Quotes About Intrigue

From the left—the kitchen—someone stepped into view.

She stopped, dazed. "Who are these two?" she asked Taylor. "We, uh, found them loitering around," Taylor said. "We thought maybe they were the perpetrators." For a second, Mrs. Kent stared at us as though we were pieces in a puzzle she couldn't put together. "These

Lorraine fiddled with the unlit cigarette. The moms went back to their inane chatter, though with less enthusiasm. They constantly sneaked glances at Lorraine, as if she were some virus introduced into their suburban life-form with a mission to destroy it.

that looked like something out of an

Clip hesitated. His breathing was deep, almost labored. "I know something of your years with the FBI," he said finally. "No details, of course. Not even vagaries really, but enough to know you have a background in this kinda stuff. We want you to find Greg. Quietly." Myron

They headed out the front door. Myron kept his eyes on the For Sale sign as though it might suddenly brandish a gun.

She made everything around us crackle with surprise

Maya tried to throw this new information into the mix. When she added it all up—Claire, Joe, the nanny cam, the phone, the strip club, the rest—Maya considered all the possibilities and came up with bubkes. Nothing made sense.

Harlan Coben

Susan cast her eyes down. Demure—it was a word that Ilene had heard before but never quite gotten. But that was what she was seeing right now. How many men would weaken—had weakened—at such a move? It

Shaved Head said nothing. "What's going on here?" I asked. "Why was Rachel shot?" "I don't know." "I don't believe you," I said. "Believe what you will. These are the risks we all take." "What

Aqua?" He stopped mid-stride and spun toward her. His eyes were wide and just past the northern border of sanity. She had seen him talk to himself before, had witnessed a few of his paces and tantrums, but she had never seen him look so . . . was it agitated? No. It seemed more than that. It seemed pained. "Why?

The man headed to a steel door. It buzzed. The man opened it and went inside. It took about five minutes. A bald guy with spectacles entered the room. He was nervous. Big Cyndi started giving him the eye. She licked her lips. She cupped what might have been her breasts. Myron shook his head, afraid she'd drop to her knees and pantomime lord-knew-what when the door mercifully opened. The man with the sunglasses poked his head out.

Foot traffic was picking up. The girl who'd hurled the crushed can was now making out with her target. Ah, the French. A traffic officer started gesturing for a white van to stop blocking traffic. I turned and waited for Terese to answer. She put down her coffee. "I can't imagine." But there was a catch in her throat. A tell, if you were playing cards with her. She wasn't lying. I was pretty sure of that. But she wasn't telling me everything either.

There was a rifle on his lap. Hey, Hunter, Myron said.

Myron's eyes swept the room and landed on a reading chair that doubled as a dressing dummy. Greg's clothes were strewn over one arm and the back. Normal enough, Myron guessed—neater than Myron, in fact, though that wasn't saying much. But looking again, he noticed something a tad strange on the other arm of the chair. Two articles of clothing. A white blouse and a gray skirt. Myron

exception of last

Why don't we all have a seat?" he said. "Who the hell are you?" Chick asked. He turned his cringingly gentle smile toward Chick. "I'm Lionel." Chick

They watched in rapt silence as the car window lowered. The angle was a bit odd—above the car and from the machine's point of view—but there was no doubt. Chad Coldren was the driver. He leaned out the window and put his card in the ATM machine slot. His fingers tripped across the buttons like an experienced stenographer's. Young

Clothes should be as interesting on the inside as on the outside. Even if you enjoy it totally alone, it's important.

If you like a story that's totally different and won't know which way it's going... where it's go ing to end up and which way it's going to take you, then I think my work fits the bill.

Bringing anyone into royal circles is a pretty tough act. Especially in the British royal family, which is scrutinized by the press as no one's been.

I find myself gravitating towards drama. It interests me. In the books I read, the paintings I like, it's always the darker stuff.

People are complicated. Our behavior towards one another is strange. So I like opportunities to investigate that.