“He had wanted. He had needed. He had desired. And he had taken. But he had never loved.”

“He had to take Plott unaware.”

“Have you ever done any running or jogging?” Hawk asked.[...]“I walk,” she told him. “I’ve never had any desire to run or jog.”“Why not? Don’t you like to sweat?”“As a matter of fact, I don’t.” She smiled. “Besides, Southern ladies never sweat. We don’t even perspire.”“Then what the hell do you do?”“We glow.”

“Ride em, cowgirl,' he said.And she did.”

“He was going to rip Plott apart, piece by piece.”

“The man towered over her five-foot-four-inch frame by a good ten inches. He was big, dark and deadly-looking, with piercing ebony eyes and long, silky black hair secured in a ponytail. Dressed all in black—leather jacket, cotton shirt and jeans—he blended into the night like a prince of darkness. Rorie shuddered at the thought. Whoever or whatever this man was, he was danger personified.”

“It's obvious Plott doesn't have any idea where he's going.”