You've got a thing for Donovan Caine. You have ever since you killed Ingles, his partner, and he went all dogged and determined on you.

The two men eyed each other. Assessing strengths. Looking for weaknesses. Measuring dicks once again

I didn't know if he really meant talk, make out, or something else completely, but I'd be happy with any of them.

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.

All I'm saying is that I understand if the novelty's worn off and you want to get off the carousel ride now before it kills you.

Instead, I cut him. Not deep, but there was enough of a sting in the wound to remind him of what I'd done to the dwarven mobsters in the parking lot - and that I wasn't just some chick with a knife who looked good in black.

Have I ever told you how scary it is that you think of heels in terms of their possible shiv potential?