Investigators Book 9 Novels & Stories

My glare was sharp. Brett stood there, he was pale and his hands clasped together nervously. “Why the fμck are you back?” I snapped, my hands itching to grab him. He swallowed hard. “Sorry, sir," he said, avoiding my eyes. "It's just... the investigators called. The ones looking into... into the case about the baby.” I froze. My hand hovered midair, halfway to the whiskey I was about to pour from the mini bar. “What about it?” I asked, my voice was flat as I grabbed the glass and poured the amber liquid of the Macallan.

Her Chosen Mate (Book 3) *** 1. Can't Help Falling in Love (Book 1) 2. Purchased By The Mafia (Book 2) 3. Her Mysterious Lover (Book 3) 4. My Girlfriend is Mafia Queen (Book 4) 5. Loving A Mafia (Book 5)- Upcoming **** 1. Chosen By An Alpha (Stand-Alone) No One POV . A loud wailing could be heard from a child who was crying because of the hunger, but her father, on the other side, was busy in fucking someone else. Tears came out from a four-month-old infant due to suffocation and hunger.

I didn’t look back until we were safely inside the car. That night, after I tucked her in and waited until sleep took her again, my phone rang. The investigator’s voice was grim. “Whoever you’re dealing with isn’t an amateur. He tried to cover his tracks. But he was no match for me.” I closed my eyes briefly. “Good,” “A name came up. Malcolm Rex.” The line went dead, that was all I needed. I stood there in the dark, listening to Nyla’s steady breathing from the bedroom.

Caitlin dove into the book, scanning through, turning the pages as fast as she could, looking for any mention of vampires, of how to heal or cure one, how to bring one back to normal life. As she began to read, she suddenly slowed down. She went back and read it again. Then again. Her heart started beating with hope. She could tell right away that this book was very different than the others. This, of all the books, felt the most real to her, the most scholarly, the most impartial. It wasn’t filled with hyperbole and myth and wild stories told by grandmothers. This one was written, paradoxically, by a bishop, in the 16th century. Also a doctor, he had seen dozens of inexplicable cases of cor

Samuel said with conviction. “Let us hope so,” Rowan said. Then, after a brief silence, he said, “Speaking of fucking. Someone has been sneaking into our scientist’s research assistant’s room at night. Do you know who this might be?” “I was informed correctly. Was I not?” Samuel asked with concern. “You gave orders to stay clear of her, correct?” Rowan nodded. “I do not enjoy having my orders ignored,” Rowan said with a sigh. “Find out who it is, will you?”

She lifted her cuffed hands and let them rattle against the thick glass. “A little late for that, kid. Your monster already won. He played the whole board, and I’m the one left in the cage.” “Then let me help you get out,” Ian said, his gaze intense. “Tell me everything. Every case, every suspicion. Start with Nicholas Chan.” “Chan?” Callista’s cynical mask slipped for a second. “I didn’t forge that autopsy. Conner tried to warn me. If only I’d listened sooner…” She leaned in, her cop’s eyes sharp.

“Just don’t disappear too far. I want both of you back later.” Quinn nodded absently before walking away from the alley, Damian following close behind. The rain from earlier had left the streets damp and shining beneath the grey morning sky. Quinn slowed near the quieter side of town, finally stopping beside an old bookstore she vaguely remembered from years ago. For a minute neither of them spoke. Then Damian glanced sideways at her. “You know, normal people usually deal with emotional trauma by sleeping.” Quinn crossed her arms lightly. “And normal people usually don’t follow detectives into murder investigations.”

His gaze sharpened, his posture straightened—because when the Alpha came in person, the storm was already at the door. “Chairman.” Alisher’s voice rang out as he approached Mason, the two investigators beside him quickly following suit to offer their respects. “Thanks for coming in on such short notice,” Alisher said, his tone clipped but urgent. He handed Mason, Julian, and Jacob a thick folder—the summary of everything they’d uncovered so far. Mason’s gaze sharpened as he flipped open the first page. The air in the room seemed to thicken. His eyes skimmed each line like a predator scanning for weakness, until one detail made his brow lift.

My hands were very still at my sides. Was any of it ever about me? The thought arrived cold and clear. Or was I just — convenient? A way into this house? A source of information about Matteo that he could access with a smile and a kitchen floor and a night that meant everything to one person and apparently served a purpose for the other? I pushed open the study door. I don’t know exactly what I was looking for. A copy maybe. Notes. Something Alex had left behind. Some thread of the investigation that Maxwell hadn’t managed to pack into his careful disappearing act.

Beside him was the federal investigator assigned to the case, a man in his early forties with sharp eyes and the kind of calm that came from having seen too many lives unravel in rooms like this. A small black speaker sat in the middle of the table. Inside it lived seven years of buried fire. “Before we proceed,” the investigator said evenly, “I need to confirm that everyone understands the gravity of what we’re about to hear. Once this file is played, there is no reversing its implications.” Sarah nodded once. “Play it.” The investigator pressed a button. At first, there was static—faint, distant, like wind passing through broken metal. Then the sound sharpened.