“She could not leave him hanging like this. “If you were hurt, I need to know.” It was a rule somewhere, in the good-guy handbook.”

“No. Thank you she said in a voice that said he could go to hell and take his jacket with him.”

“This isn't about you, Skeeter. It's about me, and I need you here. If we lose Crutchfield, we'll get him another day. If I lose you...”

“It worried him. Like him, she had to be exhausted. She smelled like gasoline; her clothes were torn. She had a small white bandage on her forehead where the EMT had cleaned her cut. Dirt smudged her face, her arms, her legs. He knew she still didn't have any underwear, and for the first time, he felt bad about it. Real bad. He wanted to protect her, make her feel secure, keep her from harm—and all he'd done was lose her underwear and practically get her blown up.”

“Don't you want to be neighbors?""No." he said. "I want to be lovers. Sleep-together lovers. Wake-up together lovers. One bed."Oh, God, she was going to fall in love. She could feel it happening.”

“It was better to talk, which would be a helluva lot easier if he would just talk back a little. Damn it, it was like pulling a teeth to get him to say anything.Like right now. He'd gone completely silent on her again, leaving the ball in her court, where the ball had been for the last half an hour.”

“But here they were, despite death and everything, sitting in a car.If this was fate, she was buying.”