The 'Barnaby' books were always intended to be graphic novels.

Ranger cradled my face in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from my eyes. "The ceremony is over. Can you make it back to the car?" I nodded. "I'm okay now. Am I red and blotchy from crying?" "Yes," Ranger said, brushing a kiss across my forehead. "I love you anyway." "There's all kinds of love," I said. Ranger took me by the hand and led me back to the SUV. "This is the kind that doesn't call for a ring. But a condom might come in handy." "That's not love," I told him. "That's lust.

I don't need handcuffs to enslave a woman.

And the closest I've come to an out-of-body experience was when Joe Morelli took his mouth to me fourteen years ago, behind the eclair case.

My mother had been slicing up the chicken. She took a drumstick and dropped it on the floor. She kicked it around a little, picked it up and put it on the edge of the plate. "There," she said, "we'll give him this drumstick." "Deal.

Your life isn't out of control. It's expanded.

Lots of times I'm not crazy about the writing, but I keep moving ahead and somehow it gets better. The important thing is to move forward.