He gave Marcie a spare to the Jeep—I should park this thing in the ocean, twenty feet under.

His finger flicked open a button on my cardigan-then two, three, four. It tumbled off my shoulders, leaving me in my camisole. He pushed up the hem, teasing and stroking his thumb across my stomach. My breath came in a sharp intake of air.

You're crazy. You're impossible.' 'I'm crazy?' He tipped my chin up and planted a quick, rough kiss on my mouth. 'And I must be crazy for putting up with it.

I'm not good," he said, piercing me with eyes that absorbed all light but reflected none, "but I was worse.

We don't have an address," I said, "but we do know where he works." "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Vee asked, eyes brightening briefly through the haze of chemical sedation. "Based on past experience, I hope not.

Call me Patch. I mean it. Call me.

Sure thing, Gumdrop. -Scott