Ranger clicked his penlight on. "Hang onto me if you can't see." I curled my hand into the back of his cargo pants just above his gun belt. "I'm good to go." He was still for a beat. "You could have held on to my jacket," he said. "Would you rather I do that?" "No. Not even a little.

Lula's borderline too much of a good thing in lots of ways. It isn't exactly that Lula is fat; it's more that she's too short for her weight and her clothes are too small for the volume of flesh she carries.

I don't have a lot of domestic instincts," Ranger said to me, his attention fixing on the unidentifiable glob in my hair, "but I have a real strong urge to take you home and hose you down." I went dry mouth. Connie bit into her lower lip, and Lula fanned herself with a file.

I ran three miles, staggered into the lobby, and took the elevator back to my apartment. No point to overdoing this exercise junk. --Stephanie Plum

Are we fighting?" I asked Morelli. "No. Were discussing." "Are you sure?" "Am I yelling?" Morelli asked. "Is my face purple? Are the cords on my neck standing out? Am I waving my arms around?" "No." "The were not fighting.

THE NOTE said the first clue was "in the big one." I looked at the jumble of letters that followed, and I saw no pattern. Not such a surprise, since I was missing the puzzle chromosome and couldn't do puzzles designed for nine-year-olds.

You're probably gonna find this hard to believe, but I was sort of weird when I was a kid." Salvatore "Sally" Sweet