The South Beach Search
“You’re probably right. He could have broken into the spa employee’s Jeep to throw us off track. The loss of the bowl upset the woman badly, though.”
“Or it could have been pure convenience. This wouldn’t be the first time Izzo pinched something he could dispose of easily.”
“We need to find him and ask him,” Reese said.
“Man, talk about bad luck. First your witness disappears and now your briefcase. Do you think Romero was fishing? Searching your vehicle in hopes of finding a lead to his ex-wife’s location?”
“Maybe. They want to find her as badly as I do.”
“Probably more,” Javi said. “I’ll send agents to major fences and Miami pawnshops and see if they come up with the missing bowl. I need a description. A photo would be better.”
“I’ll call the spa.”
Several hours later, Reese nodded at his secretary, confident his instructions would be carried out as ordered. Joanne was the best assistant he’d ever had.
“And those grand jury subpoenas need to be served today,” he ended.
Joanne nodded as she rose. “Yes, sir. Oh, I’m sorry, but I can’t find a number for this Taki person. There’s nothing listed, and the number she put down on the police report is for SoBe Spa.”
“Did you try the spa?”
“Yes, but she only teaches on Monday and Thursday nights, and the manager—” Joanne consulted her spiral-bound notebook “—Lourdes Garcia, wouldn’t give me Taki’s home number.”
“Did you tell her the U.S. Attorney’s Office needed to contact their employee?”
“Of course, but that didn’t make a difference. They have a strict policy not to give out the instructors’ numbers to anyone.”
“Get Ms. Garcia on the phone.”
Irritation gnawed at Reese when Joanne alerted him she’d reached Ms. Garcia. He wasn’t used to a roadblock over something as simple as a phone number.
“But, Reese, you surely understand our policy not to give out the instructors’ addresses or phone numbers,” Lourdes told him when he’d explained the reason for his request. “I might normally make an exception considering the circumstances, but Taki insists on her privacy. She’s one of the most popular members of our staff.”
“If I give you my office and cell number, will you call her and leave a message?”
“Certainly. She rarely checks voice mail, though—something about negative energy—so it might take a while to reach her. If I don’t hear from her, I’ll make sure she gets your message on Thursday.”
“It’s important, Ms. Garcia.”
He heard her release a long breath. “Everything is important to you, Reese.”
* * *
INSIDE THE ELEVATOR at his condo, Reese dropped his new briefcase and pushed the button for the twentieth floor. As the car lurched upward, he glared down at the stiff black leather, thinking the miserable bag was much heavier than the one stolen. And he’d liked his old case, a gift from his mother. It’d been well-made, and he’d used it since law school.
Reese was glad to be home. His condo was decorated by a woman he’d once dated. He often wondered if the antiseptic white-on-white living room reflected what she thought of his personality. He’d found her a bit boring, too, though, and their romance had been brief. He didn’t have time to date.
After depositing the attaché by a cream-colored sofa, Reese opened his vertical blinds, the sound a quiet whoosh. Five miles in the distance, the lights of South Beach glittered across Biscayne Bay. He searched for the blue zigzag neon strip that identified SoBe Spa. Was Taki conducting one of her classes? No, not until Thursday, according to the manager.
He turned away from the stunning view. He had two hundred pages of trial transcript to review and could never get any serious reading done at the office with all the interruptions. He’d pop the take-out pasta from Risotto’s into the microwave, sip one glass of Napa Valley Cabernet, then work until his eyes gave out.
Three delicious bites into garlic-laced linguini, his cell phone rang.
“Reese Beauchamps,” he said, his attention still focused on page twenty of the Romero versus Romero divorce transcript.
“Hi, Reese Beauchamps,” a soft feminine voice replied. “This is Taki. I got an urgent message to call you.”
Reese placed his fork across his plate and sat back. He glanced at the caller ID display. Private.
“Have you found my bowl?” she asked, her voice anxious.
“Sorry, not yet. I need more of a description.”
She released a sigh. “Would you like a photograph?”
“If you have one, that’d be great.”
“Oh, I’ve got lots of photos of my bowl, but I’d much rather have the real thing.”
“Because your mortal soul is in danger without it, right?”
He waited through a long pause before she answered. Why wasn’t her phone number available? Well, Lourdes Garcia said she valued her privacy. Nothing wrong with that unless you had something to hide.
“My soul was in danger before I got the bowl. The bowl was supposed to correct that problem.”
“A bowl can rescue your soul?” Reese suppressed a laugh. “How is it going to do that?”
“By repaying a karmic debt.”
Amused by Taki’s serious tone as she babbled her New Age nonsense, Reese tried to recall what the personal trainer had said to her in the spa’s parking lot. Something about a blot on her soul?
The woman might be easy to look at, but she was as nutty as psychics who predicted the future over the phone. Karmic debt? How would she know when the debt is repaid?
“Never mind. Where is your office?” she asked, now businesslike.
“In the federal building, the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”
“You’re not the United States attorney, are you?”
“Only one of many assistants,” Reese answered, thinking she didn’t sound at all impressed.
“I’ll drop off a picture tomorrow.”
“Thanks. That’ll help.”
“What will you do with it?” she asked.
“The FBI will show the photo to fences and pawnshops and hope for a hit.”
“Oh. Pawnshops.” After a moment she said, “Listen, thanks for trying to find my bowl. Lourdes says you’re a busy man.”
“You’re welcome,” Reese said, deciding it best not to tell her he hoped the bowl led him to Izzo, Romero’s top hit man. One way or another, he’d make sure this goofball got her bowl back.
He listened to the dial tone after she hung up, strangely dissatisfied at the prospect of spending the next three hours reading the messy details of the divorce between Claudia and Carlos Romero.
* * *
AFTER DISCONNECTING WITH REESE, Taki lay on her bed and gazed at the multitude of angels suspended from the white ceiling overhead. Surrounded by soft light from flickering candles, the colorful winged ceramic and papier-mâché creations looked as if they were flying as they swayed on thin filament wires.
As friends added to her collection, Taki hung her glorious angels one at a time, hoping the hovering guardians would protect her from the negative thoughts in the world.
She really needed the angels’ protection tonight. Why did she feel this odd, wild connection to Reese Beauchamps? Goose bumps popped up along her arms as she pictured his handsome face, his soulful dark eyes when she’d met him last night.
And why did the sound of his deep voice excite her in an unsettling physical way? It made no sense to be attracted to an intense, detail-focused lawyer. One who made fun of her bowl and the whole concept of karma.
Disturbed by her thoughts, Taki brought her fingers to her temples and applied gentle pressure. Hadn’t Guru Navi warned her about judging others? Reese was just upset, as she was, about the loss of important property. Guilt, her constant companion since childhood, weighed upon her, almost pressing her into the mattress.
There had to be some reason he stirred such strong emotions. Maybe her suspicion that she’d known him in another lifetime was the answer. She closed her eyes, deciding he’d likely made her life miserable for centuries. No doubt the man had a lot to answer for.
A light, cool wind rustled through the open window, tinkling her mobiles and sending the angels into flight. Her home had no heat, but she didn’t need any. Where she grew up, this temperature was considered balmy. To her, South Florida’s weather seemed heavenly tonight.
She inhaled deeply, taking in clean air, then stretched her arms high overhead, enjoying the breeze as it brushed across her overheated skin, her thoughts circling back to Reese. Since last night, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. It was possible his obvious position and power reminded her of what she’d gladly left behind, what she continued to run from.
She turned on her stomach and lifted her shoulders, stretching along the front of her body. She needed to clear her mind. She refused to think about greed and selfishness, the things her father’s endless parade of lawyers knew best.
The bowl’s disappearance was already beginning to affect her. She needed to find it as soon as possible. She’d do a short practice and meditate until tranquil.
Tomorrow she’d look for her bowl by visiting pawnshops herself.
CHAPTER TWO
Office of the United States Attorney for the Southern District of Florida.
TAKI GLARED AT the gold leaf letters adorning the heavy wooden door to Reese Beauchamps’s office. Of course she wasn’t actually experiencing déjà vu. She had already been here once today, at 9:00 a.m., when she’d left two photographs of her missing Tibetan bowl with a receptionist before setting off to the pawnshops.
She pushed open the door. What an adventure that had turned out to be.
At the sixth musty, crowded, depressing store she visited, she found a man who thought maybe someone had possibly come in with something that looked like her bowl yesterday. A bit vague, sure, but she’d been thrilled and pressed him for more info. But he put her off, telling her to come back later and talk to his boss.
“I’d like to see Reese Beauchamps,” Taki told the same pale, pregnant receptionist from this morning, having decided it best to relay the information directly to Reese. While she normally avoided lawyers like flu germs, she hoped his authority might encourage the pawnshop owner to talk.
“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked. She placed her hand on her swollen belly and winced as if in discomfort.
“No. But I have valuable information I’m sure Reese will want. Please let him know I’m here.”
The receptionist lifted arched eyebrows at the use of his first name. “Your name again, please?”
“Taki.”
“Taki...?”
“Just Taki. How far along are you?” she asked.
The woman rubbed her abdomen and sighed. “Six months, but I have nausea like I’m six weeks. If it doesn’t stop, I’m going to have to go home.”
“Have you tried ginger?”
“Ginger?”
“Ginger makes a soothing herbal tea. Small amounts are safe for the baby and, trust me, it works. Cinnamon also helps. You might add some if you like the taste.”
The receptionist smiled dubiously. “Thanks. I’ll let Mr. Beauchamps’s secretary know you’re here.”
After the woman slid her frosted window shut, Taki seated herself in the waiting room and glanced at the wall clock. Almost one-thirty. Looking around, she noted sleek and modern furnishings that didn’t look all that comfortable. Plenty of magazines littered tables to help pass the time, but she’d rather meditate, if it came to that. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have long to wait.
Guru Navi always said waiting was an opportunity to spend quality time with yourself. But would Reese make her wait awhile? Was he that busy?
The only other person in the room was a balding elderly man. She smiled at him, but he didn’t make eye contact. Instead, he closed his eyes and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
Becoming more and more concerned for him, Taki suffered along with the poor man while he twitched and uttered quiet moans. Every few minutes he rose and limped around the small room, sat again, then struggled back to his feet, pressing both hands against his lower back.
She nibbled at her bottom lip. All the signs of a bad lumbar area. She’d helped more than one chronic back patient with either yoga or herbs. Why not assist another while she waited for Mr. Big-shot Lawyer?
“Are you all right?” she asked. She’d learned most people loved to talk about their pain.
“It’s my lower back,” he said and sucked in a quick bit of air as if it were torture to even breathe. “Hurt it on the job.”
“Where exactly does it hurt?” Taki asked, making her voice soothing and sympathetic.
“Right at my belt line. Never goes away.”
“I’m so sorry. What does your doctor say?”
The man took a few hesitant steps. “That there’s nothing he can do. I’m old and just got to live with it.”
“Orthopedist?” she asked.
“And a damn neurologist. Every test in the book.”
She nodded. So he’d already consulted the Western medical specialties.
“Damn quacks,” he muttered.
“You poor thing.” Taki rose and approached the man. Before beginning, she asked what she always asked, even in her yoga classes. “Do you mind if I touch you?”
“What for?” he asked, eyes wide, but now looking at her with interest.
“Maybe I can help.”
* * *
WHEN THE INTERCOM BUZZED, Reese muted the sound on the DVR and rubbed his tired eyes, irritated by the interruption. Agent Rivas was probably correct that no clue to Claudia Romero’s location existed in this two-year-old videotape deposition, but he had to try. Perhaps she’d casually mentioned a second home or a place she liked to escape to on holiday.
Where the hell was she? Why hadn’t she contacted him? And why had Claudia refused to accept protective custody until her ex’s trial? Jury selection would begin in less than three weeks. The woman couldn’t possibly think she was safer on her own.
“What is it?” he said into the speaker. Reese reached for a roast beef sandwich delivered twenty minutes ago and loosened the plastic wrap. The sharp fragrance of the horseradish made him realize how hungry he was.
“Taki is here to see you,” Joanne said. “Shall I show her in?”
Reese dropped the sandwich and paused the DVR, already moving toward the long hallway to the reception area. “I’ll get her,” he told a startled Joanne as he strode past her desk.
Javi Rivas, out in the trenches working seedy pawnshops, reported an hour ago that a knock-out blonde named “Wacky” or “Tacky” had flashed photos of the bowl in some of the worst sections of Miami. He needed to put a stop to that immediately.
What had possessed the woman to search on her own?
She’d already annoyed him by dropping off the photos this morning and disappearing—here and gone before he could inform the receptionist to ask her to wait, that he needed to speak to her.
Taki was obviously in a hurry to make herself the next crime statistic in Miami-Dade County.
Reese opened the door to the waiting area and came to a shocked halt. Taki stood in the center of the room, her graceful hands probing the naked back of Robert Shinhoster.
“Ah. This is the place,” she said, stroking her index finger across the bony ridge of the old man’s spine.
Reese wasn’t sure which surprised him more, the surreal sight of the two of them or his irritated reaction. Taki’s hands were all over Robert Shinhoster, an injured federal worker who had been driving the entire office crazy about his case for months, but why should he care?
She was so focused on Shinhoster, she hadn’t heard the door open.
“Okay,” she told Shinhoster, dropping her arm. “I want you to mash up a chili pepper, mix it with a white skin cream, and rub it on this spot. But wear plastic gloves when you work with the preparation because it might irritate your hands. And don’t use the cream right after a hot bath or shower.”
“What will that do?” Shinhoster asked.
“The capsaicin in the pepper confuses the nerves and you focus on a temporary mild burning more than the ache in your back. I also recommend willow tea for its anti-inflammatory properties, massage—lots of gentle massage—and hot packs alternating with cold. When the inflammation goes down, start yoga classes. This time next year, you might be pain free.”
“Excuse me,” Reese said.
Taki looked over and smiled. “Hi, Reese.”
He hooked his hand under Taki’s arm to draw her away from a dazed-looking Shinhoster and out of the room.
“Hey, thanks,” Shinhoster yelled as the door closed.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Reese demanded when they faced each other in the long hallway.
Taki’s sapphire eyes clouded at his words. “I was helping that man. He’s in a great deal of pain.”
“And he’s trying to squeeze money out of the U.S. government for his supposed pain.”
“Only because he thinks he’s been cast aside. Poor dear feels disliked because he worked for the Internal Revenue Service. He says no lawyer will believe an auditor could get a bad back.”
Reese stared into her earnest face and realized the woman was absolutely serious. “And where did you get your medical degree?”
“I’m not a doctor,” she said, straightening her slender shoulders. “I’m an herbalist.”
“Then why are you behaving like a private detective?”
She blinked twice. “What?”
One thing at a time, Reese told himself. He glanced at the openmouthed receptionist who followed the conversation with keen interest.
“Let’s go to my office,” he said, motioning Taki ahead of him.
The effortless, regal way she moved reminded him of silk flowing over smooth skin. Taki appeared to glide more than walk. She looked curiously around her, her gaze peering into every open room 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?”