That boy needs a hobby." "Stalking is a hobby." "So is serial killing.

Cookie had taken her daughter amber to school then walked the thirty-something feet to work earlier. Our business was on the second floor of Calamity's, my dad's bar, which sat right in front of our apartment building. The short commute was nice and rarely invloved rabid raccoons.

Least he's committed," I offered. "Or needs to be.

Whatever makes your balloon red, Swopes.

What did one say to a stalker? Um, pardon me, Mr.Stalker, but could you, like, not?

I had a horrible feeling my leg was broken. If it wasn’t, it had a lot of explaining to do.

Oh, my god!" I said, throwing my hands over my eyes and hurtling my body against the counter. "What?" "You're naked." "I'm not naked." "I'm blind." "You're not blind. I'm wearing pants." "Oh." That was embarrassing.