She followed Kate out of the office and into the hallway, where James waited near the elevator. He'd changed into a fresh shirt and tie, his practical flannel and worn suit replaced withsomething more camera-appropriate. His blue eyes met hers, and he gave a small nod of encouragement.
They rode the elevator down in silence, the only sound the mechanical hum of descent. Isla focused on her breathing, on the mental preparation she'd learned from Dr. Delgado back at Georgetown. Compartmentalize. Focus on what you can control. Present the facts clearly and professionally.
Don't think about Alicia Mendez.
The elevator doors opened onto the ground floor, and immediately Isla heard the buzz of conversation from outside. Through the glass doors of the building's entrance, she could see the assembled press—cameras, reporters, microphones. A small podium had been set up with the FBI seal displayed prominently.
Kate straightened her already-perfect posture. "Remember—confident, clear, professional. You've got this."
Isla adjusted her suit one final time, then squared her shoulders. She'd faced down killers in darkened alleys. She'd processed crime scenes that would haunt her for years. She'd stood over Alicia Mendez's body and made a silent promise to do better.
She could handle a press conference.
Kate pushed open the doors, and December's cold air rushed in, carrying with it the weight of expectations and the relentless pressure of an unsolved case. The cameras turned toward them like hungry eyes.
Isla took a breath, lifted her chin, and followed her boss out into the light.
CHAPTER TWO
The December wind cut across the parking lot like a blade, but Isla barely felt it as she stepped up to the podium. The FBI seal stared back at her from the front panel, a reminder of everything she represented in this moment—authority, competence, justice. She gripped the edges of the wooden surface, her fingers finding the familiar grooves worn by countless other agents who'd stood in this exact spot.
At least fifty reporters crowded the cordoned area, their breath forming clouds in the frigid air. Camera lenses caught the weak morning light, and Isla counted at least four news vans from different stations. Behind the press corps, curious onlookers had gathered on the sidewalk, phones raised to capture whatever soundbite might go viral.
Kate stood to her left, a reassuring presence in her impeccable navy suit. To her right, U.S. Marshal Steven Argon waited with the patient stillness of someone who'd done this a hundred times before. James had positioned himself slightly behind and to the side, close enough to offer support but out of the primary camera angles.
"Good morning." Kate's voice carried across the lot with practiced authority. "Thank you all for coming. I'm Special Agent in Charge Katherine Channing, and I'll be brief before turning this over to the agents who've worked tirelessly on this investigation." She paused, letting the cameras adjust their focus. "As many of you know, two weeks ago, Special Agent Isla Rivers identified Robert Brune, a sixty-four-year-old Duluth resident, as the individual responsible for multiple homicides spanning several decades. What many believed to be accidental deaths at our ports and docks were, in fact, carefully staged murders."
Isla watched the reporters' pens move across notebooks, fingers typing rapidly on phones. A woman in the front row—Melissa Park from Channel 8, Isla recognized—leaned forward with predatory interest.
"Agent Rivers connected evidence across cases dating back forty years," Kate continued, "demonstrating exceptional investigative work and dedication to justice for victims whose deaths had been overlooked. While Mr. Brune remains at large, I want to assure the public that every resource is being utilized to locate and apprehend him."
Kate turned slightly, her gray-blue eyes meeting Isla's with an expression that was both encouraging and expectant. "Special Agent Rivers will now provide updated details about the investigation and the profile of the suspect."
The microphones seemed to multiply as Isla stepped forward, their foam covers bearing logos from stations across Minnesota, Wisconsin, and beyond. She cleared her throat, acutely aware of how exposed she felt without the familiar comfort of a crime scene or interrogation room.
"Thank you, SAC Channing." Isla's voice came out steady, betraying none of the discomfort churning in her stomach. "Robert Brune is a sixty-four-year-old Caucasian male, approximately five-ten, one hundred seventy pounds, with gray hair and a grizzled beard. He has distinctive weathered features consistent with decades of outdoor work as a commercial fisherman and shipyard worker."
She pulled up the enlarged photo on the display board beside the podium—Brune's employee ID from Northern Star Shipping, enhanced and cropped to show his face clearly. Those dead eyes stared out at the assembled press, revealing nothing of the darkness behind them.
"Brune grew up in Duluth's foster care system after his mother drowned in Lake Superior when he was eight years old.He spent over forty years working in maritime industries, which gave him intimate knowledge of the port, the docks, and the lake itself. This expertise allowed him to stage his victims' deaths as accidents—falls, drownings, mishaps that appeared tragically routine in a working port environment."
A hand shot up immediately, but Isla pressed on. She needed to get through the prepared statement before the questions started.
"We've connected Brune to at least fifteen homicides, with potentially more victims yet to be identified. His pattern involved targeting individuals near water, often using head trauma to incapacitate them before staging their deaths as accidents. Physical evidence, including boot prints and trace materials, links him to multiple crime scenes. He considers Lake Superior to hold spiritual significance and believes his actions serve a higher purpose."
The questions erupted before she'd even finished her last sentence.
"Agent Rivers! Melissa Park, Channel 8.How did you identify him after so many years?"
"Was there a specific breakthrough in the case?"
"Are there more victims than the fifteen you mentioned?"
"How dangerous is he to the general public?"
Isla held up a hand, waiting for the noise to subside. Kate had coached her on this—control the narrative, don't let them drive the conversation. She pointed to Melissa Park, whose red coat made her easy to track in the crowd.
"Pattern recognition across what appeared to be unrelated incidents," Isla said. "The cases shared common elements that became apparent when examined collectively—similar head wound presentations, proximity to water, victims who were alone and vulnerable. Once I identified the pattern, we wereable to narrow down suspects with the necessary access and knowledge."
