Cole McGinnis Mysteries
Former LAPD detective Cole McGinnis’s life nearly ended the day his police partner and best friend Ben Pirelli emptied his service weapon into Cole and his then-lover, Rick. Since Ben turned his gun on himself, Cole thought he’d never find out why Ben tried to destroy him.
Years later, Cole has stitched himself back together. Now a private investigator and in love with Jae-Min Kim, a Korean-American photographer he met on a previous case, Cole’s life is back on track—until he discovers Jeff Rollins, a disgraced cop and his first partner, has resurfaced and appears to be working on the wrong side of the law.
As much as Cole’s fought to put the past behind him, he’s soon tangled up in a web of lies, violence, and death. Jeff Rollins is not only trying to kill Cole’s loved ones, he is also scraping open old wounds and long-forgotten memories of the two men Cole loved and lost. Cole is sure Rollins knows why Ben ruined all their lives, but he isn’t looking for answers. Now Cole is caught in a cat-and-mouse game with a cold-blooded killer with the key to not only his past but his future.
I HATE clowns.
To be fair, nobody actually loves clowns except for the sick fuckers who want to be one and those deranged weirdos who collect harlequin dolls, but in this instance, my hatred of painted-faced, floppy-shoed assholes was at an all-time high.
And after the hard kick to my shin I’d just taken from a bald guy sporting a bowler and a handlebar mustache, my general hatred for human beings was headed to new heights.
It was supposed to be a simple job—they’re all supposed to be simple jobs—or so I’d been told when I’d agreed to take the case. Very simple because Esther Markensburg reassured me her soon-to-be ex-wife, Dawn, would be easy to find.
What Esther didn’t share with me was Dawn ran away to join the circus. Well, a carnival. And a traveling one at that, so finding her was a bitch and a half. After a month of chasing down leads, I finally found Dawn, aka Miss Bubbles Bloo, peddling overpriced balloon animals to little kids in the sweltering California heat.
Asking around for Dawn in the first place was like running full tilt in a maze while totally blind. For every rushing inch forward, I got a pounding headache from slamming into a brick wall a step later. Carnival people are close-mouthed and odd. Flat-out, hands-down odd. There were rules only they understood, and while most of them would betray their own mother to turn a dime, they were intensely loyal when it came to rousting one of theirs over to the cops.
I learned that much after a month of digging around.
Since I was less of a cop, the said apprehension of Dawn Markensburg was rife with problems. Mainly, I merely had to serve her with her divorce papers. Nothing more. Esther was more interested in getting the divorce and keeping custody of their jointly owned poodle than anything else. Her lawyer suggested sharing the poodle’s vet bills, but from the sagging state of the carnival, Esther was probably going to be paid in Circus Peanut candy and popcorn.
And fuck me if I knew how Dawn could run so fast in those damned green wobbly shoes.
The hot sun baked the carnival grounds to a crisp, and the drought we were suffering through wasn’t helping a damned thing. Forecasters promised rain thick enough to make an ark builder cream in his shorts, but so far the only thing Los Angeles County had falling from the sky was more heat.
I’d nearly lost her, mostly because my alleged best friend, Bobby, shouted that he’d found her as she stood cattle-calling parents to shame them into buying a balloon. She’d taken one look at him and then at me—who he’d thoughtfully been waving down—and bolted, leaving a trail of half-inflated wiener dogs in her wake.
I gave chase, and Bobby stood there laughing his ass off while I dove into a cluster of flashing lights, ringing bells, and rigged gaming booths.
Desperation and frenzy scented the air. The carnival’s gaming pavilions were set close together, creating slender walkways and packing its sparse crowd into a tight space, hoping to give the illusion of being busier than it was. Slightly faded stuffed animals stared down from their clotheslines perches, lifeless black eyes and curving grimaces mocking the few people bored enough to try their hand at a game. The pavilions’ once bright red and white canvas tops were bleached from exposure, dull pink and creamy tea stripes patched together with thick dark jute.
The tents cut out a lot of sun, diffusing the light, and the large bulbs strung above the walks and around posts weren’t lit yet, leaving me and the rest of the rabble soaked in steeped gray shadows.
Popcorn and wrappers crunched under my sneakers as I ran. My side ached, an adhesion under my skin tugging at my ribs. The bullet wounds were painful in the beginning, puncture holes in my body deep enough for my soul to ache as well, and they’d not healed as expected.
One of the thousand doctors I’d seen during my rehab gave me some song and dance about how my Japanese half lent to greater internal scarring, but he didn’t quite explain I’d eventually end up with Cthulhu-like ribbons stretching from my skin down into my guts. The nerves wrapped into the scars were touchy today, probably in sympathy with my stomach’s complaints about starvation and the sole cup of bitter black coffee I’d had that morning.
My stomach and Buddha-hand scar tissue were going to have to suck it up. I had a clown to catch.
Dawn’s cotton-candy-blue afro made her easy to spot in the crowd. Unfortunately, there was also actual cotton candy, and I’d feinted more than a few times at the sight of a bobbing robin’s egg floss in the crowd.
“Do you see her?” Bobby shouted at me as he pushed his way out of the masses near a toss-the-ring booth. “How the fuck did you lose her, Princess?”
Hooking up with my half brother, Ichi, did Bobby a world of good and gave me an ulcer. This was the man who routinely beat me into the mat during boxing sessions and could run me to the ground when we went out on a jog.
He’d already been a massive machine before Ichi entered his life, but my Japanese brother’s food preferences were responsible for Bobby’s peeling away the last bit of fat on his muscular body, or he was compensating for the decade-plus age difference between them. Either way, it was frustrating. A big brother’s duty was to pound a guy’s face in if he mistreated a younger sibling. I had no chance in hell of doing that to Bobby unless I got in a sucker punch… with a two-by-four.
Now he was yelling at me from across a tight walkway, startling people with his booming, growly voice. Sometimes bringing Bobby with me on a case was like taking a bear to a tea party and telling it to dance on the tables. No one has fun but the bear.
I scanned the crowd and spotted the guy who’d tried to trip me up earlier. He was barreling through a group of kids at the end of the walkway, and it looked like he’d brought a friend. The two of them were a wall of thick arms, furrowed brows, and mean looks. Since they were all sporting a variety of Happy Fun Times Carnival shirts, I gathered they were Dawn’s coworkers. Avoiding them was at the top of my list… right after finding her and leaving.
“There!” I pointed at a frilly curl of blue hair bouncing up and down near a wall of stuffed animals. “By the goldfish place! Watch out for the guys behind us!”
“Go get her. I’ll take care of them.” Bobby craned his neck and was on the move to intercept the gang heading my way. “Meet me by the car!”
At some point in the last five minutes, the carnival had a buy-one-ticket-let-ten-people-in sale, because where I’d been able to see through the crowd, it was now like walking through an overgrown cornfield. The smell of sugar and peanuts thickened the air, giving me a contact high. The hay strewn through the walkways was damp in spots, dark and sticky from spilled sodas. I avoided a lake of melted something, probably ice cream and a bucket of iced tea.
I didn’t have any qualms leaving Bobby behind. He just needed to stall them long enough for me to nab Dawn and shove court papers into her hand. The crowd jostled me, eagerly responding to a tall, ebony-skinned woman at a shooting gallery announcing a deep discount on how many ducks needed to win a big prize. She flashed me a wicked smile from her perch on the counter, knowing she’d fucked me up a little bit, and I grinned back, determined to break free of the causeway and find Dawn.
The sea of people shifted, and I popped free of the mass, gasping for any bit of virgin air I could drag in. Dawn was slipping around one of the rides, waddling as fast as her shoes would let her.
My prey was now easy to spot. Even without the hair, her oversized multidotted clown suit was bright and impossible to miss now that we were out in the open. The carnival’s attendance was definitely increasing by leaps and bounds, and I edged past a woman with a pack of children, their wrists tugged upward by massive cartoon-character balloons. A plump Totoro hit me in the head as I went by, grazing my hair, and the white plastic weight dangling from the end of its string nearly poked my eye out when I slapped it out of the way.
The rides seemed to go on forever, and Dawn wasn’t making good time in her slap-dash waddling. If clowns weren’t already the scariest fucking thing in the world, a crazed, fixed-grin one pushing through lines of people was one butcher knife away from a horror flick. One kid began crying when Dawn’s hand slapped his head as she penguin-hopped past. Then another joined the first, and the Great Wailing of the Carnival began in earnest.
I was in a Keystone Cop foot chase with a Gregorian monk soundtrack.
Elbows dug into my sides, and I almost ran over a little girl in braids. The unicorn plushy she held clutched to her chest nearly bobbled free, and I lost precious seconds making sure it stayed in her arms. Her mother gave me a thank-you or a fuck-you. I wasn’t sure which, but I didn’t stick around to find out.
Dawn made better headway than I did. Or she did before she ducked around a temporary barricade marked No Entry every few feet and the uneven ground hobbled her pace. I shook free of a streamer wrapped around my shin and headed to the fenced-off area, only a few strides behind my target.
Beyond the gap in the barricade, a small village of campers and trucks huddled together, some so close there was barely enough room to walk between them. The green-rotten scent of large animals hit me in the face, and I huffed a breath through my open mouth to mask the scent. It was strong, eye-watering strong, and I could see the edge of a temporary paddock, but not much else other than a long trailer painted with the carnival’s red-and-yellow logo on its metal sides.
I’d stepped past the gap, and a long shadow fell over me. Heavy black boots crunched into a straggle of weeds, and I looked up to find a bowler clone with a Bozo haircut. This one was as large as the others and had a frizzy red mop nearly as wild as Dawn’s wig, his gold front tooth winking at me when he snarled.
It was like the carnival was making these bruising assholes out back where they cooked up batches of scrapple and funnel cakes.
“Hey, fuckhead. You’ve got no business being back here,” he barked. “Employees only, asshole.”
“Sorry, Bozo, but I’ve got business with the lady over there.” I nodded to Dawn, who’d somehow gotten snagged on a ground stake. She tugged at her onesie’s leg, tearing the fabric, but she remained caught.
“Can’t say I give a shit,” Bozo spat back. “Want me to break this guy’s pretty face for you, Dawn?”
“Go for it, Harvey!” Her voice was honey and dark, a sweet, dulcet roll men would pay four bucks a minute to have talk dirty to them. She tugged again and the spike gave way, pulling up from the ground. The hooked spike tangled into the fabric, and Dawn gave up trying to get it free. “God fucking damn it!”
I eyed Harvey, formerly known as Bozo, warily. His hands were the size of my boyfriend, Jae’s, cat, Neko. And while I’d promised Jae I’d avoid getting shot at, things were a little unclear about an actual physical confrontation. Harvey reached for me as Dawn took a few steps, tripped over a cable, and landed flat on her face in a pile of something so foul I could smell it when she broke its surface.
Dawn’s blue wig pitched off of her head as she struggled to right herself, and Bozo took my distraction as an opportunity to bash my face in.
I ducked the first swing. It whistled past my temple and glanced off of my shoulder. Glanced being the operative word. His fists were like stone, rattling my shoulder blade and spine. The yoga I’d been attempting to do with Jae for the past year helped with some of the dodging, but my aching scar tissue had other plans. A shot of sheer anguish ripped through my rib cage, and I gasped, doubling over.
He must have thought I was a professional soccer player or something from my reaction, because Bozo quickly mocked me. “I didn’t even fucking touch you!”
His fist came at me again, this time driving into my stomach. The wind left me, and I did the only sensible thing I could do bent over my own knees. I punched him in the nuts.
Apparently his nuts were stone too, because he barely even flinched.
“Fuck this,” I growled as he grabbed my shirt, tugging to haul me up. I went for the knees, swinging wide to catch the sides of his legs, and pushed all of my weight forward, throwing him off-balance. We went down—or rather he went down since I was already halfway there—and I punched again, aiming for a kneecap.
Something crunched beneath my knuckles, and he began to howl. Struggling to get loose of his grip, I twisted around to the chagrin of my already painful side. Another whack at Harvey’s head and he went down, slamming his chin into the ground.
A few feet away, Dawn was now sitting in her own personal pile of shit and struggling to get her shoes off. With her wig gone, she seemed even crazier, a half-clown, half-blonde beach bunny mutant clad in a polka-dot vomit-inducing jumpsuit and smeared white makeup. She swore at me and grabbed a handful of steaming crap, probably to fling in my general direction, and that’s when I noticed a very fuzzy, extremely grumpy face peering at me from behind an open paddock gate near Dawn’s right side.
There were actually more than one, several past four, maybe even five, but it was hard to tell with their heads weaving about. They were tall, with elongated necks and disgruntled furry faces looking directly at me and Harvey. Without a damned thing between us but a formerly blue-wigged clown.
The only thing I knew about llamas I learned from a Monty Python song. They certainly were bigger than a frog but didn’t have a foreboding beak or fins for swimming. All in all, I’d have been disappointed except for that line about a llama being very dangerous. Because from the looks on their collective faces, they were going to fuck up Dawn’s shit. And possibly mine.
“Shit! Who left the gate open! Dawn, turn around! Don’t show them your back!” Harvey screamed in agony when he tried to get up. He flopped back down, his knee giving out from under him. “Oh God, my knee!”
It was too late for Dawn. The llamas appeared to be led by the devil himself. An enormous black-and-tan beast rushed out of the paddock, his long fur sun-bleached at the ends to a caramel brown, but there was blood in his eye. Dawn was literally a sitting duck, basted in llama shit and tangled in her own shoes.
The others seemed content to mill about, a kung-fu fighting team, waiting for their turn at the main character in the movie. Or like lions, they waited for the strongest of the ravenous pack to have its fill of the prime cuts of meat before circling around to eat their dinner. Either way, Dawn was about to be introduced to four-hundred-plus pounds of wooly fury.
His ears were laid back, streamlined against his long skull, and he led with his jaw, two broad bottom teeth jutting up from his lower lip. Charging, the llama let loose a scream Tarzan would have envied and then struck Dawn with his chest.
Dawn, all one hundred and twenty pounds of her, went flying, a shit-covered, dotted bocce ball rolling across the hay-covered ground.
From El Llama Diablo’s disgruntled look, I was his next target.
“Okay, McGinnis, don’t turn around. No showing it your back,” I muttered to myself, keeping my shoulder down in case I needed to do a Kirk and drop-roll out of the way.
The llama stamped, bucking his head down and swaying. He surged forward, trying to get at Dawn, who was lying on her back a few feet to my left, but stopped when I put myself in front of him. Up close, the thing smelled worse than I’d thought it could. Or that could have just been his breath. A diet of white-clad virgins consumed raw with a side of fava beans could do that to a llama.
“Dawn, you okay back there?” I got a groan, but I wasn’t sure if it came from her or the now incapacitated Harvey. It would be my luck to wipe out the one guy who could herd these fucking things back into their pen. “Harvey! What the fuck do I do here, man?”
There was only silence to the right of me, and I risked a quick glance, keeping one eye on the llama. Harvey lay sprawled on the ground, fainted dead away. Good to know. If I survived the llama massacre and ever ran into Harvey in a dark alley, his knees were made out of glass.
“Okay, just you and me here, Bucky.” I didn’t know if I was supposed to make eye contact or not. Dogs were a no, but cats liked it when their pet human blinked slowly at them. I had little experience with horses other than a carriage ride in New York, and the llama didn’t seem inclined to share any llama-whispering secrets with me.
The thing was tall. I wasn’t short, over six feet, but the llama stared me right in the eyes. Up close. Personal. In all its snorfling, foul-breathed badness. Then he spat, nearly taking my head off with a globule of gunk, so I acted on my gut reaction on how to deal with an enraged, spitting hell-beast.
I went with a song. “You Are My Sunshine,” to be exact.
I’m not the world’s greatest singer. Hell, I wouldn’t even put myself in the top five billion, but I could mostly hold a tune. At least good enough for a llama. I could only recall one chorus, but it seemed to be enough for the furry demon from hell. A few head weaves and a massive chest bump, hard enough to bruise my already sore ribs, then his ears came up.
He probably thought I was insane, but his teeth looked sharp and deadly. Getting my face peeled off by something called up from Satan’s hairy balls wasn’t my choice of how I wanted to go. I’d already laid out plans for that. Expiring after a long bout of old man sex with Jae was the last thing on my bucket list.
The llama stamped furiously, then chittered at his brethren. The herd… flock… reckoning… whatever a group of llamas were called… murmured back, shuffling about behind their demonic leader. The summoned hellspawn stepped back, shuffling a foot away, then turned his shoulders. I didn’t want to break eye contact with him, not when I had a good round of choruses built up, a sunshine string of rosaries laid over one another like I was warding off a sickly vampire.
It seemed to work. Which was great because my throat was feeling raw, and I was concerned about Dawn. Harvey was on his own. I needed the man to stay conscious long enough to help me with the damned llamas, and he’d passed out like a three-year-old coming down off of a two-pound bag of M&M’s.
The llama from hell trotted off, heading to rampage Downtown Los Angeles or maybe catch a beer with his buddies. Either way, he was off into the paddock, and my throat was rawer than a glory-hole addict’s.
I did one final chant of sunshine. Then Dawn hit me across the face with a shovel.
“WELL, AT least your nose wasn’t broken.”
Bobby’s consolations needed work. I was still tasting blood, but my right nostril seemed to be working again.
“And hey, I served her with the papers. There’s that.”
“Yeah, there’s that.” I took the towel off of my face. It was clean, and I balled it up, satisfied my nosebleed was done. “Fucking llamas.”
“Damned clowns,” he corrected as he pulled up in front of my house. “Here you go, Princess. Time to get out so I can go home and fuck your brother.”
My blood, what little there was left in me, boiled.
Since Bobby could still hand me my ass and Ichi loved him—for whatever reason—I said nothing, getting out of Bobby’s truck.
I did, however, slam the door as hard as I could, rattling the partially down window.
“Watch it, Princess. I might be a grandpa, but I can still fuck you up,” he growled at me.
“Sure, gramps. I can’t touch you. You can’t touch me. Works both ways, old man,” I teased back. “Thanks for the ride.”
I stood in his dust for a moment, taking in the early evening. The old two-story Craftsman I’d bought after the shooting stood proudly on its large lot, the countless hours I’d spent renovating it worth every second and drop of blood I’d shed doing it. Tall oaks and red maples framed the house, and the hedges in front were recovered from their torching. I’d portioned off an enormous living space into an office for my investigation business, and a walkway led to the home part of the Craftsman—a home I shared with Jae.
Jae, who was coming down the sidewalk and heading right toward me.
He simply took my breath away.
American born, Korean down to the bone, Jae’d struggled to be with me. His culture’s distaste for homosexuals and being disowned by his family were enormous obstacles for him. I’d tried not to push, but I’d wanted him. In my life. In my bed. In my heart. I’d been all in almost since the moment I’d seen him. Needless to say, Jae took a little while and a lot of heartache before he decided he loved me too.
Thank God for that, because I couldn’t handle losing someone else I’d fallen in love with—especially since it would’ve meant I’d have to watch him walk away from me.
Jae was a slinky, sensual length of muscle and pretty. His black hair was longer than when I’d first met him, pulled back into a ponytail at the base of his elegant neck and exposing his high cheekbones and full mouth. His honey-brown eyes were warm, full of love.
And something else, something troubled, and I wondered if Bobby’d called ahead to tell him I’d been clocked by a clown with a shovel.
“Hey, agi,” I murmured, giving him a kiss.
He laughed into my mouth, amused at my affectionate butchering of an endearment.
“Your nose, Cole.” Jae pulled back, skimming his fingers across my face. “Why do you always lead with your face?”
“Remind me to tell you about the llama,” I replied. The trouble was still in his eyes, and I held him close. “What’s wrong, Jae? What happened?”
“Animal Services called. About half an hour ago.”
“What? Neko got loose and Godzillaed the neighborhood?” Frowning hurt a little bit, so I tried to smooth out my expression. “Okay, not funny. You’re not laughing. Why would they call us?”
“They didn’t call us. They called you. And Rick.” Jae’s voice was flat, a bit shaken. “They called to say they found your dog.”
This book was a happy/sad book for me. Happy because its always a pleasure to get more of Cole and Jae. Sad because this is the end of this series. I have loved these two characters since the very beginning. Rhys did an amazing job with this book. The way it resolves everything is so good. I like how we get to see these two characters continure to grow and change. We get to see their relationship become more secure. I think Rhys gave this series the perfect ending.
What an excellent way to end the series.
Cole and Jae-Min are two of my all time favorite characters. The way that you can read their story and the love written through the pages is a delight to experience.
This is the last book of the series of Cole and Jae- Min. This was a beautiful written story that we find with some twist and turns. Cole has been trying to get over the betray of his best friend shooting him. When Jeff comes back into Cole life more questions come out then answers. There are some wonderful parts when we see the true bond of family and what they do to protect them. seeing Bobby with Ichi and Mike’s love for his pregnant wife Mad Dog. This was a wonderful end to the Cole saga and will miss them. Highly recommend this book and the series today
How would you describe the plot of this book? some twist
Which of these words best describes the mood? Suspenseful
How would you describe the pace? steady
How would you describe the characters? developed
* I received a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review *
I remember when I first read Dirty Kiss, book 1 of the Cole McGinnis series. It was back in 2013 when I was still relatively new to reading LGBTQ fiction. Book 3—Dirty Laundry—had just been released, and I’d had the first two books saved on my computer for awhile so I figured it was about time I gave the books a go. I grabbed two very good friends and said, “Hey, buy these books and read with me. They look great, I think we’re gonna love them.” So they did. And we read. And read. And read. We flailed. There were more messages than I could count going “OMG can you believe that happened?” and then “Holy shit, how does someone DO that?” and of course there were lots of “oh Cole’s and poor Jae’s.” By the end, I fell in love. Completely in love with Cole and his sarcasm and humor that tried to hide his broken heart. With Kim Jae-Min and his quiet demeanor but fierce and complicated struggle to remain true to his heritage while wishing to follow his heart. With Bobby and his staunch protectiveness of his princess and best friend, Cole. With Claudia and her complete devotion and acceptance of Cole and all his faults. With Scarlet, this beautiful creature who loves Jae with absolute abandon.
Like the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. Dirty Heart is the final book in the Cole McGinnis series, and it is the perfect culmination of an incredible journey. Not just for the characters, but for us, the readers, as well. We’ve all laughed at each and every improbable but somehow totally believable situation Cole has found himself in, no matter how outlandish. We’ve gasped and cringed as Cole has been knifed and shot and chased by llamas and gun-wielding granny’s wearing leather. We’ve cried as Cole and Jae have navigated their sometimes rocky but always real and true relationship. We’ve swooned and sighed at the heart-achingly beautiful words these two very flawed men have whispered to each other, speaking from soul-deep love and commitment. We’ve raged at the cruelty Cole and Jae have suffered from the people who were supposed to love them unconditionally, and then felt our hearts soar as they found that love and acceptance from Claudia and Scarlet and the rest of their make-shift family. These aren’t just characters on a page, but friends and family we’ve watched grow and learn and fall in love on their journey toward their happily-ever-after.
One of my favorite moments from the book:
“Promise me one more thing?”
“Anything.” I was tired. Probably more tired than I’d been in my entire life, and sleep tugged at my brain.
“Promise you’ll love me. Forever, if I need it.” He slurred a bit, dipping down into a cadence more Korean than English, but he was clear enough for me to understand him.
“Forever. Even if you don’t need it,” I whispered, nestling up into him. “Because I will.”
Dirty Heart is written in Rhys Ford’s incomparable style: poetic prose interspersed with evocative and often biting, sharp realism. She has a way of writing that is unparalleled (anyone who can write the gruesomeness of death in a way that seems almost artistic is a true master at her craft). Whether it’s humor or mystery or violence or sex, Rhys is beyond compare. Dirty Heart is the perfect and fitting end to the series. The answers to the questions we’ve been waiting years and 5 books to get to is done so well, and it’s worth all the pain and heartbreak it’s taken to get here (not just for Cole, but for us, too, who have desperately ached—and dreaded—for the moment). As with every book in the series, you will laugh and cry and gasp and cringe and get angry more than a few times. But at the end, your heart will be full, you’ll be left very satisfied, if a tad bittersweet, knowing that Cole and Jae and all their family, will be moving on. The joy though, is knowing that they’re happy and at peace.
Saranghae-yo Cole and Jae.
Reviewed by Erin of Diversereader
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