Shattered Cold Case Novels & Stories

The precinct was just too goddamn busy to let one case tie them down and nobody wanted to admit it. I stopped asking for updates. I made my own. New York wasn’t giving me answers, but it gave me access. I used it. Checked every case marked “shifter” I visited every crime scene I missed thinking maybe I would find an answer there. I worked my way through every name that had been flagged suspicious, dead or alive. But still nada. it was like finding a USB in a dump almost impossible. Nothing stuck. Nothing spoke to me. Two months and all I had was more paperwork than leads and a few wrinkles from chasing the wrong suspect through 31st street. The kid wasn’t even a shifter. Just a paranoid thie

the anchor added, “as both had recently faced significant financial setbacks following the bankruptcy of their respective companies.” Behind him, more footage played. Mirriam and Maricris clung to each other, their cries raw and unrestrained as the bodies—covered, lifeless—were wheeled past them on stretchers and into waiting vehicles. Their grief echoed even through the screen, sharp and piercing. Cassie stood still, her gaze locked onto the television, absorbing every detail in silence. Then, almost instinctively, she turned her head toward Ashton. Before she could even speak, he met her eyes.

We hadn't seen each other in five years, yet there were streaks of gray in her hair. There wasn't a spare second to think about it. I went straight to work on stabilizing her, then asked Josephine to join me so we could review the case and finalize a surgical plan. Unexpectedly, a squad of police officers strode in and surrounded Sienna's bed. I froze in bewilderment until the lead officer stepped forward to fill me in. "This woman is an active fugitive suspected of murder back home. We tracked her all the way here."

“I’m sure you didn’t come round here to talk to me about my charity, did you?” “No, I didn’t,” I acknowledged. “I’ve come round to talk to you about a cold case.” “Cold case?” He exclaimed. “Not got anything new to work on then?” “There might be a connection between this cold case and a new one.” “Oh, I see.” He nodded. “It’s to do with Jenny Davies.” The look on his face said it all. He looked out of the window. The memory obviously hurt.

The sun was warm as its rays filtered through the windows. I tore up the DNA test report. Finally, all the love and hatred in the past could be sealed away in these torn-up fragments now scattered across the floor.

The cold, gray walls of the prison loomed around Cassia Hawthorne, a constant reminder of the life she had built and subsequently destroyed. Time moved slowly in the silence of her cell, and in that silence, Cassia found herself confronting something she had spent her entire life avoiding: the truth about herself.

I read until the sun came up and my tears ran dry. And I understood, finally, why Dante Marchetti's eyes were so cold. He'd married the daughter of his nightmares. And now we were both trapped in a house built on lies and blood.

His mind was a battlefield, torn between lingering doubts about Rachel and the unexpected warmth he had begun to feel for Stephanie. He leaned back in his chair, the leather groaning under his weight, and rubbed his temples. It had been days since the scandal broke, but the fallout still festered. The memory of Stephanie sitting in his office, her eyes reflecting fear and betrayal, haunted him. She didn't deserve this. Hardworking, loyal, fiercely dedicated to her work. But what unsettled him most wasn't her tears—it was the unfamiliar ache in his chest when he saw them.

He had a painful expression, which annoyed Vivian. “Don’t look at me with that painful look. Someone might think I am wicked. But I am not. I just participated in the race, and I won. The game had no rules and all it cared about was to win. And I did exactly that. "Please get out of my house. I have already filed for divorce. I don’t need you in my house," she said harshly. "Are you driving me out of your own house?" he asked. “Please get out. You are destroying our peace. Hey drive him away. I don’t want to see him near this house." Shadrach, who is her fiancé, said.

The kitchen was too quiet for the kind of thirst I had. I didn't bother with a glass. I just opened the fridge and drank straight from the bottle like someone searching for relief, not just water. Coldness hit my throat, sharp and clean. I stood there a moment longer, watching the fridge light flicker on my face. My legs ached, but not in the normal way. They carried the kind of tiredness that wasn’t physical. When I got back to my room, I stopped at the door and stared.