You're just jealous." "Hardly. Been there, done you. Adequate, but unremarkable.

You picked that out?” Caine asked. “That pink, plastic toy?” I turned to look at him. “I happen to have been a little girl, once upon a time, detective. I know what they like. Every little girl wants to be a princess.” A thoughtful frown overcame the angry tension on Caine’s rugged face. “And what happens when they grow up?” I thought of my mother and sisters and all the horrors that had happened the day they’d died. A bitter laugh escaped from my tight lips. “Then they just want to be little girls again.

They’d played “Sweet Home, Alabama” so many times I wanted to crash the party, kill the radio, and knife whoever was selecting the music.

One by one, the others all nodded their heads again, as if we were talking about having a spring picnic instead of going up against the deadliest woman in Ashland and all of her men.

Moonlight slipped in through the lace curtains, slicing everything with its sliver cracks. That's how I felt right now - cold and cracked and hollow and empty.

You do realize that the cost of that bracelet is within spitting distance of my going rate as an assassin, right?” “You mean your going rate back when you were actually killing people for money,” Finn said. “Or as I like to call them— the good ole days.

I'm crazy about you, Spartan.