“
Death, investigation, the insanity of a city that ran instead of walked, the smells of a cop shop, the rush and the burden of command. Some of that had become Roarke’s norm in the last couple years, she mused. He juggled that with his own world, which was buying, selling, owning, creating pretty much every freaking thing in the known universe. His beginnings had been as dark and ugly as hers. Dublin street rat, she thought, thief, conniver, survivor of a brutal, murderous father. The mother he’d never known hadn’t been so lucky. From that, he’d built an empire—not always on the sunny side of the law. And she, cop to the bone, had fallen for him despite the shadows— or maybe because of them. But there was more to him than either of them
”
”
J.D. Robb (Indulgence in Death (In Death, #31))