The South Beach Search. Sharon Hartley

I’m sure you think so,” she said, moving toward the door. “But I’ve learned facts can be manipulated. Twisted into something ugly.”

      Reese came around his desk and stood beside her, wondering why he felt the urge to touch her, however inappropriate such an action might be. Would that be considered harassment in one of those previous lifetimes where they’d known each other?

      Previous lifetimes? Yeah, sure. No doubt they’d known each other during the Civil War. Or maybe ancient Rome.

      “Thanks for lunch,” he said. Taki had insisted on paying, reminding him that he was her guest. “I’ll let you know if anything develops.”

      “Thank you.”

      “Please don’t go to any more pawnshops, Taki. And I’m not ordering. I’m asking.”

      She cocked her head. “And you even said ‘please.’”

      “I’m serious,” he said, doubting she would listen. Taki existed in some mystifying world of her own creation where dangerous men like Romero didn’t exist. Too bad that world was total fiction.

      “I promise.” She smiled, dimples appearing in her smooth cheeks, her face so serious and open that he knew she considered her promise a sacred vow. Without warning, she rose to her toes and brushed a kiss on his left cheek, her lips as soft as her promise. Her fresh scent, maybe jasmine, filled his senses, reminding him of sunshine and a gentle spring breeze.

      “Thanks for worrying about me,” she said, hesitating an instant too long before pulling away, her breath warm and sweet on his chin. Reese closed his eyes against the thought of crushing her to him.

       What the hell is wrong with me?

      With his fingers pressed to the spot where her lips had touched, he watched Taki exit his office in her strangely elegant manner.

      Talk about a breath of fresh air. Taki had blown into his life and shaken it up like nothing ever had. Treating what he knew to be fact as fiction, she made the impossible seem somehow believable.

       Negative energy? Third eyes? Mysterious feelings? Ridiculous.

      As his buzzer sounded insistently behind him, Reese felt as if he was coming out of a trance. The woman was sincere in her quirky beliefs, but a total fruitcake. He shook his head to clear it.

      Damn, but she was a huge distraction, one he didn’t have time for.

      Reese sat at his desk and prioritized the phone calls he needed to return. Thanks to his little time-out with Miss New Age Wonder, he wouldn’t get home tonight until after ten o’clock.

      Better stay far, far away from Wacky Taki or he’d never get any work done.

      “Yes, Joanne?” he said into the intercom.

      “Agent Rivas is on line two.”

      Reese punched the speaker. “What have you got for me, Javi?”

      “Dead end, Reese. Some crackhead pawned a silver cup from a horse race, nothing from Tibet. But the clerk practically got religious when talking about your friend Taki. When do I get to meet this knockout blonde?”

      “She’s a little hard to reach,” Reese said, realizing with a groan that he still didn’t have her phone number or address.

      Taki might be a nut job, but she was also damned elusive.

      * * *

      AT HOME THAT EVENING, still unsettled by the loss of her bowl—not to mention her lunch with Reese—Taki tried to calm her mind by sitting for meditation. But her restless thoughts looped over and over one thing: Reese made her think of her father—actually, reminded her of her father—and she hated her father.

      Maybe Reese could help her find the bowl, but she had no business coming within a square mile of him if he dredged up thoughts of the soulless monster. She should never look into Reese’s eyes—no matter how dreamy those particular eyes. No matter how dark, how aware. She sighed.

      Longing to regain serenity, Taki rose and opened her back door to gaze out on her small herb garden. The sight of vigorous plants bursting with life out of their neat rows immediately improved her mood. The natural world always soothed her. Other than practicing yoga, her happiest times were spent with Mother Nature, either hiking or watching beautiful things grow.

      She moved down the steps, feeling as if she were transitioning into another world, a better place, a quiet and simple space where no problems interfered. With the property bordered by tall oaks, she always felt as if she were entering some secret garden as she entered the backyard of the estate where she lived.

      Inhaling deeply, she was rewarded with the delicious scent of the rich earth she’d worked so hard to create—Miami Beach actually had pretty lousy dirt—and, yes, there it was: a hint of lavender.

      Her gaze zeroed in on the row of lavender, shiny green leaves and tiny purple buds. So hard to grow in South Florida, but with the cooler temperatures of winter, her third attempt had finally met with success. Lavender encouraged relaxation, and soon she could create her special scented bath oil. She often gave samples to new students, recommending long, soothing soaks after class. Maybe she should give some to Reese.

      The image of a bare-chested, dark-eyed Reese easing his muscled body into a steaming tub made her anything but relaxed—in fact, it instantly destroyed the tranquility she’d come outside seeking.

      Closing her eyes, she released a slow exhale, forcing her traitorous mind away from a naked Reese Beauchamps. It would certainly help if she didn’t find him so darned attractive.

      She slipped off her shoes and stepped into the soft damp dirt between rows. Glorying in that sensation, she wiggled her toes and hugged her elbows. The plot might be small, but it was all hers, and she was perhaps too proud of these happy, healthy herbs.

      And how could she call herself an herbalist if she didn’t grow her own product? She’d been on the run so much lately, this was the first time she’d been able to grow her own crop in what seemed like forever. She frowned, thinking back. How long had it been since her last real garden? One where the plants sent their roots straight into the earth and not some plastic pot.

      Bending her knees, but keeping her upper back flat to protect the fragile lumbar area, Taki yanked weeds from between her plants. Working steadily down a row of Saint-John’s-wort, she considered her next step to locate the missing bowl. Where was it? She didn’t have any luck with the pawnshops. Could Reese’s logical methods find it?

      She sighed, realizing her thoughts had once again circled back to Reese Beauchamps. Certainly didn’t take long.

      A mockingbird chirped, flitted into a pine tree, then onto the iron railing of Victoria’s second-floor balcony where he began to sing in earnest. No lights were on in the master bedroom, so likely her landlady wasn’t home. Taki hoped Victoria was out having a good time at one of her clubs, maybe playing bridge.

      Victoria Van Buren, who’d just turned seventy, had once been her mother’s best friend and mentor. After returning from Asia, on what was meant to be a brief trip to see Navi six months ago, Victoria offered free lodging in a converted garage behind the main house for as long as Taki wanted, promising never to reveal her true identity to anyone. While waiting for the bowl to arrive, Taki had accepted Victoria’s hospitality.

      But now with the bowl stolen, everything had somehow changed.

      Taki loved her cottage, but definitely did not want to talk to Victoria tonight. Truthfully, she didn’t want to talk to anyone. That’s why she was pulling weeds in her herb patch, hoping to figure out what to do about her bowl and Reese.

      Because the universe in all its wisdom had linked Reese with her bowl. Once that connection was made, there was nothing she could do about it—no matter how much she wanted to never think about him again.

      Of course, it would be a lot easier to forget about Reese if she didn’t enjoy fantasizing