Crime Drama Book Novels & Stories

Dino’s POV I had never opened those files in many years, not out of secrecy, but because they were covered with excessive blood. They sat on my individual server, and were kept, closed over three layers of clearance, any movement or conversation thereof being neither noticed nor recalled by anyone save the dead. I read them tonight, since the name of Drina was never to be forgotten, and because I felt that silence was beginning to be a crime. The screen was dimly lit in the dark office in which I poured myself a drink that I was not determined to take. The capital of Madrid was extending beyond the glass walls, breathing life, unaware of the ghosts breathing within my empire.

I left Aaron for the meantime on the part where the fountain pens are to go to the novel section. Since I saw Sophie Lark's Brutal Prince on TikTok's recommendation, people who have read this say that it has a strong female lead. I enjoy books of that genre, therefore I may be interested in reading it. I looked at the shelves. I also picked up a book and read the synopsis on the back when Aaron came to me here. "You like reading books?" he asked. I turned my eyes on him, "Uh, sometimes. If I'm interested in the plot," I answered.

Yeah, he'd learned to practice patience, but dealing with the police while they questioned Betty had just about driven him to the edge of reason. He opened the car door for her, holding her elbow as she climbed in. Daylight had waned, and the parking garage was dimly lit, the sound of other hospital visitors echoing through the cement structures. Betty listened for other things. Furtive footballs on the pavement. The click of a gun safety being released. The slide of fabric or the soft huff is a breath. Someone had tried to kill Dan just a few weeks ago, and there was no reason to believe that person would be content to let him live. The road went quiet as he stepped around the car. The soun

I sat on my couch until the sun came up, staring at the wall of photographs and red string, seeing nothing. Then I threw myself into investigating, finding whatever I could. --- The bomb was useless. Hand-made. No store to trace the parts back to. I sat with the report in my lap and felt the anger curdling into something colder. Two days later, I knocked and stepped into Captain Morrison's office the moment I got word he was back. Information had come in about a gentleman's club Damien visited frequently, and I was going to check it out. "No, Adrian. You can't." He looked at me from across his desk. "You're going into this with emotions. I can have someone take over the case while you get so

The crime architect hadn’t just built the crime, he had demolished the evidence. Clinton suggested that they go solo on the case- no lawyers, no official channels, and no paper trail that could alert the wrong people. According to him, the truth they were looking for wouldn’t be found in court records or legal archives. It would be buried in plain sight, scattered across old newspaper pages and forgotten television reports from that period. If there were inconsistencies, that was where they would surface.

They had both exhausted their lives. A headshot as I realized, but they couldn't lie here long. The warm bodies almost steamed in the cold rain. Besides, the heavy rain had not yet washed away the blood. And when I saw that scene there in front of me, it shocked me more than I thought possible. Until that moment, I hadn't believed that seeing a washed Proles victim on a dissection table or out here right after the crime could make that much difference. I was wrong. Look, Gracy, the funny dog. I called it plush because it looks so plush.

With one slight adjustment of the hand, it continues, “I, myself, would like to say ruthless killer, but then we all know Vic Stone, you would never have walked out there alive.” And ya, I think I should, but I do not keep quiet, “I am glad to see that we agree on one thing.” “Oh no, I don’t agree. My question is, what was Colton Cruz doing there in the first place? See, this is how things work in this crazy fucked up Mafia business. You do not set your foot on someone else’s turf.” Well, this is where I need to stop it right in the fucking but.

He would surely demand answers. "I understand. But sooner or later, you have to, sis. Lizzie and I will always have your back." Beau has been planning since Dinara relocated to London. She prayed it would work. "By the way, Nicholas Stafford had a conference call with Dominic the other day. Is everything okay there, Arie?" "Nope. The gang that attacked his wife was part of human trafficking." She said in disgust. Lucifer had confirmed it during their meeting. His own son had been rescued from one of the buyers last year.

Probably, after assuming he’s involved with the underground, maybe a mobster or a mafia leader. But what I see are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining each wall filled with various books. In the middle of the room is a large mahogany table. I wonder how many fingers got cut off on top of that. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong, Miss Atwood.” Huh? Does he know who I am? The man’s deep voice knocks me out of my head. I’m out of my league here but I need to do what needs to be done.

Caitlin nearly lunged across the room, grabbing the book and holding it up to the candlelight with shaking hands. Please God, let this be it, she thought. She pulled back the cover and nervously flipped to the title page: De Fascino Libri Tres. Her heart flooded with relief. She could hardly believe it. She had actually found it. Caitlin quickly thumbed through the pages, going as fast as she could to the missing page. Please, please be there. Please be the matching page. She started to worry about what she would do if the matching page weren’t there. Or if this was all a hoax. She was shaking with anticipation as she got closer. 530, 532….