Concierge Of Crime Novels & Stories

The news anchor’s voice was serious: “Last night, a major breakthrough in the fight against organized crime took place in the quiet neighborhood of La Villa Avenue. Police have arrested ten individuals believed to be part of a notorious criminal network. Sources indicate the raid may have disrupted a planned operation. Authorities are hailing this as a significant victory, though no further details have been released.” Leonardo burst out laughing, slapping his knee. “Zagaff’s goons finally got what was coming to them!” he said to himself, his grin was wide. “Serves them right, running their dirty business in that neighborhood. What fools!”

“Almost, but I’m told I’d waste my time finishing since you’re about to wrap it all up.” “Oh please. I could wrap it up. The prosecutor is inclined to proceed, yet I prefer your assessment before I give it to her. I’d feel better knowing we haven’t missed anything you might catch.” That is not our current focus. But you’re saying you’re aware of my wife’s business?” “Conner, your wife made a splash into the international policing community about three years ago. She’s nicknamed Miss Holmes or the Electronic Bloodhound.” “Oh, please, I know they don’t refer to me as bloodhound. What he means to say is they call me the Electronic Bitch. Those guys hate it when Ana sends anything from us. Resen

Her and Connor outside a coffee shop in Brooklyn. It was grainy, the kind of photo that suggested someone had been waiting for the shot, had been watching for it. The headline positioned it as mysterious, positioned her as questionable, positioned the entire situation as something that required explanation. "Zachary Cole's mysterious new girlfriend with a troubled past. Questions surrounding her connection to Cole Global's renovation contract and her involvement with known financial criminal Connor Dealt." It wasn't devastating. It wasn't even particularly damaging if you read it carefully and understood that tabloid headlines were designed to create drama where none existed. But it was a me

She was in for a long day as well. They were wrapping up on a big case today. A man had murdered his wife, and all they needed was his confession. They had the proof, but the guy’s confession would nail him in court. Elizabeth was good at getting suspects to confess, but this guy was a real piece of work. Classic narcissist with terrible misogyny. He was going to be tough to crack, but she knew her presence alone would rile him up. Hopefully enough for a confession.

"Wow, freakin' Frankie showed. Can you believe that? I can't believe he'd show his ass here tonight." "Who?" Crispin moves close, his body stiff. "The guy we think is running shit up and down the coastline. He says his gang is on the up and up, but it's not like many criminals walk into the police station and turn themselves in after a crime. Everyone is innocent until you find them elbow deep in a pile of coke. Even then most of them would tell you they thought it was flour." Finally, my eyes track the man they're discussing. His dark hair is gelled back like a mobster. It makes me think of him as a drug runner trying to relive the good old days. Whatever time period mobsters consider bette

No. The department must be trusted. And the agency should send reliable people to work there. He closed all the windows with his mouse. - All open... you are a detective and you leave evidence like this? Maybe I do need a break. Without realizing it, he missed the slip of a criminal.

Sitting behind the mahogany table in the interrogation room was Damien who was drumming his fingers against the wood as he racked his brain, hoping to come up with a picture of the orchestrator of the attack. Recently, he had no beef whatsoever with anyone, this made his thinking more tedious and when he couldn't handle it anymore, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey on his table and then began to drink directly from it. “Sir.” Armani called when he arrived with the limping man.

Anna's POV I entered the club, the usual chaos muted by the early hour, the atmosphere quieter but still filled with people. One of the bouncers noticed me immediately, his heavy steps bringing him closer. “You shouldn’t be out in the open like this, ma’am. It’s dangerous. Where are your escorts?” His tone was firm but respectful. “I don’t need an escort,” I snapped, my nerves fraying. “Where’s Bonnie?” He hesitated for a moment, then answered, “She’s in a meeting with the strippers. This way, ma’am. You can wait for her in the VIP section.”

He was busy on a call, taking an update to Zion. “His phone is unreachable, ma’am. I’ll have his phone traced right away.” Panic settled in my heart now and I repented for holding a grudge against him when he was so disturbed. I tried his number too, but it was still unreachable. “What’s this all about? Who’s threatening us?” I asked although I knew the answer. “Delia Kaya and the Kayakos Crime family are after Mr. Concorde. We have sought help from Interpol’s NCB to nab the culprits. Please cooperate with us.”

Because that meant I was slipping under his defenses which, in my opinion, boded well for our future together, I watched him end the call with his brother before I asked, “What’s Caro doing now?” “You heard that much, huh?” he questioned sheepishly, rubbing a hand over his chin as he eyed me up like I was his ma’s apple crumble. I’d eaten that today, so I knew it was the bomb. “I did.” “We have to pay her a visit in the morning. Conor was just setting it up.” “How come?” I arched a brow. “Didn’t realize FBI agents were on speed dial for mobsters nowadays.” “Now, now,” he chided, lips twitching. “You know we prefer to be called businessmen.”