CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR #2
"It doesn't excuse what he did," Isla said firmly.
"Neurological damage might explain his delusions, but he was lucid enough to plan elaborate murders, to engineer death traps, to manipulate our investigation.
He knew what he was doing was illegal and wrong—he just thought he had justification that transcended human law. "
"Like Brune thinking the lake demands sacrifices."
"Exactly like that." Isla gathered up her materials, tucking them back into the folder. "Which is why I need to catch him before he decides Superior is angry about the two weeks without offerings and needs to make up for lost time."
The thought made her stomach clench—how many potential victims had they saved by identifying Brune when they did? How many more would die if he remained free, if the attention faded, if people forgot that the Lake Superior Killer was still out there waiting for his moment to return?
"He will come back," Isla said with certainty that came from somewhere deeper than evidence or logic. "The lake is his whole identity, his entire reason for existing. Take that away and he's just a broken old man hiding in the dark. He won't be able to bear that for long."
"And when he does?" James asked.
"When he does, I'll be waiting." Isla's voice carried a steel she usually reserved for interrogations. "He got away from me once. I won't make the same mistake twice."
They finished their drinks in thoughtful silence, each lost in their own calculations about surveillance schedules and potential hiding places and the psychological profile of a serial killer who believed himself an instrument of an ancient lake's will.
The television cycled through more news stories—political scandals, economic reports, the weather forecast promising another winter storm system moving in from Canada.
No mention of Robert Brune. No updates on the manhunt that had consumed regional attention just days ago.
But Isla didn't need media validation to know the threat remained real.
She'd seen his face, had looked into his eyes and recognized the absolute conviction of someone who'd found their purpose and would die before abandoning it.
The lake whispers, he'd said in her dreams, and that conviction would bring him back to Superior's shores eventually.
When it did, she would be there.
"I should get home," James said finally, checking his watch. "Emma has a science project due tomorrow, and I promised I'd help her finish it tonight. Something about the water cycle that apparently requires excessive amounts of poster board and glitter."
Isla smiled at the domestic detail, the reminder that James had a whole life outside their partnership—an ex-wife he co-parented with, a daughter who needed help with school projects, responsibilities that extended beyond chasing serial killers through Duluth's darkness.
"Tell Emma I said good luck with the project," Isla said, gathering her coat. "And James? Thank you. For understanding Miami. For not... making it complicated."
"It's already complicated," James said quietly, standing and pulling on his own heavy winter jacket. "But maybe that's okay. Maybe complicated is better than easy."
The words hung between them as they left The Claddagh, stepping out into December cold that bit at exposed skin and turned their breath into visible clouds.
Isla's car was parked down the block, James's sedan just beyond it, and they walked together in silence until they reached the point where they'd have to separate.
"Same time next week?" James asked, and Isla understood he meant both their routine drink at The Claddagh and the coordinated surveillance of the locations where Brune might be hiding.
"Same time," she confirmed.
She watched him walk to his car, watched him drive away toward his daughter and his poster board and his normal Thursday evening responsibilities.
Then she slid behind the wheel of her own sedan and sat for a moment in the cold silence, thinking about choices and partnerships and the way three years in a city she'd viewed as exile had somehow transformed into something that felt like home.
Her phone buzzed with another message, this time from Claire in Seattle: Saw you on the news. You looked exhausted. Take care of yourself, okay? Love you.
Isla typed back: Love you, too. I'm okay. Better than okay.
And surprisingly, it was true. She was exhausted, yes—running on coffee and determination and the adrenaline that came from back-to-back cases.
But she was also exactly where she needed to be, doing work that mattered, with a partner who understood why she couldn't let go of an unsolved case even when media attention faded.
Robert Brune would return to Lake Superior.
The connection was too deep, too fundamental to who he was.
And when he did, Isla would be waiting—not as the agent who'd failed in Miami, not as someone running from the past, but as an investigator who'd found her purpose in this cold northern city beside an ancient lake that kept its secrets.
She started the car and pulled out into Duluth's Thursday night traffic, heading home through familiar streets while her mind was already planning tomorrow's surveillance route, already mapping the waterfront locations where a serial killer might hide while waiting for the moment to return to his life's work.
The lake whispers, Brune had said.
But Isla Rivers was listening, too.
And this time, when the Lake Superior Killer emerged from whatever darkness currently sheltered him, she would be ready.