Janine Sherlock Mga Nobela at Kwento

'She's right you know, not everyone is Jasper, not everyone will break your heart. If only I could but I'm not ready yet. 'You're not getting any younger though.' I know right? While I was still having a mind battle my office cell phone rang. I answered the phone. "Doctor Giordana Quinton on the line how can I help you?" "Good morning Doctor, a Mr. Forbes is here to see you should I send him in?" "Sure," I replied absentmindedly. "Nice office Giordana." I heard a deep masculine voice not up to two minutes later.

I wasn't going to let this go "You know more than you're telling me, and I won't let it go until you tell me what you know. You've always prided yourself on being open and honest, and right now you aren't. Please just tell me, for my own peace of mind?" Mum exhaled slowly and then looked me directly in the eye "Her Book Of Light going missing immediately peaked our suspicions, so we started asking questions but all the Police would confirm to her parents was that she had sustained a head wound, and the medical examiner concluded that she must have hit her head on a rock or something. Apparently, there wasn't enough evidence to rule it as anything other than an accidental drowning". Mum pause

Snow "I found a match." Detective Parker announces. "Ready to know who you are Miss Snow?" He asks me and I suddenly feel nervous. "I'm ready. Detective." I say. "Okay, Miss Snow." Detective parker starts and turns his computer monitor towards us. "Your name is Lily Jenkins." I inhale sharply as he mentions my name, trying to keep my emotions under control. I take in the image of myself on the screen. I had a smile on but it looked forced. And my hair was a little messy but I looked...okay in the picture.

Then she found something. I had stopped by to pick her up for another outing and leaned in her bedroom door. “How’d we do, Babe?” I asked. She was comparing two images of fingerprints on her computer screen. Her shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a short ponytail exposing her freckled forehead and thick Brooke Shields eyebrows. Through frameless eyeglasses resting on the end of her nose, she squinted at the screen. “I think we can finally rule out Jackie…Wilkes,” she said. The lisp in her speech was now gone and the hesitations were waning. I stepped in and kissed the top of her head.

Alex Rockefeller saw that this woman seemed to be in her thirties, and she looked rather attractive. However, there was a scent on her body that made him feel quite uncomfortable. It smelled bloody. Meanwhile, Sheela Jennings was someone who had died before Jade Benmore and others who were trapped in Myriad Demon Valley. But now that she appeared to be alive and well here, it raised a lot of suspicions. Sheela had a terrible expression on her face. “Sister Benmore, I… I…”

“Sharon.“ The detective's lips curled into a sly smile. He had suspected Mr Aiden's wife even more right from when she sat before him in the questioning room weeks ago. “Who's that?“ He prompted carefully, trying not to put words in her mouth. “Sharon,“ Tabitha repeated. “Sharon Aiden.“

Jax's Point of View 'Who is she?' Shelby asked. Shelby was the chief detective of New York and was also under my pay check so he protected me from any sort of criminal charges that I may face if any men are careless or tell me about any snitches that phone the cops with intentions of putting me out in business. My go to man for snitches. But who was she? 'My fucking headache. Each and every fucking day.' 'I'll say it she's sexy.'

I watched her through the grainy surveillance footage Ledger had hacked into. On screen, the detective moved through the Philadelphia precinct with the kind of sharp efficiency that set my teeth on edge. Mid-forties, dark hair pulled into a tight bun, eyes like flint even in low resolution. This was the woman who’d dismantled the Delmonico cartel with nothing but a notepad and a Glock. And now she was hunting me. Jake leaned over my shoulder, his breath hot with yesterday’s whiskey. “She doesn’t look like much.”

Later that day, Delilah’s lawyer, Erin, returned, this time with someone new. A woman in her forties, sharply dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket, with a black notebook in hand. “Claire Devine,” she said. “Former investigative journalist. I’ve spent the last ten years tracking Whitlock and men like him.” She turned toward Cassandra. “You’re not just a case anymore. You’re the story.” Ethan studied her carefully. She moved like someone who didn’t trust easily, but expected to be trusted. “What do you want from us?” he asked.

He stated, his voice professional and detached. “Weapons, burner phones, ammunition.” My jaw tightened. Nathaniel muttered something under his breath. Then the detective squinted… hesitating. The hesitation bothered me more than everything else. Because it meant the next part was probably worse. Much worse. “There was one more thing.” The detective removed a photograph and placed it face up on the table. I looked down, then froze. The person in the photograph wasn’t Claire or me. It wasn’t even Nathaniel. It was Margot Sinclair.