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375 pages, Hardcover
First published February 1, 2011


As they filed out, Feeney walked to her.
He laid a hand on her shoulder.
"Not bad." he said. "Not bad at all."


"Darling Eve." He laid his lips on her cheek. "My cop."

"And he called me a whore," she murmured.
Roarke eased onto her desk. "I’d be very sorry if that hurt you."
"It doesn’t hurt me. It’s a pisser of biblical proportions to be called a whore by that motherfucker."
"All right then."
"A grha." His lips roamed her face while the words he murmured came through his own heart, through his blood, in Irish. Foolish words, tender words she wouldn’t understand, but would only feel.
"Yes," she said, when their lips met again. "Yes. And you’re mine."




”Peabody may find more, something specific, the hair on the camel’s back----“ (Eve)
“Straw.” Wwbster smiled a little. “It’s the straw that broke the camel’s back.”
“What would a camel do with a straw?” (Eve)

”Drop the fucking weapon, you fucking motherfucker or I'll fucking scramble your fucking brains. Hands up! Hands where I can fucking see them, you fucking cocksucker. You fucking breathe wrong, you fucking blink wrong, and I will fuck you up. Fucker." Jacobsen snarled it as he shoved Marcell to the ground. "On your fucking face, you fucking shit coward. Stream my lieutenant in the fucking back? Fuck you.”


What can I say that I haven't said before? Not much except this is still, after 50+ books, a favorite, even though it's hard to read. It gives me all the feels. ALL. The. Feels!