“The people I've killed over the years, yeah I did most of them for the money. Because being an assassin was a job and one that I was good at. But the biggies, all the folks I've taken on in recent months......they've all practice for you bitch.”

“You do realize that the cost of that bracelet is within spitting distance of my going rate as an assassin, right?” “You mean your going rate back when you were actually killing people for money,” Finn said. “Or as I like to call them— the good ole days.”

“This is the first time I've dated an assassin. I don't want to piss her off.”

“Hope. An emotion that always kept suckering me in, time after time, despite my supposed retirement from the assassin business. Hope. The one thing that always seemed to get me into more trouble than just killing people for money ever had. Ah, hope. Sometimes, I really hated it.”

“What was wrong with giving Gin a key?" he rumbled. "It's not like I could keep her out of the house, even if I wanted to. I thought a key would make things easier, make her feel like she was really welcome here. This is the first time that I've dated an assassin. I don't want to piss her off”

“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.”

“For a moment, I almost felt sorry for her. Then the bitch blasted me with her water magic, and I got over it.”