Quotes from Robert Crais

POLLARD HAD NEVER been good in the morning. Every morning for as long as she could remember—months, maybe years—she woke feeling depleted, and dreading the pain of beginning her day. She drank two cups of black coffee just to give herself a pulse. But

If it was easy, it wouldn't be fun.

I asked people about you, and those people said if you were looking for a guy, then you probably found him. I just can't figure why you won't come clean." "Maybe they're wrong." He nodded. "Could be." "But maybe I just don't like being muscled, so I'm being petulant.

A girl came out of the school. She was thin, and wispy, and appeared to be fifteen or sixteen. She stopped outside the doors, lit a cigarette, and inhaled hard enough to inflate her body. I watched her smoke, and waited. Sooner or later, she would finish the cigarette or smoke herself to death.

I watched the mirror for black sedans as we pulled away, and checked every side street as we drove to the freeway. I looked for their big black beast as we climbed the ramp, and kept looking, even after the freeway swallowed us, a buffalo joining a herd, one hiding among the many, and finally safe.

Though I did manage to gain a bit of intelligence when I was in Stu's office." "Ah." I knew that she had. You could see that in her eyes, too. A kind of ferocious twinkle.

The backseat was even worse. Taco wrappers, drive-thru cups, and greasy napkins covered the floor. I dug through most of it, but the only evidence I found was evidence of tooth decay. Tyson was an eating machine. He probably turned to crime to pay for a junk food habit.

In fact, it wasn't evidence at all, but I didn't want to be a defeatist.

I didn't know what to say that wouldn't sound self

Don't tell her what I found here, okay? I want to tell her." "Whatever you want." "I have to go." Pike

Ramos nodded, then glanced back at me. His eyes were the hard, bright eyes of a feral desert dog smelling blood. "Harlan

During the past two months, Holman had trained part-time as a trimmer in the printing plant, which meant his job was to load five-, six-, and eight-foot-wide rolls of fabric into the printer, make sure the fabric fed square, then make sure the automatic trimmers at the end of the process made a clean cut.

where I keep my computer. I opened

Jon went back inside, and Googled pictures of Jacob Breslyn. He found a tall young man with a thin face, relaxed smile, and high forehead. Geeky, but growing into himself. An everyday, normal civilian. Jon

people worked us across the plaza and down to the parking structure. I moved with the crush of bodies the way a leaf is carried by the wind, a part of an unseen world, yet not.

A left-behind look.

The thirty-million-candlepower Nightsun was impressive, but Scott knew the helicopter's high-magnification cameras and FLIR heat imager gave the Air Support crew a much better view than their searchlight. Police officers, dogs, car engines, and anything producing a heat signature would glow on their monitor. Their eye-in-the-sky imager was the next best thing to X-ray vision, but it wasn't infallible. "When

Is it his job to lie?" "No, but you're assuming it's a lie. Reasonable people can disagree and have opposing interpretations of the facts. It's Jonathan's job to present an interpretation that's favorable to his client. It would be malpractice for him to do otherwise." When she said it she was stiff and testy, and it felt like we were having a confrontation.

He bent to take her arm, and I saw his shirt was spattered with blood. Streaks and drips of blood marked his shirt with slaughterhouse designs, and more blood speckled his face. I

Giving them room is often the better part of valor, especially when you're trying not to make things worse.

Their call log that night showed fewer than a third their usual number of calls, which made for an easy shift, but left Scott bored. Hence, their search for the unfindable noodle house, which Scott had begun to believe might not exist. Stephanie reached to start the car, but Scott stopped her. "Let's

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.

Can you talk?" "Absolutely. What did you find out?" "I'm going to put you on speaker. Terry's here." The sound qual ity went from crisp to hollow when she put him on speaker. "Hey

Panel vans were working vans. There were no windows behind the front seats, and the rear bay was a dirty metal box smelling of pesticide and grease. Angelo Buono and Kenneth Bianchi had used an identical van as a place to torture and murder their victims, and record their screams. Wander