Concierge Of Crime Novels & Stories

I gasped and automatically took a step back from him but he came forward only to grab my upper arm in a tight, painful grip and pushed me to the nearest wall. His face was inches apart from me and I would have definitely swooned over him if he wasn't this angry. " You're Zachary's whore, aren't you?" He asked, releasing a merciless chuckle. I stared right back to him before bending my head down. Why everyone have to label me as whore? Just because I am related to criminals? Why can't people think that criminals can too have family relations? Chris will never know that for me Zachary is like a brother. For a criminal like Zachary too, family matters but not everyone's gonna believe this. And

"That's Kirstie raising the alarm. And if I'm getting this, then so's everyone else." Klempner looks alarmed. "Who's 'everyone else'?" Do I tell him? The truth but not the whole truth... "Haswell, Michael, Ryan..." "Who's Ryan?" "Kirstie's ex." "The police?" "Not directly, no." He relaxes a little. I continue. "Kirstie is the concierge for the Haswell offices. Part of her remit is to look for trouble. Beth is an obvious ransom target. I installed a panic-button app on her phone."

“I know he'll come running when he hears I have his little princess in my possession." Luciana's voice cracked. “You monster…” Donatello grinned. “Very soon, when I get my hands on him, the only news trending in Columbia will be 'The Tragic Tale of a Cop's Disappearance'...” He mimed a headline with his hands. “How convenient.” With a final laugh, he walked out of the room.

“It doesn't seem so. You won't be in this room if you are a nobody,” I bit the inside of my cheek. This was already too much. My body ached, my head throbbed, and now this? “I just want to get checked, get cleared, and leave.” He nodded slowly, his gaze still annoyingly amused. “Alright, Nurse Grace. Let’s get you taken care of.” And for the first time, his smile dropped, replaced with a professional look. But I couldn’t trust it. He was Adrian after all. A chronic womanizer.

They stepped into the reception and all the employees instantly snapped to attention. They had obviously been informed of their coming. It was still going to take a long time before Rose could get used to how people acted when Wayne entered a room and they knew who he was. A man approached them with a wide smile plastered on his face that reminded Wayne of Batman’s Joker. “Good evening Mr. Blackstone, Miss Cohen. My name is Nicholas Switzer and I am the concierge. Mr. Blackstone, we already received a call from your assistant and everything has been set; our best suite had been set up for you.

I soliloquize, bow my head like I have been meditating since the sermon started. "Ma'am, I hope all is alright?" Agnes asked. "Oh yes, I'm fine." I raised my head up immediately. The sermon became and interactive session, where different people contributed their view about the topic, while some talked about their experience. After some minutes, the service ended and it was time to leave before the priest called me. "How are you, Mrs Mitchell ?" He asked me "I'm very well father and you too?" I asked in return. "I'm very well dear. My condolence once again about the demise of your father in law and have you been able to locate or heard from Nathan?"

She stopped. She looked up at Nora. "He assigned me the tip," she said again. More quietly. "He did not just receive the tip and pass it to you," Nora said. "He assigned it to you specifically." "Yes," Constance said. "Out of a team of journalists covering financial crimes." "Yes." "Why you?" Nora said. Constance said nothing for a moment. She was doing the thing Nora had watched her do throughout the morning. Pulling threads and following them and not speaking until she had reached the end of where they led.

"Yes, sir. What can I do for you?" "I'm looking for Jennifer Bennett. Is she in?" The concierge shakes his head. "I'm sorry, we have no-one of that name here." His gaze travels up and down Chad; tall, well-muscled, with corn-blond hair and cornflower-blue eyes. "How about Jenny Conners?" "Oh, that Jenny, the red-haired girl. Yes, I know her. She's a stunner that one, isn't she?" He hesitates. "If you go for that type of course…?" The question hangs in the air.

He moves so fast I cannot even remember the faces of people I speak to. “Please,” I ask him “Slow down.” My feet ache and my muscles are sore. I have long since dropped the flowers on some random table, hoping silently they would burn and take the building and everyone in it. My fingers grasp onto a glass and I gulp down water quickly, my throat parched from flimsy small talk. The wedding will be in the papers. I can see the headline now- Two Crime Families Put Aside Differences; I knew the papers would sell quickly. Crime sold. I would know. My name had been in the papers since the day I was born thanks to my father. New York would tremble underneath me if I wanted it to. I dripped in cashm

“We’re trying to keep a lid on it. We didn’t release anything about the blood draining or the matchbook. We had four other homicides that night. This one didn’t rate much coverage.” Conner leaned back against the booth’s soft leather cushion, the fingers of his right hand drumming on the table as he mulled over everything Sloane had told him. “You think it’s gonna happen again, don’t you?” he said after a few moments. “If I had to bet, yeah. That’s why I’m asking for your help.”