Pearls of Asia: A Love Story Read Online Free PDF

Christmas party was that evening, and she wanted to show off her brand new Lexus LS 460. Mac, however, wanted to stay low-key and arrive in The Sub. A nasty argument ensued, and Mac ended up staying at home. In fact, he went into the station and worked an extra shift.
    When he got home at three o’clock in the morning, Mac found all her stuff cleaned out. Denise hadn’t gone to the party, either. Every piece of furniture was gone, and torn photographs littered the floor. It was as if their marriage never existed. Denise just wanted to be done with him and gone.
    The way Mac saw it, as a husband, he was a failure.

     
    SHEYLA SAMONTE LIVED AT 229 Brannan Street, a chic thirty-story high-rise located in an up and coming neighborhood known as South Beach. Dot-com yuppies rollerbladed along the neighboring Embarcadero while sailboats and freighters cruised past. Cafes spilled onto the sidewalks as the sexy singles set knocked back espressos and dined on sushi.
    Mac flashed his badge at the doorman, who informed him a young woman named Sheyla Samonte resided in apartment 2407. Mr. Doorman looked like one of those elderly rent-a-cops who retired from the police force and soon discovered that sitting at home and collecting a pension was overrated. Before catching the elevator, Mac asked him if there was anything special he should know about her.
    Mr. Doorman got a faraway look and flashed a grin so wide his eyes nearly closed shut. “I don’t know much about her, but every day she takes a walk down to the corner store, and a smile from her is the highlight of my day.”
    Mac stepped off the elevator onto the twenty-fourth floor. As he walked down the ritzy taupe-colored hallway, he realized the odd-numbered rooms, like Sheyla Samonte’s, faced north and offered an unobstructed view of the Bay Bridge, which when lit up at night was nothing less than spectacular. Mac found his way to apartment 2407, composed himself, and knocked on the door. He felt more nervous than a teenager on prom night.
    He could hear the soft, catlike steps of a woman. Mac tugged on his suit jacket and smoothed down his hair. This wasn’t some serial rapist or drug lord he was tracking down. This was The Voice.
    “Who is it?” she purred. The Voice sounded even better in person.
    Mac had trouble getting the words to tumble out of his mouth. “Miss Samonte, I’m Inspector Mac Fleet of the San Francisco Police Department. I need to ask you a few questions about Paul Osher.”
    The awkward seconds of silence seemed like hours. Only an inch of pine separated them, but the longer he stood outside in the hallway, the more it seemed like miles.
    “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name,” she cooed.
    Mac persisted. “Miss Samonte, would you mind opening the door? I promise I won’t take up much of your time.”
    “I’m so sorry, Inspector,” she deflected. “But I just got out of the shower and I have to get dressed for work.”
    Mac’s first instinct was to say something biting and sarcastic, but a proper upbringing held him back. She was still The Voice, and she sounded so sincere and polite. “Miss Samonte, I left several messages on your phone today. If you’re not available to answer my questions right now, I’d appreciate it if you could call me back so we can set up a meeting. We need to talk.”
    “I’ll do that, Inspector. I promise. I have to get ready for work now. Have a good evening.”
    As he strolled through the lobby, Mr. Doorman asked Mac if he had seen Sheyla Samante. “No, I didn’t. She said she had to get ready for work.”
    Mr. Doorman’s face lit up, his eyes squinting so much his round face reminded Mac of a statue of Buddha. “Oh that’s right. It’s Thursday night. She works as a waitress not too far from here. She always waves at me from her Mercedes.”
    Mac reacted like he had just found a piece of a puzzle buried between the sofa cushions. “Wait a minute. Let me see if I’ve got