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Sloane Tavish Quotes

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Sloane Tavish Quotes

“Sloane?” Lia turned to her next. Sloane stared at Lia, a blush spreading over her cheeks. “I’m not undressing until we establish a conversion rate,” she informed us tartly, gesturing toward her mountain of chips. “Sloane,” Michael said. “Yes?” “How would you feel about a second cup of coffee?” Forty-five seconds later, Sloane was in the kitchen, and neither of the boys was wearing a shirt.”

SloaneSloane Tavish
Book:Killer Instinct
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“Cassie. A word.” I glanced at Michael, wondering what—if anything—Briggs knew about what Michael, Sloane, and I had been up to. “Ambidextrous,” Sloane said suddenly. “This should be good,” Lia murmured. Sloane cleared her throat. “Agent Briggs asked for a word. Ambidextrous is a good one. Less than point-five percent of the words in the English language contain all five vowels.” I was grateful for the distraction, but unfortunately, Briggs didn’t bite. “Cassie?”

SloaneSloane Tavish
Book:The Naturals
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“Did you know that the average life span of the hairy-nosed wombat is ten to twelve years?” Apparently, Sloane had decided that when I said I was fine, I was lying. The more coffee my roommate ingested, the lower her threshold for keeping random statistics to herself—especially if she thought someone needed a distraction. “The longest-living wombat in captivity lived thirty-four years,” Sloane continued, propping herself up on her elbows to look at me. Given that we shared a bedroom, I probably should have objected more strenuously to cup of coffee number two. Tonight, though, I found Sloane’s high-speed statistical babbling to be strangely soothing. Profiling Sterling hadn’t kept me from thinking about Locke. Maybe this would. “Tell me more about wombats,” I said. With the look of a small child awaking to a miracle on Christmas morning, Sloane beamed at me and complied.”

SloaneSloane TavishCassie Hobbes
Book:Killer Instinct
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“This encryption is pathetic,” Sloane said. “It’s like they want me to hack their files.” She was sitting cross-legged on the end of her bed, her laptop balanced on her knees. Her fingers flew across the keys as she worked on breaking through the protection on the pilfered USB drive. A stray piece of blond hair drifted into her face, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Done!” Sloane turned the laptop around so the two of us could see it. “Seven files,” she said.”

SloaneSloane Tavish
Book:The Naturals
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“Sloane looked on from behind a veritable mountain of Oreos. “I’ll sit this one out,” she said. “Also, I’m entertaining the idea of eating some of my poker chips. Can we agree that an Oreo missing its frosting is worth two-thirds of its normal amount?” “Just eat the cookies,” I told her, eyeing her pile mournfully—and only partially joking. “You have plenty to spare.” Before joining the Naturals program, Sloane had been Las Vegas born and raised. She’d been counting cards since she’d learned to count. She sat out about a third of the hands, but won every single hand she played.”

SloaneSloane Tavish
Book:Killer Instinct
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