Quotes from Robert Crais

I asked Pike, "Are you afraid?" He shook his head. "Would you be afraid at midnight if we were alone?" He walked a moment. "I have the capacity for great violence.

The rifle was mottled with a synthetic preservative that smelled like overripe peaches. The stock and pistol grip were made of a bright orange wood that was slick with the preservative. The Russians had gone to polymer stocks, but the Chinese still went with the wood. Pike opened the bolt to inspect the receiver and breech. They were flawless. Stone

Cole got out of his car first. He scanned the surrounding roofs and windows like a Secret Service agent clearing the way for the president, then meandered around his car to the passenger side. He hefted a long green duffel from behind the seat and slung it over his shoulder. Pike saw him wince. From the way the bag pulled, you could see it was heavy. Cole came back to the girl's side of the car.

We saw the new gymnasium and the new science labs and the newly expanded library and the new theater arts building and a lot of coeds with moussed hair and bright plastic hair clips and skin cancer tans.

When Pike turned back, Cole pointed at the corner of the roof. A pale blue alarm panel was mounted near the end of the building, but the cover was missing. Old wires had been cut, and new wires had been clipped to bypass the old. Whoever jumped the alarms hadn't bothered to replace the cover, as if they didn't care whether or not their work was discovered.

Scott James felt the third impact as the bullet punched through his vest on the lower right side of his chest. The pain was intense, and quickly grew worse as his abdominal cavity filled with pooling blood. Scott

Maggie jumped to a full alert, her eyes locked on the greasy cube. Scott threw it hard, and Maggie sprinted after it. The chunk bounced and skipped through the grass thirty yards away. Scott didn't know if she could see it, but canine eyes were far more sensitive to motion than human eyes, and her nose would do the rest. Maggie's

Nothing smelled worse than the death of another human being. Not horses or cattle or rotten whales washed onto a beach. Human death was the smell of what hid in the future, waiting for you.

Streetlamps and security lights blazed hot in the confined lane, giving the mist a purple-blue glow. Pike stopped outside Dru's house. A few windows glowed dull ocher in the surrounding houses, but most were dark and all were quiet. No one was awake. Even Jared's window was dark. Pike

Pike knew something was wrong. The tension in Cole's body was as obvious as a corpse hanging from the ceiling. Cole was pretending to be fine for the girl.

Moths swarmed around the parking lot lamps, banging into the glass with a steady tap-tap-tap, and I wondered if they welcomed the dawn. At dawn, they could stop slamming their heads into the thing that forever kept them from the light. People don't have a dawn. We just keep slamming away until it kills us.

Pike hung up. He knew he couldn't convince Darko with more talk. Darko would have to convince himself, and now he would either show or he wouldn't. Cole

Chen was pleased. He had twelve separate and singular prints, each showing defined typica. Typica were the characteristic points by which fingerprints could be identified—the loops and swirls and bifurcations that make up a fingerprint.

He reached from the ceiling with a rubber arm, Krista threw up her hands to ward him off, and Jack came out of nowhere. He flew over her and slammed into Medina like a mongrel dog. Jack's impact knocked Medina backward. They spun through the kitchen, wrapped together, all arms and legs. Jack made grunting sounds, and found her eyes briefly as he spiraled past. "Garage.

Her face was focused and contained, as if she was concentrating on something more important than answering the door. She was slight, with dark eyes, a thin face, and prominent ears. She was wearing denim shorts, a light green blouse, and sandals. Her hair was damp, as if she wasn't long from the shower. Holman thought she looked like a child. She stared at him with curious indifference. "Yes?" "I'm Max Holman. Richie's father." Holman

they could use in an identity search. "Six feet, one ninety

Elvis Cole Detective Agency, two clues for the price of one. Discounts available.

Ghazi al-Diri's life ended with the Korean's call. He was in the commissary when his phone buzzed, letting his coffee steep in a French press he brought from Saõ Paulo. Now, he slipped the phone into his pocket, and poured the coffee. Several of his men were near, eating burritos of eggs and beans they had made for themselves. Ghazi moved away from them to think. He was angry, but might yet survive if he remained calm. Maysan

Pike was silent for a moment, then simply hung up. To expect more was to be disappointed. Everett's

Pike's red Jeep was at the edge of the drive out by the gate. It was as far from the other vehicles as possible. Even Pike's transportation is anti-social.

I went over to the big couch and sat down next to Mimi. She was watching everything the way a goldfish watches the world from its bowl, all big eyes and vulnerability and with an assumption of invisibility.

Flynn seemed to want a response, so Pike nodded. "I respect your service, but I don't give a rat's ass about it. Half this police force was in the Marines and the other half is tired of hearing about it. This is a city in the United States of America. It isn't a war zone.

guilt that, down deep, down in the center of herself where our secret creatures live, she was thankful that she had lived, even at the price of Sugar's

The begging snapped into a sharp muffled shriek, just one, just the one terrible muted cry. Krista couldn't move. She stared at the door as if it were a nightmare painting from Hieronymus Bosch's personal, tortured hell. Then