Dead Soon Enough

by Steph Cha Narrated by Greta Jung

Overview

Los Angeles-based P.I. Juniper Song is back in a thrillingly written, masterfully plotted story of how far a mother will go for her child.



Finally a licensed private detective, Juniper Song is managing her own cases as the junior investigator of Lindley & Flores. When a woman named Rubina Gasparian approaches Song, she knows she's in for her most unusual case yet. The daughter of Armenian immigrants, Rubina and her husband Van recently learned that she cannot get pregnant¿so they hired Rubina's younger cousin, Lusig, to act as a surrogate. However, Lusig's best friend Nora has been missing for a month, and Rubina is concerned that her cousin is dealing with her stress in a way that could harm the baby. Rubina hires Song to shadow her and report all that she finds. Of course, Lusig is frantically searching for her friend, and Song's case soon turns into a hunt for the missing woman, whom she finds was deeply embroiled in a public and ugly battle to erect an Armenian genocide memorial. As Song probes the depths of both this tight-knit immigrant community and the groups who antagonize it, she realizes that someone was willing to stop at nothing to ensure Nora's silence. But can she find the killer before it's too late for Rubina and Van's child¿or for Song herself?



Contains mature themes.

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly

★ 06/22/2015
Cha wins the reader’s sympathies for her L.A. PI at the outset of her outstanding third Juniper Song mystery (after 2014’s Beware Beware). When at age 22 Song “was broke, bored, and quietly depressed, and had no strength to fight the call of easy money,” she decided to become an ovum donor and sold three sets of her eggs for $48,000. Years later, a new case revives memories of what for her was a questionable decision. Rubina Gasparian, a 37-year-old doctor who’s unable to conceive with her husband, has arranged for her 26-year-old cousin, Lusig, to serve as her gestational surrogate. With only a month to go before the due date, Rubina is anxious that Lusig isn’t taking care of either herself or the fetus, and she hires Song to follow Lusig. The gumshoe finds that Lusig’s main source of stress is anxiety about a friend who’s been missing for about a month, Nora Mkrtchian, the daughter of Armenian immigrants from the Soviet Union. Nora ran a website devoted to discussing the Armenian genocide of 1915, and her blog posts attracted a lot of creepy haters, so Song’s focus shifts from Lusig to ascertaining Nora’s fate. Veronica Mars fans will be pleased. Agent: Ethan Bassoff, Lippincott Massie McQuilkin. (Aug.)

From the Publisher

“Cha wins the reader's sympathies for her L.A. PI at the outset of her outstanding third Juniper Song mystery... Veronica Mars fans will be pleased.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review

“Song's realism, cynicism and penchant for getting herself into bad situations endear her readers...This noir is easy to read, paced well and keeps readers engaged through the very end.” —RT Book Reviews (4 stars)

"Los Angeles private eye Juniper Song is hired to tail an Armenian American surrogate mother who’s frantically looking for her best friend, a missing activist."—Los Angeles Times, "Holiday Books: 56 fabulous works of fiction and poetry"

“In her private detective, Cha has created a worthy modern entrant into classic L.A. noir fiction. An excellent choice for fans of Sue Grafton—Song shares many traits with Grafton’s Kinsey Millhone, including doggedness, earnestness, and pragmatism.”—Library Journal

“This is another example of Cha's grasp of L.A. noir, depicting a world in which truth is bent and compromises made with impunity” —Booklist

“Before this cautionary tale is over, secrets will be revealed, lies within lies told, more people injured or killed and Song's core values compromised in ways that will have psychological reverberations for years, and books, to come. Nathanael West and Raymond Chandler would be proud.” —LA Times on Beware Beware

“Engaging… Song soon becomes caught in a complex plot involving deception, betrayal, and revenge. Cha follows noir conventions, with Daphne as femme fatale and Song forced into morally ambiguous choices, but she also offers a plucky heroine, warm secondary characters, and a vivid portrait of L.A.'s Koreatown.” —Publishers Weekly on Beware Beware

“In her second outing, Korean Song defies the stereotype of the Asian American woman, working to overcome her background and what she suffered in Cha's debut, Follow Her Home (2013), and facing a formidable moral dilemma in the process. This is prime L.A. noir with a feminist slant.” —Booklist on Beware Beware

“Enjoyable… a part-mystery, part-thriller that'll keep you turning the pages.” —Mochi Mag on Beware Beware

“In what is a great sequel to Follow Her Home, Cha's prose is more developed and her plot more creative… In adrenalin-fueled prose, Juniper solves the latent mystery behind Tilley's demise, but closure leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. In the process, she becomes much darker, more reflective, more cynical and ruthless. Cha lays down a slippery slope of lying, deceit and brutality, the pain of the past balanced against Juniper's resilience in the face of death.” —CurledUp.com on Beware Beware

“Cha's handle on the core genre element of detection is top-notch. Indeed, you are effectively pulled into this labyrinthine narrative precisely because of the desire to know. The threads all do resolve in one way or another and the noir-ish ending shows us how murky the line between heroes and villains can be.” —AsianAmLitFans.livejournal.com on Beware Beware

“[Song] is a compelling and original protagonist… One only hopes that Cha and her driven, neo-noir detective have more opportunities to explore those troubling intersections over many books to come.” —LA Times on Follow Her Home

“Engrossing… Steph Cha's intriguing debut Follow Her Home works as a testament to the power of storytelling and a cautionary tale against forsaking reality for fiction…Cha elevates Follow Her Home with glimpses at the culture of Korean-American families.” —Oline Cogdill, South Florida Sun Sentinel, on Follow Her Home

“Cha's debut updates Marlowe's dark and dangerous LA to modern times while keeping the quirky characters and a twisty mystery that will hold readers to the bitter end.” —Kirkus on Follow Her Home

“Intriguing...it's clear that Song, a chain-smoking, hard-drinking, and nourish young woman with a Raymond Chandler fixation is well on her way to being a first-rate investigator.” —Publishers Weekly on Follow Her Home

“For fans of urban noir and of mysteries that address contemporary social issues. Cha is a promising mystery author to watch.” —Library Journal on Follow Her Home

“Many try to emulate Raymond Chandler; few succeed. Put Cha in the latter category…. [she] has that certain something that makes you want to follow Song on her next adventure.” —RT Book Reviews on Follow Her Home

“Follow Her Home's strength is in the creation of a relatable, dynamic, modern protagonist… Cha has penned a well-written, atmospheric text. But Follow Her Home is also a gritty tale that serves up social commentary on cultural fetishization.” —KoreAM Magazine on Follow Her Home

“While Cha pays very clear homage to Chandler -- indicated in the enthusiastic use of similes and Juniper often wondering what Marlowe would do -- she definitely transcends his influence to make the story her own… Cha does a great job of keeping the suspense taut, with deft pacing and effective cliff-hangers. Action pushes the plot resolutely forward -- whether Juniper is getting knocked out in the middle of the night or finding her bed chillingly made by someone other than herself. And Juniper herself is a likeable character with a distinct voice.” —Hyphen Magazine on Follow Her Home

“Follow Her Home is a brilliant, modern twist to the classic noir genre; full of clever prose that invites and excites the reader's attention. You won't want to miss a single, incisive word. In Juniper Song Cha has created a bold, intelligent heroine who makes her way through the secrets and twists, admirably filling her literary idol's shoes.” —Elizabeth Haynes, New York Times bestselling author of Dark Tide, on Follow Her Home

“Stephanie Cha's brilliant debut is as Noir as Old Nick's sense of humour. Compelling from first to last page, she takes on contemporary L.A., sweeping the reader through Chandler's twilight, heartbroken city from mansions to faux K-town hostess bars. L.A. Noir at its finest.” —Denise Mina, author of The Dead Hour, on Follow Her Home

“Follow Her Home takes a fresh trip down the sunny, dark streets of Los Angeles, and Juniper Song is a great guide - young, sharp, and worldly-wise. Keenly observed and deeply felt, the story slowly got under my skin. I couldn't put it down.” —Meg Gardiner, Edgar Award-winng author of Ransom River, on Follow Her Home

“Though we live in a world where our public spaces are clean and well-lit and monitored by security cameras, Steph Cha knows that bright lights cast dark shadows. The streets Juniper Song has to walk may not seem as mean as Philip Marlowe's, but Marlowe didn't have to walk in four-inch stiletto heels, and Cha finds plenty of unsettling stuff happening in contemporary Los Angeles: at after-parties in the expensive apartments of trust-fund twenty-somethings, behind closed doors in the offices of white shoe law-firms, and in sketchy nightclubs where champagne and vodka aren't the only things on the bottle-service menu. A sharp, clever and affecting debut.” —Daniel Friedman, Edgar nominated author of Don't Ever Get Old, on Follow Her Home

“Sharp and stylish as a Louboutin stiletto, Follow Her Home is a great read! Steph Cha brings a modern female voice and a smart sense of humor to the noir tradition. This is a writer to watch.” —Allison Leotta, author of Speak of the Devil, on Follow Her Home

“In a glittery L.A. of pretty, privileged twentysomethings, Stephanie Cha's Follow Her Home opens like a playful homage to Raymond Chandler but deepens into something darker: an utterly 21st-century ode to sisterhood in the face of crime. A fast-paced thriller told in smart, sparkling prose, Follow Her Home is a moving exploration of mothers and daughters, men and women, immigrant history, loss, and hope.” —Joy Castro, author of Hell or High Water, on Follow Her Home

“A gripping narrative voice that's as fun as it is funky, sharp, and evocative.” —Tom Piccirilli, author of The Last Kind Words and The Last Whisper in the Dark, on Follow Her Home

“Follow Her Home reveals a writer keenly aware and inspired by the subgenre of American noir fiction…. Cha's debut novel would fit very well into any American detective fiction course and would especially pair well with Walter Mosley, in her exploration of race, ethnicity, and the urban metropolis known as Los Angeles.” —asianamlitfans.livejournal.com on Follow Her Home

Library Journal

08/01/2015
In her third outing after Beware Beware, the intrepid Juniper Song gets drawn into the disappearance of a young activist woman involved in a battle over a proposed Armenian genocide memorial. Juniper's client is a female doctor named Rubina, whose younger cousin, Lusig, is acting as her gestational surrogate. Rubina worries that Lusig's search for her missing friend will take a toll on her pregnancy. Cha takes full advantage of the multicultural Los Angeles setting to introduce a melting pot of Korean, Armenian, Hispanic, and Filipina characters. The mystery has just enough twists and turns and red herrings to keep the reader enthralled until the final reveal, which doesn't disappoint. VERDICT In her private detective, Cha has created a worthy modern entrant into classic L.A. noir fiction. An excellent choice for fans of Sue Grafton—Song shares many traits with Grafton's Kinsey Millhone, including doggedness, earnestness, and pragmatism. [See Prepub Alert, 2/23/15.]—Amy Watts, Univ. of Georgia Lib., Athens

Kirkus Reviews

2015-05-17
Tracking the surrogate mother for a high-maintenance client leads a bright young shamus to delve into Armenian cultural history and the meaning of closure. No longer a rookie private investigator (Beware, Beware, 2014, etc.), Juniper Song has graduated from digging through the trash of suspected liars and cheaters to actual detective work. Her latest client, Dr. Rubina Gasparian, has some control issues about what exactly she wants investigated. Song is game for the job, though she has suspicions about her assigned task: to follow Rubina's very pregnant cousin Lusig, who's acting as a surrogate for the infertile Rubina. Rubina has been doing some amateur detective work herself and has already taken the liberty of applying a GPS device to Lusig's car. Song learns that one of the reasons Lusig has evaded Rubina's watchful eye is that she's engaged in some detective work of her own: Lusig's closest friend, Nora, has been missing for about a month, and Lusig is tenaciously tracking down untapped leads. It seems that Nora's confrontational blog, Who Still Talks, a forum on the 1915 Armenian genocide and its deniers, may have brought the historical debate from online chatter to something up close and personal. In order to protect what's most important to her, the child Lusig is carrying, Rubina hires Song to find Nora so Lusig can stay home and let nature take its course. Apart from milking Veronica Sanchez, her LAPD connection, it appears the best thing Song can do is learn about the genocide, the deniers, and Who Still Talks. Her search leads Song down a rabbit hole of complex relations, perhaps involving hazy government connections, though the truth of what happened to Nora may be much closer to home. Once more, Cha often sacrifices suspense and plot twists for a more philosophical approach to mystery, though she clearly knows where she wants to go.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940176393316
Publisher:	Tantor Audio
Publication date:	06/29/2021
Series:	Juniper Song Mystery , #3
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

Dead Soon Enough

A Juniper Song Mystery

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By Steph Cha

St. Martin's Press

Copyright © 2015 Steph Cha
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-250-06531-5

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CHAPTER 1

When I was twenty-two, I sold three sets of eggs for a total of $48,000. I was broke, bored, and quietly depressed, and had no strength to fight the call of easy money. It was a questionable decision, but I've made enough of those that this one doesn't keep me up at night.

I'd seen advertisements for egg donors in the Yale paper, but back then I was still on the payroll of a hardworking immigrant mom who saw no better way to spend money than to push her shitty kid through the Ivy League. The ads made a bit of a splash in cafeteria conversations, but as far as I knew, no one really responded. We had a whole campus full of prestigious eggs and, in aggregate at least, a brash imperviousness to financial pressure.

That changed for many of us soon enough. I left Yale with an attractive diploma, an unattractive transcript, and zero to negligible job prospects. I moved to L.A., not because I had dreams, or even family anymore, but because it was a city I knew, one that I liked better than others.

One day, after pinning tutoring fliers in coffee shops full of dead-eyed college graduates just as unemployed as I was, I came across a New York Times article about Asian-American egg donors. Apparently, our eggs commanded high premiums for rarity on the market — Asian-American women waited longer than average to have babies, chasing those professional dreams with their biological clocks ticking softly in the background.

It was like a help wanted ad singing my name.

There was another reason, too, an enabling reason if not an actual impetus — despite my sadness and weakness of spirit I felt, in a way, invincible. It wasn't that I relished the idea of my spawn running the earth. The truth is, I didn't think about that much at all. I was young and cavalier, with a disregard for consequences that had almost nothing to do with reality, mine or anyone else's. Consequences were things that happened to other people. What happened to me was bad luck.

So I did some research and sold my eggs to the highest bidder. They went out into the world, and maybe some of them became people.

I hadn't thought about them in a long time, and then I met Rubina Gasparian.

* * *

It was a warm Tuesday in early March, one of those pre-spring Los Angeles days that knocked an unnecessary nail into winter's coffin. I'd had my private investigator license for almost a year, and during that time I'd made a steady, honest living, as free of mishap as any period in my adult life.

When I got to the office that morning, there was a woman waiting outside the locked door. She was standing straight, facing the hall, and when I looked up from my phone she was already watching me, waiting for me to acknowledge her. I nearly jumped.

She was a slim woman wearing a gray wrap dress and short, professional heels. I was almost a head taller, even in flip-flops, but there was something commanding in her presence that negated the impression of smallness. She was pretty in a brutal way, with a high forehead, straight black hair, and an immaculate gloss to her pale skin. Her eyes were sharp and dark, and by the time I got around to greeting her, they'd run their way right through me.

"Hi," I said. "Are you looking for Lindley and Flores?"

"Yes. I hope you don't mind my coming in so early. I don't have an appointment." She spoke quickly, but with a tentative, deferential tone of voice.

"Not at all. I'm Juniper Song," I said, holding out my hand. "I'm an investigator."

"Rubina Gasparian." She shook my hand with a firm grip, and I felt the press of a ring on my palm. Wrong hand for a wedding band, but I saw that she had one of those on, too. "It's nice to meet you."

I opened up the office and Rubina followed me inside. I sat down at my desk and, before I was able to offer, she took a chair across from me.

"So, Ms. Gasparian. What can I do for you today?"

"It's Doctor," she said, then added, "Though that doesn't matter."

"Sorry." I smiled, feeling mildly caught off guard. "Dr. Gasparian, what can I do for you today?"

She crossed her legs and folded her hands over the top knee. "I'd like to hire someone to follow my cousin."

"We can certainly do that," I said. "All three of us are seasoned tails. That's kind of the bread and butter of this job. What can you tell me about her?"

She produced a 4 x 6 photograph and pushed it delicately across the desk. It was a professional photo of Rubina in a wedding dress, with one arm around a younger woman in a lavender dress, unmistakably a bridesmaid. I took a long look at the cousin. She had the same pale skin and round eyes as Rubina, but she gave off a rugged impression, even in pastel chiffon. Her bare arms showed a colorful splash of tattoos, and her shoulders were broad and well honed. She wasn't as traditionally attractive as Rubina, but she would never fade standing next to her.

"That was taken on my wedding day, almost six years ago. The girl on my left is my cousin Lusig. I can e-mail you a more recent photograph — her hair's much shorter now, and she has a piercing in her nose, which I made her take out for the wedding." She paused and nodded, making a note to herself. "I've known her since she was in my late aunt's womb. She's a wonderful girl. I love her like a sister and daughter, and now, she's carrying my baby."

"How's that?" I asked.

"For a few reasons, chief among them that I am thirty-seven years old, my husband and I are unable to conceive. Since we want children, and adoption is out of the question, we decided on a gestational surrogate."

I wondered briefly why adoption was out of the question, and something in Rubina's eyes dared me to ask. It didn't seem like my business — not that that always stopped me — but I bit.

"Why was adoption out of the question?"

"Here are two clues," she said, holding one hand up in a V. "My married name is Gasparian. My maiden name is Balakian."

"You're Armenian," I said. Armenian surnames were almost as easy to spot as Korean ones.

"Very much so. And as an Armenian couple, Van and I would like to continue our bloodline. There are only so many of us left."

"Forgive me if I'm off track here. Been a long time since World History. But you're referring to a genocide?"

She nodded. "Of course. It's telling that you're uncertain. Not —" she added hastily — "telling of your ignorance, but of the Armenian genocide's status in history. But that is a long conversation, and we were already in the middle of another one."

"Right," I said. "You were telling me about a gestational surrogate. That means what, your egg, her womb?"

"Yes."

"And that surrogate is your cousin Lusig."

"Exactly." She smiled, lending a little warmth to her features. "Lusig wasn't ideal in every way. The perfect surrogate is a woman who's been pregnant before, who won't form an undue attachment to the baby. We think Lusig will be fine with giving him up, but this is her first pregnancy, and she had no familiarity with the process before she agreed to sign on."

"So why her?"

"First, she offered. She knew we needed help, and she said she was more than happy to. Second, Lusig and I are very close. She would be in the baby's life, as more than an aunt, if a little less than a mother. Third, Lusig has no desire to have children of her own."

"How old is she?"

"Twenty-six."

"Early to make that call, wouldn't you say?"

Rubina shrugged, a small, mechanical motion. "She's maintained this position for many years. Lusig is a headstrong, stubborn girl, and she is not known to change her mind. On top of which, she's unmoved by children, and thinks she would make a poor mother. Between you and me, I agree with her."

"Why's that?"

"Well, practically speaking, Lusig has never been employed for more than a year at a time. She has very little interest in figuring out her life, and I can't imagine she'd have room for a child anytime soon. And I know she's young, but twenty-six is not twenty-two."

I suppressed a smile. Rubina could have been describing me before I started working for Chaz. I'd spent my post-college years tutoring around the city for bursts of cash, just enough to pay rent and maintain my pantry and one shelf of my fridge. Pregnancy would have been a nightmare.

"What's she do?"

"This and that. Temp work, mostly. Sometimes she participates in psych studies and focus groups. She lives at home, with her father, so her living expenses are very low. We've been paying her a stipend while she carries the baby, so she isn't working now."

"None of this sounds particularly permanent," I said. "You think she'll always be unfit for kids?"

"I love her, but she's a selfish girl. She's a classic only child, not conceited but very self-centered. She's always surprised to recall that the world doesn't revolve around her."

"I don't think I'm especially selfish, but I would run far away if anyone wanted to borrow my body for nine months."

"Of course she's often generous. Maybe this is getting lost, but I think Lusig is wonderful. She's only fundamentally selfish."

I nodded, wondering how damning this was supposed to be. "Is that why you're here?"

She gave me a thoughtful stare before speaking again. "I suppose it is," she said. "I'm worried that she's putting herself before the welfare of my child."

"How so?"

"She's almost eight months pregnant, well past the initial touch and go. Not that this pregnancy could ever have been less than a deliberate, serious affair, with all the money and energy poured into it from the beginning, but my son is more baby than fetus now. He will be born. I'm going to be a mother." She looked pointedly at my left hand. "You don't have children, Miss Song?"

"I have not been so blessed," I said. "You can call me Song, by the way. Though 'Miss' is correct."

"I've always wanted to be a mother. I waited longer than I ever thought I would, but I went to medical school, then did my residency, then a fellowship, and before I knew it I was looking at limited options. If you're open to some friendly advice, I'd suggest you not wait too long."

The conversation was taking a weird turn. Rubina was not the type of woman who inspired quick and easy confidences, and I was more guarded than most. There was a clinical, universal tinge to her prescription, but it still struck me as somewhat intrusive. I ignored it and pressed on.

"So why are you worried about your cousin, Dr. Gasparian?"

"You can call me Rubina," she said. "I'm sorry I corrected you. It's a strange reflex."

"Sure. Rubina. Tell me your concerns about Lusig."

"She was a party girl. Through college, through her early twenties. And she's only twenty-six, so her early twenties were not very long ago. We've been Facebook friends for years, and I've seen all her pictures, drinking and carousing with friends. Nothing abnormal, understand, but she's always inclined toward the wild side. Nightclubs, vodka shots. I suspect some illicit drugs."

I pictured Rubina culling through her cousin's Facebook page, before and after entrusting her with her baby. The picture came easily.

"Drinking and carousing with friends seems pretty standard, really," I said, though I suspected as I said so that Rubina's youth had been tame and studious. "And from what you're saying I gather she got a lot of that out of her system well before she got pregnant. I imagine you wouldn't have chosen her if you had any doubts. What changed?"

She seemed surprised by the question, but recovered quickly. She tucked her hair behind her ear with a swift, precise motion. "Lusig's best friend is a girl named Nora. They've known each other since the seventh grade — they're both Armenian, both only children, and they stuck to each other from the beginning. I've met her several times, though I can't say I know her very well. In any case, Nora has been missing for almost a month."

I sat up a little straighter. "Missing? Like, officially? The police are looking for her and all that?"

"Yes, the police are looking for her. No one has said so, but everyone always suspects the worst."

"I see," I said, blinking hard. Murder had just entered the conversation.

Rubina broke the silence before it could set. "But I'm not here about Nora. I'm only giving you background. My concern is that Lusig has been acting strange ever since the disappearance."

"Strange, how?"

"She's been moody, and it's been hard for me to reach her."

"She's been off the radar?"

"Not exactly. Let me explain myself." She gave me a tight smile. "In general, I don't care what other people do with their lives. Lusig is my cousin, and we've always been close, but I haven't agreed with every one of her life choices. She hasn't asked me about most of them, and I've withheld unsolicited advice on many, many occasions."

I nodded. Something in her tone suggested unreasonable pride in her own restraint.

"But when you're pregnant, you don't own your body, at least not one-hundred percent. This might be especially true if you've signed on to be a vessel for someone else's baby."

My mind revolted against the idea, but I couldn't say it was without truth. Instead, I asked, "Then, who does?"

"Who does what?"

"Who owns your cousin?"

"Well, to be frank," she said, twisting her fingers together, "I think I do."

I let her statement ride a brief pause, and she let out a tight little laugh.

"I don't mean she's my property, per se. And I know in this day and age women have certain rights to their own bodies, which I support wholly. But in this situation, I believe I have an unusual amount of interest in the contents of her womb, don't you agree?"

"That's true," I said, and decided to get back on track. "So, your cousin hasn't been attentive to your demands as the mother of the child."

"No. She's been defiant and unpredictable, going on errands she doesn't care to explain and snapping at me when I ask where she's been."

"It sounds like she has some reason to be upset," I said.

"Of course she does, and I'd like to give her space to deal with her ... grief, if that's the right word for it."

"On the other hand?"

She pressed her lips together. "On the other hand, I need to know if she's mistreating her body."

"Ah, so this is where I come in."

"I don't want you to bother her," she said. "Please just observe her, tell me what she's doing, take pictures as you deem appropriate or necessary."

"Sure, I can do that. Out of curiosity, though, what if I do find out she's slamming shots and sharing needles?"

"I will cross that bridge only if necessary."

* * *

I'd been surveilling people for a couple years now, and it had long since started to feel like a creepy second nature. I could follow any car across town at any time of day, and I developed a talent for blending into most environments, without the assistance of a trench coat or a fedora. Most people don't suspect they're being followed. After all, hiring a private investigator to solve a personal problem — sussing out infidelity being the classic case — is a somewhat nuclear option, one that many can't imagine using themselves. I couldn't follow a man into a public restroom and take a video of his stream, but anything short of that was more or less possible.

Still, some assignments were trickier than others. I wasn't quite ballsy enough to attempt a nighttime tail on a quiet road, but empty bars were usually manageable. Being an Asian woman worked in my favor — despite my height and somewhat unforthcoming demeanor, no one ever thought I was dangerous.

Lusig Hovanian was going to be an easier mark than most, and not because she was oblivious. Rubina, as I might have expected, kept her cousin on a short leash. Within a few hours of leaving my office, she emailed me a complete schedule of Lusig's day. She gave me the name and address of a restaurant in South Pasadena and requested that I eat there at seven o'clock. She gave me a fifty-dollar stipend — she'd researched the restaurant and determined that this was enough to cover dinner for two. She thought, correctly enough, that I'd stand out less if I wasn't eating alone.

There weren't too many people I wanted to meet for dinner, so I was happy that my roommate was free. Lori Lim was my best friend, an adopted younger sister of sorts, with whom I had almost nothing in common but a few shared episodes of extreme trauma. We'd been living together for about two years, in a two-bedroom apartment in Echo Park. I liked to think this arrangement was for her benefit, but we both knew I'd be lonely as all hell without her.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Dead Soon Enough by Steph Cha. Copyright © 2015 Steph Cha. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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