Quotes About Intrigue

Shaw watched her dark eyes through the lens. If she were with

You're used to expecting some North Korean or some Iranian in a MiG to drop out of the sun and lock on. But when the people supposed to be on your side do it, well, it really throws you. Makes you feel dirty, betrayed.

What'd he do? Your stepfather?

The more beautiful the package, the harder it is to unwrap.

THE LITTLE HOUSE AT CROIX-ROUSSE Georges Simenon

Ross Macdonald

when there was a third rap.

from around his neck started to undo the buttons on the front of his

Watson. He didn't wait for Nicky to recover before he added, 'I'm beginning to think, Miss Bailey, that in fact it was you who stole the ring

Divorce never. Murder several times.

On entering the little green-walled

parking space—44 Eaton…? He flicked it quickly back

Best Kept Secret Be Careful What You Wish For Mightier than the Sword Cometh the Hour This Was a Man NOVELS Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less Shall We Tell the President? Kane and Abel The Prodigal Daughter First Among Equals A Matter of Honour As the Crow Flies Honour Among Thieves

dark-haired girl?

Giles entered the Privy Council office on Whitehall so he could avoid the scrum of Fleet Street hacks waiting for him in Downing Street, or at least those who didn't know about the back door en- trance to No.IO.

Who do we become when we step through the monitor into the Blue Nowhere? From The Blue Nowhere

our job was merely to create the noise that seemed to fascinate them.

If they were going to kill you, would they knock?

because we watched her so closely out of the corners of our eyes, everything she did made too much noise, her cigarette smoke got into everything, she drank too much wine at dinner.

deranged harlot look

It had to do with Leonard. With how she felt about him and how she couldn't tell anyone. With how much she liked him and how little she knew about him. With how desperately she wanted to see him and how hard it was to do so.

Looking back now, I can only remember a time when the world seemed to have a million eyes, silently opening wherever I went. Most of the time they were camouflaged, like the closed eyes of green lizards in green trees. But then they snapped open—on the bus, in the pharmacy—and I felt the intensity of all that looking, the desire and the desperation.

The beginning is not where your story starts but where you story starts to get interesting.

Okay, Shane, Agnes said as Brenda's clock gonged midnight. I got Joey in the kitchen, a cop in the front hall, a dead body in the basement, and you in my bedroom. Where do you want to start?