Good Mystery Suspense Books Novels & Stories

he smiled mischievously, humour in his expression, and she felt a sudden warmth spread through her, seeing a side to him that was endearing. “What is your favourite book Genevieve ?” he asked her as he put a piece of bread and cheese in his mouth. “I tend to read books on ghosts and things like that.” He laughed, “Why?” “I guess it’s the mystery of the unknown, the fascination of whether it’s true or not.” “I see what you mean. Everyone loves a good mystery don’t they? Especially to things that we can never really know the truth about.” He looked at her perceptively. Again she felt as though his words held hidden meaning and guilt flooded her at the thought of her true intentions.

That right there is the only reason he wasnÕt buying into the idea that she was hiding something, that and the fact that theyÕd found nothing to confirm such suspicions. He was beginning to wonder more and more as the day went by just what was happening to his town. In the space of a few months, thereÕve been two murders when there had never been one in his whole lifetime. Not only that, but neither murder had been of the ordinary garden variety. Both had been gruesome and way over the top as far as he was concerned.

On the body of the case was a little note: FIGURED YOU’D LIKE THESE -X. My curiosity heightened as I tore open the case, and I gasped once I saw what was inside. Books- novels to be precise, all stacked neatly in the case. As I glanced through their titles, I noticed they were thrillers and horror genres, a bit of romance too. My toes curled in excitement and a grin spread across my face as I looked through all of them. I rolled my eyes. Of course, he’d figured I’d like them; he always figured everything about me.

The bookstore smells like it always has—old paper, lavender sachets tucked between shelves, the faint metallic tang of the ancient radiator that clanks every twelve minutes. Elena's already in our corner when I arrive. Second floor. Mystery section. The window seat we claimed sophomore year when we discovered this place and decided civilized people read mysteries in natural light. She's got coffee. Two cups. Mine's still steaming. I take it without speaking. Sip. Perfect. "Ten minutes late." Elena doesn't look up from the window. "Parallel parking a moving truck on Seventh?"

French toast, strawberry chops and turkey slices. And a can of coke. Unusual! "Something like what?" He asked, leaning back. "urrrrgh," I scanned the room until my eyes fell on the bookrack in front of me. "This!" I pull out one of the novels. “Behind Her Eyes by Sarah Pinborough,” he said immediately, without even glancing at it. He could tell which of the books were missing by just looking at the rest on the rack. “You read it?” There's suspicion in his tone.

The library was quiet, the afternoon sunlight filtering through the stained-glass windows. Anna sat alone at the far corner, the mysterious book, The Reflection Game, spread open before her. Her finger traced the intricate designs on the yellowed pages, her heart pounding with both excitement and unease. The cryptic instructions whispered to her, their meaning elusive but tantalizingly close. She didn’t understand why she felt so drawn to the book, but she couldn’t let it go. It was as if the book had chosen her, as if it were calling her to uncover its secrets.

Of all the things he could’ve done, this was the last thing I expected. “Thanks,” I muttered, taking the book from him. “Don’t mention it.” He leaned back again, watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite place. For a moment, the tension between us eased, replaced by something softer, something almost…normal. “What’s it about?” he asked, nodding toward the book. I hesitated, then shrugged. “It’s a mystery novel. About a woman who gets caught up in a dangerous game she never signed up for.” He smirked. “Sounds familiar.”

Braxton was right. There was something about this mystery woman that I couldn't quite place my finger on. I took in her almond green eyes, framed by thick coal-black lashes, and they were mesmerizing the very second they had met my gaze, and it had felt like every ounce of blood in my body had rushed to my cock. Lust had blasted through me with an alarming force, leaving me a little shaken. Something that had never happened before.

I couldn’t help but smile. He squinted his eyes at me. “Ah, you know something that I don’t.” “Know what?” My smile widened. “At least, you share my frustration. It’s a good book, right?” “Yes. One of the great books I’ve read.” “I don’t even know if you read.” He smiled sadly. “One thing only a few people know about me, but yeah, I read.” “What’s your genre?” “Thriller, mystery, nonfiction. But Midnight is a mix of—"

The ancient tome lay open before me, its pages a labyrinth of inscrutable symbols and faded script that murmured of a time long forgotten. The musty scent of the library mingled with the potent tang of old leather, wrapping around my senses as I bent closer to study the enigmatic text. Curiosity clawed at my mind, sharpening my focus until nothing existed beyond the cryptic messages waiting to be unraveled. ... (Time Travel: revelation of the mystery book) EDEN BENTLEY'S POV