The Killing Hour

Oh, for the love of God. There is no agent more agent than you. I swear you have pin-striped ties encrypted into your DNA. When you die, the coffin is going to read Property of the FBI.

And a man and woman should fight. Frankly, they should have a good head-to-head battle about every six months, then make love until they break the box springs.

Irresponsible is only irresponsible if you fail. Succeed, however; and irresponsible quickly becomes merely unorthodox.

Dad, I don't know why I'm still alive... Because God took pity on me, Kimberly. Because without you, I think I would've gone insane.

Then we did the best we could, all we could. He was the enemy, Kimberly. He took their lives. And God help both of us, but sometimes the enemy is simply that good.

My family's loud. Not big, but definitely demonstrative. My father still grabs my mother around the waist and tries to lure her into dark corners. As an adult, I appreciate their relationship. As a kid...Hell, we were scared to death not to announce ourselves before walking down a darkened hall.

according to Freud, the tie you pick, the ring you wear, the shirt you buy, all say something about you. Nothing is random, everything you do has intent.

The results are about as meaningful as a sixth toe - gives you something to look at, but doesn't do a damn thing.

No. I joined the FBI so I could be heavily armed, and also help others.

So you've studied psychobabble and you've attended half of the FBI Academy. What does that make you? Someone who also lost her sister. And her mother, too, for that matter. Trump. In the contest of who has gotten dumped on more by life, I believe I just won.

Her hand now rested on the top of her left thigh. Where she had the knife strapped, he guessed, and immediately felt his gut tighten with a shot of good, old-fashioned male lust. He did not know why an armed woman should be so arousing, but man oh man, this one was.

We're going to find this girl, we're going to save the day, and then we're going to walk out of this park so we can nail the bastard. Deal? You are a woman after my own heart.

You know what gets to me, though? You know what's truly ironic? What? She needed us. She was exactly the kind of person that my father and I have sworn our lives to protect. She wasn't tough. She made bad choices. She drank too much, she dated the wrong men, she believed anyone's pack of lies. God, she desperately needed someone to save her from herself. And we didn't do it. I spent so much of my childhood resenting her. Crying, complaining Mandy who was always upset about something. Now, I just wonder why we didn't take better care of her. She was in our own family. How could we fail her so completely?

I was always proud of him. Even when he had to leave in the middle of birthday parties or missed them altogether. His job sounded so larger-than-life to me. Like something a superhero would do. People got hurt. And my father went to save the day. I missed him, I'm sure I had tantrums, but mostly I remember feeling proud. My daddy was cool.

One sister. Younger, of course. I terrorized her for most of our childhood. On the other hand, every time I fell asleep in the family room, she put makeup on my face and took pictures. So I guess it evens itself out. Plus, I'm the only man you'll ever meet who understands just how hard it is to remove waterproof mascara. And I guess I'll never run for political office. The photos alone would ruin me.

Never. And a man and woman should fight. Frankly, they should have a good head-to-head battle about every six months, then make love until they break the box springs. At least that’s my opinion.

wounds. No petechial hemorrhages, which rules out strangulation. No bleeding in the ears, which eliminates some brain traumas. We do have a large