Crime Drama Book Novels & Stories

I feel my hands sweating with nervousness. I can hear the cars stopping in front of the house. Slowly I walk to the wall-size windows, and I peak out. I am curious to see my future dear husband. One thing is for sure. He should sleep with one eye open because I might kill him in his sleep and become a black widow. I have no problem with that. I close my eyes, shaking my head. I think my books have a bad influence on me. This would be a good plot. I make a mental note to write that story. A mafia story. Who knows. It might even be a best-selling story.

"...We are interrupting our scheduled programming with a major update. The body of missing crime reporter Marcus Vance was discovered early this morning on the outskirts of the city." Ian’s whole body went rigid. Marcus? The guy from the bookshop? Dead? His eyes were glued to the screen, his heart hammering against his ribs. “Authorities are reporting that the manner of death is highly specific and bears a striking, and deeply concerning, resemblance to the unsolved murders committed by the 'Silent Shadow' killer…a serial predator who was active seven to eight years ago and vanished without a trace.” Seven to eight years ago. The exact same time. The same M.O.

I closed my book and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. “What is wrong with me…” I whispered. Because this wasn’t just attraction. It was worse. It was a curiosity. It was tense. It was something pulling me toward a man I had no right to even look at. And the most dangerous part? I had a feeling… He knew exactly what he was doing.

The background sound from the TV filled the empty space and made her feel less fidgety. Ping. A message dropped, Alina was being transferred to Mexico for her pending detective case. “It can't be a coincidence.” she thought. This was her life now. Alina the Assassin. Life in the underground was hell when she first joined seven years ago. Trainings were even more brutal. But the one thing that fueled her was the burning thirst for revenge, to do that she had to survive and the only way for her to survive was to join the crime family.

Jake dragged a chair over and sat across from me. “I followed him,” he said, almost conversational now. “Not for long. Just long enough to be sure. He walked out of your place like he owned it. Like he owned you. And you know what the sick part is? I used to think you were better than this. I used to think I was the one who ruined us. Turns out you were just waiting for someone with more money.” I shook my head hard. The ropes burned my wrists.

Then, he returned to his paperwork, as if nothing happened. That momentary hesitation was all I needed to confirm that he was cheating on me. My hand was unnaturally steady as I held the coffee mug, yet my fingertips had gone white from the pressure. When Vincenzo went down to the basement armory to inspect the weapons, I unlocked his phone using the password I'd obtained with my hacking skills. From the encrypted number, I found the woman in a hidden social media app. Her profile picture is a photo of her taken by the Seranian seaside, with cascading curls framing her sweet, smiling face.

"I wondered if I'd screwed up, giving the wrong address, or if I just wasn't a worthy mom. Later, you blamed me, and everyone else believed it was my fault. I internalized the guilt, convinced I'd caused his death. We divorced, and I hollowed out until your wedding invite hit." His pupils dilated in horror. "What invite? I've never..." I raised a hand, cutting off his frantic denial. "The bride was Tessa, her voice matching that of the dragging dispatcher. I realized then it was no mishap, but murder. Her warped obsession killed Wesley and demolished us. I shattered, fleeing into a train's path..." I trailed off, but my quivering voice implied the rest. Chris's hand extended shakily but retr

"The library. While you're here. There's a fire in the grate; it's a good room to work in, and you can write everything you know while you're waiting to publish it. Just on your laptop, offline. Not yet." Something moved in Isla's expression, the thing that happened when she'd been correctly understood. "All right," she said. "The library." "Also," Sera said, "Lucian is going to want to talk to you about the two names you can't place." "I assumed," Isla said. She picked up her bag. Looked at the white roses one more time. "Viktor Drakos sent you flowers with a note about me," she said, "because the case is moving and he's nervous."

“Terrible business with that cop on your property. I hope you’re all right.” The absolute last thing she wanted to talk about. “It’s over.” “Is it? So they’re not coming around anymore?” His look turned apologetic. “Mystery buff. Have you read the latest Konrath?” She shook her head. She painted enough dead bodies; she didn’t want to read about more. “I wonder if the FBI made any progress in the case?” “They don’t really keep me updated,” she said as she opened the door for him. “Of course. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s just…well, fascinating. Not as if we have too much excitement in Broslin.” He gave a quick laugh. “I should

, Rachel grunts. I want to say "Why", but I don't want to risk sounding like a creep so I whatever her and go back to going through the rest of the shelf even though I'd done that a thousand times before. I drag my hands across the spines of the books; Kara Taylor's Prep School Confidential, Carol Wyer's The Secret Admirer, and Megan Goldin's The Night Swim. You would be subtle to call Rachel a crime-thriller addict - she's more of a crime freak. The Night Swim. There is a piece of paper sticking out of it. I pull it out of the book. Something is scribbled across it in Rachel's handwriting.