Authors Like Michael Connelly Novels & Stories

Connolly glared at him, fire and ice in a black-clad leather package. Quinn stared back coolly until Connolly dropped his gaze and looked away, his lips pressed tightly together. “This is Quinn Ryder. Quinn, this is Cade Connolly and his attorney, James Standish III,” Dominic said. “This is ridiculous,” Connolly snapped. “I don’t need him.” Quinn sighed inwardly. One of those clients. The ones who denied they needed a bodyguard right up until they got their brains blown out by some crazy guy. “Now, Cade, you know that’s not true,” Standish began.

Rhett grumbled. “At times that seems to be the case,” Talen sighed heavily. “One thing that you can trust is that people will always act in their own interests,” Connery observed as he smoothed down his jacket and did up the button. “It’s just a matter of determining what their interests are, and you will no longer be surprised by their actions.” “Think you have everything worked out, eh?” Rhett wondered as he opened the rear of the 4WD. “I consider myself an eternal scholar,” Connery sighed. “And it’s a very broad subject.”

“He died fighting. “He made it mean something. We just finished it.” That evening, we celebrated at home—a simple dinner with everyone who’d fought beside us. Caroline brought wine. Marcus Brennan brought stories. Roberto Martinez brought enough food to feed thirty people. Elena Santos brought her kids, “Five years ago,” Caroline said, raising her glass, “Maya and Alex were hiding from killers, starting a business with hope and desperation. Today, Collins-Stone Consulting is worth twenty-three million dollars. The scholarship fund has two hundred sixty-three recipients. And every person responsible for Michael Collins’s death is dead or imprisoned.”

Chapter 117 In the cover of darkness, Connor descended a hidden staircase concealed beneath a seemingly ordinary storage unit on the outskirts of the city. The dimly lit corridor led him to an underground bunker he had meticulously designed for utmost secrecy. It was a place where secrets were shared, alliances formed, and strategies hatched. Tonight, it was the setting for a crucial meeting with Orlando, a trusted confidant and a key player in their mission to take Michael down.

He had gone rigid, his mouth a tight line that threatened to say silent, but a resilient sigh made him speak up. “I once told you that I believed Luna Eleanor had the most reason to behind Red Dawn’s actions.” He began as he took Jess’ place on the couch beside her. Maddie nodded, it had been the day Michael hadn’t returned from the attempt to save Lewis from Wild Shore. Her stomach twisted, remembering how hard the blow had been then and yet he seemed in much more danger now. “The information Connor gathered confirmed she is the leading cause behind it and," he paused, gathering his strength, "I think I’m the reason.”

“Connell was a liability, a traitor and you know what happens to anyone that betrays the mafia.” “Connell was innocent!” My voice thundered through the study, echoing off the oak-paneled walls. “And you knew it. You painted him as a traitor because you needed someone to go down for your crimes. All Connell wanted was to expose your heinous crimes which you keep protecting.”

Michael turned to look at me as well, his eyes filled with expectation, waiting for me to support his story. Under the weight of countless gazes, I slowly stood and took the microphone. I didn't look at Michael. Instead, I faced the sea of dark lenses ahead of me, my expression calm and steady. "Michael Collins wasn't an innocent victim," I said. "Everything that happened was the consequence of his own actions!" The room instantly fell silent. The color drained from Michael's face as he stared at me in disbelief. I continued evenly, "Michael cheated on me during our marriage and had sexual relationships with a woman of questionable background. That's how he ended up infected with so many dis

I gathered my thoughts collectively, once more pulling everything in. Frank Connell was a little odd yes, with his quiet unassuming manner, the way he seemed to always be trying desperately to disappear into himself. I'm sure many people found this strange; but being strange did not make you a mass murderer. It just meant you were weary of your fellow man and knowing some of the shit I did, who could blame him?

Summoning all my courage I crossed the threshold and witnessed what I could only describe as a gore fest. Brandon sensed my presence and hissed. I knew better than to venture too close. “Please don’t take his life.” The words were out before I could stop them. I didn’t expect a reply. “Surely it would be more fitting to make him your creature?” The horrible grin told me that had probably been his intention all along. I turned on my heel and left. “That was foolhardy,” Michaela chastised. “I know.” “Beautiful and courageous,” Connor said, startling me. He’d taken the opportunity to freshen up and was wearing a plum tunic with dark pants. “Do I look the part?”

If anything, this strengthens my resolve to push back against the Mitchells and whoever else might be behind this smear campaign. One thing stands out to me as I read further into the article—Connor. His name is mentioned, not just as a casualty in the crash, but specifically as my bodyguard. That detail is strange, and it bothers me. Connor’s role was something we kept quiet, especially since he was only recently hired and supposedly working for an agency that doesn’t even exist anymore. The article paints him as part of the crew, yet somehow, his real identity is exposed.