Romans & histoires Scott Turow

“Who else have you told?” “I’m not a gossip, sweetheart.” Scott had kept me inside his tinted SUV for so long that the sun had set. The full moon was rising. Scott took a good twenty minutes to ramble about the moon’s superiority and how tonight was good night for a run because he could feel it in his bones. We dropped off Ellis first at some unknown location for her to be questioned. Scott wouldn’t tell me anything about her either. His lips were sealed, and it was killing me.

He replied her email, telling her that he was on a business trip to Accra, and he does not know when he would be back. After sending the mail, he went to take a bath, before going downstairs to have dinner with the two other agents who made up his team. The men stood up to acknowledge him, as he approached their table. After shaking hands with both men, they sat down and started talking. “Sir, we have been spying on the gang, we’ve listened into every conversation they had in their suite” Scott said, as a waiter appeared by the side of their table with a tray containing four bottles of Tom Collins, he also took their orders.

Scott tightly gripped the steering wheel and pressed on the accelerator to follow them. He trailed behind them until they reached the entrance of The River Taste. A frown creased his face as he observed the constant stream of luxury cars arriving at the hotel. Scott wondered, 'Is there some sort of gala happening here tonight? I didn't receive any news about it.' Scott avoided eye contact and observed Caroline and Zeke exiting the car and walking toward the hotel entrance. Preparing to join them, he unfastened his seatbelt.

The case of Jennifer is taking the whole town into curiosity and fear. Scott is a man in his sixties, with evident wrinkles in his forehead. As what Catharine found out, Scott spent his 35 years reviewing works and publishing newspapers. Catharine went to greet him. "Hi, Mr. Scott. I want to review the documents for the past two years or so. I might figure out the connection between Jennifer's death and other missing women." Catharine explained.

His eyes stared into mine without concern and a calmness to them as if he thought I was insane or overreacting. My heart that had been calm began racing as I tried to process the information that I was about to spend three days in the same house with a man that has a huge and well-known reputation for being a killer, a drug dealer and possibly a sex trafficking. Wasn’t that what the mafia was all about? And arms sales? I couldn’t stop staring at Scott in disbelief as I still couldn’t piece it together that Scott was the heir to a mafia empire, built on blood and violence. Just when I thought I’d gotten to know the man, he dropped an even bigger shocker as if to inform me that I was getting t

The man seemed older, and I saw a scar that striped down his forearm as he raised his hand in front of me with something glimmering as it dangled from his fingers. The keys glinted in the sunlight like baited hooks. Smooth, silver, and far too conspicuous. “My name’s Scott. I was just looking over here and wondered… Do you drive?” he asked, holding them out like I was supposed to be impressed. I gave him a once-over, taking in the custom-tailored shirt, the expensive watch that looked a size too big for his wrist, the whitened teeth that couldn’t quite disguise the decay in his grin. He was a mess of contradictions—both put-together and rough—and he seemed particularly out of place in a tave

There was something so sexy about a man's forearms, wasn't there? He shrugged, also watching Nate and Kim. “It was hard to miss. I’m Agent Scott Tabor with the Federal Bureau of Investigation White Collar unit, and you are?” “My wife,” Nate inserted in icy, clipped tones as he attempted to put himself between Kim and the strange man paying her far too much attention.

Tom sighed and looked at his best friend and said, "How is it?" After making sure Sheriff Webb's car was out of sight, then Scott led Tom into the house. Arriving at the house, Scott invited him to talk in his study room. They sat opposite each other at Scott's desk. He was silent and seemed to be deep in thought about all of this. The case of his father's death, the incident last night in the middle of the forest. He feared that one day Sheriff Webb would find out the truth and it would affect his family's reputation and business.

Bloody images spinning in his head. Of the dead cats and rodents they’d started finding behind their house, of how Scott had shunned family and friends, becoming sullen and withdrawn, disappearing for hours into the woods with no explanations for where he’d been or what he’d been doing, of Scott’s troubles with girls, how he nearly got sent away because of what he’d done to that one girl and finally, of police finding him dead in his Utica apartment at age twenty-one, after swallowing an old shotgun’s muzzle. And then . . . all the things they’d found there.

"I really didn't do it, Scott! You have to believe me. I don't know how that guy got to my house or why he's insisting that I paid him to kill Cora. You have known me the longest. I would never try to harm Cora in that way. You have to believe me." It wasn't until Zara said that that Scott realized he had been staring at her with an accusatory look. He blinked and glanced away. He turned to the redhead cop again. "Can I speak to the prime suspect? I have some questions to ask?" "You are no cop. Why do you think I'd consent to that?" Fuck, he had a point! Scott cursed in his mind and dragged his fingers down his face in frustration. As he pondered on what to do, the lawyer he called walked in