CHAPTER TWO #2
The reporters didn't disperse immediately, clustering together in small groups to film their stand-ups and live shots. Isla caught fragments of their commentary as she moved toward the building's entrance.
"—remarkable detective work—"
"—decades of killings finally exposed—"
"—the agent who caught the Lake Superior Killer—"
She pushed through the glass doors, grateful for the relative quiet of the lobby. The cold air had seeped through her blazer during the conference, and now the building's warmth felt suffocating by contrast.
"Agent Rivers!" A voice called out behind her. "Just a few more questions—"
Kate was suddenly there, positioning herself between Isla and the reporter who'd tried to follow them inside. "We've concluded the official statement. Further inquiries can be directed through our public affairs office." Her tone was pleasant but left no room for argument.
The reporter—a young man with an expensive camera and an eager expression—held up his hands in surrender. "Of course. I just wanted to arrange a longer interview. My documentary series has been following unsolved cold cases, and this story is exactly—"
"Contact our public affairs office," Kate repeated, then turned and guided Isla toward the elevators with a firm hand on her shoulder.
James joined them, and the three rode up in silence until the doors closed and Kate's professional mask slipped slightly.
"Documentary series," she muttered, shaking her head.
"Third one this week wanting exclusive access to you, Isla.
Yesterday someone from a true crime podcast showed up at reception asking if you'd sit down for a 'raw, unfiltered conversation about hunting serial killers.
'" She made air quotes with evident distaste.
"I'm not interested in any of that," Isla said quickly.
"Good." Kate's gray-blue eyes fixed on her with characteristic intensity.
"Because I need you focused on actual investigative work, not becoming a media personality.
The press conference was necessary—public awareness, keeping Brune's face in circulation.
But these podcast interviews, documentary features, photo shoots?
" She shook her head. "That's not what you're here for. "
The elevator doors opened onto their floor, and Kate continued down the hallway without breaking stride. Isla and James followed, exchanging a quick glance.
"That said," Kate added, stopping at her office door, "the attention isn't going away anytime soon.
You identified a serial killer who'd been operating for decades.
That's the kind of story that captures public imagination, whether we like it or not.
" She turned to face them fully. "Just be smart about it.
Redirect questions back to the investigation. Don't let yourself become the story."
"Understood," Isla said.
Kate's expression softened fractionally. "You did well out there. I know it's not comfortable, but you represented the Bureau professionally." She glanced at James. "Sullivan, make sure she eats something. She looks like she hasn't had a real meal in three days."
"Yes, ma'am," James said, not quite hiding his smile.
Kate disappeared into her office, and Isla finally allowed her shoulders to relax. The hallway was blessedly empty, most agents either out on assignment or watching the press conference coverage on the televisions in the break room.
"She's not wrong about the food," James said, falling into step beside Isla as she headed toward her office. "When's the last time you ate?"
Isla tried to remember. Coffee this morning, definitely. Before that... had she eaten dinner last night? The late hours at the office blurred together, time marked by cups of coffee rather than actual meals.
"I'm fine," she said automatically.
"That's not what I asked." James stopped at her office door, blocking her path with his considerable frame. "There's a deli two blocks over. Good sandwiches. We'll get takeout and you can eat while reviewing reports. Best of both worlds."
"James—"
"Not negotiable." His blue eyes held a mix of concern and stubbornness that she recognized from their almost two years of partnership. "You're running on fumes, Isla. You can't catch him if you collapse from exhaustion."
She wanted to argue, to insist she was fine, that food could wait while Brune was still out there. But the way James was looking at her—not with pity or condescension, but with genuine worry—made something in her chest tighten.
"Fine," she conceded. "But we're taking it to go. I want to review the latest reports from Thunder Bay."
"Deal." James pulled out his phone, already pulling up the deli's menu. "What do you want?"
"Whatever. You choose." Isla pushed into her office, immediately moving to her computer where new emails had accumulated during the press conference. Updates from the Marshals, routine reports, and—she frowned at one subject line—a media inquiry that had somehow bypassed the public affairs office.
Request for Interview - "Women in Law Enforcement" Feature Series
She deleted it without opening.
"Turkey on rye with the works," James called from the doorway. "They make it with this garlic aioli that's incredible. You're going to love it."
Isla made a noncommittal sound, already absorbed in the Marshal's latest report.
Another sighting near the Canadian border, this one from a gas station attendant who swore the man pumping gas at 3 AM matched Brune's description.
But the security footage was grainy, the identification uncertain, and by the time local police arrived, the man was gone.
Her phone buzzed with a text. She glanced down, expecting another update about the case.
Instead, it was from a number she didn't recognize: Agent Rivers - would love to discuss your investigative process for our podcast. Our audience is fascinated by how you connected these cases. We can offer excellent platform visibility and—
Isla deleted it and blocked the number.
"They're going to keep coming," James said quietly.
He'd finished ordering and now leaned against her doorframe, watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read.
"The media attention. The interview requests.
You're the agent who caught a serial killer that nobody else even knew existed.
That's going to follow you for a while."
"I didn't catch him," Isla said, more sharply than she intended. "He's still out there."
"You identified him. Saved his next victim. That counts for something."
Isla turned back to her screen, unwilling to accept the praise when Brune remained free. James fell silent, and she heard him move away from the doorway, giving her space.
The morning crawled forward with painful slowness. More reports came in—possible sightings in Ashland, Superior, even one as far south as Minneapolis. Each one required review, cross-referencing, and coordination with local law enforcement. Each one led nowhere.
James returned with lunch at eleven-thirty, setting a wrapped sandwich and bottled water on her desk with quiet efficiency. The smell of garlic and fresh bread made Isla's stomach growl, betraying how long it had been since she'd eaten properly.
"Thank you," she said, unwrapping the sandwich. The first bite was better than she wanted to admit—turkey, swiss, crisp lettuce, tomatoes, and that promised aioli that was indeed excellent.
James settled into the chair across from her desk with his own lunch, and they ate in companionable silence while Isla continued scrolling through reports.
This was one of the things she appreciated most about their partnership—James understood when she needed quiet, when conversation would only be a distraction from the work.
Just then, Isla’s phone began to ring. She took it out and frowned at the caller ID. Samuel McCrae was calling her.
Samuel McCrae, as in her former boss in Miami.