Lauri Lundquist

“Eve: “If you ended up naked and dead with another woman, I'd do the Rumba on your corpse.”
Roarke: “You can't do the Rumba.”
Eve: “I'd take lessons first.”

Roarke: “You might very well. Not that you'll ever get the chance, but you'd also grieve.”
Eve: “Wouldn't give you the satisfaction. You cheating f-wit putz. "

Roarke: “You'd weep in the dark and call my name.”
Eve: “Call your name alright. How are things in hell? You dickless bastard. And I'd laugh and laugh, that's how I''d call your name.”
Roarke: “Christ Jesus Eve, I love you.”

--Eve, Roarke”
― J.D. Robb, Divided in Death

“Today," she told it, "death comes to all your circuits. Will it be slow and systematic or fast and brutal?" Considering, she circled it, "Tough decision. I've waited so long for this moment. Dreamed of it."

Showing her teeth, she began to roll up her sleeves.

"What," Roarke asked from the doorway that connected their work areas, "is that?"

"The former bane of my existence. The Antichrist of technology. Do we have a hammer?"

Studying the pile on the floor, he walked in. "Several, I imagine, of various types."

"I want all of them. Tiny little hammers, big, wallbangers, and everything in between."

"Might one ask why?"

"I'm going to beat this thing apart, byte by byte, until there's nothing left but dust from the last trembling chip."

"Hmmm." Roarke crouched down, examined the pitifully out-of-date system. "When did you haul this mess in here?"

"Just now. I had it in the car. Maybe I should use acid, just stand here and watch it hiss and dissolve. That could be good."

Saying nothing, Roarke took a small case out of his pocket, opened it, and chose a slim tool. With a few deft moves, he had the housing open.

"Hey! Hey! What're you doing?"

"I haven't seen anything like this in a decade. Fascinating. Look at this corrosion. Christ, this is a SOC chip system. And it's cross-wired."

When he began to fiddle, she rushed over and slapped at his hands. "Mine. I get to kill it."

"Get a grip on yourself," he said absently and delved deeper into the guts. "I'll take this into research."

"No. Uh-uh. I have to bust it apart. What if it breeds?”
― J.D. Robb, Witness in Death

“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.”
― J.D. Robb, Treachery in Death

“She would be a sparkling accent on his arm. She speaks flawless French and Italian, and has a limitless supply of charm when she wishes to dispense it. And'd she'll use him. She'll take, take more. If it was necessary, or if she simply had the whim, she'd toss him to the wolves to see who'd win."

He finished the whiskey. "You, Lieutenant, are often crude, you are certainly rude, and have very little sense of how to be the wife--in public--of a man in Roarke's position. And you would do anything, no matter what the personal risk, to keep him from harm. She will never love him. You will never do anything but.”
― J.D. Robb, Innocent in Death