Quinn made a face. “Point taken. Just so you know, if you don’t want to talk to me, you can always talk to God.” “I bet God hates me.” “Why do you think that?” “I’ve killed people.” Her mind seared with images of Sutter sinking to his knees, blood gushing from his thigh. Of Rosamond clutching at her blood-soaked throat. “And I’m not sorry.”
