More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Lia eyed me. She eyed Michael. She eyed Dean. “Honestly,” she said, “I doubt that anyone is as happy as Cassie is at this exact moment.”
In a strange way, he almost reminded me of my very Italian grandmother,
NO TRESPASSING. Michael didn’t miss a beat at the sign. “Do you want to trespass first, or should I?”
“If you were like Cassie and me”—Dean stared Michael down—“you wouldn’t have to ask.”
“It was Dean’s fault,” Michael announced solemnly. “He needed to do this.” “Michael!” I said.
When I profiled an UNSUB, I used the word you. When Dean profiled killers, he said I.
“Cassie,” she said. “What are you doing here?” “I live here,” I responded automatically. “You live directly outside my door?”
Dean pulled me gently toward him. His lips brushed lightly over mine. The action was hesitant, uncertain. My hands settled on the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
