had gone cold. But despite her relentless pursuit, the killer slipped through her grasp, leaving her with an unsolved mystery that gnawed at her. She learned some answers might forever remain out of reach. Now what was going to happen?
Brad gave her a small, soft smile, the kind that made her chest ache with unspoken feelings. “Always.”
But even as the warmth of his words wrapped around her, the icy shadow of Detective Larson’s presence lingered in the back of her head, cold and unyielding. The past wasn’t done with her yet.
Brad gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white from the tension coiled in his body. His eyes flickered over to Isobel, who sat beside him, staring blankly out the window. Her hands were tightly knotted in her lap, her face pale. He wanted to reach over, to reassure her, to tell her everything would be okay, but the truth was, he couldn’t promise that.
Stay focused , he reminded himself. That protective urge, the desire to control the situation, hummed beneath his skin like an electric current. He had always kept that part of himself in check, locked deep inside. But moments like this? Moments where danger lingered close to the woman beside him? That control felt like a lifeline.
"Belle," he kept his voice calm, steady, "when we get to the station, keep your answers simple. Facts only, no opinions. Not until we know what Larson’s really after."
Isobel’s lips twisted into a small, wry smile. “You mean a discussion of his penis insecurity.”
Brad barked out a laugh, some of the tension loosening in his chest. “That’s my girl.” He winked at her, pulling into a late-night drive-thru. He ordered her a chicken sandwich and a cola without asking—he already knew. He’d known her too long not to.
"You remembered.” A smile played at the edges of her lips, but her eyes still held shadows.
"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 drowned accidentally, 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 seen something . 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 bring you to the scene?”
“Commander Killian brought me,” she explained. “The note was addressed to me. He thought I should see it firsthand.”
Larson’s brows rose, surprise flickering across his features before hardening again. “The note. You saw it?” His eyes searched hers.
“Yes,” she replied, a subtle tremor in her tone. “It had my name on it, as if… as if it was meant to draw me in. I don’t know why, and I don’t know what this person wants from me, but I was there because Commander Killian believed I should be.”
Larson leaned back, folding his arms, suspicion etched in every line of his face. “Convenient, isn’t it? The killer’s sending you notes. You better hope this doesn’t lead where I think it will.”
Her brow arched. “And where is that?”
Brad, standing quietly in the corner, shifted his weight, his jaw tightening. Isobel was walking a fine line, and Larson seemed eager to push her over the edge. Isobel was pushing back.
Ruth slapped her palm on the table. “Detective, we are done for tonight. You have taken three laps around the track—the same questions over and over.”
After the repeated questions, they walked out of the station. Brad slipped his hand into Isobel’s. That small, simple touch, the feeling of her skin against his, grounded him. It reminded him that, no matter how much he craved control, there were battles he couldn’t fight for her.
Isobel climbed into her place in the passenger seat. Brad took a moment to speak with Ruth outside the car before sliding in beside Isobel. He turned over the engine and cranked up the heat. “I told Ruthie you’d call her in the morning.”
She shook her head. “How could he think I’d have anything to say about these new deaths other than they are female, possibly teenagers, and it’s the same place two others were found four years ago?” She sniffled. “What did he think? A profile takes time and research to build. This isn’t Criminal Minds, where they have a profile by the next commercial break.”
“He comes from LAPD. That department is very enforcement-oriented. I need to make some calls and find out more about him.”
Isobel took a deep breath, focusing on a spot on the windshield. "The first girls came from troubled backgrounds. Both had single mothers who were substance abusers. Both girls were bullied in school. Both had been in several fights—they were the losers and couldn’t defend themselves. They were vulnerable, easily manipulated. My analysis suggested they were targeted by someone who viewed them as weak and wouldn’t be missed if they died. They were found because a couple of people scuba diving for treasures stumbled upon them. Otherwise…” She sighed. “The knots tying the sacks they were in were exacting and matched the bruises on their wrists and ankles.
"Power and control. The type of person who would do this likely has a personality disorder characterized by a need for dominance and a lack of empathy. They enjoy exerting control over others, especially those they perceive as weaker. In this case, the girls were seen as easy targets."
Brad listened. Isobel spoke with such clarity and confidence, yet he could hear the fear in her voice. "Did you have any suspects in mind?"
She shook her head. "Not at the time. We had theories but nothing concrete. The investigation was cut short before we could delve deeper. The town board wanted the case buried as quickly as the girls were. But the evidence I found pointed toward someone with intimate knowledge of the area and the girls' routines. Someone who could get close to them without raising suspicion."
“Were they sexually assaulted?” Brad asked.
“I think so. But that was the problem. The girls were waterlogged and showing severe signs of decay. There was a rush to judgment. The autopsy was performed by the outgoing coroner. Molly was at a medical examiner convention. The exam was, in my opinion, botched.”
Brad sighed, a hint of weariness softening his usually firm expression. “Belle, I’m going to take you home,” he said. “I’ll pick you up and take you to Sophie’s in the morning to get your car. It’s Saturday—you can sleep in, and we’ll grab some brunch.”
The drive to her apartment was quiet, the day lingering between them. Streetlights cast fleeting shadows across her tired face, and Brad couldn’t help but glance over, the worry etched deep in his brow. When they reached her building, he parked and walked her inside, every step a silent promise that she was safe with him.
At her door, he did a quick walk-through, scanning each corner with the practiced eye of someone who left nothing to chance. Satisfied everything was in order, he turned back to her. He reached out and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, the gesture tender and protective.
“I’ll be back at eleven.” He held her gaze for a moment longer. “Get some rest, Belle.”
She nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at her lips as she closed the door behind her. He waited, listening for the subtle click of the lock turning. Only when he was sure she was secure did he head back down the hallway, the night air cool as he stepped outside, making his way home with the promise of morning hanging between them.