Quotes from Harlan Coben

Said she had a body that could knock a movie rating from PG to R. So

There was a guy named Saul two cells over who had a fetish for joyriding with stolen cars. He was about as decent a guy as you'd meet in prison. He had his demons—his seemingly more innocuous than most—but the demons did him in.

Hester had been right about that too. There had been no sign of either Aaron or Paige in the past three months, and with no victim, there was no case. It also didn't hurt that Simon was fairly well-off or that Aaron Corval, as Simon soon found out to his chagrin if not surprise, had a fairly extensive criminal record. Hester and the Manhattan DA made a deal quietly, away from prying eyes. Nothing signed, of course. No obvious quid pro quo. Nothing so gauche.

Myron kept his eye on Patrick, but he also couldn't help but watch Big Cyndi work the crowd. Thirty seconds after she got back into action, the queue to have a photo taken with her was so long the Naked Cowboy looked at her askance. She glanced at Myron. Myron gave her a big thumbs-up. Here

Max emerged in the second exodus. When Grace saw her son—one sneaker lace untied, his Yu-Gi-Oh! backpack looking four sizes too big, his New York Rangers knit hat tilted to the side like a tourist's beret—the warmth rushed over anew.

Thing is, you don't take too many stands in this life.

The rust on the fire escape was so thick that tetanus seemed a far greater threat than smoke inhalation.

knees. Wu used a pressure point technique. He dug the knuckles of his index fingers into both sides of Richardson's head, up and into the ear cavity under the cartilage, an area known as Triple Warmer 17. You need to get the right angle. Go full strength and you could kill someone. You needed precision here. Richardson

The good is fragile.

They picked up their drinks and found a table near the window. "Run it through for me," he said. "Run what?" "Go back. You picked up the pictures. Josh handed them to you. Did you look at them right away?" Grace's eyes went up and to the right. She tried to remember the details. "No.

When a father gives to his son, they both laugh. When a son gives to his father, they both cry. —Yiddish proverb

He started to feel better. Or to say the same thing in another way: He started to feel less. His eyes slowly swerved from side to side. He felt, as he did in most places, slightly out of place—a spy in enemy territory. He was not really comfortable anywhere anymore—his old softer world or his new hardened one. So he straddled both. Truth was, he was only comfortable—pitiful as it sounded—when he was with Olivia. Damn

Raisa Mora's street was packed with seen-better-days row houses. Maya found the right address and headed up steps of cracked concrete. She pressed the buzzer, listened for footsteps, heard nothing. Smashed bottles lined the walk. Two doors down a man in an open flannel shirt over a wifebeater tee gave her a toothless smile. They

Also not surprising: He had fallen hard for Laszlo. He loved those walks, especially the one where he'd come through the door at the end of the day and Laszlo would greet him like a released POW on a tarmac—every day, without fail—and she'd drag him enthusiastically to the park as though she'd never been there before.

Sheila. Her betrayal pierced me deep, struck bone. To defend her now, to think I had been anything more to her than a dupe, would be to turn a blind eye in the worst way. You would have to be naïve beyond Pollyanna, to have rose-tinted glasses melded onto your face, to not be able to see the truth.

Bat Lady sat on a couch that looked as though it had been ready for the scrap heap during the Eisenhower administration. Her hair was still ridiculously long, cascading down her back and almost touching the seat cushion. She picked up a large book, an old photo album, and held it on her lap. "Well?

Technology did more than depersonalize; it ripped your life wide open, gutted you, stripped away any pretense of privacy.

Grace kept it vague. She trusted Cora, but she didn't want to have to trust her. Yeah, that made little sense. It was like this: If Grace's life were in jeopardy, she'd call Cora immediately. But if the kids were in danger . . . well, she'd hesitate. The scary thing was, she probably trusted Cora more than anybody, which was to say that she had never felt more isolated in her life.

The adrenaline rush began to taper off, allowing a nauseating level of pain to flow through his body. Eventually—Simon had no idea how much time had passed—Hayes and a tall white cop with the nametag WHITE hoisted him up and drag-walked him to a squad car. When he was in the backseat, White took the driver's side, Hayes the passenger. Hayes, who had his wallet in her hand, turned around and said, "So what happened, Mr. Greene?

Logan's overall score was a six-point-seven. Jimmy only has a score of six-point-four. Even with today's new math, six-point-seven is greater than six-point-four. I can show you with a graph if that would help.

They're cooperating? That's what they're claiming?" Chick was nearly apoplectic. "I should hold my own press conference." Like

Myron remained unconvinced. "Even if I agreed to go along with this cockamamy scheme, what about nights? You expect me to watch her twenty-four hours a day?" "Of course not. Win will help you there." "Win has better things to do." "Tell that goy boy-toy it's for me," Norm said. "He loves me." A

we have a legal system to remedy these things. A perfect system? No. In your free time, you can go through all the prisons and find innocent people who have been incarcerated and help free them. Do it. I'll admire it. But don't break them out of prison, Max. Don't give them guns. Don't let them destroy whatever is left of our tattered

The man who'd been on the passenger side wore his hair in a ponytail and looked liked that hip, middle-school art teacher who always smelled like a bong. Myron ran through his options. He did this in tenths of a second. That was how it worked. When you're in danger, time either slows down or the mind races. Hard to say which. Myron