Down & Dirty: Supernatural Cleaning Services (Book 3)

Sex sells...for everyone except the person cleaning up after it!

I'm Paige Harper, and I've got problems paying the bills. My cleaning service for paranormal messes has only one major client. Charms is half gambling den, half brothel, and 100 percent of my income. Unfortunately, on the same week I'm due to get paid - Charms gets robbed.

The ogre madame can't pay me, cover her bribes, or keep her teenage daughter in-line. Somehow, I'm in charge of fixing all these things - while trying to figure out if the guy I'm dating is a serial killer.

On top of all that, Nico - a one-eyed werewolf private detective - is on the case, too. He gets under my skin, and has made it clear he wouldn't mind getting under my clothes. Somehow, I've gotta keep things strictly professional. Sure, no problem.

It's a lot of balls to keep in the air, but it's a juggling act I've got to ace, or else it's farewell to Charms, my livelihood, and maybe even my life.

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Excerpt:

Chapter One

“Holy shit, am I dating the vampire serial killer?”

I wipe the vomit from my mouth as I hang out the side of my van and contemplate the life choices that brought me to this moment.

It all started with a guy. Of course it did.

But Liam was supposed to be a nice guy. And he seemed that way. Smart and funny and adorkable, with his cute British accent and board game parties. I ran to him for comfort after shit went down last week. And by comfort I mean sex.

Except he is such a gentleman that he didn’t want to take advantage of me when I was clearly upset. So we just snuggled instead.

Yeah, he sounds too good to be true, which I guess in and of itself is a warning sign.

I lean back in my seat and rub the steering wheel. “Vanna, can you get me home please?” She honks her understanding and pulls out into traffic. With the state I’m in, she’s a better driver than me right now.

Twelve years ago my normal minivan was stolen, then, not too long ago, it showed back up on my doorstep with a mind of her own.

Needing to wash the puke taste out of my mouth, I climb into the back of the van where I keep a few bottles of water along with my cleaning supplies. I run my own business, a supernatural cleaning service, and it’s important to stay hydrated while working all day scrubbing and dusting. Grabbing one of the waters, I fill my mouth and swish. Then rolling down the passenger window, I stick my head out and spit…

Right onto the police cruiser in the lane next to me.

The lady cop at the wheel turns to stare at me in shocked surprise. “Sorry,” I yell as her gaze moves from me hanging out the back window, up to the empty driver’s seat.

Her lights and siren come on.

Crap.

“Vanna, pull over,” I say, as I scramble back into the driver’s seat. It’s too late to pretend anything is normal, so I let Vanna guide us to the side of the road while I dig in the glove box for the registration. By the time the cop comes up to the side window, I’m ready with a smile and my paperwork in hand.

“Morning, officer,” I say.

She is not having it. “Do you know why you were pulled over?”

There is almost no chance that I’ll get out of this without a ticket. But if I’m going to pay a giant fine, I at least want something to show for my money. So instead of answering, I ask a question of my own.

“Have you ever been unlucky in love? ’Cause I have been perpetually unlucky. First there was my ex-husband who turned out to be fae and a cheater. Then my almost fiancé who is so shady I can’t even talk about him anymore because he made me sign a non-disclosure form. I mean, let’s face it, most men are basically animals. And that’s what I like about them. They’re a little dangerous. A little wild. But I thought, okay Paige, that hasn’t worked out, let’s try someone a little more tame. That’s when I met Liam, the supposed nice guy.”

The officer sighs and I tense, wondering if this is the part where she drags me out of Vanna and pats me down looking for narcotics. But instead she nods and says, “You gotta watch out for the nice guys.” She snorts derisively. “Those are always the biggest freaks.”

“Yes!” I exclaim. “That’s Liam exactly. Last night he was so sweet, but then this morning when he left to get us breakfast, I helped myself to his shower and some shampoo. Then I dug through his drawers, looking for a pair of sweatpants he’d promised me the night before. And that’s when things went horribly wrong. I found a pile of photographs.”

The cop smirks. “Porn, right?”

“You’d think. But no. Not porn. That would have been fine. I mean, Liam was single until he met me and guys are horny, even the nice ones. Porn would mean he’s normal. Which is what I’ve been trying to be all my life.”

“Girl…” The cop leans into the side window. “If you’re going for normal, maybe try driving your own vehicle. Self-driving cars are not legal in New Jersey.”

“Yes, officer, absolutely. You’re right. It’s just that Vanna isn’t really a self-driving car, she’s more of a self-driving...self.”

The officer says nothing for a long moment, just gives me a long-suffering look. Finally, with a sigh she says, “You know, people like you are why I drink after work.”

I nod, eagerly. “I get it. I’m sure you hear bullshit excuses all day long, but this van is sentient.” I rub the steering wheel. “Say hello, Vanna.”

She beeps twice.

The officer’s eyebrows rise. “Trick horn?”

“No, I swear.” I put up a few fingers in a formation that either means ‘scout’s honor’ or ‘rock and roll’—I always get those two confused. “Ask her a question. She’s an incredibly responsive vehicle.”

“All right,” the officer says, looking amused. “I guess if vampires and werewolves are real, Herbie here is real too.” She leans in the window and talks at the steering wheel. “Vanna, is your owner always a total flake, or is she really just having a bad morning?”

There’s total silence which I hope means that Vanna is contemplating the question and not hanging me out to dry. Then suddenly the radio blares to life. I immediately recognize the chorus to Cypress Hill’s “Insane in the Brain.” As those words play over and over, I slap at the radio button, trying to turn it off.

“Okay, Vanna, that’s enough. I think she gets it.”

Finally the music cuts out and I look over to see the officer...laughing. Shaking her head and wiping tears from her eyes, she says, “Okay crazy girl, so tell me the rest of your story. What did the nice guy have in his drawer if it wasn’t porn?”

I swallow hard, remembering the picture.

It featured Liam proudly holding a severed head. He gripped the hair and cheesed at the camera like he was displaying a trophy. The room he was standing in had more like it all around. A stuffed griffin. A manticore head mounted on the wall. And looking closer, there was even what looked like a werewolf pelt on the floor at his feet.

But the worst part was that the wall behind Liam was entirely lined with fangs—vampire fangs. Hundreds of them.

The reason I rushed into Liam’s waiting arms was because I’d just shot a vampire. He was in my house, ready to attack. Or so I thought. It was only after he was dead that I saw the gaping holes in his gums—black, bloodied pits where his teeth had been.

That photo and the wall of fangs tied Liam directly to VSK — the vampire serial killer who’s been hunting in the supe community…and who seems to think we share a bond. He’d left that last vamp defanged and prepped for me to kill.

But I can’t tell this cop that. The last time I sent a guy to the cops, he made the evidence disappear and got away easily. That’s not gonna happen again. If Liam is VSK, I’m gonna make sure the evidence is airtight so that he’s sent to jail for the rest of his life.

But now, of course, she’s waiting for me to say something. I clear my throat and say the first thing that comes to mind, “Rooster shifter. There was a pic of him with wings and the big tail and even the wattle thing, but the rest of him was human form still so I could tell it was him. Of course I got the fuck out of Liam’s apartment as soon as I found that photo. I ran. Ran away from everything that photo implied.”

I wait for her to call me out on this big fat lie. Instead, she leans even further into my open window and pats my hand. “Aw girlfriend, it happened to me too. Same thing. My rooster shifter told me he was a honey badger shifter, which I don’t think actually exists, but who knows, right?”

I nod even though I don’t know why anyone would hear “honey badger shifter” and not run in the other direction.

“What did your supposed nice guy tell you he was?”

I open my mouth to say, “tour guide” and then realize that she thinks I wanted to be with a shifter, just not a rooster shifter. I run back through my words trying to think what might have given her that impression. It must’ve been when I said all men are animals—and that I wanted someone more tame. She didn’t think, “Former English major loves her metaphors,” but instead took my words literally.

Now I try to think of a tame animal that I’d want to fuck. I mean, if he was in human form. I draw a complete blank, but the cop is waiting for an answer so I say, “Box turtle.”

Her eyebrows climb so high they’re close to jumping right off her head.

“He wooed me with the story of the turtle and the hare,” I quickly add. “You know the whole slow and steady wins the race. But in this case, he meant sex. I thought it’d be a great change to be with a guy who doesn’t rush. But then I saw the chicken picture and…”

I shrug helplessly as I run out of bullshit.

But the cop buys it, ’cause she nods knowingly. “Same same same,” she says. “Although mine was less of a nice guy. Also despite all of his cock-a-doodle-doo, sadly there was not a whole lot of actual cock to back it up.” She holds two fingers a couple inches apart. “Hard he was this big. It was sad.”

“Wow,” I say, because what else can I say?

She nods. “Yeah, well, they can’t all be hung like a bear shifter. Not that I’ve ever been with a bear. It’s on my bucket list. I want to check off all the big game animals. So far I’ve got lion, jaguar, and a guy who told me he was a wolf, but in retrospect I think he was just a really hairy human.”

I blink at her. “That’s…” I try to think of a nice way to tell her that I try to not screw supes. There’s no good way to say that, so I simply smile and offer, “I work at Charms. As the cleaning lady,” I quickly add. “Is that where you, um, meet these guys, or er, girl shifters?”

She laughs. “Naw, I’m into dudes. And I know Charms, but I’d never go there. I like the thrill of the hunt. You know what I mean?”

I really, really don’t. But I just smile.

“I’m Officer Esposito,” she says, giving me her hand. “Angelina Esposito.”

“Paige Harper,” I answer, as we shake.

“You know, it’s not every day I meet someone who has the same...taste in men.” She gives me a conspiratorial wink. “We should go out to the bars together some night. Help each other cockblock so neither of us accidentally goes home with a rooster.”

“That sounds great,” I lie.

Officer Esposito gives me her card and we make loose plans for the coming weekend—apparently Big Game is a known shifter bar in town and she thinks we could do well there. Before leaving, she reminds me to stay in the driver’s seat and at least try to look like I’m doing the driving.

I sag in my seat as Officer Angelina Esposito merges into traffic and disappears down the road.

I might’ve gotten myself out of a ticket, but it’s totally possible I got myself into something way worse—a friendship with a total wingnut.