Shattered Cold Case Novels & Stories

“Because first, while you are in my care, I won’t let anyone kill you. And second, I won’t allow anyone to threaten my pack.” She looks at me a long moment before turning and looking around. “Fuckers, they had to destroy my computer.” She mutters. She moves to the counter where it looks like there used to be a cash register. It’s currently smashed to pieces. She bends down and puts her hand against a hidden locking system and it slides open. She unlocks a safe and opens it, grabbing a phone and quickly trying to close it before I see inside. However, what I do see adds more questions to my already overloaded mind. Why does she have three phones in a safe?

Skin still tingling from his touch, thoughts spiraling out of control like a car skidding off black ice. This isn't me. I wasn’t perfect. Never claimed to be. But I was decent. Grounded. I had lines I swore I’d never cross. But then David Lance died. And just like that, everything shattered. The moment the police dragged me into that ridiculous investigation, slapped that cursed file in front of me and called it a “mission”… everything tilted sideways. And now? Now I’m drowning in shadows and bad decisions wrapped in Italian suits and expensive silence. But Cassian Morelli… he knows things. Everything. Nothing slips past him, not even whispers carried in locked rooms. So what if I go to him—

I didn’t faint. I shattered.

The one that made me want to scream. “There’s nothing else we can do, Myra. The case is cold.” Cold. My brother’s body wasn’t even cold when they gave up.I left the precinct with my fists clenched so tight my nails cut into my palms. I didn’t cry. Not anymore. I wrote the case number on my bedroom wall.Right above my bed.I stared at it every night until I could recite it like a prayer. Case #147-KB. And beneath it, I wrote three words:

Charlie joked, "Well, if you were sent over while being unaware, would you fail to find any clues?" "Yes, I would fail," Merlin nodded. "Most cold cases stay cold because there's no usable evidence anyway. Not even divine intervention helps unsolved cases that ultimately stem from a lack of evidence.

Everyone in the car fell quiet for a moment. Out of nowhere, Silas yanked the door open and pointed at the pouring rain. "You want to get out? Fine. Go now! Stop wasting our time!" I was so furious. My blood was boiling, and I stubbornly dragged myself toward the door. I figured they wouldn't—at least, they shouldn't—actually throw me out of the car, especially with my heart condition. But as soon as I hit the ground after falling out of the car, I heard the door slam shut behind me. When I looked up, the car was already speeding off, and neither Silas nor Edgar bothered to look back.

His fingers shook as he swept a cold smile across the crowd. “The memory decoder is a new product. Data misalignment is normal. Maybe Finn altered the memories before he died to drag his wife down with him. After all, he’s a murderer who even dared to kill his wife's parents!” A team member burst in, face ashen, shouting, “Chief! Another murder just happened in the south district! The victim was carved up and had bones severed—the method is exactly the same!” Linda struggled to her feet. She looked at me slumped in the chair, long devoid of life, her whole body shaking.

Chapter Five - Doubt Balor's POV "The Toronto police are saying that no arrests have been made for the murder of small business owner Tom Bringer. Police ask if anyone has any information to cal-"I turned off my television, slamming my remote down onto the glass table, shattering it. My jaw ached from me clenching my teeth together so hard. I gulped down the last of my scotch, chucking the glass at the wall, shattering it to pieces.

It wasn’t long before sleep was overtaking me. The room is cold and covered in darkness. I search for a way out or for someone to help me, but there’s nothing. Rubbing my hands up and down my arms to not only fight the cold but the fear that grips my heart. Why am I here, and how did I get here are the questions that swirl around in my head. I keep walking with no end in sight. Then the unthinkable happens. Hands reach from out of the darkness to grip my neck. I fight to get them off. The more I fight, the more they tighten. My lungs are burning as I fight for air. There’s no face, just hands that are trying to take my life. I keep trying to fight, but I’m losing the battle. I feel myself a

The way her laugh, rare, and usually at my expense, had cracked through the air once yesterday, bright and real, before she caught herself. I shut it down. No. Don’t go there. She couldn’t even look at me without seeing a ghost from eight years ago. And I couldn’t look at her without feeling the weight of everything I’d lost. I shoved the card into my pocket, like burying it would make the assignment disappear. Behind me, I could still hear Cole’s words echoing, low and sharp: Trust is life or death. You don’t trust, you don’t win. End of story. He made it sound so simple. But trust wasn’t simple. Not when it had been broken. Not when the person standing across from you on the ice was also t