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  Readers love RHYS FORD

  Dirty Kiss

  “…a nail-biting, stay-up-late, page-turner of a book.”

  —Top2Bottom Reviews

  “This is a great romantic suspense novel with a gritty film noir atmosphere and a sexy, heartfelt romance.”

  —The Book Vixen

  “I didn’t catch who the killer (was)… kudos to the author.”

  —Elisa’s Reviews and Ramblings

  Dirty Secret

  “The obstacles and the twists and turns in this action-packed tale kept me glued until the last page.”

  —Top2Bottom Reviews

  “The exciting sequel to Dirty Kiss packs a solid, seductive, and bloody punch.”

  —Joyfully Reviewed

  Sinner’s Gin

  “It was jaw-dropping and reeled me into this equally amazing book from the get-go.”

  —Under the Covers

  By RHYS FORD

  NOVELS

  Sinner’s Gin

  COLE MCGINNIS MYSTERIES

  Dirty Kiss

  Dirty Secret

  Dirty Laundry

  Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  Copyright

  Published by

  Dreamspinner Press

  5032 Capital Circle SW

  Ste 2, PMB# 279

  Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886

  USA

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dirty Laundry

  Copyright © 2013 by Rhys Ford

  Cover Art by Reece Notley

  [email protected]

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Ste 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA.

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  ISBN: 978-1-62380-631-6

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-62380-632-3

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  April 2013

  Dirty Laundry is dedicated to Charles and Joyce Howell, a second set of parents I hold in such high esteem. May all your lychee be juicy and your fish fins crispy. And also to their daughter, Jacque, who endures my random nature and forgetfulness.

  Every bit of cat in this book goes to Denise Ruiz, my darling Star and kin. Much love and purrs.

  Acknowledgments

  TO THE FIVE, or rather the other four. Dearest Penn, Lea, Tamm, and Jenn, always here in the words, be they ink or digital. And to my darling sisters, Ren and Ree. Eat more and stay happy.

  On the business side, a hearty thanks to Elizabeth North for letting me ramble. Huge thanks to the Dreamspinner Press staff who make me look damned good: Lynn, Julianne, Ginnifer, Anne, Brian, Mara, Julili, and everyone else who varnished and polished.

  A hearty shout out to my beta readers and the Dirty Ford Guinea Pigs. They are in random order and are listed as they are to be known: Reetoditee “Didi” Mazumdar, Bianca “Bubbles” Janian, Tiffany “Coffee Bunneh” Tran, Lisa “Shoes” Horan, VJ Summers, Christy Duke, My Pants Losing Friend DarienMoya, CC Hunt, Camiele White, Crissy Morris, The Grand Princess Heather Cook, Sue N., Lea Walker, Jess B., Nikyta I Am A Rocking Princess Jenkins, Lisa “Lakerkat” L., Sadonna, Verena M., Sey, Amy Peterson, Aniko, Whitney Watkins, and Patricia Grayson.

  Glossary

  All words are Korean unless otherwise noted.

  Agi: Baby, as in infant. This word is used between Jae and Cole as a teasing affectionate term, referencing to when Cole called Jae baby in English.

  Aish: Common Asian-centric sound denoting exasperation or disbelief.

  Ajumma: Older middle-aged woman. Sometimes considered to be an insult in some circles as it denotes the woman has aged enough for it to be noticeable.

  An nyoung ha seh yo: A general greeting. Can be used at any time of the day.

  Beom joe ja: Criminal or criminal element.

  Bulgogi: Thinly sliced steak marinated in a sweet, soy sauce mixture.

  Char siu bao (Chinese): A steamed or baked bun made of bread and stuffed with a sweet, barbequed pork mixture.

  Chigae: A stew-like Korean dish, made with kimchi and other ingredients, such as scallions, onions, diced tofu, pork, and seafood,

  Dongseongaeja: Homosexual

  Enceinte (Latin/French origins): To be pregnant

  Halmeoni: Grandmother

  Hangul: Korean alphabet / lettering system

  Hanzi / kanji: Logogram characters used in Chinese (hanzi) and Japanese (kanji) writing. Sometimes used in Korea but less frequently as hangul replaced it as Korea’s formal writing system centuries past.

  Harabeoji / abeoji: Grandfather

  Hyung: Honorific used by a younger male towards an older male he’s close to.

  Ibanin / iban : A different type person, a lingual play on the Korean word ilban-in, meaning normal person.

  Jagiya: A term of endearment similar to baby or darling.

  Kalbi: A sweet, soy sauce marinated short rib dish.

  Kimchi / kim chee: A fermented Korean side dish made of vegetables with a variety of seasonings. Usually refers to the standard cabbage variation which is the most common form of kim chee. If another vegetable is used, the dish will be referred to by the vegetable used, such as cucumber kim chee.

  Kimchijeon / kimchi buchimgae: A griddle pancake made from kim chee and flour. Sometimes, other vegetables or meats are mixed in as well.

  Kretek (Indonesian): A clove and tobacco blended cigarette originating from Java. The word comes from the sound the cloves make when burning.

  Kuieo: Korean slang for queer.

  Mandu: Fried or steamed dumplings made of rice or wheat flour wrappers and stuffed with a variety of ingredients.

  Musang (Filipino): Wild cat, most commonly used to refer to a civet.

  Ne / de: Yes

  Nuna: Hyung: Honorific used by a younger male toward an older female he’s close to.

  Omo: Common Asian-centric sound denoting disbelief.

  Oniisan (Japanese): Older brother

  Oppa: Honorific used by a younger female toward an older male she’s close to.

  Panchan / banchan: Small dishes of food served along with cooked rice at Korean meals. Traditionally, the more formal the meal, the greater the amount of panchan.

  Papas (Hispanic usage): Fries. Preferably covered with carne asada, cheese and sour cream but plain is okay too.

  Saranghae: I love you

  Sunbae: Senior or teacher. Someone who is considered a mentor.

  Tatami (Japanese): Flooring mats either made of straw or other materials covered with straw rushes.

  Unnie / eonni: Honorific used by a younger female toward an older female she’s close to.

  Cast of Characters

  Madame Hyuna Sun, a Korean female fortune-teller

  James Bahn, Madame Sun’s son

  Madame Sun’s deceased clients:

  May Choi, car jacking

  Eun Joon Lee, murdered during burglary

  Bhak Bong Chol, apparent heart attack

  Vivian Na, Madame Sun’s assistant

  Joon Eun Yi, Eun Joon Lee’s neighbor

  Gangjun Gyong-Si, rival fortune-teller/Madame Sun’s former colleague

&nbs
p; Terry Yi, Gyong-Si’s assistant

  JoJo, owner of JoJo’s Boxing and Gym

  Stan Jenkins, LAPD detective

  Hong Chul Park, Bhak Bong Chol’s grandson

  Abby Park, Hong Chul Park’s daughter

  Darren Shim, a former friend of Hong Chul Park

  MCGINNIS FAMILY

  Cole Kenjiro McGinnis

  James Michael McGinnis (father)

  Barbara McGinnis (step-mother)

  Colin Mikio McGinnis (older brother)

  Madeline “Maddy / Mad Dog” McGinnis (sister-in-law)

  Tasha “Tazzie” McGinnis (sister)

  Bianca “Bi” McGinnis (sister)

  Melissa “Mellie” McGinnis (sister)

  Bobby Dawson (Cole’s best friend)

  KIM FAMILY

  Kim Jae-Min (Cole’s lover)

  Kim Jae-Su (older brother)

  Kim Tiffany (younger sister)

  Kim Ree (Serena) (younger sister)

  Neko-chan (Jae’s cat)

  SCARLET’S CIRCLE

  Scarlet (Crisanto Songcuya Seong)

  Seong Min-Ho (Scarlet’s lover)

  DUPREE FAMILY

  Claudia Dupree

  Sons in order of birth:

  Martin (kids: Mo, Sissy)

  Marcel (Korean girlfriend, Hyunae)

  Malcolm

  Mace

  Morris

  Marcus (gay son)

  Matthew

  TOKUGAWA FAMILY

  Tokugawa Ryoko (Cole’s biological mother)

  Tokugawa Masahiro (Ryoko’s husband)

  Tokugawa Ichiro (Son, Cole’s half-brother)

  PINELLI FAMILY

  Ben Pinelli (Cole’s deceased partner)

  Sheila Pinelli (wife)

  Jennifer (daughter)

  Benji (Ben Jr.) (son)

  Michelle (daughter)

  SEONG MIN-HO’S FAMILY

  Shim Min-Cha (Seong’s wife)

  Sons in order of birth:

  Seong Ji-Chin

  Seong Ji-Hei

  Seong Ji-Moon (twin)

  Seong Ji-Sung (twin)

  LOS ANGELES POLICE OFFICERS

  Detective Dell O’Byrne

  Detective Lynn Brookes

  Detective Dexter Wong

  Chapter 1

  I HATE little girls.

  Hands down, they are secret vessels of Satan and probably rule their own special circle of hell reserved for people who abandon dogs by the side of the road and assholes who molest innocent children.

  Or it could be that I was bitter about running my fucking ass off down a back alley with a rabid poodle slung in a baby carrier across my belly while a pack of frothing fighting dogs ripped the shit out of my jeans.

  While I didn’t really hate little girls—particularly the little girl who’d hired me to rescue her dog—I was getting kind of sick of learning to navigate through Los Angeles’s back alleys.

  I knew she was trouble as soon as she walked through my door. Wearing a deep red velvet dress with more white ruffles on its hem and sleeves than a wedding cake, Ava Hernandez was an angelic portrait of sweet innocence with fine mahogany hair, luminous, liquid brown eyes, and a chipped front tooth. In about ten years, her father probably would be sitting out on the porch guarding his daughter’s virtue with a double-barreled shotgun.

  Actually, he should have been there with that damned shotgun to take out the asshole who made her cry, because her face was wet with tears when she placed a chipped pink porcelain pig on my desk and declared she was there to hire me.

  And if the pig wasn’t enough, it was joined by a slightly melted chocolate bar and a bright purple toy unicorn with a curled rainbow mane.

  I was doomed from the start.

  She had a sad tale to tell, and I was the only guy man enough to help her. A couple of gangbangers stole Ava’s poodle mix, Pookie, and she was determined to get her dog back. She knew where they lived, a bad section of street a little bit away from her house, but the cops weren’t too interested and Animal Control’d been less than helpful. Loaded for bear with her bus pass and her entire savings, she’d dug through the Internet for a private investigator, dressed in her Sunday best, and rode the Metro to hire me.

  Not bad for a nine year old with a net worth of three dollars and fifty-one cents. I admired her bravado. Then I dialed her mother to come pick her up.

  I took the case. For the cost of the chocolate bar. I gave Ava back the pig and unicorn. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Now, in the middle of a warm Los Angeles night and being herded by the savage growls behind me, I was beginning to think I should have held onto the unicorn.

  “Bobby! Where the fuck are you?” I was shouting to the air. Fucker was nowhere to be seen.

  He was supposed to have stayed behind the house so I’d have an easy escape. Climbing over the rickety wooden-slat fence, I’d spotted Pookie, holed up in a small plastic kennel, the type someone would use to cart a small cat back and forth to the vet. There were other broken plastic transport boxes keeping her company on the patio, but what worried me was across the yard—a more substantial bank of kennels made of chain-link fences and concrete floors.

  And each bay was occupied by a thick-necked, over-muscled fighting dog.

  People who raise dogs to fight should be shot. Men who steal a little girl’s dog to bait a fighting dog should die the slowest, most torturous death possible. Their skin should be separated from their flesh with an air hose through minute slits and then have water from the Salton Sea injected slowly into the cavities while someone rips off strips of duct tape from their balls.

  But that’s just off the top of my head. I was sure I could come up with something more concrete if given a little time. Okay, I might have borrowed that death from Jae’s overactive imagination, but it popped into my head once I saw the dogs. Whoever turned them into vicious animals needed killing.

  If Pookie didn’t get us killed first.

  Before my partner, Ben, killed my lover, Rick, and shattered my life and body in a hail of bullets, I shared a townhouse with Rick’s small dog. He’d been a quiet, fluffy thing with bulging eyes and a discerning palate. We’d come to an agreement of sorts. I wouldn’t let Rick put bows on the top of his head and he didn’t chew up anything I owned. I called him Ragmop too often to remember his real name.

  He’d been one of the many things Rick’s parents took with them while I was lying on a hospital bed fighting for my life. Well, what I had left of my life after they removed any sign of his existence from our place. It was bad enough that Ben killed him. I could have done without them erasing him completely.

  Now, I’d be lucky if the dognappers’ mutts didn’t finish the job Ben started.

  But at least, I’d fulfill the promise I made to my current lover, Jae. I wasn’t getting shot at.

  Or I’d planned on fulfilling that promise until the shooting started.

  There was a hell of a lot of shooting going on, and the popping noises I was beginning to hear were loud, rapping sounds bouncing through the streets.

  Somewhere, I’d taken a wrong turn. Pookie wasn’t helping. Her ears flew up and hit my face with every stride I took, sometimes blinding me with white fuzz. Circling through the neighborhood led me back to the wide street where I’d expected to find Bobby’s truck. The dogs skittered around the corner, their claws scrabbling to gain purchase on the broken sidewalk. A rough cinder block wall held promise. If anything, it was solid enough to keep the mutts from chewing my ass off.

  My knees struck the wall as I swung up, my muscles going numb when I hit. The uneven blocks dug through my jeans and scraped my skin, turning my knees into hamburger. I’d take inventory later. Between the dog struggling against my chest and the bloodthirsty howls at my back, I had better things to worry about than whether or not I’d look like a piece of road rash once I got out of there.

  The wall was covered in dank black lichen along its prickly flat surface and thick with Los Angeles traffic d
ust. The mold made it difficult to get a purchase on the wall, and more than once I felt my sneakers slip when I tried to get a better hold on the ridge. Someone’d begun to shout, and it was getting louder and more incessant. Ignoring everything but the dog strapped to my chest, I heaved myself up and bit through the pain arcing through my shoulders. Heaving my weight up, I finally got a foot on the wall’s lip and balanced precariously on the wide cinder block ledge.

  Pookie twisted in her holder, throwing me off balance, and I fell, right through the thick plastic sheeting draped down over a ramshackle carport’s support beams. Pookie yelped her displeasure and tried to snatch my nose off my face, but I kept her steady, cupping her wriggling body against my chest with one hand.

  I’d already eaten the chocolate bar, or I’d have been sorely tempted to toss her back into the garage and let her work out her own escape.

  The dogs barking furiously on the other side of the wall were the least of my problems. I knew the smell coming up from the thick foliage. It was a sweet, sticky odor reminiscent of days I’d spent in college trying to clear my head after a long day of classes. Whatever strain the grower was producing, it was epic in its sugary scent, and the plants were practically opaque with resin-rich clusters. My sneakers stuck to the floor when I began threading through the pot plants toward the torn plastic I’d come in through. Working my body through the opening, I spotted a gate and sprinted through a barricade of cast-off household items blocking my path down the side yard. My fingers were on the latch when my luck ran out.

  Lights flared on in the house and poured through the grime of closed louvers. To make matters worse, flares of red and blue lights were sparkling the sky, casting up an ominous fireworks show. The bottoms of my sneakers were now covered in enough resin to make a hashball, and I had a white poodle mix dangling from a baby carrier across my belly.

  If I were still a cop, I’d haul me in just on principle.

  Things got worse when a bullet went whizzing by my head and the wooden gate in front of me grew an extra peephole near my shoulder. Another few pops and bullets hit the supporting cinder block post, sending rocky shards into my face. Not being overly stupid, I didn’t need to see who was shooting at me. Not when valuable seconds could be spent getting behind a thick cement wall that could take a blast from any street-legal weapon.