Romans & histoires Scott Turow

Scott thought. I just hope Rockwell is not targeting me recently because of the issues we had in the past? He thought. Scott did his internship in Rockwell’s company in the past when he graduated from college. Scott called Mike into his office, Mike walked over to him. “Have a seat,” Scott said. Mike sat down in the seat in front of him. “Do you know any good private investigators?” Scott asked raising an eyebrow. “Yes, I do,” Mike replied without hesitating. “OK, I want you to give me a number, and also, should I let the person know you are the one that gave me their number?” He inquired.

Scotty still lived under the bridge in any town as he said it was the best place because he wanted to know people more. He collected information for Cohen about anyone in the town. From his large homeless network, Scotty did gain some authentic information which Cohen would use to avoid any pack that might come to visit the town where they were. Scotty might be a ten years old blind kid but his skill of gathering information was almost the same as Mira’s. “I hope so,” Cohen said. “So, we have stayed here way too long. Where to next?” “Do you have somewhere to go? Other than waiting for me in the back alley?”

“You’re giving her a lot of benefit of the doubt.” Max’s expression turned thoughtful. “Am I?” Scott stepped closer to the desk. “Yes.” He lowered his voice slightly. “Which is exactly what worries me.” Max didn’t respond. Scott studied him more closely now. “What are you planning?” Max met his gaze again. “Nothing.” Scott didn’t believe that for a second. “You’re waiting,” Scott said slowly. Max didn’t deny it. Scott exhaled sharply. “You always do this.” “Do what?” “Set traps instead of asking questions.”

TWO WEEKS AGO, BEFORE TRACY'S CONFINEMENT. KIA'S POV. "Take some men with you and search around. Since the crime was just committed, I am sure that the culprit must have left some clues or any traces." That was the last instruction I gave to Scott before he left. Speaking of which, I had forgotten to ask him about Hunter, I could not help but wonder what he was up to because he did not show up at all, nor did he notify me or anything.

whispers Scott, as he scribbles the year. “What?” “That’s the year he died. We’re on to geography next.” Scott writes the answers to every damn question without hesitation. He even gallantly confers with me after each question, apparently not noticing that I don’t disagree with a single suggestion. While I’m realising that whenever we have played Trivial Pursuit, he’s clearly fudged his answers on purpose to give me a chance.

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.

His suit was wrinkled, his tie loosened. “About damn fucking time,” Marco muttered, tossing the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his heel. “They take their sweet time with the paperwork.” I didn’t respond; I just shot him a look as I approached. The bitter thought crept up, I had let them down, I had let them all down. Scott appeared next, escorted out by an agent who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. Scott was in his usual laid-back manner; his smile was confident, but his eyes burned with fury. He adjusted his suit jacket and clapped me on the shoulder.

Scott was as tall as Hunt, with dark blonde hair and broad shoulders, looking like one of those men that lived in the mountains—which ironically he did—in his plaid shirt with those mesmerising lake blue eyes. "You want to help me get dinner ready for the animals?" he asked and I stared at him hesitantly. Scott smiled and it was a genuine one. "I don't bite. Not a biter, never have been. Besides, I'd rather get to know you and make my own decisions, than get my ass whooped by Hunt." I laughed and Scott chuckled before nodding. "Trust me, I've been on the receiving end and it was not a pretty look." "How long have you two known each other?" I moved closer towards him.

The next day, Scott started to put his plan into action. He knew Florence wasn’t going to like when she heard about it, but a man has to do what a man has to do. He told his assistant he’d arrive late at the office that morning so he could call his private detective for more information without being interrupted. Mr. Miller was one of the best there was in the country and he worked for Scott on several occasions over the years. His service was impeccable and Scott didn’t trust anyone else.

He took a cab to the undertakers' hideout. "Scott where have you been?" Martin asked immediately he saw him walking inside. "I'm more surprised that cabs still work in the middle of the night," Ronnie said. "Where is the thing?" Scott Asked ignoring them both. "Here" Martin scoffed handing it to Scott. Scott opened it and read. "Get rid of Justin smith as you did before" Scott read inwardly. "It says as you did before, you can't kill a fly and it says before, are they talking about those three men we shot at the subway or something else?" Martin asked.