Novel & Cerita Detective Miller

he had said, turning to face his colleagues. “I’m out of here” he had said, turning around and walking with purposeful strides away from where the group was sitting. As Miller walked towards the door of the room where they had been meeting that night, Rodriguez had reached into his pocket and brought out his 9mm beretta 92F pistol. “Miller!” Lisa had screamed, but her warning was a bit too late.

Diane’s POV I stare at the man in front of me, frozen in shock. He looks nothing like the polished, confident figure I met at the hotel. Today he’s shabbily dressed, cap pulled low, dark shades shielding his eyes — a ghost of the person who slipped me that paper at the hotel lobby. “Umm…” My mind races, a thousand questions colliding all at once. I thought I’d know exactly what to say but here I am. “I’ve been digging into the Miller case,” I finally say quietly. “ I found some serious discrepancies. You were the investigative journalist airing a lot of the details back then, so I decided to come find you.”

Seraphina Vance. ​"The local precinct was remarkably cooperative, Mr. Vance," my chief investigator, Miller, said softly from the shadows near the hangar doors. He was a quiet man, retired Scotland Yard, who knew when to speak and when to let a powerful man bleed in silence. "A little too cooperative. The lead detective retired to a beachfront property in Costa Rica three weeks after signing off on the death certificate." ​"I don't care about his pension, Miller," I said. My voice was low, gravelly, stripped of any warmth. "Tell me about the pressure signatures."

They had demanded to be let into the property and it wasn't until they both showed their police badges did the security guard have no choice but to let them inside the estate. “Remember the plan, Baxster. Nothing can go wrong with the plan.” Paulo cautiously informed his friend who was also a cop like him. They bumped into the major, who was the bodyguard of the estate. “What are you two doing here?” The major questioned. “We are detectives, and we have come here regarding the disappearance of Jack Miller. A source had informed us that he's being held here against his will.” Paulo answered skillfully. “Then you must have been informed with the wrong information. Jack Miller isn't being held

The perfect life with Jenna Grabbing his travel mug of coffee, and his briefcase he heads to his unmarked car. His very first pay check ten years ago, he went and bought this car and it’s still going. When he got to the station and checked his voicemail, there were five new messages, all from the family of the victims from the murder drug scene he worked a month ago. They’re understandably hurt, shocked and desperate for answers, and they're calling to see if he had any leads or evidence.

He practically saved me from an outburst, really. His gaze flitted between me and the concerned faces surrounding me. "Excuse me, ma'am. Are you Fairchild?" I bet it was easy to decipher who I was from the others. I probably looked like shit right now. All battered up and weak. I managed a shaky nod, wiping a stray tear from my cheek. “Y- yes, you are.” "I'm Detective Miller," he introduced himself with a voice gentle, yet firm. "We need to take your statement about what happened. Do you think you’ll be able to answer a few questions?”

Detective Miller finishes taking notes and closes his notebook. "Well, I think that covers everything for now. Hopefully, we'll have some concrete results in a few days." "Thank you for your time." Just then, the man's radio crackles to life, and he answers immediately. "This is Detective Miller." "Miller, I need you to return to the station immediately. We found large quantities of drugs hidden in the victim Ramon Mercier's vehicle." The voice comes through the radio clearly, and the officer looks directly at me as the words sink in.

He looked at the stain and then back at me, his eyes wide and manic. I didn't flinch. I turned my head slightly toward Rocco. "Did you make findings on him?" "Yes," Rocco said, stepping into the circle of light, his arms crossed over his chest. "His name is Miller. He’s a deep investigator—one of the best in the field. He isn't from around here, Boss. He’s from the Western Region. He crossed three pack territories just to get to this city." I looked back at Miller. The West... that meant he was thousands of miles from his home.

The dressing room was silent, but the air felt heavy. I sat in front of the mirror, staring at the red lipstick on the counter. The video of the "Fake Scarlett" was still burned into my mind, looping over and over on the tablet Marcus had thrown. It made me look like a monster. Chloe had stepped out to argue with the guards in the hall, leaving me alone with the humming lights and the smell of hairspray. The service door clicked. It was the small door meant for the clothes racks. It opened just a crack, and a man slipped inside. He was wearing a dark hat pulled low. It was Detective Miller. He smelled like old coffee and looked like he hadn't slept in a week.

"It means we might be able to prove that Vincent was the one who killed her. If we can do that, it could go a long way towards helping Melissa's case." "Christian, I... I don't know what to say. Thank you doesn't seem like enough." He squeezed my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "You don't have to say anything, Bernie. I'd do anything for you. You know that." I shook my head, a watery laugh escaping me. "First a world-famous chef, now connections in the police force. What other secrets are you hiding, Mr. Miller? Are you secretly a spy or something?"