Mystery Suspense Thriller Books Novels & Stories

I can feel a shiver run down my spine as I gulp. Something is weird about the atmosphere... how come everyone suddenly disappears? I slowly swallow the candy that was sitting in my mouth. It was a soft candy, so it didn't hurt my throat. Clenching the handle of my bag tightly, I try to walk as normally as I could master. *Bathump! Bathump!* Calm down... there must be a reasonable explanation why this happened, right? A shadow shape of a person appeared behind me. The more I try to walk faster, the more it follows me. Turning around to the different alleyway, I tried to lose the shadow. Since I wasn't paying attention to where I'm heading, I ended up walking to a dead end.

I was delighted to uncover new layers beneath this prickly barista's tough exterior. "So mysteries are your favorite books? Any current authors you'd recommend?" I asked, genuinely curious to know more about her tastes. Aria's eyes lit up, clearly passionate about this topic. "Oh yes! I just finished a great atmospheric thriller by Ruth Ware. And Jean Kwok writes amazing psychological suspense." I smiled as she rattled off a whole list of mystery writers and descriptors for why she loved them. Her enthusiasm was captivating. "I may have to check out some of those. I tend toward action thrillers, but I'm open to new things," I said.

“What about you, Mr. Brady, do you read?” "I haven't read in a while. I like thrillers. Lee Child, James Patterson, Stephen King." He tells us as he reaches and takes a piece of steak. "Have you read Harlan Coben? He writes some amazing thrillers like Drop Shot, One False Move, and Tell No One." I'm in my element now. This is safe ground, I love talking about books. I love almost every genre out there. I'll give anything a go once. Indie authors are my favorite as their work is so unique, it's like a diamond in the rough.

I sat beside her, and she immediately stretched her legs back out, her feet landing in my lap. "What are you reading?" She held up the book without looking away from the page. "A mystery novel. A detective in Victorian London." I caught sight of the cover. A woman in a low-cut dress leaned against a man in a top hat, their faces inches apart in the fog. The Scarlet Letter Murders. I grabbed the book from her hands. "Hey!" She sat up, reaching for it. I flipped through a few pages. My eyes landed on a passage. His mouth found the hollow of her throat as his fingers worked the laces of her corset…

A moment later, a piece of paper slid through the narrow gap beneath my door. The footsteps retreated in haste. I peered through the peephole. The hallway was empty. I didn't touch the note, afraid of smudging fingerprints. Instead, I crouched and read the words on it: I know the truth about Edmund's death. Come to the big banyan tree in Greenfield Residences at 11 p.m. Don't call the police. The note was crafted with meticulous care—letters cut out from newspapers and books, pieced together like a ransom demand, leaving no trace of handwriting.

I say as he slides into the seat. He lifts my mug, reading the little chalkboard logo. “I’m full of surprises.” “Dangerous ones? “Depends. Is caffeine and questionable literature your definition of danger?” He smirks, loosening his coat. “What’s the book?” I glance down, then grimace. “Some wildly over-hyped thriller about a detective with a drinking problem. Groundbreaking, right?” Marcus leans over, plucking the book from my hands before I can protest. His shoulder brushes mine in the process, and my pulse spikes like it has no sense of boundaries. He flips through the pages with a skeptical eyebrow.

As I listened to the news anchor's report, I could not help but think there was some truth to the saying that after the storm is when the flowers bloomed. When did I start getting suspicious of Vonn and his crew? Oh, right. It was after I handed over $15,000 to some dude claiming to be Vonn's ex. The more I mulled it over, the more things did not add up. I headed to the police station to share my suspicions. I thought they would laugh me off, but boy, was I in for a surprise. It turned out there had been a string of killings in town, and all the victims were rich, bachelor types living alone.