The South Beach Search

by Sharon Hartley

  How had Taki managed to warp his perspective? The whole concept of meeting a soul mate in countless lifetimes was preposterous. Completely out of his frame of reference. Certainly could never be proven.

  And where the hell was she? She’d called Javi about a new meet with Mayhugh, but hadn’t showed. Reese shook his head. She probably received one of her mysterious “feelings.” He’d been trying to reach her since yesterday afternoon to nail down a time for her and Winslow to meet. Winslow was impatient. His client was in a hurry.

  Forty-five minutes later, the phone rang as Reese knotted his tie. “Reese Beauchamps,” he answered, cradling the receiver between his neck and shoulder, wondering who would call this early.

  “This is David Winslow, Mr. Beauchamps. Have you reached Kim yet?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Reese took a sip of lukewarm coffee, his thoughts now redirected to Taki rather than questions for potential jurors. Whenever he conjured her beautiful face, that image acted like a computer virus invading his brain, taking over and short-circuiting all normal thought processes.

  “I haven’t confirmed a time yet. I’ve been trying to reach her for several days.”

  “I thought you said you...”

  “I don’t have a time yet.”

  “But you left a message?”

  “You must not be aware that voice mail creates bad karma.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Besides, I think I got that concept wrong, anyway.”

  Winslow laughed, which irritated Reese. “Nothing about Kim surprises me. It’s a wonder she turned out as normal as she did.”

  “Because her father kept her isolated. I read the files.” Files which had revealed that after her mother’s death, Taki wasn’t allowed to socialize except on rare occasions. When she hit sixteen and got her driver’s license, she cut loose, taking the quirky notions of her mother to a whole new plateau, finally rejecting everything about her father’s way of life, including the money. Especially the money.

  “Why don’t you call Kim now?” Winslow suggested in a tone that told Reese he regretted revealing anything about his employer. “I doubt if she’s an early riser.”

  “You want me to wake her?”

  “How else will you catch her in? Tell her I’ll juggle my schedule to suit hers.”

  “All right. I’ll let you know as soon as I have a date and time for you.”

  “Thanks.” After a pause, Winslow asked, “Will you be joining us?”

  Reese also hesitated. This was one meeting he definitely wanted to attend, but would his presence make Taki even more uncomfortable? “Only if she wants me there. Will her father be flying in?”

  “No.”

  “No? But surely after all this time—”

  “Mr. Spencer has no interest in seeing his daughter. I look forward to hearing from you.”

  Reese stared at the receiver when Winslow disconnected. He had no interest in seeing his daughter after four years? Damn, the man was ice cold. Even so, for her own good, Taki needed to bridge this huge gap between her and her father. She deserved a beautiful life, but couldn’t create one while constantly on the run.

  Not giving himself time to think, Reese dialed Taki’s number. He let the phone ring twelve times, but no one answered.

  Could she have changed her mind? Had she run away again? As he replaced the phone, he considered the evidence. She’d stood up the FBI at Fairchild. What had that been about? The message he’d left at the Paradise Way Ashram hadn’t been returned. After several phone calls, he’d discovered nobody at SoBe Spa had seen or spoken to her since her Thursday night class. No one at her house at 6:00 a.m. Mayhugh didn’t show at Fairchild, and Javi had been unable to reach the fence.

  Would Taki blow town without telling her soul mate? Maybe she’d spit fire at him on Friday night, but he believed she’d tell him before leaving. So where was she? Perhaps she was staying at the ashram and didn’t receive his message for some cosmic reason. He’d try to reach someone there again later today on a break from court.

  He grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and placed them in his briefcase. Today of all days he needed to see clearly. He looked forward to sealing the fate of Carlos Romero. Of course, Taki believed that karma would eventually punish the terrorist, but he preferred to do the punishing in the here and now. Reese wondered briefly if even Romero had a soul mate...then snapped the briefcase shut.

  Had Taki altered the way he looked at life the same way she had altered the way he looked at the printed word?

  And where the hell was she?

  * * *

  TAKI DRIFTED TO awareness wondering why her head hurt so very, very much. And her back. And her arm, her wrists. Every part of her body ached. Beneath her was a cold, hard, unforgiving surface.

  She sat up, and the world tilted, taking her with it.

  Fighting waves of nausea, she lay back down and pressed her cheek against a damp concrete floor. A floor that smelled like mold. Where was—

  A horrifying rush of memory flooded her.

  Hector. He must have...oh, God, he’d surprised her with a Taser, then tied her up and shoved her into the backseat of that car parked next to her Jeep. And then while she couldn’t move, he’d injected something in her arm that had knocked her out.

  But why? And where was she now? How long ago had that happened?

  She rolled on her back and opened her eyes. Total darkness surrounded her. She blinked. Was it day or night? No way to tell. She moved her hands and realized with relief that she wasn’t restrained any longer, but her wrists stung, the skin raw. When she lifted an arm in front of her face to try and see her hand, the throbbing inside her skull pounded like the drums at the equinox festival. Everything blurred. She couldn’t even focus overhead, couldn’t find a ceiling.

  Why would Hector do this? She thought they were friends. And what was that he’d said about how he was going to be rich?

  It hurt too much to think, to move, so she lay still, her breath shallow and slow, until oblivion moved over her again like a dark mist.

  * * *

  REESE ENTERED THE courtroom reserved for Romero’s trial and placed his briefcase on the prosecution counsel table, the sound echoing in the cavernous room. Except for personnel testing the audio system, the room remained empty. But soon this huge chamber would be buzzing with attorneys, guards, observers and of course a swarm of eager journalists.

  The interest generated by this trial was enormous, increasing the pressure on him for a conviction.

  On the first day of a big trial, he liked to arrive early, to think about the process before getting swept up in the intricate and sometimes tedious minutia of the system. To outsiders the American method of justice seemed cumbersome, slow. But he believed in the jury system. He believed any accused citizen, even one as obviously guilty as Carlos Romero, was entitled to be judged by a jury of his peers. Everyone deserved a fair trial.

  Maybe occasionally the jury got it wrong, but not often. No system was perfect, but in his mind an impartial jury was the surest way to true justice.

  And that’s what today was all about. He needed to select an impartial group of men and women to weigh the evidence he’d bring forth to convict Romero. Jury selection might take time, but the process was a vital component of the system.

  Reese snapped open his briefcase and withdrew his notepad. He sat and began reviewing the questions he intended to ask.

  “Good morning, Reese.”

  Reese looked up from his work to find the first-year attorney assigned as his second chair, as well as scores of other people, had arrived. The room was no longer quiet. “Good morning, Max.”

  “It’s already a zoo out there,” Max said as he took a seat at counsel table
.

  Reese’s cell phone rang. He answered, reminding himself that he needed to mute the ring tone when the judge entered the courtroom. “Yeah, Javi?”

  “I’ve got Izzo in custody. Lucky thing, too. An agent spotted him filling up at a gas station in Liberty City.”

  Finally. Reese sat back, thinking this was an auspicious start to the trial. Maybe a good omen. “Well, better late than never. Have you questioned him?”

  “Not yet. He’s asked for counsel. I assume you’re already in Judge Robinson’s courtroom.”

  “We’re just about to start. I’ll be turning off my phone.”

  “We have to wait until his lawyer arrives, but check with me on a recess. I’ll let you know if we learn anything.”

  Reese looked up as the bailiff entered. “Have you heard from Taki?”

  “Not a word. And Mayhugh is still off the radar, too.”

  “Thanks. I’ll call you later.”

  “All rise,” the bailiff announced.

  Reese put his phone on vibrate and rose, briefly wondering whether Izzo had Taki’s all-important bowl. The briefcase no longer mattered, but by this afternoon they’d get some answers to the mystery behind the theft. Izzo might even provide new evidence against Romero.

  Judge Sylvia Robinson swept into the courtroom, her black robe trailing behind her.

  “Good morning, Counsel,” she stated. “Let’s start with the defense’s motion to exclude.”

  The morning sped by. The judge efficiently dealt with preliminaries and called in the first panel of potential jurors. By noon they’d made good progress on narrowing down the pool.

  “Any more questions of Mrs. Sigler, Mr. Beauchamps?” the judge asked.

  Reese smiled at a kindly white-haired lady with five grandchildren he’d just questioned. One of her sons had recently been the victim of a violent mugging.

  “Do you believe you can render an impartial decision in this case?” Reese asked.

  “Of course, young man. I’ve always judged everyone fairly.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. No further questions, Your Honor.”

  “Just a moment, Counsel,” Judge Robinson said, and swiveled her chair for a whispered conference with her bailiff.

  Reese returned to his table and scribbled notes regarding candidate number nineteen. Mrs. Sigler was bound to be friendly to the prosecution. He’d definitely accept her, but Romero’s attorneys might not. No matter what they claimed, crime victims tended to hold grudges against defendants.

  Jury selection had proceeded a lot swifter than he’d anticipated. Romero’s defense team had surprisingly few preliminary motions that were easily disposed of this morning. Opening statements might well begin Wednesday. He could possibly use Claudia on Friday.

  He glanced at Carlos Romero, wondering how a man facing life in prison could look so smug. Sitting between two well-dressed, fat-cat lawyers, Romero issued a hearty laugh. When he spoke, he gestured with contemptuous self-assurance, often stroking his dark goatee. The man’s arrogant demeanor rankled Reese.

  Naturally, he expected Romero’s counsel to behave as if their case was a slam dunk, that charges should never have been lodged against their wholly innocent client. But usually defendants put on a concerned affect for the jury. Not this guy. His ego was as obvious as his expensive suit.

  Reese tapped his pen on his legal pad. Did they know something he didn’t?

  He dismissed the notion, his own confidence returning. First day jitters, that’s all. The truth was, he’d finally caught a break and now knew something that Romero’s team didn’t.

  He had Claudia to testify against her ex, and Javi had finally caught up with Izzo. Wishing he could watch the agent interrogate the bum, Reese smiled at prospective juror number twenty, a young Hispanic female. One thing at a time. Stay in the present moment. Selecting a jury is important work.

  Judge Robinson swiveled back to face her courtroom. “All right, Counsel. Let’s continue. Next juror, please.”

  * * *

  CURLED IN A fetal position on the damp floor, Taki stared at the tiny sliver of light that entered her prison. It looked as if the light filtered in from underneath a door at the top of a short flight of stairs. She squinted—yes, there was light around all four sides. She raised her head cautiously, afraid the ferocious pounding inside her skull would overpower her again.

  Only a dull ache persisted, so she sat up and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark.

  She reached back to rub a tender lump on the back of her skull. She must have banged her head when she fell. Or maybe the headache resulted from whatever Hector had drugged her with.

  Had he robbed her? If so, Hector would be very disappointed by what he found—but no. She patted her body and discovered her purse still draped over her neck and shoulder. Theft wasn’t the answer.

  She sniffed the stale, moldy air. She’d never heard of a basement in South Florida, but this damp place sure smelled like the ones she remembered up north. She shivered as the thought of darkness-loving rats skittered across her mind.

  She scooted backward across the floor until her shoulders rested against a solid wall. She felt its clamminess with her hand. Where was she? More important, why?

  She hated the dark and the feeling of being closed in. She’d always feared being confined, especially as a child when her dad had locked her in her room.

  What evil thing had she done in a past life to cause this torture? How long had she been here? Well, she couldn’t remain here. She had to get out of this horrible dark box.

  This coffin.

  She hugged her knees to her chest and fought the panic that threatened to overtake her.

  Blocking her right nostril with her thumb, she inhaled through the left, held the breath to a slow count of five, and then exhaled to the count of ten. She alternated nostrils five or six times and gradually the terror subsided. If she wanted to escape, she had to keep herself centered. She wouldn’t find any path to take if she let herself go nuts.

  When calmer, Taki considered her predicament. So had Hector stolen her bowl? As she thought back to the night of the theft, she wondered if that was possible. She’d seen him soon afterward in the parking lot, but he could have hidden the stolen merchandise and circled back to throw the police off track. But why?

  She always came back to the same thing. Why would anyone steal her bowl? It had no real value except to her. And why would Hector take Reese’s briefcase, for that matter? Was Hector involved with Reese’s bad guys?

  Hector said he’d followed her to Fairchild. Okay. Obviously to abduct her. So maybe he’d been hired because of his brawny build to do the dirty work. But by whom?

  Or maybe he was one of those crazies that stole women and locked them away for decades. Was that what was going to happen to her? Maybe this had nothing to do with her bowl or even Reese’s property. Was Hector going to keep her here and rape her? She took another deep breath, pushing away the horror of being held prisoner for years. She refused to even consider that possibility.

  She rubbed the bump on her head again, wishing she could drink some of her willow tea for the pain. Actually, she wished she had anything to drink, as the thought of a beverage made her realize how dry her throat was. She swallowed, trying to create some saliva in her mouth.

  Her head hurt too badly for logic. She’d figure out what was going on after she escaped.

  And she would escape.

  Now that her vision had better adjusted to the lack of light, she examined her surroundings. Maybe they’d left her some water somewhere.

  No water, but there were stairs, five of them, leading to the door. The only way out. The room was a cube and the walls solid concrete. Like some sort of a bunker. She decided it was probably fifteen feet square. There was a toilet to her right, but no furnitur
e.

  She levered herself to her feet by slowly feeling the wall behind her. Blood pounded through her pulses, magnifying the ache in her head a hundred times. She slid back to the floor and waited for the pain to ease.

  She wouldn’t give up. She absolutely refused to give in to weakness. Wasn’t that what her father always said, that she was weak like her mother? And had goofy ideas. She wasn’t weak, and she wasn’t goofy. She needed to find out if that door was locked. For all she knew, she could walk right out of this dungeon.

  Moving slowly, she rose again. Keeping her hand on the wall, she took a small step forward. Staying at the edge of the room, probably another five strides would bring her to the small staircase. She could manage that.

  But the door swung open, blinding her with brilliant, painful light. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head, placing her back against the cool wall.

  Maybe now she’d learn what was happening to her. And why.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  TAKI SQUINTED AT the figure silhouetted in the door frame. From the round shape of the body, this could be Mayhugh. But she couldn’t tell for sure. Holding her breath, she waited to see what he’d do.

  “Are you awake?” an unfamiliar voice growled. Could be Mayhugh.

  “Who are you?” Taki asked, her own voice surprising her with its hollow croak.

  The form bent down and placed something on the top step with a soft thud. “Brought you a cola and a burger.”

  “Wait. Don’t go.” Taki tried to shout, but that effort sent the drums in her head crescendoing into a thunderous roar. “What do you want?”

  The door slammed shut, taking away the intrusive light. The harsh sound of a deadbolt slamming into place echoed inside her prison—again totally dark.

  And there was no longer any need to check the door.

  She swallowed, but her throat remained dry as the sauna at SoBe Spa. With knees now too shaky to support her weight, she slid to the floor and blinked back tears. Why didn’t he at least tell her what was going on, why they were keeping her in this miserable place?