Detective Holbrook Novels & Stories

Detective Leah Moore sat in the back of an unmarked cruiser, adjusting her bulletproof vest. Her expression was focused, even stoic, but her eyes scanned the street with precision. They were here for Terry Brooks, a slippery arms dealer who had managed to dodge the law more times than she could count. “He’s late,” Leah murmured, more to herself than her partner. Detective Torres, steady and quiet, didn’t look up from his surveillance notes. “We’ve got time. He never comes in early. He knows the routine.”

"If this is connected to our family, you can't handle it alone. Let me help officially." "How?" "Bring me in as a consultant. I have credentials in historical research, religious symbology. Your captain would buy it." She paused, keys in hand. The idea of Elias in her precinct, her carefully separated worlds colliding, made her stomach clench. But another victim was already waiting, and she was running out of time. "Fine. But you follow my lead. In my world, I'm Detective Blackwood. Nothing more." "Understood." Elias paused before continuing, “just promise me that you’ll be careful, and at least think about what I said about at least coming home to let everyone know that your safe and a live

Victor didn’t answer. They stepped out of the car and headed inside. Alec had barely taken two steps when a familiar voice spoke from behind them. “Well… if it isn’t Alec Blackwood.” Alec stopped. Victor glanced over as a tall man approached from the hallway, jacket slung over one shoulder, badge clipped to his belt. Detective Harlan. The detective’s eyes settled on Alec with faint amusement. “Nice to see you,” he said calmly. “Once again under… perilous circumstances.”

AXEL BLACKWOOD: "Mr. Blackwood," he started, "sorry for barging into your office—" "You better be," I cut him off. "And it better be for a damn good reason." The man straightened, trying to recover. "I'm Detective Harrington Smith," he said. I tilted my head, unimpressed. Surveying the man at the front of the pack, I was able to tell that he was middle-aged, balding, and reeked of bureaucratic arrogance. He tried to look confident, but his shifting eyes gave him away.

CHAPTER 36 New York City Police Department (NYPD) Headquarters, 1:00 pm The young detective named Nicholas Gray looked up quickly when his coworker Hendrick Mckenzie--or Hendrick as he was more commonly known--tapped him on the shoulder. The hazel-eyed detective sat down in his chair--which was next to Nicholas' desk--and immediately handed Nicholas a dark brown folder. They had been in the same division (serious crimes division) for the past five years and their relationship had been very good. So it was natural for Nicholas to think of Hendrick as his own brother.

"So, who lives here?" The neighbor replied, "That place is owned by Mr. Largo, a kind man. Is anything the problem?" Meyer reassured him, "It's all fine, we just wanted to meet him, that's all." The detectives conferred among themselves. Detective Dane asked, "Who the hell is Timothy Barclay? Where is he? Why is he hiding?" Meyer replied, "He's somewhere, but we just can't figure out where. We're getting close, though."

"You do know of my hate for the man. How then can you ask me to bring him into this?" "From my perspective, Your Grace, detective Harold is the only person who can get to the root of this," Mr Brown said. "He has the new instruments for all of that." Edward grumbled. That was what he hated the most about the so-called detective, his love for the new lie that was coming up. The so-called scientists call it the beginning of a new era but Edward only found it to be the beginning of a destructive one. It was the same new era nonsense that had caused him his old face.

“I don’t know. I tell him if there is a good venue, and I read to him. He is a sick man, Detective. You really should just leave him alone. He is not going to live for much longer. Let him go in peace, please.” “Temperance, I am not the bad guy here,” Detective Callahan leaned in the window, her eyes earnest. “I am trying to help you out. You are a good kid, you and Gabriel Dawson, for all your odd fashion choices. You have never been in any trouble. Don’t let the likes of Gregory Holmsworth drag you down.” “Look,” Vixen dropped her sunglasses so she could meet the detective’s eyes. “Gregory Holmsworth is a sweet, misunderstood, dying old man. You are looking at the wrong man. That is all I

Holly reveals. I raise an eyebrow, impressed by her resourcefulness. She sounds smart. Holly gives a modest nod, a small smile playing on her lips. "I'm a tech expert, so it was easy for me to track her device," she explains, answering my unspoken question. I feel a sense of relief knowing that we have a potential lead in our search for Lyra. Holly's proves invaluable, I thought Holly is one of Conor's many whores, Conor's history of chasing anything in a skirt is hard to ignore.

In the end, Meredith and George decided to arrange a meeting with the police detective assigned to Helena’s case, Detective Sergio. He was a tall, lean man with clean-cut hazelnut hair. Alice could make out the wrinkles in his forehead and cheeks as he settled himself in front of her. She watched the man remove his black coat and placed it on the table before taking out a medium-sized notepad and a pen. Alice loved comic books about detectives. Her favorite was James Gordon; he was Batman’s acquaintance and a respectable captain of the Gotham City Police Department. Whenever she saw a detective, she could not help but be mesmerized by their badges and work.