Greg Iles 3-Book Thriller Collection: The Quiet Game, Turning Angel, The Devil’s Punchbowl

Chapter One (#u12da3de4-43ec-51b0-a720-b4e1dd1268d2)

Chapter Two (#u5d34a025-8936-5d6d-9b87-0b4ae7a378c5)

Chapter Three (#ubd013138-de9e-52d5-a100-657df6fa0126)

Chapter Four (#uf3ae3d0c-8d4c-5486-a3c1-e2769389c4a9)

Chapter Five (#u92e02cc1-fdc4-5f6c-acbd-c4f3d2473877)

Chapter Six (#u74546d25-bfe3-5306-b250-4c97be501109)

Chapter Seven (#u8f5f2df3-eb2b-5cb7-8589-f3b71f6b8eaf)

Chapter Eight (#u23322a3c-d083-50d2-a2ca-ee20be47fcee)

Chapter Nine (#ufb35a354-7a17-5358-9b4c-1dc3422ca81b)

Chapter Ten (#ua80b0010-113c-5dc7-9d91-15d67e2fbd94)

Chapter Eleven (#u0d07cbf1-63ac-5257-8a4e-1a493a27ba8d)

Chapter Twelve (#ua072d8de-2db3-5df2-b8b6-25aadeaae1f5)

Chapter Thirteen (#u7bd25759-1927-5ca6-8abb-3db8dc6e8bbb)

Chapter Fourteen (#u99b080e7-a8b3-545d-9afc-04d21df31d22)

Chapter Fifteen (#u01279b8a-1c1d-5848-90df-62bbc41ae791)

Chapter Sixteen (#u13f29c8b-e239-51de-892a-dc38cc3dea01)

Chapter Seventeen (#u45832339-4eaa-5634-a5f8-569fb5bd8b8a)

Chapter Eighteen (#u4faebfa8-cc82-536a-8465-a0eb0d013d1d)

Chapter Nineteen (#u82641d3a-de0c-5716-8a9f-22982782ae80)

Chapter Twenty (#u26258295-e05e-542d-87cf-7bcca1968f7d)

Chapter Twenty-One (#ufea1b076-e703-523d-ab2d-4fe532fa437c)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#uc0006509-3010-5838-ae5e-1fbcf45c9dde)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#u79cfcfb2-ada7-5bd6-b587-f0d6c9bb5f8f)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#uaf4cd61c-c629-5e0f-bef2-32200143da36)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#uc8a324cd-ef7a-5865-9bf2-a5de89851425)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#u7542a866-fcd6-5e73-85c0-5a5a504794cc)

Chapter Twenty-Seven (#u69fd0e38-3480-533e-80e7-7fff3b6e5498)

Chapter Twenty-Eight (#u34e7e2a7-c439-5d15-8143-0467bcf96c8b)

Chapter Twenty-Nine (#u25980175-b95c-5e89-99aa-597c04581480)

Chapter Thirty (#ua7be4338-e3ed-5614-b110-bbfd43a37eb6)

Chapter Thirty-One (#ue17415ec-a942-5127-a55b-216dca52af5c)

Chapter Thirty-Two (#uf099a0b7-1c48-522e-9757-09bdb9f554c8)

Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

ONE (#ulink_609c222e-e4b0-5786-9996-bc40b6be0684)

I am standing in line for Walt Disney’s It’s a Small World ride, holding my four-year-old daughter in my arms, trying to entertain her as the serpentine line of parents and children moves slowly toward the flat-bottomed boats emerging from the grotto to the music of an endless audio loop. Suddenly Annie jerks taut in my arms and points into the crowd.

“Daddy! I saw Mama! Hurry!”

I do not look. I don’t ask where. I don’t because Annie’s mother died seven months ago. I stand motionless in the line, looking just like everyone else except for the hot tears that have begun to sting my eyes.

Annie keeps pointing into the crowd, becoming more and more agitated. Even in Disney World, where periodic meltdowns are common, her fit draws stares. Clutching her struggling body against mine, I work my way back through the line, which sends her into outright panic. The green metal chutes double back upon themselves to create the illusion of a short queue for prospective riders. I push past countless staring families, finally reaching the relative openness between the Carousel and Dumbo.

Holding Annie tighter, I rock and turn in slow circles as I did to calm her when she was an infant. A streaming mass of teenagers breaks around us like a river around a rock and pays us about as much attention. A claustrophobic sense of futility envelops me, a feeling I never experienced prior to my wife’s illness but which now dogs me like a malignant shadow. If I could summon a helicopter to whisk us back to the Polynesian Resort, I would pay ten thousand dollars to do it. But there is no helicopter. Only us. Or the less-than-us that we’ve been since Sarah died.