Quotes from Cheryl Sterling

Vivi stood and crumpled the report. "Who's the CEO at Slakerian?" "Jakes Echabarne," her assistant said, not glancing at any notes. "Arrange a meeting." No one messed around with Hunting4TrueLove, whether she held the reins or not.

If a relationship crumbles in the universe, does anyone hear it fail?

Jakes nodded his dismissal. "Workable. Set up a meeting." Mitchel stood. "Who would you like to send, sir?" He smiled. "Ivy, I've neglected my duties as commander of The Baldain. I'll transport down to Earth and handle this matter myself.

Kidnapping is a harsh word." "But accurate. I assume you're not going to hang around Mars until I fix the software bug, if a problem ever existed. I'm on a one-way voyage to Slakeria, right?

The door to Jakes' office slammed against the wall, and Vivi barreled through the opening. "Turn this ship around right now.

Gabe ran his hand through his hair and suppressed sending an entreaty to God. It wouldn't do any good. The motley crew before him could only have been sent by the devil himself. His long lost sister, a hippie vampire, an angry Italian cop, and a tattooed man with no last name. It was as if Central Casting had thrown up its hands and sent over whomever had walked in the door.

Charlie tipped her head up. "Are you sure? We're a simple people. No automobiles or fancy gadgets." "Simple?" She chuckled. "Ha! Worlds that think and kings that plot? Sandobbles and goblins, portals and two moons? You are sadly mistaken. Besides," she said, tracing the edge of his forewing with the tip of her finger. He shuddered against her. "There's magic here.

How, exactly, did I kill him? He died on the golf course." One minute he'd been practicing his swing, and in the next—phzzt—a freak lightning bolt had hit him right in the nine iron. His shoes were still smoking when she reached him.

Dave had been fun when they'd first dated. Then impending fatherhood had sobered him at the same time Mickle and Company had crooked its finger, turning him from Mr. Right to Mr. Wrong.

It's you," she murmured, staring at his eyes, a fine, dove gray. He smiled. "Of course, it's me. Let's get you back to your boat.

I didn't argue. Anybody who that drove a Hummer and carried a Glock, let alone had the audacity to wear white after Labor Day, wasn't to be trifled with.

A woman with long, blonde hair stood for a moment on the other side of the door. She looked similar to his date. Was she entering or leaving the coffee house? Before Paul could confirm her identity or stand and run after her, she strode away and disappeared in the crowd.

A woman stood on the sidewalk, her arms outstretched and her face turned to the sky. Sheer enjoyment splashed across her features, its intensity tugging at his heart. It was a raw emotion he rarely witnessed.

What mental hospital have you escaped from?" She wanted to laugh, but he looked so serious. "Prove you're an alien. Rip off your disguise. Show me your antennae. Where's your union card?