Triptych (Will Trent, #1)

by Karin Slaughter

it wasn’t like you could just trip and the next thing you know, you’re in somebody’s vagina,

Will had found out the hard way that it’s nearly impossible to go to sleep with a flatulent Chihuahua sharing your pillow.

young agents who had been on the job awhile and proven that they didn’t exactly get along with others. Their superiors had rated them as difficult, but there was never anything they did that merited a formal warning, let alone firing. They were good cops, though, the kinds of men who as adults tried to correct the wrongs they could not control as children. Amanda had an uncanny eye for broken people, the ones who had something in their past that made them fall easy prey to her pseudo-mothering. Will could imagine Amanda presenting her carefully culled list of potential recruits to Susan Richardson, her chief at headquarters. Susan must have looked at the list the way you look at a cat when it brings you a dead bird. “Yes, thank you, please excuse my dry heaves.”

If she had any self-respect, she was working on her résumé.

Will imagined Amanda getting ready for work in the mornings; shaving her chest, tucking her tail, slipping her cloven hooves into her dainty size-six pumps.

by friend she meant someone she gripped by the short hairs.

“Total pud puller,”

“I’m sorry to let you down like this. I sound like a freaking woman. Hell, I’m acting like one, too. All this crazy talk; you must think I’m some kind of psycho or something.”

Like an old boss at Eglin. Anything he didn’t learn from the good old boys was Crae Crae, anything from a female was Crae Crae. Even if they taught it at Auburn, his alma mater (how?), if it didn’t stick in his reptilian forebrain and he did not remember it, it was superfluous and not to be trusted. He needed a whoop a** or at least a grievance with the professional union.

A man who has grown up in an orphanage cannot take a dog to the pound.