There’s no more beautiful place in the world than northeastern Ohio in the summertime.

One of the hardest things to accept when someone you love dies is that life goes on. It’s like a river that never stops.

But that was another quirky thing about Fate; she never bargained, and she never gave second changes.

An ordinary home about to be shattered. I’d rather cut off my hand than look into Belinda Horner’s eyes and ask her to identify a body I’m certain is her daughter. But this is my job, and I don’t have a choice.

Those memories press into me like rude, insistent fingers as I walk toward the back door.

I’ve known a lot of cops like him over the years. Veterans, usually. Older. They have experience, but they lack the humanity that would otherwise define them as good cops. The more they see, the less they feel. The less they care. They become cynical and bitter and apathetic. They give all cops a bad rap.

God knows, I’m no expert on relationships, but I do know when something’s good. And this thing we’ve created between us is precious and rare. I only hope it’s not fleeting, because for the first time in my adult life, I’ve given someone the power to hurt me.

The only time to look down on your neighbor is when you're bending over to help them.

I don't know if I love him. I'm not sure what love is, or if I'm qualified to make that proclamation.

Tonight, I need him. I need him with every cell in my body. I need him on so many levels I couldn't begin to sort through them or make sense of any of it. I need him with an urgency that scares me, because control is the one thing I will never relinquish, even to him.