Scott Turow Novels & Stories

She walked the jury through the timeline: the staged accident that brought Scott into Eliza's life, the gradual consolidation of power, the systematic theft of company funds, the maintenance logs, the emails, the part that sat in the hangar while Jonathan Sterling flew to his death. "He didn't pull the trigger," Harrison said. "But he loaded the gun. He created the conditions. He chose, again and again, to prioritize his own ambition over human life. And when that choice led to tragedy, he hid. He lied. He covered his tracks." She paused. Looked at the jury. "That's not a man under pressure. That's a man who chose pressure over people. And those choices have consequences." Then the defense.

His presence is overwhelming, filling the room like an unbearable weight. I meet his gaze without flinching. "Is there a problem?" My voice is steady, controlled. Truth wastes no time. "Yes," he says, his voice cold and certain. "Your man, Scott, is working for Dog's Of Hell. He is a traitor." I do not react. I do not blink. I have learned never to show emotions in moments like this. But inside, I am burning with fury. Scott. My most trusted man. The one I have counted on for years. A traitor.

Liv says, dying of curiousity from his words as well as the other officers words. Murder motel. Like his father and brother. When girls go missing you can find them in the well. Trudy's words about him being a murder like his family. This officers words about him being cleared of any involvement. She is starting to paint a picture in her mind of what might have happened here, but she wants answers. “Excuse me, Officer..” “Micheals.” He supplies. “Officer Micheals. I am going to retire to my room for the evening.” She holds out a hand to him and gives him a smile. “It was nice to meet you.”

Brayden's POV I tried not to check my phone again. I really did. But I'd already lost count of how many times I'd glanced at the screen, convinced I must have somehow missed a call or a message. The notification bar was still the same — emails from my assistant, two calendar reminders, and a couple of news alerts. No update from Scott. No text from Stephanie. Not even an accidental butt-dial. Just silence. Scott and Stephanie had been gone for longer than planned. Logically, I knew Scott could handle himself. He wasn’t some rookie. He’d been a private investigator for years, and before that, he worked briefly in security. He was steady, level-headed, and the opposite of reckless.

The private investigator teased, “Mr. Nichols, this is the first time I’m doing a reward hunt for a girlfriend.” Scott gave a bitter smile. “I never imagined I’d have to find her this way.” Mr. Grant laughed and said, “Don’t worry, little brother. With my years of experience in society, your little girlfriend hasn’t gotten into too much trouble, and she hasn’t run too far. I’ll probably find her soon. When I do, I’ll use this reward to open another hotel chain.” Scott’s face darkened. “The way you’re talking doesn’t sound like years of experience in society. It sounds more like you’re a fortune-teller who understands yin and yang.”

“You researched the area before, didn’t you?” “Yes,” Scott admits with a grin. “I’ll bet I even know where you live.” “Is it that obvious?” I laugh. “You’re an artist. Carleton Artist Lofts is nearby. It just seems to make sense. Am I wrong?” Scott asks. We enter the coffee shop, and I get a strong whiff of ground beans. I chuckle. “And here I thought I was being so stealthy.” Scott pulls out a chair for me at one of the pleasantly beat-up tables. “Don’t worry about it. I moonlight as an amateur detective.”

I shook my head and looked at Hunter. -Do not. He looked at me blankly. -No what? I raised my eyebrows as if it were obvious. -I refuse. I'm going to go to the police and get involved in witness protection. I pass these gangster rolls and shit like that. In the books it's super cool because it always ends well and the girl marries the mobster who leaves everything for her and blah blah blah, but look, I don't believe it. I'm a writer and I know that real life is nothing like that of books- I patted him on the shoulder and stood up- I'm sorry, but I'm going.

He waved a third set of papers in the air. “What is it?” “We found your client’s blood type and tire tracks at yet another murder scene.” Jones jammed a third set of copies against Scott’s chest. “Like I said, your boy certainly does get around. Don’t he?” WHEN SCOTT RETURNED, he sat across the table from me, loosened his tie, and began scanning what looked to be official documents. I slid the notepad toward him. “I wrote it all down. Everything.” “Good,” Scott mumbled, clearly distracted by the papers he held.

"No story?" "I'll ask permission first." Deke frowned, then nodded. "I guess that's all I can ask of a reporter." "You talk about my profession with such disdain. You'll have to tell me why sometime. Right now, I want to know our current situation, and the plan." He cocked his head at her. "For someone in danger, you're awfully demanding." "I'm not going to be passive. It's not in my nature." He settled at the table, and she wiped her hands dry. "The man was murdered. He was the Assistant to the Governor of Pennsylvania—Tom Scott."

I spent every second wondering how I got here, how did I get so lucky. Well I quickly learned that Scott doesn't do anything without a hidden agenda, literally every move he makes has some kind of purpose. It may not be obvious at the time, but when he's ready to let you know, he will. So our second day there, he sent Tilly off to a spa and said, “I think you're ready.” Scott pulled out a file, a terrorist that he had been stalking for some time. He was hiding out in a village about an hour away. Next thing I knew we were in a car and on the way.