Marisol Delko Csi Miami Novels & Stories

"This individual arrived at the northern perimeter gate after you left. She needs to speak with you directly." "Who the hell are you?" I demanded, my eyes tracking her hands. The woman stood up slowly, her knees popping in the quiet room. She looked at me, her lower lip trembling as she took a single, faltering step forward. "My name is Maria," she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of the confession. "I was employed as your mother's private palliative nurse for the final years of her life in exile. And I know the exact chemical sequence that stopped Carlo’s heart. Because I am the person who handed her the vial."

" Li-lah asked Maria. For the first time , Maria took a good look at the woman who had saved her. She finally remembered where she knew her. "aren't you that dancer at fuego's elementary event?" Li-lah smiled. "Yes I am. I'm Delilah Sanchez." "How did you know I needed help?" She asked suspiciously. "I have my ways of getting into situations like this ma'am." Li-lah replied. "I was at your place. I wanted to see you. I saw how the car zoomed off and I felt something wasn't right so I followed you. It turns out my instinct was right."

Dela Cruz exchanged a glance with me before nodding. "Of course, Detective," he replied, his voice steady. The detective's gaze shifted to me. "Ms. Andrea, I believe this also concerns you." I felt a shiver run down my spine as we followed her to a private room off the hotel lobby. The room was dimly lit, and as we sat, Detective Marquez placed a folder on the table. "I'll be straightforward," she began, opening the folder. "Alice Dela Cruz has been seen in connection with a known con artist in the area. We believe she may be part of a larger scheme."

I asked, my heart racing. “No,” Marisol said sadly. “She always kept those meetings secret. She said it was to keep me safe.” Suddenly, Marisol stopped talking and stared past me. Her face turned pale. “Jane,” she whispered, scared, “don’t look behind you, but someone is taking pictures of us.” I felt like ice inside. I didn’t look. I stayed still. “Who is it?” I asked softly. “I don’t know,” Marisol said. “But he’s not a tourist. He’s been there since I sat down. His eyes… they look cold and sharp.”

"If that's Hale's people—" "Wait." Maria approaches the sedan. She moves with that specific, predatory grace of someone expecting a fight. She taps the driver’s window. It rolls down with a low hum. A man in a suit sits there. Mid-forties. His hands are at ten and two on the wheel, palms open. No weapon. Maria checks his ID, speaks for a second, then jogs back to our SUV. The cold air rushes in when she opens the door. "Castellano Private Investigator. He's been tracking your movements since this morning. No weapons. No hostile intent. Just surveillance."

I asked. “You were there, Major,” the Detective pointed out. “During the Masquerade Ball of your Black and White Mystery, the woman in pink mentioned their org name.” My mouth formed an ‘O’ and I nodded as I remembered. “I’m sure they’re not part of that,” Cara answered her question. “How sure?” Confidently, she replied, “One hundred and one percent, Miss Detective.” “Mm,” the Detective hummed and then eyed Marcella. “Then, how about the mafia heir you brought with you? Did you accept her in the Student Network?”

After saying that, she raised her step to leave, the old detective suddenly raised his voice: "After testing the blood on the ground, the woman's name is Marisa Miller!" Seeing Emma Rosy's footsteps, the old detective narrowed his eyes slightly and continued: "Investigation has learned that Miss.Richard and Marisa Darcyhave deep grudges, and has repeatedly exposed Marisa Miller's evil deeds to the police and provided information on her whereabouts." "So, what are you trying to say?"

It’s not every day you get a fifty-dollar radio for your first successful case. The woman in front of me, who was unrelentingly trying to bore a hole into my head, was Maria De Vega, one of the PD’s suspects for a recent string of murder’s going around near the red-light districts. Maria was a mechanic who worked at Ross and, allegedly, a well-known vagrant in her area.

All leading to one name. "Marisol Franco," I muttered. The daughter of a powerful white-collar crime family. Gone a year. Rumors said she’d been promised to Marcos Montoya. A marriage to merge two empires. But she’d disappeared. And now she was here. Hiding in plain sight. Victoria Valencia. I stared at the screen as she paced, unaware that her secrets had been blown wide open. "Great." I exhaled hard. "Now I’m caught between two damn cartels."