Detective Miller Novels & Stories

“Oops sorry got distracted. Okay so where were we?” “Nowhere.” I say bluntly hoping he doesn’t remember. “Nice try Alex we were talking about Anna and you-“ My phone starts to ring, taking me out of this conversation again, and I couldn’t be more happier to see Julian calling. “Hold on again.” I say quickly hearing Nick groan ‘fine’. “Anything?” I ask curiously. “In the matter of fact, yes, we found Miller’s exact location. Security footage on the streets picked him near a company building and with a little bit of investigation we found that he’s working with Leonardo Roth as his security guard.” Julian informs.

It just settled in and stayed. The door opened again. Two men walked in, their badges already out before they finished coming through the door, and they scanned the room when they entered, eyes moving to every corner before landing on me. “Alessia Costa.” The taller one said it without any question in it. “Detective Miller. This is Detective Vance. We have some questions about an incident at Elysium.” He kept walking toward the bed. “About Marco Spinelli.” He stopped at the foot of the bed and looked at me straight.

The bandages the EMT had wrapped around my palms were already starting to fray, the white gauze stained with the rust-colored marks of the night’s work. ​Across from me, a man in a navy suit—Special Agent Miller of the FBI—flipped through a stack of documents that had been printed from the Julian Vane files. He didn't look like a man who had just cracked the biggest corporate fraud case of the decade. He looked like a man who had a mortgage and a headache.

Aaron asked, his voice trembling slightly, his tone laced with a mix of fear and urgency. "We're not sure yet," Detective Miller said, his voice a low murmur, his tone laced with a sense of concern. "We're trying to find out what happened. But we need your help. We need your information. We need to find Hilaire Clinton. He's a dangerous man. He's got to be stopped." Aaron, his mind racing, his heart pounding, knew that he had to help. He had to find Hilaire, he had to bring him down, he had to stop him from hurting anyone else.

“Mr miller you need to let go so I can get someone to help. Or at least so I can help you.” “No....” he wheezed again. “Listen. My daughters' parents died. Their father was my best friend. My wife didn’t know, I took his daughters because he died all of a sudden and his wife committed suicide. Their parents are dead. But they said... they said they found them and I knew it wasn’t true. That waiter, a lanky guy, with black hair, a weird smile. I met him in the male bathroom to warn him and he blew something at me. I broke his fucking nose for that. He did this. Find him. I know his name....” his voice started to fade. “His name started with a D.”

For that one person who had promised not to let her suffer! Then their eyes met at a single trace. A glint of hope flashed through her eyes and all she did was release a faint smile. He was seated at the back with a face cap on but he averted his gaze as soon as their eyes met and pulled his hat over his face properly. She did not read meaning into it. She thought he was only trying to keep his identity hidden, with how influential he is. She quickly turned to the judge and Said.. "I plead guilty your honour. I, Althea Grace Miller attempted to kill Katie Rolland!" She admitted confidently and the protesters did not stop asking that she be punished severely.

And for a moment, I couldn’t tell if we were celebrating love, or the slow, beautiful destruction of it. A closer look at Mrs Miller, cold sweat broke out on her forehead. Her hand trembled as she sipped her wine and she avoided eyes. Not everyone’s eyes. Just… Don Sullivan. BINGO. Before Nora came in, I noticed Mrs Miller trembling, but my observation skills did not play. Why was she avoiding Don Sullivan's eyes? He seemed comfortable. I brushed past it. It was not my issue to deal with for now. “Come, let me show you…” Don Sullivan said when we heard a loud sound. We turned to the direction where it came from.

It’s not every day you get a fifty-dollar radio for your first successful case. The woman in front of me, who was unrelentingly trying to bore a hole into my head, was Maria De Vega, one of the PD’s suspects for a recent string of murder’s going around near the red-light districts. Maria was a mechanic who worked at Ross and, allegedly, a well-known vagrant in her area.

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