James Patterson Novel 소설 & 이야기

⸻ The three of them carried their coffee into the living room. James carefully lifted the journal. The leather was older than she’d realized. Soft from decades of use. Its edges were worn smooth. The pages had yellowed with time. Charlotte traced a finger across the cover. “No title.” James shook his head. “None.” Darrien leaned forward. “You ready?” Charlotte took a slow breath. “No.” She smiled nervously. “But I’m done running from answers.” James opened the cover. The first page held only six handwritten words. If you’ve found this… I’m already gone.

“Mama! Read! Story time!” Seraphine pulled him onto her lap, grateful for the interruption. Charlotte’s academics could be managed. Right now, James needed a story. “Which book today?” “TRUCKS! Big trucks book!” James had simple, enthusiastic preferences. They read about trucks construction trucks, delivery trucks, fire trucks James pointing at pictures and narrating with increasingly elaborate stories about what each truck was doing. “This truck going to BUILD something! Big building! With BLOCKS!” His imagination was developing rapidly.

I had found the Fort Knox of pussy protection. And for an hour it worked. Cory read the new James Patterson book and I read the other new James Patterson book (he apparently puts out a new book more often than the Red Sox lose another game). Interestingly, Cory and I had a lot of common interests, including being avid readers and both having the same favourite author in James Patterson. Sit in any single position for a straight hour though, and the rear becomes a mutineer. Yet, even though I was very uncomfortable, I refused to reposition myself, although I did begin to squirm a bit.

Patrick told James. “That sounds ominous, please take a seat,” James told him and then he sat down on his chair. “So, what is this news that couldn't wait till the end of the week?” James asked Mr. Patrick. “Well, you know how you asked me to continue trailing Anna and Dylan?” Patrick asked James and James didn't like the tone of his voice at all, it was like he was about to deliver bad news. “Yes, did something happen?” James asked him, already dreading what his answer would be.

I rolled my eyes at him, but I couldn't help the little chuckle that escaped. "Come on, I'll drive you home," "Thanks." James dropped me home and returned to the station. I knew he spent a lot of his free time there. He wanted to be a cop one day, too. And who better to learn the ropes from than your sheriff dad? As soon as I walked into the living room, I could sense something was different. There was an extra coat at the door, one that wasn't there when I left in the morning. I spent most of my time in the room, so the living room was usually neat. This evening, it was cluttered. There were files spread out on the table, and a brown bag rested on the couch.

Emma wandered toward the section of notebooks and journals, her fingers brushing spines until she paused at one with a simple cover. “You like that one?” James asked softly. Emma nodded. “I want to write again. Not for anyone else. For myself.” James smiled. “Take it.” At the counter, the bookseller offered a friendly nod. No recognition. No whispers. James realized how much he missed small moments of anonymity like this—being an ordinary man buying a book at night. Outside, the air had grown colder. They walked slowly back to the car. As James settled Ethan into his seat, the boy murmured, half-asleep, “Papa.”

Just a comfort that came from surviving something and still wanting to be together. --- By noon, James was back home. He hurried to Luke first, hanging around his waist. "Did you miss me?" he asked. "Always," Luke said, lifting him up. And then James went to Amiriam. "Did you miss me more?" She smiled. "Way more." James inflated his chest. "Good. 'Cause I wrote you another story at Rita's." Luke raised an eyebrow. "Another?" "It's Amiriam and the Boy Who Knew Everything," James declared dramatically. "You're the queen and I'm the prince."

Watched the door. Patrick arrived seven minutes late, which was exactly how Patrick had always operated — close enough to on time that you couldn't complain, late enough to remind you that his schedule was the primary one. He looked good. The years had settled into him well, sharpening the boyish into something more deliberate. He wasn't alone. James walked in behind him. I felt the recognition land before I could decide what to do with it. James Williams. Patrick's younger brother, two years below us in school, notorious even then for the specific brand of careless confidence that beautiful people sometimes develop when they've never had to try very hard at anything.

Any other morning and he would have. "You all right?" Patrick's expression hardened a little as his eyebrows furrowed. "Yes, just a lot on my mind, but nothing I’m willing to discuss.” Damon nodded as James walked toward them. "Of course, boss. Just know I'm here if you do." "Thanks." Damon took the putter from James and smiled. "You're not going to win this one, my friend." "The story of my life." He laughed as they passed. "The only success I have is Zarpeth, and it's started to crack at the seams too."

I must. I open the door, expecting Ira or some girl, instead I see a man in a crisp gray suit standing in front of me. I blink in confusion. “Yes?” “Miss Riley. I am James Patterson.” He forwards his hand and my mind screams not to shake it. His expensive tailored suit, trimmed gray hair and neatly shaved face gives me a sense of foreboding. It’s all too familiar. Just like Mikolaj fuckin Josef, this man is scary. Not in looks, but in personality.