The South Beach Search. Sharon Hartley

you rather add another sweetener yourself?”

      They stared at each other across the tiny area, and Reese wondered at the uneasiness in her eyes. In the soft lighting, their startling blue color appeared subdued, but her fair skin glowed. What was she worried about?

      “Please,” he said. “And thank you.”

      “In fact,” she said, while dribbling the thick liquid into the cups, “I’m not at all certain that your bad guys even took my bowl.”

      When Reese accepted the tea from Taki, his hand brushed her slender fingers. She lowered her eyes at the contact.

      “Why is that?” he asked, enjoying the connection between them. Hell, for some demented reason he enjoyed himself whenever he spent time with Taki.

      “It’s a feeling I have,” she said. She parted her lips as if to say more, then pressed them firmly together.

      Wishing he knew what she was about to say, he said, “Do you always rely so heavily on your feelings?”

      She leaned back on the sofa. “What are you relying on to believe that Romero’s people took your briefcase?”

      “Clear, logical assumptions supported by indisputable facts.”

      “Well, my feelings may not be logical, but they’re usually right. Are your assumptions always correct?”

      “Not always,” he said, smiling at her perceptive question. “Okay. Then what happened to your bowl?”

      She stared into the white cup. “I don’t know yet.”

      “Well, I do. Believe me, Taki, I’m trying like hell to get my briefcase back. If I do, I’ll locate your bowl.”

      “Thank you,” she said.

      But Reese could tell she didn’t believe he would find her lost artifact. He looked forward to witnessing her pleasure if he did. He took a hesitant taste and found the brew sweet and refreshing.

      “What kind of tea is this?”

      “Rosemary. It improves the memory, so it’ll help you with your work later.”

      He stared into the amber liquid and shook his head at her constant attempts to help everyone. Then he grinned at her.

      “Maybe you drink too much of this stuff and that’s why you think you remember me.”

      “It doesn’t work that way.”

      “Do I still seem familiar to you?”

      “I don’t know.” Using her fingers as a comb, she absently swept her hand through her long blond hair. He wondered if the strands felt as soft as they looked.

      “Sometimes I tend to get a little carried away,” she continued, throwing him a quick glance. “Perhaps we did meet previously, and I just don’t remember.”

      “That’s much more likely than our introduction occurring in another life,” he said. Good to know she occasionally came back to earth.

      “But where?” she asked. She took another sip of tea, watching him over the rim of the cup.

      “In court maybe?” He raised his eyebrows, hoping she’d treat his next question as a joke. “Have you ever been up on federal charges?”

      “Heavens, no. Is federal prosecuting the only legal work you’ve ever done?”

      “Yes. I became an assistant U.S. attorney right out of law school.”

      “So you don’t take private clients?”

      “Never.”

      “Why is that?”

      Wondering where she was going with this conversation and why, Reese watched Taki nibble on her lower lip. She obviously wanted some information but didn’t want to ask directly.

      “If you need a lawyer, Taki, I can recommend several.”

      Her eyes widened. “I can’t imagine what would ever cause me to hire a lawyer,” she said with an emphatic shake of her head.

      Her response told him a lot. “I guess you don’t like lawyers.”

      He watched her suck air deep into her lungs, and then slowly release the breath.

      “What if someone sues you?” he asked when she didn’t reply.

      “Why would anyone sue me?” Taki balanced the tea as she tucked her bare feet beneath her on the couch.

      “What about that blot on your soul? That might cause a lawsuit.”

      “Maybe you don’t need my tea.” She grinned and shook her head. “You never forget a thing, do you?”

      Not about you, he thought, imagining a thousand ways a woman as beautiful as Taki could place her soul in jeopardy.

      “Lourdes says you want to run for political office,” Taki said.

      “Who knows?” He shrugged, caught off guard by her comment. His future political career must be the subject of widespread speculation if even Taki had heard about it.

      “So that’s why you’re a prosecutor, to get a reputation?”

      “I became a prosecutor because I want to put criminals like Romero in jail where they belong. I hate it when people break laws and get away with it. Justice has always been important to me.” Reese paused. Where had that disclosure come from? Something about Taki required honesty.

      “Or perhaps I secretly wanted to irritate my father,” he continued. “Dad believes that public service is for suckers and the way to practice law is behind a desk.”

      “So your father is a lawyer, too?” she asked.

      “Everyone in my family is.”

      “Everyone?” Her face fell, as if his entire family had been diagnosed with tuberculosis.

      “Well, almost everyone. My mother is a doctor.”

      “Oh. Do you have any brothers or sisters?” she asked. He thought her voice sounded wistful.

      “Two brothers and a sister...all attorneys working for my dad.”

      “Are you from Miami?” she asked.

      “Born and raised. How about you?”

      “I’m an only child.”

      “So why all the questions, Taki?” he asked, needing to get moving. “I thought you wanted to explain something to me.”

      She nodded. “I was trying to get a better sense of who you are. I’m a very private person and have good reasons for not giving my phone number to just anyone.”

      “I’m not just anyone. I’m a United States attorney, one of the good guys.”

      “Are you really?” she asked softly.

      “I put bad guys in jail,” he said, wondering about good reasons for not giving up a number. And why didn’t she have a cell?

      She nodded, looking away. “The thing is, you remind me of someone who isn’t very nice at all.”

      Startled, he asked, “How so?”

      She met his gaze again. “Always barking orders, always in a hurry.”

      That’s how she sees me? He groaned inwardly, knowing there was some truth in that description. “That’s how I get things done in my job.”

      “If I give you my phone number, do you promise you won’t give it to anyone else?”

      “If you don’t want me to, I promise I won’t.”

      She didn’t immediately respond. Instead she chewed on her lower lip again. Feeling uncomfortably like a teenager asking a date