You were the one who hit me on the roof? I hit you on the jaw. We just happened to be on a roof at the time.

I lowered the gun but didn’t holster it. Not just yet. She could turn out to be psychotic. Or a door-to-door salesperson.

A split second later, my life flashed before my eyes, and I came to one important conclusion about it. It was fun while it lasted.

What do you want?" "You," he said, his voice lowering an octave. "I want you, Dutch, body and soul. I want you in my bed every night. I want you there when I wake up in the morning. I want your clothes strung across my apartment and your scent on my skin.

Can you find out how owns C and R industries? They bought the old abandoned mental asylum downtown." "That old thing? What are they going to do with it?" "I don't know. I was hoping their overcompensating sign would say, but it just says 'private property' and shouts lots of threats in capital letters, all of which I plan to completely ignore later.

Chocolate and coffee ? Together ? Whoever came up with that combination should have won a Nobel Peace Prize. Or at least a subscription to Reader's Digest.

I’m Charlotte Davidson: private investigator, police consultant, all -around badass. Or I could’ve been a badass, had I stuck with those lessons in mixed martial arts. I was only in that class to learn how to kill people with paper.