Ranger is Cuban-American with skin the color of a mocha latte, heavy on the mocha, and a body that can best be described as yum.
You’re afraid if you catch this guy, you’ll lose the excitement in your life and the goal-oriented sense of purpose that drives you.
But in my experience, the virtuous are usually the first to die.
A man who does not know fear cannot die, because death has no place to enter.” Vernon.
This here’s the twenty-first century. Just ’cause we’re women don’t mean we can’t be sick as men.
Ranger is a bounty hunter, like me. Only Ranger is good. He’s close to my age, give or take a few years; he’s Cuban-American; and I’m pretty sure he only kills bad guys.
I could use some lunch.” “Do you have any money?” “No,” Lula said. “Do you?” “No.” “There’s only one thing to do then. Senior buffet.” Ten minutes later, I pulled into the Costco parking lot.
A hollowed-out volcano is every super-villain’s dream lair. It’s all about location, location, location.” Riley.
About this psychopath,” Morelli said. “I went to New York with Ranger following a lead on the polonium thing. I had a run-in with this crazy guy named Vlatko who planned the poisoning, and he sort of slashed me.” “Where was Ranger when all this was happening?” “He was snooping around in the Russian consulate.
You’re like the sky at midnight, when the moon is shining, and the wind is blowing.
Ranger isn’t my boyfriend. Ranger and I have a professional relationship.” “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t play hide the salami once in a while.
Here’s the thing,” Riley said. “I’m not really into diabolical possibilities. I’m more into logical explanations.
The downside is my picture’s been all over the media and now my movement is limited. So I could use some help.” “Why don’t you just go blond?” “I’ve been blond. When I go blond I look like I should be singing with the Village People.
Oscar Wilde said it’s never the question that’s indiscreet, only the answers.
This was the second time in less than forty-eight hours that a man stopped fondling me because his phone rang. And both times it was because someone had been killed. If I wasn’t a well-adjusted, emotionally healthy person I might be bothered by this.
Zook peeked into the living room. “This house has high speed Internet, right?” “Sure, we got cable,” Grandma said. “We’re not in the Stone Age here. I blog and everything.
I am just a simple monk. The sun shines on the just and unjust alike. If the sun does not judge, then who am I to do so?
How’s it going?” Morelli wanted to know. “It’s average. Stole a truck. Blew up a house. Brought seven monkeys home with me. And now I have a naked man in my shower.” “Yeah, same ol’, same ol’,” Morelli said.
The doorbell rang and Grandma ran to get it. “It’s him,” she said to me. “It’s my honey.” My father got out of his chair in the living room and took his seat at the table. “I don’t care if he craps in a bag,” he said to Ranger. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you can scare him into marrying her and moving her into his room at the old people’s home.
I’d find you,” Ranger said. He took my hand, kissed the palm, and got out of the car.
I spent as much time on the rifle range as I spend with my knife in the peanut butter jar, I’d be a crack shot.