You Only Die Twice Read Online Free PDF

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    A much-anticipated evening with the man in my life, Miami Police Major Kendall McDonald, began withpromise but ended badly. He smelled good, looked guapismo , and greeted me with such an ardent embrace that I discerned that he was not wearing his beeper. Hormones slam-dancing with the neurochemicals in my brain, I deliberately left my pager behind, too. Tonight would be for us alone.
    The first sign of trouble occurred en route, when he reached for me, I thought. What he actually reached for was his beeper, which he removed from the glove compartment.
    Our destination, a barbecue at the home of a police colleague, was in Pembroke Pines, a suburban neighborhood densely populated by cops, who are always happiest with other cops as neighbors.
    I mingled with friendly police wives, some of whom I’d met before.
    â€œI thought Ken and Kathy—” a small dark-haired woman blurted, before being silenced by a sharp look from our hostess.
    â€œI guess Kathy couldn’t come,” another commented, almost but not quite out of earshot.
    My longtime suspicions were confirmed. McDonald and Rape Squad Lieutenant K. C. Riley had been, and apparently still continued to be, more than friends.
    The men gathered around the grill on an outside patio, while us gals nibbled nuts, crackers, and pita chips and chatted. Childbirth was the topic: morning sickness, labor pains, pre-and postnatal depressions, and the horrifying details of actual blessed events.
    Pictures were passed, baby pictures. Though cute, the infants all looked amazingly alike. How, I worried, would the mothers get the right pictures back? Did it matter? Mylife lacked interest. With no babies, meat-loaf recipes, or suburban small talk to share, what could I say?
    I am haunted by a dead woman with seaweed in her hair.
    McDonald’s beeper sounded as we dined outdoors with the night soft around us, laughter and music in the air, and the pungent aroma of citronella candles to repel mosquitoes.
    He returned from the phone, his expression odd, stopping to whisper in the ear of a homicide lieutenant, who reacted as though shot. They exchanged expressions of disbelief.
    â€œWhat happened?” I asked expectantly, as McDonald reclaimed his seat beside me.
    â€œNothing,” he said, eyes troubled.
    That was his final answer. I hate secrets. On the way home, I coaxed. He lectured on ethics. I pried. He protested. One thing led to another.
    I slammed out of his car at my place and marched to the front door without looking back. As my key turned in the lock, his Jeep Cherokee pulled away.
    He doesn’t trust me, I lamented, after all we’ve weathered together. He shares everything in common with the other woman in his life, the one he sees every day on the job. How do I compete with that? I asked myself. Do I even want to try?
    Ignoring the blinking red eye on my message machine, I took Bitsy for a walk. Each time a car slowed beside us, I hoped it was his, but it never was. How did this happen to us? I wondered.
    Dressed for bed, I was warming a glass of milk in the microwave when someone knocked softly.
    I swiftly smoothed my hair and threw open the door, grinning in relief.
    My visitor’s balding dome shone in the moonlight. “You ain’t gonna believe this, kid.”
    â€œEmery, what are you doing here?” I clutched my cotton robe around me and glanced at the wall clock.
    â€œIt’s one A.M .”
    â€œYou tol’ me to call you if I got a break. You didn’t answer. I was passing by and saw your lights.”
    I swung the door open wider and Rychek stepped inside.
    â€œI got me the name of the mermaid,” he announced.
    â€œBeen working the case all night. Thought you’d wanna know. It’s a hell of a thing.”
    â€œHow’d you find out who she was?” Eagerly, I led him into my small kitchen. He looked rumpled and needed a shave. “You want coffee?”
    â€œNo, but I