Second Grave on the Left

I stop fighting my inner demons. We're on the same side now. T-shirt

IF IT HAS TIRES OR TESTICLES, IT’S GONNA GIVE YOU TROUBLE. —BUMPER STICKER

DON’T GO BUYING TROUBLE. IT’S FREE AND IT KNOWS WHERE YOU LIVE. —T-SHIRT

Make it quick," I said when I picked up. "Okay. Two men from the FBI are here." Cookie said. Quickly. Crap. "Men in black are at the office?" "Well, yes, but they're actually in more of a navy." Crapola. I so don't have time for men. In any color. "Okay, two questions. Do they look mad, and are they hot?" After a long, long, pause, Cookie said, "One, not really. Two, no comment at this time. And three, you're on speakerphone." After another long, long pause, I said, "Okie dokie then. Be there in a jiff.

NEVER BE AFRAID TO DART AROUND IN PUBLIC, HUMMING THE MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE THEME SONG. —T-SHIRT

I WAS AN ATHEIST UNTIL I REALIZED I WAS GOD. —BUMPER STICKER

SOME GIRLS WEAR PRADA. SOME GIRLS WEAR GLOCK 17 SHORT RECOIL SPRING-LOADED SEMIAUTOMATIC PISTOLS WITH A LOADED CHAMBER INDICATOR AND A NONSLIP GRIP. - T-SHIRT

She shook her head then took off again, and I found myself struggling to keep up with her in my bunny slippers. With a sigh, I realized I was getting way too much exercise. I'd just have to counteract it later with cake.

Chocolate and coffee ? Together ? Whoever came up with that combination should have won a Nobel Peace Prize. Or at least a subscription to Reader's Digest.

You hit me again," I said, growing oddly annoyed. "Ya think?" Evil Riggs said. Smart-ass. "Part of my brain hurts. I demand to know what that part of my brain is called and what its job is.

There is nothing to fear but fear itself. And spiders. ~Bumper sticker~

He was like chocolate-covered heroin, and I was an addict through and through.

I sort of got off on making bad guys sweat. Which was not unlike my love of making good guys sweat, just by very different means.

For the first time in my life, I was in a shoot-out. A real, honest-to-goodness shoot-out with a bad guy. And, apparently, we both sucked.

...and then she glared at me, the same glare my stepmother used to give me when I gave her the Nazi salute. That woman was so touchy about her resemblance to Hitler.

Yeah, but what happens if life hands me pickles? - Bumper sticker

I do not," I felt oddly appalled by her statement. "I'm an excellent liar. Ask my dentist. He swears I floss regularly.

His gaze slid over me like a veil of fire. He could ignite my deepest desires with a single glance. I decided right then and there no more reading romance novels by candelight.

Sorry. i just can't seem to help myself. My brain is freaking out. Two predawn mornings in a row. It doesn't know what to think, how to act. I'll have a talk with it later. Perhaps get it some counseling.

Cookie dropped her purse and tried to catch it midair. In the process, she knocked over a vase. When she lunged for the vase, she slipped on the tile and overturned an entire table. A lovely handblown piece of glass flew in my direction, and all I could think as I caught it was, Really? Again? We were going to have to practice muscle control.

I’m Charlotte Davidson: private investigator, police consultant, all -around badass. Or I could’ve been a badass, had I stuck with those lessons in mixed martial arts. I was only in that class to learn how to kill people with paper.

This is one Fruit Loop beyond certifiable.

He took a long draw then asked, “What’d I do?” “You knew about the guy threatening my dad?” He paused, shifted in his chair, so freaking busted, it wasn’t funny. “They told you?” “Why, no, Swopes, they didn’t. Instead, they waited until the guy knocked the fuck out of my dad and readied him for spaceflight with duct tape then tried to kill me with a butcher’s knife.

Where am I going and why am I in this handbasket? ~Bumper sticker~

That you honestly believe I am capable of hurting innocent people for no reason.” “You’re not?” I asked, hope softening my voice. “Oh, no, I’m more than capable. I just didn’t realize you knew that.

He'd been in surgery for-like-ever, then in recovery, but they put him in a room because, despite the amount of blood loss, his wounds were no longer life threatening. "You here to get in my pants?" he asked. "You're not wearing any pants," I reminded him. "You're wearing a girly gown with a built-in ass ventilator.

Where the hell did my bones go?" I asked. This whole upright thing had me stumped.

That’s the thing about things. They tend to happen.

I suck at all this supernatural stuff. But I fry a mean chicken. Oh, good. I hate it when the nice ones get fried.