These Are Desparate Times." - Stephanie Plum

Are You Telling Me Your Brain And Your Lady Parts Decided On A Love Fest Bake-off Winner?

Kiss Those Cuffs Good-bye." Lula From "hard Eight" By Janet Evonavich

When People Ask What You Do, Tell Them You're A Writer. Put Yourself On The Line. Make A Commitment.

It Was Lorraine In Her Nightie And Mo In His Cap. They'd Just Settled Their Brains For A Long Winter's Nap In Front Of The Television. When Out In The Lot There Arose Such A Clatter, They Sprang From Their Recliners To See What Was The Matter. Away To The Window They Flew Like A Flash, Tore Open The Blinds And Threw Up The Sash. And What To Their Wondering Eyes Should Appear, But Stephanie Plum And Yet Another Of Her Cars Burning Front To Rear.

That Might Work," I Said. "i'm Good At Faking It." This Led To A Couple Moments Of Uncomfortable Silence From Both Of Us. "you Didn't Mean... ?" Morelli Asked. "no. Of Course Not." "never?" "maybe Once." His Eyes Narrowed. "once?" "it's All That Comes To Mind. It Was The Time We Were Late For Your Uncle Spud's Birthday Party." "i Remember That. That Was Great. You're Telling Me You Faked It?" "we Were Late! I Couldn't Concentrate. It Seemed Like The Best Way To Go.