Crime Suspense Stories 22 Novels & Stories

The restaurant went through its evening and they didn’t notice because they were talking, which was what she’d been doing with him in the basement for three weeks and which was, she understood now, exactly what she’d been looking forward to every morning when she went in. Chapter 5: What Stays They walked after dinner. The city at this hour had the quality it always had in the middle of the week in the middle of the season, not quiet but unhurried. She walked beside him and they talked about the next cold case he’d mentioned, a nineteen-ninety-two one that also had document questions, and whether she’d be assigned to it if he requested her specifically. “Is that allowed?” she said. “Requesti

He was bigger I’d imagined in all those late-night fantasies— long, thick, beautifully curved upward in that wicked C-shape that promised to hit every spot that mattered. The dark shaft gleamed faintly in the low bus light, veins standing out thick and prominent under the rich brown skin, the flushed head already slick and beading at the tip. I gave one slow, testing stroke from base to tip and felt him twitch hard in my palm. “June,” he hissed, his voice cracking with strain. “There are twenty girls on this bus." “I know but my prize isn’t finished,” I leaned back against his chest, hoodie still covering most of what we were doing from any angle that mattered.

"Did anyone see you leave?" "No," I breathed. "Did Layla ask questions?" "She's starting to." He reached me then, his hand curling gently around my neck, not rough, but gentle enough to make my breath catch. "You need to be careful." I nodded. "I know." "You weren't careful earlier. She almost caught us." "I didn't plan for her to come in—" "And yet she did," he said, eyes holding mine. "You want to keep doing this, Sara?" His voice dropped to something low and possessive. "Then keep it secret. No mistakes."

How could a werewolf help her with Joanna? "Tyrone Wells. He does not mean to be judging, Rose...er...Miss Cristian." the man beside Tyrone answered instead. If Tyrone was huge, this man was the complete opposite. Rose had never seen someone as scruffy as him. His glasses were crooked in ways she didn’t even think was possible, and his clothes hung loosely on him. But his nails were painted blue and almost every inch of his skin was covered in tattoos, making him look dangerous. He was also obviously a wizard. "Who--" Rose started, but she was again cut off.

The picture of the man whom he met the previous night in the departmental store appeared on the front cover of the daily. "Series of bomb blasts occurring in the state. Spread of chaos and tension among the people? Country's top crime investigators on a patrol. Who could be the person associated with the massacre, the prime suspect Sherlock Hanes and the most maleficent Italian mafia leader on a getaway." ***FLASHBACK - TWO MONTHS AGO*** It was the night of the new moon day and it was raining very badly. The cops were checking all the vehicles as the country's most wanted dangerous criminal was escaping the state's border.

Sofia Reyes killed the engine of her rented Jeep outside the dusty warehouse on the edge of the port city, notebook crammed in her back pocket, camera slung across her chest. Six months chasing this story had taken her from quiet mountain roads to flashy nightclubs to lonely beach towns. Women vanishing. No bodies. No clear pattern at first. But the deeper she dug, the clearer it got and all of them had been restless, bored, aching for something sharper than their safe little lives.

There were three more gunshots, and then everything went quiet. ‘Susan?’ whimpered Lucy, cautiously groping around in the dark to find the woman she loved. ‘Are you okay? ‘Yeah, fine,’ panted the detective. ‘Are you okay as well?’ Both women breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I’m good. What about Rachel?’ ‘She’s dead,’ panted Susan. And in the blinding darkness, the moment that Lucy managed to find the detective’s blood-tained hand, the two women embraced each other so passionately that they never wanted to let go.

Grabbing the remote for the sofa arm, I powered on the TV, “Moments ago...” The news reporter announced, “a member from our news team has confirmed that a body was found inside Starbucks bathroom, investigators are now alleging that this small area of the city may be registered as dangerous until they can find our serial killer, suspicions are raised believing that the two recent killings have connected with the disappearance of, nineteen-year-old, bookstore cashier, Charlotte—”

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