Pearls of Asia: A Love Story Read Online Free PDF Page A

minutes.”
    “Maybe he was checking to see if she got the flowers,” joked Mayes. Compared to Mac’s desk, which resembled a landfill, Mayes’s work area was better organized than West Point.
    “Or maybe she wanted to talk to him as little as possible. Number two was to his office, and wait until you hear who was Numero Uno.”
    Mayes didn’t have to answer. He knew right where Mac was going, which is where most men like to go when they start thinking below their belt.
    “According to his phone records, the woman’s name is Sheyla Samonte, and she lives somewhere South of Market Street. I’m sure if we ask Paul Osher who she is he’ll say she’s his niece or some crap like that. I’m telling you Mayes, this Osher fellow is bad news.”
    Mac was excited. He loved nailing a perp. He couldn’t wait to call the number and speak to the woman who would send Paul Osher to a life of playing “drop the soap” at San Quentin Prison. Harking back to his glory days as a high school swimmer, Mac felt like taking a victory lap.
    He dialed the number and was immediately sent to voicemail. Her voice was strong, confident, and sultry. “Hello, you’ve reach Sheyla…”
    The short message was as feminine as it was fearless, and it was the sexiest voice Mac had ever heard in his life.
    “You alright over there, partner?” asked Mayes, noticing Mac’s thousand-yard stare.
    “I just heard the voice of a goddess.”
    “You don’t say?” laughed Mayes. “Tell you what, lover boy, since we need to move fast on this one, why don’t you go over to her apartment and check out Miss Goddess while I stay here and track down Paul Osher’s alibi. You’re better with the ladies than I am, anyway.”
    “Of course I am, Mr. Happily Married with Twins and One More Bun in the Oven.”

     
    MAC RAN OUT OF the office and down to the department’s underground garage. He still drove his first car, a restored Horizon Blue 1960 Chevrolet Kingswood Estate Cruiser that he endearingly called The Sub. The twenty-foot long land yacht, complete with miles of chrome and aluminum trim, had been given to him by his grandmother as a high school graduation present. The tuck and roll upholstery and push button radio said volumes about Mac and how he wanted to live his life; low key, under the radar, and cool. Class wasn’t something you bought, he believed. You either had it or you didn’t.
    What Mac also had plenty of was charisma, and he rarely had a problem getting a lady’s attention. Women were drawn to Mac by his rugged good looks and self-deprecating sense of humor. Mac liked to say his broad shoulders and deep dimples were the only reminders he had of his father. And that was on those rare occasions when he would talk about his father. Mac had also mastered the fine art of conversation, and he made it a point to look into a woman’s eyes while speaking to her. “Talk to a woman with your ears,” Victoria Parker always told him. “A girl likes it when you listen to what she has to say instead of staring at her chest.”
    Mac wanted to settle down, but he had no luck with his first marriage. Denise was charming and smart, and she had just become a Director at J.P. Morgan before she left him. He’d fallen hard for the perky blonde from San Diego, and they married after he graduated from the Police Academy. While Mac was out on the streets searching for suspects, Denise earned an MBA from Stanford and pursued a career in investment banking. Both worked long hours and never had time for their spouse. On those rare occasions when they found themselves in the same room, Denise grew tired hearing Mac’s stories of enforcing law and order, while Mac found her dissertations on how another megamerger would reshape the global marketplace mind numbing and tedious.
    After almost ten years of marriage, the big chill descended. The marriage took a turn for the worse on a Friday evening last December, after Denise got her big promotion. The company