Quotes from Harlan Coben

It's okay," Dee Dee said in the soothing voice of something still confusingly celestial. "Just stay still." He glanced past her as he swam back to full consciousness. Yep, he was still in the cult compound. The decor in the room was closer to nonexistent than austere. Nothing on the walls, no furniture in view. The walls were that same inescapable gray.

There are sudden rips. There are tears in your life, deep knife wounds that slash through your flesh. Your life is one thing, then it is shredded into another. It comes apart as though gutted in a belly slit. And then there are those moments when your life simply unravels. A loose thread pulled. A seam gives way. The change is slow at first, nearly imperceptible.

She hung up. Camp Arifjan had served pizza as a choice at almost every meal, but the sauce tasted like turned ketchup and the dough had the consistency of toothpaste. Since she'd been home, she craved only thin-crust pizza and nobody did that better than Best of Everything. When

No problem, dear," Phil said with a smile. It was a nice smile. A few years ago, it might have been returned, but nope, not today. Phil kept his eyes on her for maybe a second too long, though Wendy didn't think the girl noticed. Once the waitress was out of sight, Phil lifted his bottle toward Wendy. She picked up hers and clinked bottles and decided to stop this dance. "Phil

Stan Gibbs claims the story is real." "Does he now?" "Yes." Win rubbed his chin. "Pray tell, why does he not defend himself?" "No clue." "Presumably because he is guilty," Win said. "Man is, above all, selfish. He's into self-preservation. It's instinctive. He does not martyr himself. He cares about one thing above all else: saving his hide.

He flipped through the music stations as he drove, searching for some nonexistent perfect song that would be, as Stevie Nicks might sing, "hauntingly familiar" yet not played so often as to beat it into submission. When he did find such a song—a rarity—it was always the last verse, and so the flipping would start anew. When

Didn't you used to date a guy who worked in e-mail spam?" Grace asked. "Yep," Cora said. "Obsessive creep named—get this—Gus. Hard to get rid of. I had to use my own version of a bunker buster on him." "What did you do?" "I told Gus he had a small wee-wee." "Ouch." "Like I said, the bunker buster. Works every time, but there's often, uh, collateral damage.

This was fun," Ali said. Myron was still smiling. Ali looked up at him with these wonderful green-brown eyes. She had red-blond hair and there were still remnants of childhood freckles. Her face was wide and her smile just held him. "What?" she said. "You look beautiful." "Man, you are smooth." "I don't want to brag, but yes. Yes, I am." Ali

The room was crowded and sweltering. Fans whirred impotently. Men were hooking fingers into collars to let in air. Sweat coated faces. Myron looked at Brenda. She looked small and alone and scared, but she would not look away. He felt her take his hand. He gripped back. She stood ramrod straight now, her head high. The

You're a pain in the ass, you know that?" "Always was," Myron said. "Yeah, but you used to have a sweet jumper from the top of the key. Now what do you got?" "Raw animal magnetism and supernatural charisma?" "I'm going to hang up now." He

Win drove, Myron took the front passenger seat, and Big Cyndi squeezed into the back, which was a little like watching a film of childbirth on rewind. Then they were off.

And if my son was so gravely wounded," Ali said between clenched teeth, "who do you think you are to not tell me? I even asked why you two were talking at halftime, remember?" "I do.

The women were, in this smoky light, largely on the attractive side, albeit young, and dressed more like they were playing adults than actually being ones. The majority of the women had their cell phones out, skinny fingers tapping off texts; they danced with a languorousness that bordered on comatose. Esperanza

Here is one of life's little shortcuts: If someone is meeting you in their "study," they have money. Normal people have a home office or a family room or maybe a man cave. Rich people have studies. This one was particularly opulent, loaded up with leather-bound books and wooden globes and Oriental rugs. It looked like someplace Bruce Wayne would hang out before heading down to the Batcave. Larry

an ugly hatchet man who considered Kmart velour sweatpants haute couture.

She shook Loren's hand firmly, meeting her eye and softening it with a smile. She gave Steinberg a hug and buss on the cheek. "I'd like you to meet Adam Yates. He's the FBI Special Agent in Charge of the Las Vegas office." Adam

Since it would take a few minutes to set up, Myron took some unnecessary turns. Two minutes later, Myron took the right on Pleasant Valley Way. Up ahead, he saw Zorra standing by the pizzeria. She wore her '30s blond wig and smoked a cigarette in a holder and looked just like Veronica Lake after a real bad bender, if Veronica Lake was six feet tall and had a Homer Simpson five o'clock shadow and was really, really ugly. Zorra

Wilde almost smiled. "Nice loophole you found there." "A corollary of my occupation. Love me for all my faults.

I smiled down at Chloe and petted her head. She put a paw on my arm in a comforting gesture. "You want to go for a walk, girl?" I said. Chloe's reply was to bound about like a circus freak on speed. Like I told you before, it's the little things. The

Rookie Myron Bolitar had his head turned when Big Burt Wesson, a journeyman power forward, blindsided him. Myron's knee twisted in a way neither God nor anatomy ever intended. Even from a distance you could actually hear a nauseating sound like a wet snap. Bye-bye

Sakoma, jog turtas valdo tave. Nieko panašaus. Mylimi žmon?s valdo tave. Kai šitaip myli, esi amžiams laikomas ?kaitu.

Most people have a pretty antiquated idea of what a shooting range/gun shop looks like. They picture musty animal taxidermy and bear pelts on the walls, dusty rifles lined up haphazardly, a cantankerous owner behind a counter wearing either early Elmer Fudd hunting gear or a wifebeater T-shirt with a hook for one hand. That

What had I actually promised to do here? I thought about Ali's exact words: "Don't go to the bar tonight. Promise me.

Men tracht und Gott lacht.