The South Beach Search. Sharon Hartley
exactly. Someone left the photo with Benny, one of my regular students.” With a graceful movement, she tucked a strand of hair behind her shoulder.
Reese made a mental note to question Benny. He knew all about Benny. The old man practically lived at SoBe Spa, or anyway, he was there every time Reese worked out. So what was his involvement with Taki and her magic bowl?
“Why him and not you?” Reese asked.
The waiter arrived before she could reply.
“Cafecito to go,” Reese requested. The potent Cuban coffee was like mainlining caffeine, but he still had hours of work to do tonight.
“I asked people around the spa if they knew anything about the bowl,” she said when the waiter moved away. “Benny did, too. I guess he asked the right person.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Do you have the photo?”
She reached for her purse.
“Wait. I’ll look at it later.”
Reese surveyed the room, searching for a familiar face. His initial response to Taki’s message had been that someone was playing a joke on her, but Puerto Sagua just happened to be Izzo’s favorite place for breakfast, and nobody in law enforcement believed in coincidences.
“Whoever sent the note has my bowl and maybe you can recover your briefcase, too,” she said, her voice low and urgent.
Reese stared at Taki’s animated face. Why did he find this nutcase so compelling? She certainly had guts. More courage than sense, apparently.
“You shouldn’t have come here alone, Taki. It was a foolish thing to do.”
“But you didn’t return my calls. I had no choice.”
Reese shook his head at her stubbornness. Why was this damned bowl so important? Something else had to be going on. He’d find out what tonight.
“I was in trial all day,” he said. “I didn’t get your messages until five-thirty.”
“Well, I didn’t want to miss the chance of getting my bowl back. Now quit talking to me or nothing will happen.” She smiled sweetly and extended her hand to dismiss him.
Reese grasped her fingers and squeezed. When she released her grip, he picked up his coffee, dropped a bill on the counter and moved to an empty table where he could keep an eye on her.
He pried open the lid of the foam take-out cup, shaking his head as he remembered Taki’s disapproval of the nonbiodegradable material. The woman wanted to save the world.
Steam floated up to his face, bringing with it an aroma of coffee.
Letting the brew cool a bit, he waited before taking the first sip and continued to observe the crowded room. He noted Javi did the same, but the agent blended in with the casually dressed clientele a lot better than Reese did in his tailored suit.
He probably stuck out as obviously as Taki.
What the hell was he doing here? He had too much work for these kinds of games. When he’d received Taki’s messages, he’d been torn between outrage and worry. Unable to let her face unknown danger alone, he’d called Javi and asked him to meet them at Puerto Sagua.
Outside the winter light faded to darkness, but no one approached her, although more than one male customer openly ogled her ethereal blond beauty.
Izzo certainly wasn’t in sight. Not that Reese thought this meeting had anything to do with him. Just another dead end, another wild-goose chase courtesy of Wacky Taki.
Reese sipped the strong coffee. She might be a little nuts, but he had to admit she was plenty easy on the eyes. Taki barely touched the food she’d ordered. She did drink four glasses of water, however, and occasionally would wrinkle her cute nose and wave off smoke from the grill that drifted her way.
At six forty-five, she scanned the back of the room and gave a disappointed shrug when their gazes locked. She picked up her check and slid off the stool.
Agreeing that it was time to give up, Reese pushed through the front door while Taki dealt with the cashier. He noted she used cash.
The night seemed oppressively dark when he exited the restaurant. Fast-moving clouds obscured the moon, and a brisk wind sent leaves scattering across the sidewalk. He buttoned his jacket against the crisp evening air. A cold front had swept into South Florida, and the thermometer would dip into the forties tonight. A rare event.
Wrapping a wool cape around her slight frame, Taki stepped onto the sidewalk.
“Where are you parked?” he asked when she moved beside him.
“I’m in the public lot over on Washington.” She glanced at his rented Ford sitting in a no-parking zone in front of the popular restaurant.
“I was late, remember?” Reese said, wondering why he felt defensive.
She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.
“Come on. I’ll give you a ride to your car.” He opened the passenger door and motioned her in.
When Reese pulled his door shut, the quiet in the interior of the sedan made him feel as if he’d just locked out the world and had Taki all to himself. Not a bad feeling.
“Thank you for coming,” she said in what had to be the most sincere thanks he’d ever received.
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m sorry you wasted your time.”
“I’m sorry no one showed.”
“Me, too.” She sighed, obviously frustrated. “What went wrong? Why didn’t they come?”
“Good question.”
“The note didn’t say to come alone,” she mused. “Although they couldn’t have known you were with me.”
Reese suppressed a chuckle. He’d think she’d been watching too much television, but doubted she watched the TV much, if ever, what with all that negative energy emanating from the screen. Wouldn’t be good for that karmic debt.
“Maybe you’ll be contacted again.”
“I sure hope so,” she said.
“I hope you understand why I couldn’t return your calls?”
“Your secretary explained. I know you’re a busy man.”
Her voice sounded sympathetic, as if he had terminal cancer.
“Let me see the photo,” he said.
She dug in a multicolored fabric bag that featured images of an elephant, its strap snug between her breasts, and produced a color picture of a brass bowl with swirling patterns etched into the metal.
Reese studied the image, briefly disappointed there was no sign of his briefcase in the background. He recognized the headline of today’s newspaper. Definitely a recent photo.
“You’re sure it’s your bowl?”
“Positive.”
He flipped the photo and read the note, finding nothing that would lead to its author. The way the note had been created screamed amateur. Or again, maybe too many TV crime shows. No way was Romero involved.
He lifted his gaze back to her serious face. “Is there any chance your student was playing a mean trick on you?”
She reacted to that idea as if he had struck her. “Ben would never do that.”
He studied her. We’ll see about that. “Okay. Can I keep this?”
“I guess.”
“I want to send it to the FBI lab. Maybe they can find a clue to our mystery.”
She brightened at his plan. “Good