New Philip Marlowe Novel Novels & Stories

The sixth sense of a woman who moved among underworld forces was normally inseparable from vigilance. While Vincenzo Corleone was handling business in the study, his personal phone vibrated once. It was an encrypted number with no contact name. When the screen lit up, I caught a glimpse of the message preview. The two words read, "Miss you." Vincenzo reached to turn off the screen almost instantly, his gaze flickering momentarily. Then, he returned to his paperwork, as if nothing happened.

Those few seconds stretched out longer than any kind of torture could've. It was over. I was finished. Three years of planning—every careful move, every kill, my flawless escape. And now, it was all ruined… because I lost control for one freaking second. But Alex didn't call me out about Sharon Goodman right away. Instead, he pulled a clear evidence bag out from a drawer. My gaze locked on it instantly, a sick weight crashing into my stomach. Inside was a photo—a small, worn, colored photo. It showed a girl standing on a hillside covered in wildflowers. She wore a white cotton dress, her smile so bright and pure. It was as if the sunlight had chosen her.

Philip's voice is laced with sickening joy. Alejandro grabs something from his shoe—a dagger—and throws it at Philip, pinning it against his collarbone. Philip screams out in pain, but it doesn't bring me any satisfaction. One of his men was about to shoot but Philip stops him with the wave of a hand. "Now, now," he groans, pulling out the sharp knife. "I think you should tell your wife about what happened to mommy dearest." When Alejandro doesn't answer, Philp does so in his place, "Mommy Genovese was murdered in cold blood by your wonderful husband, Zara.

I perch on the desk like I did last night when I waited for Noah, watching the healer walk outside to black SUV parked in front of the motel. I swing my legs back and forth, not really thinking about anything. I don’t want to imagine a future because it feels like there isn’t one. Despite what Noah said about keeping me alive at all costs, I know he may not be able to keep that promise, just like Em’s father couldn’t keep his promise. Shit happens in wars, and I feel like I’ve dodged death one time too many already. My luck is going to run out eventually. Philip returns with his bag. He carefully places it on the counter next to me, and I hear the clinking of the glass vials inside it. He pu

I'm sorry for what I saw, I was going to your floor to get some papers from Belinda" I didn't answer anything else. I went down to my floor and went to my office only to get my purse and go home. The way back home was very smooth, amazingly even the traffic decided to cooperate with me. As soon as I arrived, I parked the car but heard some shouts and a movement that seemed out of the ordinary coming from Philippe's house, it wasn't a party because there was no music, it was the shouts of people coming from inside. I was surprised to see Giovanna appear at the window of his house but her face was not good at all, she was trying to say something to me that I didn't understand right

Something in my chest slowly relaxed. Once we found the vial and smashed it, we could return to the real world. We could start over. Just then, a faint glimmer appeared in the fog ahead—the crystal vial. I let go of Kyle's hand and stepped forward, reaching out to grab it. The moment it touched my palm, I felt a warmth. I looked down at it, hesitating. "Quick, destroy it, Nora," Kyle said behind me. "Let's get out of here." I didn't move. The small line of text from the book surfaced in my mind.

Chest heaving, I roared back, “This is about my ex-wife! I did what needed to be done!” “You're belittling Sarah...” Mariano huffed, his tone shifting. “That’s the issue, Philip. Your decisions are driven by emotion.” “I didn’t spill the truth to Madam Olsen if that's what you're insinuating!” I reasoned. “Is that why you snatched the document containing the investigation on Sarah Mitchell from Madam Olsen?” Mariano's question hung in the air. "Philip, do you know why I chose you for my operation?" “What are you getting at?”

Melody responded, her face revealing little emotion. Philip seemed to want to say more, but ultimately decided against it and left. Stepping out of Nolan Manor, he got into his car. The car's interior was cold and cramped, contrasting sharply with the Nolans' warm and welcoming atmosphere. Philip's face became solemn as he recalled the Nolans' unwavering commitment toward apprehending the mastermind behind the kidnapping. His lips tightened unconsciously, and then his pupils dilated sharply. "Sarstite Cruise... That cruise," Philip reflected quietly.

JC followed slowly in moving his butt out of the car. Tommy poured hot water from a thermos bottle and extended it to him. JC slurped it with the antibiotic. Tommy made coffee for himself, and finally asked him, “What happened out there? I thought you had headed down south already.” “I went back to the condo to pick up my passport. The bastards were there before me. When I got inside my room, the whole place was in disarray. All the things were on the floor. I looked around to find my passport. I couldn´t find it. If I knew I could get another in Borneo I wouldn’t have gone back. That was my fault. That was where they traced me. We had a race and I went off the bridge in Makati.”

His is only one of many, including Estephon’s. Philip was buried in Mexico in the village where Maria, Moon’s mother, grew up. A Catholic priest presided. Al burned in an airplane accident, and his body was buried at a private funeral that I wasn’t invited to. I have no idea how Moon pulled off a plane crash with the pilot and Al dead. I never asked. Maybe he has someone on the payroll inside the NTSB. Like the identity of undercover cops—it’s need to know and I’m good with that.