At the time, Margaret had been very angry with God, angry that all she had left of her mother was the promise of a ring.

With the subject of work off limits, they lapsed into a silence they couldn't recover from, leaving Joanna to wonder how she could feel so lonely in the company of the man she loved.

He had tricked her. She'd been right not to trust him. Well, it wouldn't happen again. No chance in hell!

It blew with a rustling noise, as if all the demons had sprung from hell and decided to release a raspy long sigh together.

Outside, the sweet smell of freshly cut alfalfa hay was a welcome change from the odours of sweat and cheap cologne on the dance floor.

She'd always despised the whole other woman thing, but here she was, entertaining the possibility.

See, there’s this little relationship we have with the drug lords—the legal drug lords. If we play cool with them, they play cool with us. And sometimes we get some nice toys.

She understood that unrequited love could break a heart, but there was nothing she could do about his sorrow.

She envisioned him walking through a blizzard, his head down, his moustache coated with ice, his frozen fingers gripping his bayonet.

Those were the things she hated: all those regrets, all those maybes.