Die Again To Save Tomorrow (Die Again to Save the World Book 2) Read online

  Die Again To Save Tomorrow

  Die Again To Save the World™ Book Two

  Ramy Vance

  Michael Anderle

  The Die Again To Save Tomorrow Team

  Thanks to our Beta Readers

  Kelly O’Donnell, Rachel Beckford, John Ashmore, Larry Omans

  Thanks to the JIT Readers

  Veronica Stephan-Miller

  Jackey Hankard-Brodie

  Deb Mader

  Zacc Pelter

  Dorothy Lloyd

  Debi Sateren

  Diane L. Smith

  Jeff Goode

  Paul Westman

  If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!

  Editor

  The Skyhunter Editing Team

  This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2021 by LMBPN Publishing

  Cover Art by Jake @ J Caleb Design

  http://jcalebdesign.com / [email protected]

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  A Michael Anderle Production

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  Version 1.00, June 2021

  ISBN (ebook) 978-1-64971-872-3

  ISBN (paperback) 978-1-64971-873-0

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Author Notes Ramy Vance

  Author Notes Michael Anderle

  Other books by Ramy Vance

  Books By Michael Anderle

  Connect with The Authors

  Chapter One

  Friday, May 19, 8:12 p.m.

  Rueben Peet sat under the glittering chandelier in the ballroom of the Mount Olympus Grand Hotel and Resort Center. Tonight, the generic space had transformed into an elegant dining room with white linen-covered tables and waiters in full dress uniform bustling around, offering patrons choice filet mignon.

  “This is quite the event.” Rueben sipped a glass of wine. He puckered his lips. “Damn, this is good. They went all out.”

  His father narrowed his eyes in disapproval. “What would you expect? It’s the police awards banquet. Don’t you think the hardworking police officers of this city deserve one night in the lap of luxury?”

  Rueben smirked and swirled his glass. There was no winning with Marshall Peet. It was best to stay quiet. A retired ex-cop, this was his version of the Academy Awards, and he had dressed tonight in his best jeans and expensive cowboy boots, which shone after a polish.

  “I think it’s a beautiful night.” Aki Yamashiro smiled at their resident cop, Martha Dragone. “And I’m proud of our little adventure.”

  Rueben gulped at her words. Aki was smoking hot, and he still wasn’t quite over the fact that she was his date for the night. Really? She was here with him? Especially after she’d put him into the friend zone after their last adventure where she had told him that he was too badass for her. All after extensive training and, well, dying. It had been worth it even if he didn’t get the girl because he’d saved the day…

  He fought the urge to look around for her real date, frequently reminding himself not to stare. He had even considered putting it as a reminder on his smartwatch every twenty minutes.

  Tonight, she wore a tight black sparkling dress and matching stilettos with black ankle straps.

  Martha sighed and held her abdomen. “You only think it’s a beautiful night because you’re not the one giving a speech.”

  Everyone laughed, and Martha looked again through her dog-eared index cards. She was the reason they were all here tonight. She’d be accepting an award for exceptional service. Not only that, she’d be telling the story of what everyone here at Table Eight had helped her do.

  Dressed for the part in a short A-line red formal, her long dark hair fell around her shoulder in soft, curled waves. Rueben realized it was probably the first time in years he’d seen her hair out of a ponytail and certainly in a dress. He would never expect she owned a curling iron. He thought of telling her as much but couldn’t find that middle ground between flirty and insulting. He didn’t want to do either, so he kept his mouth shut.

  Martha sipped her wine and surveyed the crowd of cops and their families. “Seriously, guys. This isn’t an honor. This is torture. Remind me not to give exceptional service at work again.”

  “You earned this.” Marshall nodded gravely and wagged a finger at her. “It’s an honor, and you should be proud of yourself.”

  The last patron at Table Eight, Buzz Lugger, chimed in with his two cents. “The trick is to take slow, deep breaths, which allows ample oxygen flow to the brain. This enables the neurons to fire slowly, effectively getting you drunk on air. Do it long enough, and you’ll start to see things and—”

  Rueben rolled his eyes. “Dude, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to disable your neurons.”

  “Dude,” Buzz said, “don’t tell me to shut up when I didn’t even want to come to this stupid dinner anyways.”

  Rueben raised both hands placatingly. “Whoa, whoa. We’re cool. Just remember, we’re going out to celebrate after this. That means more alcohol.”

  Buzz’s eyes lit up, and he grinned.

  “Well,” Martha brought the table’s attention back to her. “I’ve tried deep breaths, but they’re not working.”

  Aki smiled at Martha. “Well, you could pass out. That’s what I did when I didn’t want to marry that guy in Vegas.”

  Everyone at the table stared at her, open-mouthed.

  “You married a guy in Vegas?” Rueben didn’t like the sound of that.

  She picked at her fingernails. “No, I did not. That’s the point.”

  Martha frowned. “Seriously, does that work?”

  “Marrying a guy in Vegas?” Rueben clarified.

  “No, passing out.”

  Aki winked at her. “Sure. You just ‘plop,’ hit the deck when you’re ready.”

  “Huh.”

  Aki wagged a
finger in instruction. “The secret to not getting hurt is to collapse at the knees—it will still look real. Then make up some bullshit story later about being anemic. Oldest trick in the book—worked for women since the invention of the corset.”

  “Ah, I could never do that. That’s not how you stay off ‘The Tampon Squad.’”

  Aki grimaced. “The what?”

  “Yeah. My sentiments exactly.”

  Rueben frowned at Aki. “You know, it concerns me the things I don’t know about you.”

  “Occupational hazard. Secrets are kind of what we do.”

  Rueben laughed. He and Aki shared the dirty little secret that they both worked for the CIA. Buzz knew and they’d recently let Martha in on that, but Marshall still thought Rueben had some boring State Department job.

  The lights dimmed, and the city police commissioner took the stage.

  “Good evening.” He warmed up the crowd, and the low roar faded into an attentive silence. “I’m glad you all could make it out on this beautiful May evening. You could be out enjoying this fine spring weather we’ve been having. Instead, you’re stuck in here with a bunch of starched-shirt cops.”

  The audience laughed.

  “Most people would call that jail.”

  Or, as Rueben mused, his childhood.

  The commissioner stopped and let the audience respond again. Then he continued, “The truth is, this is probably the safest place to be in America tonight, and certainly in the city. Because if you want to cause any shenanigans here tonight, you’re gonna get busted.”

  Little agreements rose around the room. “You said that right.”

  The commissioner paused for the laughter and winked at the crowd. “So criminals beware.” He glanced down at his notes, and his demeanor turned professional. “In all seriousness, we appreciate you coming out as we honor the best of the best on the city police force. We have some of the finest men and women the United States has to offer, and we’re here to recognize them for their acts of service throughout the year.”

  It was a long introduction with awards for the tenure of service, and Rueben’s hands were sore from clapping by the time they got to the Twenty-Five Years of Service recognition. After that, they went through a couple of officers who had helped people through this or that.

  Then the commissioner cleared his throat. “This next recipient is someone who has been instrumental in one of the highest-profile cases we’ve had in a long time.”

  Everyone immediately figured out who it was, and the room exploded with applause. For anyone that hadn’t figured it out, Martha’s police headshot appeared on the slideshow behind him. “It’s truly been an exceptional case, and in some ways, it’s still unfolding. Normally we do awards from the previous year, but because this case has been such a truly tremendous display of police work and investigation, we’re going to recognize it this year. Please welcome Officer Martha Dragone.”

  Martha smiled meekly at Table Eight, and as she stood and made her way to the platform, the crowd gave her a standing ovation.

  Aki turned to Rueben. “You should be up there, too.”

  Marshall overhead the comment. “Why? To make sure the projector works?”

  Martha slowly took the stairs to the stage, and the crowd still roared with applause.

  Aki narrowed her eyes at Marshall. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “Get what?”

  “Your son’s a hero. He was instrumental in blowing this thing wide open.”

  Marshall snorted. “My kid? The only time he’s ever been instrumental to anything was the time he played the oboe in the fifth grade.”

  Rueben blushed. “Dad, please. Not now.”

  Aki raised an eyebrow. “Well, he’s a hero. I would know ’cause I only fuck heroes.” Marshall’s eyes widened, and he coughed while Aki stared him down.

  “Not just for the whole Pout thing, either.” She sidled up to Rueben and rubbed her breasts against him.

  Rueben wasn’t quite sure what to do, given he and Aki had barely so much as made it to first base.

  How much did she want him to play along? He gulped. They were only friends, right? He couldn’t bring himself to do much but sit there awkwardly. Not that he didn’t want to. My God, he wanted to…but he also didn’t want to get slapped, and Marshall sat there ready to spill all his childhood secrets.

  She puckered her lips and gazed longingly into his eyes. “Given what he did to me last night, let’s just say…he’s a hero in more ways than one.”

  Marshall whistled low and shook his head in approval. He raised his palms in surrender.

  Rueben blushed bright red and was grateful when the ovation ended. Aki winked at him, and he fell back into his chair and finished off the glass of wine in one gulp.

  Martha was at the platform now, and she smiled at the crowd.

  “Thank you, thank you.” She glanced down at her cards. “The week and weekend leading up to Valentine’s Day for most of New York meant buying cards and booking five-star dinners that ended with diamond rings and midnight declarations of love between the sheets.”

  The crowd laughed, and Rueben winked at Aki. “You wrote that, didn’t you?”

  She nodded and smiled. “Her speech was dry. She needed a few jokes.”

  “Yeah, jokes aren’t her thing.”

  “Not particularly.”

  The laughter died, and Martha continued. “Or if you’re like me, you spend National Single’s Awareness Day drowning yourself in chocolate and Chinese takeout and binge-watching Netflix.”

  More laughter.

  “What am I saying? That’s Tuesday night,” she quipped.

  Buzz turned to Aki. “These are good. You wrote this stuff?”

  Aki shrugged modestly.

  “What would you know about National Single’s Awareness Day?” Rueben teased. Friendzone be damned. He was going to flirt. “Have you been single, like…ever?”

  “Eh, I have friends.”

  “Ahhh, sure you have.” Buzz nodded in unison with Rueben.

  Martha’s face brightened, and she visibly relaxed as the crowd decided they liked her. “For some of us, the week leading up to Valentine’s Day was a little more.” She paused for dramatic effect and glanced down at her notes before continuing. Reuben thought he saw her hand tremble.

  “In America, it is one of our founding principles that we are all, whether rich or poor, equal under the law.”

  The crowd roared and gave her another standing ovation. They knew where she was going with this.

  “Thank you, thank you.” Her voice built momentum as her passion for the subject grew. Everyone sat back down, and she continued, “I received an anonymous tip that a certain high-profile member of the city was up to some activities he shouldn’t have been into.”

  That wasn’t quite the case, but her telling them about his ability to Time Warp back into himself probably wouldn’t play well to this crowd.

  Martha’s eyes took on a dark and fiery look. “In the beginning, we didn’t have proof, and as we all know, we are innocent until proven guilty. That’s true, and we honor that. On the other hand, when you’re proven guilty, you’d better hope there’s a merciful God or Allah or Great Spirit Force or whatever floats your boat, ’cause the city of New York is coming to get your sorry ass!”

  The crowd of police officers whooped and hollered, and Rueben whistled. He’d never seen her like this. Marshall gave her a lone standing ovation, and a few others joined him.

  “So based on the tip, I took on a full-scale investigation of the high-profile investor and businessman, Alister Pout.”

  “Jail the Canadian!” someone yelled with a fist-pump into the air.

  That set off a fresh round of cheering.

  “Deport Pout!” another one yelled. That phrase had become a common local protest slogan and meme fodder.

  Yes, Alister Pout was an almost-billionaire Canadian living in New York for the last decade. Now, his sole place of residence wa
s in the New York State Penitentiary. That was entirely the work of the band of misfits at Table Eight.

  Martha regained the floor. “In my investigation, I found a man who is truly twisted and dark and belongs not exalted in city boardrooms, but rotting behind bars. I found a very sick man whose full roster of crimes we may never know. What we do know is that he left a trail of victims and their families heartbroken from sea to shining to sea and beyond.

  “Who only knows what plans he had for his RedBook app and the software behind it. I mean, its software allows RedBook to activate its users’ cell phone cameras and microphones. All in an effort to provide first responders quicker access and a first look at cities during a time of crisis. A major earthquake. A hurricane. An armed robbery at a bank. I don’t know about you all, but this sounds like a front—spying on its users smells illicit in my book.”

  The sea of officers nodded in the audience like waves, and she continued, “For some reason, people continue to sign up for the app to get their social media fix. In fact, some estimates have it that RedBook has been gaining new users at an exponential pace since Pout was apprehended.”

  Someone in the audience shouted, “Shut RedBook down.”

  Martha silently nodded. Why did she get the feeling that they hadn’t seen the last of RedBook or Pout’s plans? “People gotta cash in on the newest fad, I guess. I, for one, will never fully understand some of those we’ve sworn to protect. It’s people like them who probably think the upcoming world leader summit at the U.N. building here in NYC on Monday will come to something. Who knows, maybe it will. But one thing’s for sure. We will not allow Pout and others like him to get away with illicit activities in our city.