12 Quotes by Meg Gardiner

Seas was the one who'd urged her to tattoo the scars she'd cut with the razor blade. the serpent- sign of transformation and healing. The quote, from Rita Dove's poem "Dawn Revisited." About second chances. The whole sky is yours to write on, blown open

She felt a pang, a deep wish for the bay, the soaring towers of the bridge, the sunlight skipping across ten thousand whitecaps between the Golden Gate and Alcatraz. She wanted the scent of the Pacific and the beauty of the cities and the mountains, and her man. She closed her eyes.She opened them and felt small, surrounded by the sweep of the continent. The sky was vast. It was glorious and terrifying.

The Christmas tree was a dark pyramid in the living room corner. Presents hid beneath it, wrapping paper quicksilver in the moonlight. He absorbed the stillness. An electric hiss seemed to saturate the air.

Coming, baby,' Shana murmured. She tossed back the covers, brushed her sleep-tangled hair from her face, and slogged out of the bedroom. The hardwood floor creaked beneath her bare feet. Jaydee's cries grew clearer.

Did you join the Bureau to get as far from that case as possible?' Rainey said.'I took this job to make a difference.''Honey.' The tries rang on the concrete. 'Course you did. We all did. You can say you love it. You're scared of it. You're proud. You're a badass bitch. Girl Scout with a twelve gauge. Reading psychopaths' minds is your superpower.' She cut a glance Caitlin's way. 'you can dig it.

But Keyes had told her what he thought of PhDs who demanded to be addressed as Doctor: they were hopeless narcissists.

The hills of southern Oklahoma slow-rolled across the winter-gold prairie, dipping to rivers and creeks, thick with leafless trees. The road curved through farmland and past a Chickasaw resort and casino.

They pulled off a twisting country road and bumped along a rutted gravel driveway. Rocky promontories barred their view until they topped a rise and found a half-are property where the cabin faced south, toward the red clay river that lazed across the horizon.

But fate was a myth constructed by fools – people who gamble or follow horoscopes, who believe the stars rule their lives.