Etiquette? What kind of etiquette was there in someone trying to murder me?

Uh, what are you doing?” “Nothing much. Just erasing all of Calinda’s good grades and replacing them with incompletes. Eventually, the administrators will figure out what happened, but I’m making it look like a computer error. Still, I imagine she’ll get some nasty lectures from her profs and parents in the meantime.

This is really good,” Donovan Caine said, attacking his third strawberry pancake. “You sound surprised,” I said. He shrugged. “I just didn’t think an assassin would be able to cook like this.” “Well, I do get lots of practice with knives. You could say I’m multitasking.” The detective froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. “I’m kidding. I enjoy cooking. It relaxes me.

You bruised my ego, you see, and there’s just not enough money in the world to soothe my ego when it gets bruised

It'll be okay, I promise. No matter what I see or feel. You'll still be Logan and I'll still be your Gypsy girl.

Finn did what he always did when confronted by an angry woman—he checked out her boobs.

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.