Twelve (The Naturals, #4.5)

by Jennifer Lynn Barnes

Lia Zhang, civilian FBI consultant, long-term thorn in my side,

The idea of my morbid, introspective, too-quiet little sister with a perky, pony-riding best friend was almost unfathomable—and such a relief that I could physically feel the muscles in my stomach relaxing when I pictured the way Laurel had almost smiled after delivering the news in an utter deadpan.

The term on-again, off-again had been invented for a reason. Michael and Lia were that reason.

“I can’t share the best part of my week or the most improbable part,” Sloane said. “Due to the fact that they are both classified.” “Classified by the Bureau, or classified by Celine?” I asked. There was a long, suspicious pause.

“Some of our classmates call him Agent Man-Purse now.” “You’re the only one who calls me Agent Man-Purse.” “So far.”

“I don’t moisturize,” Lia told one of them as we passed. “I made a deal with the devil to maintain my youth. You don’t want to know what the devil asked for in return.”

If you knew any two sides of the triangle, you could predict the third.

I’d both been there and done that. Stop projecting.

Celine smiles sweetly. “Why would I be interested in boys,” she asks the table innocently, “when there are girls?”

“Sloane.” I kept my interruption gentle. Obligingly, my favorite human calculator cut to the chase.

suicide contagion.

“Agent Delacroix will flash her badge around and put the fear of God and the FBI in this whole town,” Lia promised. “It will be a sight to behold.”

You won’t ever be normal, but you’ll be okay.

Your body. Your life. Your choice.

Lia replied, “but—and I say this as someone who has deeply embraced the title of lovable bitch—

He’s a monster. So am I.

“I give that a nine out of ten for delivery,” Lia told Laurel. “But a ten for creepy content.” Laurel shrugged, her expression unchanging. “I try.”