Lis Wiehl
American author and legal analyst for Fox News joining the network in October 2001.
“It was times like these that she questioned the path she’d chosen—she wanted to do work that was important, that made a difference, and she was good at what she did, but she was still shocked and disheartened by the evil things people did to each other.”
“He turned his head, reacted in a microsecond, and hit the deck just before a hundred-mile-an-hour fastball zipped past his ear and clanged into the wire backstop. Had the pitch been another inch lower or a few miles an hour faster, he would have been beaned and, at that speed, possibly killed.”
These days everything went through the filter of knowing that she might be dying. And not a lot made it through.
”He’s a med student,” Cassidy protested. “Someone who is supposed to save lives, not take them.”
The last book, the one on the bottom, was a copy of the 1,500-page Gray’s Anatomy. The weight was all wrong in her hands. She opened the cover, revealing a space hollowed out with surgical precision.
This man wouldn’t stop until he killed Korena. Killed her. Clark couldn’t let that happen.
The only way out was to do what Sissy demanded—go out and kill this woman and her little boy. And then try to forget he had ever done it.
Fire was everything Joey wanted to be. Exciting. Dangerous. Beautiful. Destructive. And yet he controlled it. Other people were too boring, too afraid to do what he did.
“Which was crazier, she wondered, seeing patterns when they weren’t there, or ignoring patterns when they obviously were?”
Fire made Joey powerful. He could cause ordinary, boring people to wake in fright. He made the alarms sound. Made the fire trucks race down the road, sirens wailing. And right behind them stampeded the television cameras and reporters. All of them eager to look upon his handiwork….Without fire, Joey was nothing.
It took all of her considerable strength to heave the girl’s wrapped body into her arms, pivot, and let it thump into the trunk.
“…no matter whether it was day, evening, or weekend, because she was an FBI agent, Nicole had to be fit and ready for duty at all times. She rarely drank more than a single glass of wine in the evening, and she carried her Glock to dinner, to the grocery store, and to her kid’s third-grade play”
“Amos was the first child they’d taken in, adopted at age six through an accredited agency in the former Soviet Union. “
Without hesitation, she made a fist and hit herself in the right eye, her knuckles making contact with the top of her cheekbone. And then she poured milk into her coffee.
Elizabeth. A killer. A sociopath. A human scorpion. And Cassidy had let her ride on her back.