Quote

Get your hand off me,” I exclaimed, voice loud with misplaced anger as I yanked away from his grip. “I’m a professional, not some distraught girlfriend.” Well, I was that too, but I knew how to act at a crime scene.

Kim Harrison

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Kim Harrison
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Midwest
Wyoming
Dawn Cook
Wells
Anger
Yanked
Well
Scene
Distraught
Crime
Exclaimed
Knew
Misplaced
Hand
Grip
Voice
Girlfriend
Away
Professional
Hands
Loud

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By Tink's diaphram...!
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It’s a cat. Boy, you couldn’t slip anything past me tonight.
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How many mistakes can one life survive?
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We could've done this anywhere, but I wanted you to see me, to see this, he said, gesturing at the room. I wanted you to know where I come from, what I am under the choices I make.
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The cookie maker needs someone to look out for him.
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Come on, Rachel! Jenks shrilled. You're a badass, not a bad witch!
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We all watched Al open the door. Turning, he waved to us, then passed the threshold. The door shut behind him. I waited for something to happen. Nothing did. “This isn’t good,” Quen said. I choked back my burst of laughter, knowing it would come out sounding hysterical.
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I didn’t know what I was going to say, a feeling that was compounded when the line clicked open and Trent’s very muzzy voice murmured, “Rachel? Mmm, hi.
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Plan B?' Ivy said. 'What is plan B?' Jenks reddened. 'Grab the fish and run like hell,' he muttered, and I almost giggled.
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Good Lord, I thought, squinting at the bright glare of a late-July morning. No wonder I slept through this. It was noisy with shrieking birds, and already hot.
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But why allow someone to make a bad choice when a little information might engender a better one? It's hard to wake up and see the sun if the blinds are pulled.
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A compassion swirled form nowhere in the high I was lost in. She needed me. She needed me to accept her for what she was. And when I realized that I had it within myself to give her at least this small part of me, the last of my fear melted away.
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If he betrays you, I will finish what I started with his fingers, he said, and I shivered. Tell him that.
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People ask me what I do in my spare time, and I look at them blankly, truly believing that I don't even have spare time, and if I did, I'd probably use it for something mundane, like chipping away at the mound of laundry rising to dangerous proportions in the back room.
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Al was standing a bare three feet away, his mood almost jovial as he took the paper and it vanished in a wash of black sparkles. “Thank you, Rachel,” he said, carefully reaching for my hand as Trent stiffened. “Welcome back, my itchy witch.
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I won’t snatch, harm, or scare to death people with you or use checking up on you as an excuse to cause trouble. You’re worse than my mother, Rachel.” “Mine, too,” Jenks muttered.
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Coffee. I could smell coffee. Coffee would make everything better.
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My office is trashed,” he grumped as he squished across his damp carpet and took the coffee that I was holding out to him. “Why are you smiling? My fish are dead.
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...It's easier to find a way to make money at something you love than to learn to love a job that you can make money at.
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Pierce made a calculating noise, accidentally brushing my knee as he shifted. As Jenks would say, you snore nice. I smiled back unconvincingly. I snore nice. Not I opine that your auditory nasal exhalations are most pleasing.
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