The South Beach Search. Sharon Hartley
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along the corridor.
“Hold my calls,” he told Joanne as they passed her desk and entered his office. He closed the door and turned to Taki, whose gaze had zeroed in on his view of the sparkling water of Biscayne Bay.
“Please tell me you’re not trying to practice medicine,” he told her.
“I certainly know better than that,” she said. “I didn’t charge Mr. Shinhoster a thing. My advice is always free.”
Reese shook his head, imagining the headline on the front page of the Miami Herald: Unlicensed Yoga Teacher Caught Prescribing Drugs in U.S. Attorney’s Office.
“He can take my advice or ignore it. It’s his choice.” She shrugged. “But just think. If I cure his pain, then he’ll leave you alone. If he listens to me, he could probably return to work soon, but I think he’ll probably opt for retirement.”
Reese stared at her. “You discussed his future employment plans?”
“He needed someone to talk to. But enough about that. I have news.” She waved her hand, apparently intending to leap to a new subject. “I have a lead on the bowl,” she announced, excitement shining in her sky-blue eyes.
“A lead?” Reese placed his hands on his hips and leaned forward. “No doubt from one of your pawnshop visits?”
She nodded and flashed a dazzling smile. “I did what you suggested and took a photo to pawnshops. The clerk at Jacques’s Hock—” Taki reached in her jeans pocket and handed him a crumpled business card “—says to come back and talk to his boss this afternoon. I thought you would want to know. I was thinking it would be better if you went and did your...lawyer thing.”
Reese glanced at the card. “I never suggested that you go to pawnshops yourself.”
Unfazed, she continued to smile at him expectantly, obviously pleased with herself and totally relaxed in faded blue jeans and a bulky pale blue cotton sweater. He’d never been less relaxed. He took a deep breath and released it in an explosive whoosh.
“Listen, Taki, your misguided efforts are undermining the work of my field agents.”
Her smile faded. “They are? How?”
“The FBI is tracking an extremely dangerous man. Believe me, you don’t want this guy to discover you’re looking for him. He might come after you to find out why.”
“Oh.” She bit her lower lip and clasped her hands behind her.
“Let the authorities handle this. You could get yourself hurt.”
She shifted her gaze to the floor, looking so disappointed he resisted a foolish urge to make her feel better. Taki desperately wanted that damn bowl back and had worked hard to get what she considered a huge break in the case. He had to give her that.
Still—best not to encourage her. A woman who looked as good as this one shouldn’t hang out in the wrong sections of Miami.
Her gaze drifted around his office and stopped on his roast beef and Swiss on rye. “I interrupted your lunch.”
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I guess I was too busy screwing up your investigation.”
“Would you like half of my roast beef sandwich? I have sodas in the refrigerator.”
She raised a horrified gaze to his. “Thank you, but I’m a vegetarian.”
“Oh,” he said, feeling foolish but not sure why.
Her very kissable lips curled into another smile, and he couldn’t help but smile back. What was it about this woman?
“Let me take you out for a healthier lunch,” she suggested.
He didn’t have time to leave the office for lunch, hadn’t gone out for lunch in weeks...hell, maybe a month. The Romero prosecution might be high-profile, but it was far from his only case. He had way too much work to do this afternoon. Her invitation was out of the question.
Unless he could learn more about her bowl and why it had been taken.
“It’s a beautiful day,” she said in a tempting voice. “The temperature is around sixty-eight degrees, the sky is bright blue and a fresh breeze is blowing. Weather like today’s is the reason thousands of people visit Miami every winter.”
He hesitated, fascinated by the tip of her tongue moistening her lips. She didn’t wear any sort of makeup, and no wonder. Why spoil perfection?
“The fresh air will clear your mind,” she said. “I’ll bet you’ll even be more productive afterward.”
“What the hell,” Reese said, wondering where his usual sense of urgency had vanished to. The Romero case would just have to wait. A man was entitled to eat.
He grabbed his coat and touched her back lightly. “Let’s not invite your new patient to join us.”
He’d intended to take his rented vehicle—the Jag was still at the dealer for repairs—but she insisted driving would only stress him out more and he needed to relax. So with a few misgivings, he climbed into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt.
She bunched her hair into a navy blue beret. “Otherwise it gets hopelessly tangled,” she told him, then accelerated into traffic.
He loosened his tie, relishing the warmth of the sun on his face. The cool wind made conversation impossible while she careened way too fast along I-95. He glanced at the speedometer and tightened his seat belt.
And speeding on the interstate in Miami won’t stress me out?
He had no idea where she was taking him, but hoped they got there in one piece.
* * *
TAKI DECIDED REESE seemed even more familiar today. Much more familiar.
They were seated across from each other at a booth in The Spiritual Kitchen, her favorite restaurant. The sweet fragrance of curry hung in the air, and the faint, peaceful sound of chanting filtered through the sound system.
Reese concentrated on the menu, squinting and holding the paper at arm’s length.
She couldn’t wait any longer. She had to know if the feeling was mutual. That’s why she’d asked him to lunch even though she usually avoided lawyers—as she did all negative influences.
Leaning forward, she asked, “Do I seem familiar to you at all?”
Reese looked up and frowned. She wasn’t sure if he reacted to her question or the menu.
“Familiar?” he said. “How so?”
“As if maybe you had known me before.”
Reese sat back and rubbed his eyes. “You mean before our vehicles were broken into?”
She nodded.
“As in déjà vu?” he asked.
“Well, something like that.”
“No,” Reese said with the beginning of a smile. “Believe me, I would definitely remember you.”
Before Taki could reply, a turbaned waiter arrived to place a ceramic teapot and two matching cups on their table.
“You honor us with your visit, Taki,” the thin Indian man said with a slight bow.
“Thank you, Teshvar,” Taki replied, steepling her hands into prayer position and nodding in return. “Do you have any veggie stew left?”
“Always for you.”
“Then we’d like two orders, please, and lots of your special whole grain sesame bread.”
With another bow, the waiter disappeared. Taki returned her attention to Reese, who now studied her with an amused expression.