Ummm…” She licked her lips. “Define fun.” “Quit doing that, jailbait. It’s distracting.

Mind the dead man, my dear.

Hannah leaned against the wall. "Mind if I call shotgun?" Since you're carrying one? Feel free.

You couldn't be romantic if your life depended on it." "You know what's lucky? Most bad guys don't ask you to be romantic on command, so that probably won't matter.

Are you armed?" Oliver asked her. She glanced down at her backpack and instantly, instinctively held back. "No." "Lie to me again and I'll put you out on the street and do this myself." Claire swallowed. "Uh, yeah." "With what?" "Silver-coated stakes, wooden stakes, a crossbow, about ten bolts . . . oh, and a squirt gun with some silver-nitrate solution." He smiled grimly at the dark windshield. "What, no grenade launchers?" "Would they work?" "I choose not to comment.

About how much sex I didn’t get? Go ahead.

I have the feeling I’ve been— unpleasant.