“You're excuses are so lame they're limping...”

“Her hand shot out, gripped his arm. "M.J. and Bailey?""Your friends are fine." He felt her grip go limp. "They've had an eventful holiday weekend, all of which could have been avoided if they'd contacted and cooperated with the police. And it's cooperation I'll have from you now, one way or the other."She tossed her hair back. "Where are they? What did you do,toss them in a cell? My lawyer will have them out and your butt in a sling before you can finish reciting the Miranda." She started toward the phone, saw it wasn't on the Queen Anne table."No,they're not in a cell." It goaded him, the way she snapped into gear, ready to buck the rules. "I imagine they're planning your funeral right about now.”

“Oh, God. God, isn't that perfect? He's Dad. He's Dad with a layer of nerd. Solid, steady, chipping away so patiently, you don't even know you've had your shields hacked down until you're defenseless. It's the type." "You're not in love with a type, you're in love with a man," Penny corrected. "Or you're not.”

“So does that mean you're going to fall in love with me again?What makes you think i ever stopped?”

“Excuse me, but I'm very tired of being interrupted and ordered around and spoken to like a recalicitrant eight-year-old.""Then don't behave like one," Brian suggested.”

“They never see what you are." Shocked, Jude glanced around to see who'd spoken, then realized she had."Don't they?" Brenna wanted to know, lifting her brow as she topped off Jude's glass yet again."They see a reflection of their own perception. Whore or angel, mother or child. Depending on their view, they're compelled to protect or conquer or exploit. Or you're a convenience," she murmured."Easily discarded.”

“People who say not to speak ill of the dead are hypocrites, because you can take it ot the bank they're thinking ill.”