Quotes from Lisa Gardner

To pry would involve being told an answer I didn't want to hear. So I didn't pry.

this is the way sisters have

He worked as an agent for the same reason people worked as accountants and lawyers and corporate clerks. Because he was good at it. Because he liked the challenge. Because when the job was done right, he felt good about himself.

Most of us laugh at the list first time through. One hundred and forty ways not to re-offend? Including such winners as call the police, take a cold shower, or my personal favorite, jump in the ocean in the middle of winter. I go with the usual: Wasn't alone with children, stayed out of bars, didn't drive aimlessly, didn't place high expectations on myself, and snapped a rubber band.

It's cataloguing all my sins that has me hung up. For all my talk of honesty, there's only so much scrutiny I can handle. Though asking for forgiveness is also an issue. How do you apologize to the dead?

You have to find something, Officer Dodge. Something that anchors you, something that keeps you looking forward, even on the bad days, when you're tempted to look back.

experience and the advantage of being the one

Because I've been to war, and it still wasn't as scary as living around here.

He set the photo aside, revealing the gun safe. He'd recently upgraded to a biometrics model.

The girl laughs. It's a harsh sound. "Lady, if you're looking for the suburbs, you already made like, four wrong turns.

Because we don't need some skinny-ass white lady trying to save her soul by slumming it in the ghetto. Come on, have you looked in a mirror? This ain't your neighborhood." She delivers this with the kind of disdain only a teenager can muster.

They're lying. Angel's friends, her brother—they all know more than they're saying. And yet they also seem genuinely concerned and want her back. Meaning?

found this man. I fell in love with his kindness, his patience. He saw me, all of me, and he didn't turn away. He let me in. He held back my hair while I puked my way through detox. He spoonfed me broth while I slowly fought my way back to living.

No one says no to coffee. Plus, Lotham had said it was an important part of Haitian hospitality, and I want to be as welcoming as possible.

Paul accused me of remaining an addict even after I stopped drinking. I don't think he understood that's exactly how it works. I am my demons, and my demons are me. Some days I do all the talking and some days my monster does all the drinking, but every day it's all me.

understand. The families so often live in anguished limbo—not trusted, not informed, not represented in their own loved ones' missing persons investigations. I've worked plenty of cases where the suspicions regarding the family's involvement have been borne out, but my gut tells me Emmanuel and his aunt aren't part of that group.

He has dark eyes, thick eyebrows, and battered features. His nose has definitely been broken, probably a couple of times, and he's missing a piece of his ear, as if someone took a bite out of it. There's a story there, no doubt. I like that about his face. That it's a road map of been there, done that. It's interesting.

Problem solvers, doers. Life hasn't always been kind to them, but it's made them stronger, more determined. Opportunity isn't given, it must be made.

Face it, you and Quincy have a genuine meeting of the minds. That's serious shit, Rainie. You can go an entire lifetime without finding anyone who matches like that. I know I have.

But welcome to the world of being a survivor. You make it out alive, and yet you spend the rest of your life wondering woulda, coulda, shoulda.

Is he a renegade, works best by himself, alienates those in authority? Actually, that would be you, dear. True

Then, I was the girl other girls stared at. I was the one everyone else wanted to be. So when he said he wanted to go club hopping and I should

Marjolie closes her eyes. Takes a big shuddery breath. "Turns out, DommyJ's a collector. V cards. Like, is even in a competition with his

I recognize the classic story elements from my own life. A family legacy of alcoholism. A parent who was a chronic drunk, another parent who was a chronic enabler. Hitting that awkward, anxious phase of high school, not knowing who I was or where I belonged—and consequently tossing back a beer at that party, or stealing a shot of my parents' liquor before boarding the school bus. That magical melting feeling that immediately followed. That sense of almost primal recognition.