Chapter 20
Twenty
B rad poured a fresh pot of coffee, the aroma cutting through the tension hanging in the air. Isobel quietly prepared breakfast, the soft clink of dishes punctuating the silence. Their exchanges were minimal, but the unspoken connection between them filled the space.
As they finished eating, Brad’s phone buzzed, shattering the quiet. He answered swiftly, his tone sharp. “Brewster, what do you have?”
“We’ve got Jace Rodriguez in custody,” Brewster replied. “He’s not talking much, but we’ve got enough to hold him. You asked me to let you know.”
Brad’s jaw tightened. “Good. Put him in the box and let him sweat. I’ll be there soon.”
Ending the call, he turned to Isobel, his demeanor shifting to something more protective. “They’ve picked up the guy who bought the bee dispersal equipment. I need to head in and question him.”
Her hands froze on her coffee cup, worry clouding her face. “Be careful, Brad.”
He reached across the table, resting a firm, steadying hand on her arm. “It’s routine questioning, Belle. But listen…” His tone hardened, a quiet authority cutting through his reassurance. “I’ll drive you to the office. You’ll stay there, and you’ll follow the plan. If you don’t, there will be consequences.”
She blinked, a mix of concern and curiosity flashing in her eyes. “Consequences?”
His gaze locked with hers, unwavering. “I’ll put you over my knee, Belle. Don’t test me on this.”
She nodded, her voice soft. “Okay.”
When they left the house, Brad’s protective instincts were sharper than ever. His eyes swept their surroundings, cataloging every detail—the parked cars, the pedestrians, the shadows. As they reached her office, he parked and walked her to the door, his presence solid and reassuring.
Inside, Brad spoke to the two officers stationed at the building. He addressed Officer Dillon directly, “She’s the priority. No one comes in or out without your say. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Dillon replied.
Brad double-checked the building’s security protocols, scanning for vulnerabilities and ensuring everything was locked down. Satisfied, he pulled Isobel aside before leaving.
“Remember what I said,” he warned. “You’re not to leave the office. Check in with me regularly.”
She nodded, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of trust and tension. “I will. Promise.”
Brad’s hand brushed her cheek briefly before he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Good. Stay safe.”
At the district office, Jace Rodriguez sat in the interrogation room, his defiant smirk faltering as Brad entered, exuding quiet authority. Brad dropped a bag containing the empty bee dispersal device onto the table and sat across from him.
“You’re the big guy they sent?” Jace sneered.
Brad ignored the jab. “I’m Brad Killian, assistant district commander for field operations. Let’s cut to it. Who hired you to plant those bees?”
Jace leaned back, crossing his arms. “I just dropped off some equipment. Didn’t know it was anything serious.”
Brad’s voice hardened. “Serious? You’re looking at attempted murder. That’s your third strike, Jace. Talk now, and maybe there’s a deal.”
Jace hesitated, his bravado faltering. “I told you. I just dropped it off at a warehouse off Montgomery. Some guy named Tyrone paid me.”
“Tyrone who?” Brad leaned forward, his gaze piercing.
“I don’t know, man!” Jace stammered. “It was just a prank. He said it wasn’t gonna hurt anyone.”
Brad’s expression darkened. “A ‘prank’ that nearly killed someone. Don’t lie to me, Jace.”
Jace fidgeted, sweat forming on his brow. “Okay, okay. Tyrone’s not some random guy. I know him from the psych hospital—I’m a transporter there. He faked being a patient to dodge charges. We got to talking. We grew up together. He knew I used to mess with those release boxes in high school.”
Brad pressed further. “Where is Tyrone now?”
Jace sighed. “Last I saw him, he was hanging around that warehouse. But I swear, I didn’t know it’d go this far.”
Brad left the room, signaling to an officer to take Jace back to holding. Heading to his office, his mind raced as he pieced together the information. He dialed Detective Larson. “We’ve got a lead on a warehouse off Montgomery. Set up surveillance immediately.”
He made a call to get a warrant. He needed Tyrone’s full name and address.
Then, he hit a quick dial on his phone. Isobel’s voice greeted him. “Brad? What’s going on?”
“Belle, quick question,” he said, his tone brisk. “I need to know—do you recognize the name Tyrone Morris?”
She paused, her voice hesitant. “He was in the prison ward at the hospital. Uncooperative, so I didn’t work with him directly. Why?”
“I think he’s involved,” Brad admitted. “I’ll explain tonight. For now, don’t leave the office with anyone but me.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, her tone a mix of humor and trust.
Later that afternoon, Brad tracked Tyrone Morris to a rundown apartment. The man was jittery, his eyes darting around as if the shadows themselves were after him. Tyrone didn’t resist, muttering incoherently as Brad cuffed him.
“They hired me,” Tyrone said, his voice low and frantic. “Big people. Said she couldn’t talk. Said she had to hurt, had to be scared.”
“Who hired you?” Brad demanded, but Tyrone only laughed—a hollow, unsettling sound.
As Brad drove him to the station, his thoughts were already on Isobel. The pieces were starting to fall into place. Isobel’s work, her tireless dedication to her cases, had made her a target. The bees, the psychological torment—it was all part of a twisted plan to break her.
Tyrone began to repeat himself. His words grew incoherent. And the final disturbing piece, he urinated in the back of the patrol car. With an annoyed growl, Brad asked his driver to head to the psychiatric hospital emergency room.
As Brad sat with Tyrone, waiting to have him seen, his thoughts drifted to Isobel. He needed to hear her voice, to reassure himself that she was okay. He pulled out his phone and dialed her number, his heart pounding as he waited for her to pick up.
“Brad?” Isobel’s voice came through, tinged with worry. “Is everything okay?”
“Just checking in on your report writing,” Brad teased, trying to keep his tone light even as his mind raced with the implications of what Tyrone had said.
“I dictated it before I left the office the afternoon when I was stung,” Isobel replied, the weariness in her voice evident. “I’m going over the draft.”
“Do you always dictate your reports?”
She chuckled, though her confusion was evident. “Yeah, I use a transcription service. I can’t type well. I blew off that class in high school. Why?”
Brad’s gut twisted. “That might be how the killer got your case details.”
Her sharp intake of breath hit him like a blow. “God, Brad. What do we do?”
“Where do the dictations go?” he pressed, his mind already forming a theory.
“I use a service. They transcribe it and courier back to the office,” she answered, her voice tinged with confusion. “Brad, what’s going on?”
“We’ll figure it out,” he promised. “Keep doing what you do for now.” The tightness in his chest didn’t ease. “It’s only a theory. I’ll explain everything tonight.” He needed to be with her to explain everything face-to-face. “Belle, don’t leave the office with anyone but me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“See you later,” Brad said.