The Girl in Question

What I'm working with: absolutely nothing.

No more time for tears. I've got a man to kill.

You can be more prepared. You can be better overall. But sometimes fate just fucks you.

To know Nora O’Malley is to love her. To love Nora O’Malley is to fight to keep her. I’ve known her. I’ve loved her. I’ve fought for her. And now? I will never lose her.

Life's all about risk. And I don't like to gamble, but I have to. This time, I win.

There's some kind of universal 'how to deal with a kidnapper as a girl' lecture?" "It goes along with telling us how to hold our keys between our fingers so we can stab people's eyes out with them if they attack us in parking lots," Iris says. "And checking the back seat of the car before we get into it in case there's someone hiding there," I add. "And how you should kick the brake light out of the back of a car if someone throws you in a trunk–" "That way you can wave your hand out, and the cars driving behind can see you and call 911." Wes stares at us. "That's really fucked up.

I start laughing. An unhinged cackle that's gotta grate. I'm going to die, but I'm gonna win. "Stop it," he says, because that's the thing about terrible men. They can't stand a woman's well-earned joy.

I can bear a lot of things”, I tell her. “You know why?” “Why?” “Because in the end, the marks… the girls… Abby… Raymond… none of them were the marking of me. You were.

It’s the first rule she teaches her daughters. All men are marks. And we don’t give our real names to the marks.

To know Nora O'Malley is to love her. To love Nora O'Malley is to fight to keep her. I've known her. I've loved her. I've fought for her. And now? I will never lose her.

What I'm working with: 1 traumatized frenemy

I've got to go get my girl.

What I'm working with: Jill the machete

It's time to stop reacting. It's time to start attacking.

Sorry you got fired. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

Sometimes lying is the only way through to survival.

You took Jill," I tell him, as he reaches up to hack free another branch. "You didn't even ask." That gets me a look. His pale eyebrows knit together. "Jill?" "The machete." You named the machete Jill?" "I can do whatever I want with my machete.

It's fucking with fate.

And then she says the four best words I’ve ever heard: “I’m on my way.

I am a masterpiece. I am the fucking Mona Lisa.

Even if you’re known, you will be underestimated.

The fear. The worry. The terrible thought: What if i have to miss you for the rest of my life?

It's Son of Sam getting a parking ticket that leads to arrest kind of ironic." Iris stomps her foot. "Do not compare yourself to Son of Sam!

Sometimes when I sleep the girls play like old seventies home movies in my head, flickering and jerky, saturated with color that always look slightly artificial – –twirling through that insurance office, taking candy off the old ladies' desks as they titter and pretend not to notice. Rebecca is such a scamp. –double-bouncing on the trampoline. A girl's laughter. Not mine. Do it again! Do it again, I beg. Sure thing, Sammy! –the unforgiving press of the pew against my back, my head bent in prayer. Pastor Elijah tugs the sleeve of my sweater down to cover the bruises. Keep sweet, Haley. –the stifling air in Joseph's house. How my skin prickles when I step inside the first time. Don't you want to be a good girl, Katie? –the sand under my bare feet. The knife in my hand. Raymond's body feet away. The plan to get me out depends on it. What are you capable of, Ashley?

THE AMANDA EDICTS (Written by Nora & Iris, on the occasion of Wes & Amanda starting to date) 1: Don't interfere in Wes and Amanda's relationship (No snooping, Nora!) 2: Make sure to ask Amanda to do things with us (So she feels welcome) 3: Don't make Amanda feel excluded (No inside jokes, no focusing on old times, no being weird) 4: Don't do anything to make Amanda suspicious Becuase: 5: Amanda can never know the truth.

It starts with that damn bird in the backyard. Actually, no. I guess it starts with the dog, right? Turbo's barking from the living room is what makes me look outside at the bird. I mean, if you want to get particular, it starts last year, during the bank robbery/hostage situation that added a special layer to the bedrock of PTSD all three of us already had. You could get really particular and say it starts in Florida on a tennis court that day Raymond Keane approached me and my mom; or that night, a few years later, when I chopped dear old stepdad's fingers off to break into his safe and guarantee my FBI-bartered freedom. Or, more particular: it really starts the day I was born to a con-artist mom who taught me everything she knew, made me a partner in her schemes as I grew up, only to dump it all to marry a criminal much worse than her and force me to turn snitch to escape before I hit my teens.

I am a federal agent. This is kidnapping." "There's been a lot of that lately,

It was always him or me. Him or my life, my loves, my family. Him or the innocents trapped on the tiled ground with me. I might have nightmares about him forever, but I’ll have no regrets.