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“I wish I didn’t know, absolutely, you sign papers of ours without the reading of them.” “I give them a scan.” Sometimes. “If you fucked me over, I’m a cop. I know how to make you pay without letting it show. Like, the one where I tranq your wine, dress you in a diaper and pasties, get you in your office and transmit the image globally.” “You’ve given this some thought.” “Just in my free time.” She gave his hands a squeeze before drawing hers away and laying them on his cheeks. “Bottom line? She wasn’t wrong to trust a man she loves—because it had to be love. He’s not rich or good-looking or powerful. She just loves the wrong man. I don’t.” “Well now,” he murmured, then leaned in to take her mouth in a soft, slow, sweet kiss. “There’s the one where I coat the inside of all your boxers with a biological that causes your works to develop festering boils.” It made him wince. “Christ Jesus, you obviously have far too much free time.” “I’ve got a whole list,” she said as he opened the front door. “For him, too,” she added, shooting a finger at Summerset. Summerset merely cocked his eyebrows. “No visible injuries once again. We appear to be on a streak.” “For him I have the stick up his ass surgically removed, and without it, his whole body collapses into a puddle of ghoul.” She tossed her coat over the newel post. “You’ll be too busy with festering boils to have him reanimated.”

“He’d look at her the way he looked at her that always, still, probably forever, brought a skip to her heartbeat. He’d make her eat something, even if she didn’t want to, which was both annoying and precious. And he’d listen. No bitching about her being late, no guilt trips. He’d listen, offer to help and, with all of that, with all of him, bring her a peace of mind she’d never expected to have in her life. So when she drove, at last, through the gates, she felt that quiet click. Coming home. Under the night sky, the house Roarke built stood and spread and towered with its fanciful turrets, its grand design. Dozens of windows, so much light to welcome her, glowed out against the dark. When she pulled up, got out of the car, some of the weight shifted. Work to do, yes, but home.”

“Well, stop it or . . . Crap, is that Drunk Santa currently mooning passing traffic?” “Wow, that’s some ugly ass he’s got there. It is Drunk Santa. Oh, please, do we have to stop? Think of the smell. Fear it.” “We can’t leave that ugly ass hanging out on Ninth Avenue.” Resigned, Eve started to pull over, then spotted two hustling beat cops. Pitying them, she kept going. “It’s a Christmas miracle,” Peabody said, reverently.”

“Peabody, are you wearing a cross?" "What? Me?" Her cheeks went pink as she clear her throat. "It just happened that I know Mariella in Records, who just happened to have one, and I happened to borrow it. Just for backup." "I see. And would you also be carrying a pointy stick?" "Not unless you mean McNab." Eve stopped at a light and turned around in her seat. "Repeat after me: Vampires do not exist." "Vampires do not exist," Peabody recited.”

“It's a fucking pharmaceutical conspiracy, Eve. We've wiped out just about every known plague, disease, and infection. Oh, we come up with a new one every now and again, to give the researchers something to do. But none of these bright-eyed medical types, none of the medi-computers can figure out how to cure the common fucking cold. You know why?" Even couldn't stop the smile. She waited patiently until Mavis finished another bout of explosive sneezing. "Why?" "Because the pharmaceutical companies need to sell drugs. You know what a damn sinus tab costs? You can get anticancer injections cheaper. I swear it.”