The South Beach Search. Sharon Hartley
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A chorus of groans answered her reminder.
“But only go to your personal edge,” she instructed. “When you feel resistance, back off. In yoga, we never want to cause any pain.”
Benny, one of her regulars, laughed and moaned at the same time. Taki glanced his way and hurried to adjust him. Poor skinny Benny. He tried so hard, but, at seventy, had little flexibility and she always worried he’d push too hard.
“Now make yourselves as comfortable as possible,” she said. “Our final pose is the most important one we do, where we give ourselves the gift of a few minutes of total relaxation.”
“Time for our reward,” Benny said with a deep sigh.
As her students covered themselves with towels or blankets for warmth, she dimmed the lights. They would all sleep better tonight after she helped them progressively relax each part of their bodies. In a few minutes Benny would likely start snoring.
“Close your eyes,” she said, making her voice gentle, “and allow your attention to focus on your breath.” Taki smiled, loving this part of the class where she helped her students achieve at least ten minutes of stress-free existence. Something everyone badly needed in this fast-paced world.
“Imagine yourself in a field full of yellow daisies. Beautiful fragrant flowers stretch as far as the eye can—”
The door slammed open, hitting the wall like a gunshot. “Taki!” an excited female voice shouted.
“Shhhh.” Taki glared at Debbie, one of SoBe Spa’s energetic aerobics instructors. Deb knew better than to interrupt the end of her yoga class.
“I’m so sorry, but there’s an emergency,” Debbie said. “I need to speak with you right away.” She brightened the overhead light, making Taki wince in surprise.
A sense of dread replaced her peaceful mood as she approached the door. “What’s going on?” she whispered. The class began murmuring.
“The police want to speak to you,” Debbie whispered back. “Get your purse. Someone broke into your Jeep. You’ll need your registration.”
Immediately thinking about the package behind the driver’s seat, Taki told the class to remain in relaxation as long as they chose and redimmed the lights. She grabbed her cloth bag and draped it over her neck and shoulder, then followed Debbie.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Nobody knows,” Debbie replied as she pushed open the glass doors to the spa.
Taki shivered as she stepped into the crisp February air and wished she’d grabbed her sweatshirt before rushing out into the dark night. Still worried about the package, she hurried toward the bright lights illuminating a paved lot jammed with cars.
“I thought our parking area had security,” Taki said.
Debbie nodded, her ponytail swinging with the motion. “So did Reese Beauchamps. Whoever robbed you also broke into his brand-new Jag.”
“Oh, no,” Taki murmured. She’d never spoken to Reese, but knew him by sight as he was popular with most of the female staff.
“He’s not happy,” Debbie said, “and is even sexier when he’s mad.”
Taki continued toward where Reese stood tall and confident with his arms folded across his chest, speaking to a uniformed police officer. His dark hair was damp, either from his workout or a shower, and the way he’d combed it back accentuated the strong, high cheekbones of his handsome face.
She couldn’t understand his words but sensed irritation in the jab of his index finger. Oh, right. Wasn’t he some sort of big-shot lawyer? He definitely needed one of her relaxation sessions.
Then she spotted her Jeep, and her breath caught with a painful lurch. Her heart hammered inside her chest.
The canvas top had been cut twice with long, jagged slashes.
She took a deep breath and released it slowly to calm herself. The package had to be there. The bowl had no value to anyone except her.
“My briefcase contained my cell phone and other valuable papers,” Reese told the cop as she approached. “It is imperative that I get them back.”
“We’ll certainly do our best, Mr. Beauchamps.” It seemed to Taki that boredom dripped from the policeman’s voice. But maybe he was just overworked.
When Reese Beauchamps’s angry dark eyes met her stare, a whisper of familiarity brushed over her, an unexpected feeling that she’d met him before. But she hadn’t. No one would forget meeting this man.
“I’m Taki,” she said, forcing her attention to the policeman. “I own the Jeep.” The officer’s eyes widened when he faced her.
As the two men openly checked her out, she again wished she’d thrown some sort of cover over her form-fitting yoga pants and halter top.
She reached into her cloth bag for her wallet. “Here’s my registration, Officer.”
“Taki?” The officer frowned as he studied her papers. “That’s your legal name?” He glanced up. “Just...Taki?”
“Just Taki. And here’s my driver’s license and proof of that PIP insurance we all have to buy.”
She turned to Reese Beauchamps to offer her sympathy, and the buzz of recognition again surged through her.
Disoriented by the strange sensation, she glanced at his car. A temporary tag lay beneath shards of tinted glass from the shattered rear window. The trunk yawned open, its lock obviously forced. Poor guy.
“They stole your briefcase?” she asked.
He nodded. “From the trunk, yeah, with my cell phone inside. You have no idea how—” He ran a hand through his wet hair. “My whole life is in that damn phone.”
“Really?” she murmured. Your whole life? Refusing to be tethered to some addictive electronic device, she didn’t own a cell phone, but understood the rest of the world considered that beyond odd.
“Check to see if there’s anything missing from your vehicle,” the officer told Taki as he scribbled across a form. “I need to document it in my report.”
Somehow certain that the next few moments would impact the rest of her life, she straightened her shoulders and approached the rear of the Jeep with a quick prayer that she’d find a one-foot-square cardboard box with a Tibetan postmark wedged behind the front seat. She peered inside her vehicle.
The box wasn’t there.
After a thorough search, she accepted her bowl was gone. Stolen. Her stomach plunged toward her ankles. A year of hard work—and all for nothing. She closed her eyes and leaned against the Jeep’s hood. How could she have been so foolish?
But who would want an old metal bowl?
“Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”
Reese Beauchamps’s voice brought Taki back to the present moment. Opening her eyes, she blinked back tears, refusing to cry. She had to accept another painful truth. Obviously she had more work to do.
“I’m okay,” she said, although she felt anything but.
“Are you sure? You’re not going to faint, are you?”
“Hardly.” She attempted a reassuring smile. “It’s just that my singing bowl is missing.”
“Your singing...bowl?” he asked. “You mean like a fruit bowl?”
She nodded, thinking only an attorney would compare a spiritual object to a bowl of apples.
“Was it an antique?”
“Yes,” she said. Better to leave it at that.
“I guess we both learned