“Honey, a man can't keep his gun in a cookie jar. It just isn't done.”

“He reached out, opened the glove compartment, and took out a gun. It was a Smith & Wesson .38 five-shot special. It looked a lot like my gun."I stopped by your apartment this morning and picked this up for you," Ranger said. "I found it in the cookie jar.""Tough guys always keep their gun in the cookie jar.""Name one.""Rockford."Ranger grinned. "I stand corrected.”

“I finished my soup and bread and helped myself to a handful of cookies from the cookie jar, glancing at Morelli, wondering at his lean body. He’d eaten two bowls of soup, half a loaf of bread slathered in butter, and seven cookies. I’d counted. He saw me staring and raised his eyebrows in silent question. “I suppose you work out,” I said, mores statement than question. “I run when I can. Do some weights.” He grinned. “Morelli men have good metabolisms.” Life was a bitch.”

“Give me the gun." Ranger said.I extracted the gun from my pants and handed it over.Ranger held the gun in the pulm of his hand and smiled. "It's warm," he said. He put the gun in the glove compartment and plugged the key into the ignition.Am I fired?"No. Any women who can heat up a gun like that is worth keeping around.”

“Ranger clicked his penlight on. "Hang onto me if you can't see." I curled my hand into the back of his cargo pants just above his gun belt. "I'm good to go."He was still for a beat. "You could have held on to my jacket," he said. "Would you rather I do that?""No. Not even a little.”

“I can't squeeze to keep the breezers in.”

“Hey," Lula said to Ranger's man."You want to watch it? I just had my hair done. I don't need plaster in it. Next time just shoot a hole is this punk-ass loser, will you?”