The South Beach Search. Sharon Hartley

too quickly. “You don’t need to.”

      “Yes, I do.”

      “But—”

      “We don’t know who was in that restaurant, but they know who you are.”

      “Oh.” Her eyes widened, and for the first time he noted a hint of worry.

      “I need to make sure you get home safely.”

      “Okay. Thanks.”

      “Just don’t break any speed limits this time.”

      She nodded, exited the car and climbed into her Jeep.

      After driving a few blocks, Reese called Javi, who followed him, checking for a tail.

      “You see anything inside the restaurant?” Reese asked.

      “Nada,” Javi said. “I had another agent posted outside, and she didn’t notice anything, either. None of Romero’s known people were there. Other than the usual South Beach freaks, no one suspicious.”

      “Do I have a tail?”

      “You’re clear.”

      “Thanks, Javi. Appreciate the help tonight.”

      “Hey, no problem, Reese. Anytime you need help with that blonde, you just let me know. I’m your man.”

      “I’ll check in with you tomorrow,” Reese said, refusing to react to Javi’s comment, and disconnected.

      When Taki turned into the brick driveway of an impressive Miami Beach home, Reese pulled in behind her and released a low whistle at the affluent surroundings. Soft illumination highlighted a three-tiered flowing fountain in the center of a landscaped oval. Overgrown red bougainvillea lined the facade of a handsome coral-colored villa beneath a clay tile roof. He estimated the gated estate covered at least two acres directly on Biscayne Bay.

      He’d pictured Taki in some sort of rustic commune, or perhaps even a tent, not in an exclusive waterfront mansion. Well, well. Wasn’t this an interesting turn of events.

      She jumped from her Jeep and walked toward him. He now recognized the relaxed way she moved, a fluid lilt to her slim hips he found mesmerizing. But the expression on her face told him she debated some huge problem.

      Reese lowered his window, the motor issuing a quiet hum.

      She bent her knees to bring her face level with his. “Thanks for following me home.”

      “You’re welcome.”

      “Were we followed?” Eyes wide, she glanced toward the quiet residential street.

      Reese smiled. “I don’t think so.”

      Taki returned her gaze to his face and released a big sigh. “Well, then—”

      “You wouldn’t have any herbal tea, would you?” he asked.

      “Um...well...sure,” she said. “Lots of it.” She nodded toward the house. “So would you...like to come in?”

      “I’d love to.”

      Reese set the rental’s alarm with a shrill beep, thinking, Why bother? It hadn’t kept Izzo out of the Jag. Truth was, car alarms sounded so frequently in Miami everyone ignored them. Taki grabbed her bag from the Jeep and slung it over one shoulder. He followed her to a small building behind the main house that had probably once been a free-standing garage.

      In another life, of course, he thought to himself with a chuckle.

      * * *

      TAKI MENTALLY ZIPPED through an inventory of her living room while unlocking the door to her cottage. Was there anything in open view that would give Reese a clue to her birth name?

      The Spencer Trust lawyers hadn’t yet traced her to this address, but they might be getting close. Reese had her phone number and now knew where she lived. He could easily give her away without even knowing he’d done a bad thing. Far better that no one know anything about her history. Mistakes could be made, the wrong thing mentioned to the wrong person. Her father had minions everywhere looking for her.

      She needed more time to square things with the universe. She needed to find that bowl before her father located her and she was forced to move again.

      “Do you have a favorite tea?” Taki asked as she stepped through the entrance and flipped on a switch. “Or will any flavor do?”

      “Whatever you have will be fine,” Reese said.

      As she’d expected, he scrutinized her front room as if they’d entered a Ripley’s Believe It or Not! museum. She couldn’t tell if he was amused or taken aback by what he saw.

      She allowed her gaze to roam over the eclectic collection of furniture and curios from her Eastern travels and secondhand shops. She was especially fond of her collection of statuettes of Lord Ganesha, the Hindu elephant god, a deity so powerful it was said he could remove any obstacle. Now, that was some symbolism she really liked.

      Everything had meaning to her, although her possessions probably looked like a bunch of old junk to Reese.

      But there were no trappings from the Spencer fortune, she realized with relief. Even if he had heard of a runaway heiress, he’d never make a connection to her.

      “Make yourself comfortable,” she said, “and I’ll put on some water.”

      Taki poured distilled water into a kettle and placed it on her stove. With a quick push of a button, she ignited the flame, and gas burned with a quiet hiss. Reaching for two mugs from wooden cabinets, she mentally kicked herself for letting Reese in when she knew she should avoid him. How could she keep a calm mind when the man stirred emotion she was better off burying?

      He’d been sweet to meet her at Puerto Sagua, but she could have just said she was tired, that she needed to get some sleep. That wasn’t a lie, not at all. She hadn’t slept well since she’d met Reese. She frowned. Since her bowl had been stolen.

      But oh, no. She’d been entranced by the color of his eyes, by the shape of his lips, by the rich timbre of his voice as he’d asked about tea. It was beyond foolish to allow Reese inside her home, and dangerous because she found him so absurdly attractive. And why did she? The man represented everything she’d run away from four years ago. She should stay away from him, as she did all negative influences.

      So how to explain her intense rush of pleasure when he showed up at the restaurant? Her reaction had nothing to do with her bowl, much less any past or future karma. She’d been thrilled from her crown chakra to the tips of her toes that he had come to help her.

      Definitely beyond foolish.

      Waiting for the water to boil, Taki rejoined Reese in the living room. He stood with folded arms squinting at a print of Buddha hanging near the door to her bedroom. Sensing he was chilled in her unheated home, she turned on a rectangular space heater by the ancient pink brocade sofa.

      He’s from Miami, she remembered. Miami natives took great offense whenever the temperature dropped below sixty.

      “It’ll warm up in a minute,” she said. As she closed the door to the bedroom, Taki smiled at her dangling angels and prayed for luck.

      “Is this also from Tibet?” Reese asked, indicating the colorful print.

      “No, a secondhand shop on Lincoln Road.” Taki admired the peaceful scene of Buddha seated beneath a leafy tree. It was one of her favorite images, one that usually put her in a serene frame of mind. But not tonight with Reese standing right next to her.

      “Tell me about your bowl,” he said, “why it’s so important that you’d risk your life.”

      She continued to stare at the bright colors in the print. “I didn’t risk my life.”

      “If Romero’s people are involved, you did.”

      “But