I hated myself for needing him at such times, for craving his strength whenever I felt upset.

Fine. Everybody wears seatbelts. No radio. No distractions.” Ben shot Hi a stern look. “No running commentary.” “Your loss,” Hi said. “To the pimp ride!

One of the surprising things I hadn't expected when I decided to write crime fiction is how much you are expected to be out in front of the public. Some writers aren't comfortable with that. I don't have a problem with that.

I'm not writing great literature. I'm writing commercial fiction for people to enjoy the stories and to like the characters.

Chance wore a white tuxedo with tails. On anyone else? Doopy. On him? Yes, please.

Ben yanked Hi sideways as spikes snapped from the wall…Once again, only Ben’s reflexes had saved him. “Please stop doing that!” Ben barked. “Please keep doing that!” Hi warbled.

People love to hate the gravedigger.