“I’ll call the spa.”
Several hours later, Reese nodded at his secretary, confident his instructions would be carried out as ordered. Joanne was the best assistant he’d ever had.
“And those grand jury subpoenas need to be served today,” he ended.
Joanne nodded as she rose. “Yes, sir. Oh, I’m sorry, but I can’t find a number for this Taki person. There’s nothing listed, and the number she put down on the police report is for SoBe Spa.”
“Did you try the spa?”
“Yes, but she only teaches on Monday and Thursday nights, and the manager—” Joanne consulted her spiral-bound notebook “—Lourdes Garcia, wouldn’t give me Taki’s home number.”
“Did you tell her the U.S. Attorney’s Office needed to contact their employee?”
“Of course, but that didn’t make a difference. They have a strict policy not to give out the instructors’ numbers to anyone.”
“Get Ms. Garcia on the phone.”
Irritation gnawed at Reese when Joanne alerted him she’d reached Ms. Garcia. He wasn’t used to a roadblock over something as simple as a phone number.
“But, Reese, you surely understand our policy not to give out the instructors’ addresses or phone numbers,” Lourdes told him when he’d explained the reason for his request. “I might normally make an exception considering the circumstances, but Taki insists on her privacy. She’s one of the most popular members of our staff.”
“If I give you my office and cell number, will you call her and leave a message?”
“Certainly. She rarely checks voice mail, though—something about negative energy—so it might take a while to reach her. If I don’t hear from her, I’ll make sure she gets your message on Thursday.”
“It’s important, Ms. Garcia.”
He heard her release a long breath. “Everything is important to you, Reese.”
* * *
INSIDE THE ELEVATOR at his condo, Reese dropped his new briefcase and pushed the button for the twentieth floor. As the car lurched upward, he glared down at the stiff black leather, thinking the miserable bag was much heavier than the one stolen. And he’d liked his old case, a gift from his mother. It’d been well-made, and he’d used it since law school.
Reese was glad to be home. His condo was decorated by a woman he’d once dated. He often wondered if the antiseptic white-on-white living room reflected what she thought of his personality. He’d found her a bit boring, too, though, and their romance had been brief. He didn’t have time to date.
After depositing the attaché by a cream-colored sofa, Reese opened his vertical blinds, the sound a quiet whoosh. Five miles in the distance, the lights of South Beach glittered across Biscayne Bay. He searched for the blue zigzag neon strip that identified SoBe Spa. Was Taki conducting one of her classes? No, not until Thursday, according to the manager.
He turned away from the stunning view. He had two hundred pages of trial transcript to review and could never get any serious reading done at the office with all the interruptions. He’d pop the take-out pasta from Risotto’s into the microwave, sip one glass of Napa Valley Cabernet, then work until his eyes gave out.
Three delicious bites into garlic-laced linguini, his cell phone rang.
“Reese Beauchamps,” he said, his attention still focused on page twenty of the Romero versus Romero divorce transcript.
“Hi, Reese Beauchamps,” a soft feminine voice replied. “This is Taki. I got an urgent message to call you.”
Reese placed his fork across his plate and sat back. He glanced at the caller ID display. Private.
“Have you found my bowl?” she asked, her voice anxious.
“Sorry, not yet. I need more of a description.”
She released a sigh. “Would you like a photograph?”
“If you have one, that’d be great.”
“Oh, I’ve got lots of photos of my bowl, but I’d much rather have the real thing.”
“Because your mortal soul is in danger without it, right?”
He waited through a long pause before she answered. Why wasn’t her phone number available? Well, Lourdes Garcia said she valued her privacy. Nothing wrong with that unless you had something to hide.
“My soul was in danger before I got the bowl. The bowl was supposed to correct that problem.”
“A bowl can rescue your soul?” Reese suppressed a laugh. “How is it going to do that?”
“By repaying a karmic debt.”
Amused by Taki’s serious tone as she babbled her New Age nonsense, Reese tried to recall what the personal trainer had said to her in the spa’s parking lot. Something about a blot on her soul?
The woman might be easy to look at, but she was as nutty as psychics who predicted the future over the phone. Karmic debt? How would she know when the debt is repaid?
“Never mind. Where is your office?” she asked, now businesslike.
“In the federal building, the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”
“You’re not the United States attorney, are you?”
“Only one of many assistants,” Reese answered, thinking she didn’t sound at all impressed.
“I’ll drop off a picture tomorrow.”
“Thanks. That’ll help.”
“What will you do with it?” she asked.
“The FBI will show the photo to fences and pawnshops and hope for a hit.”
“Oh. Pawnshops.” After a moment she said, “Listen, thanks for trying to find my bowl. Lourdes says you’re a busy man.”
“You’re welcome,” Reese said, deciding it best not to tell her he hoped the bowl led him to Izzo, Romero’s top hit man. One way or another, he’d make sure this goofball got her bowl back.
He listened to the dial tone after she hung up, strangely dissatisfied at the prospect of spending the next three hours reading the messy details of the divorce between Claudia and Carlos Romero.
* * *
AFTER DISCONNECTING WITH REESE, Taki lay on her bed and gazed at the multitude of angels suspended from the white ceiling overhead. Surrounded by soft light from flickering candles, the colorful winged ceramic and papier-mâché creations looked as if they were flying as they swayed on thin filament wires.
As friends added to her collection, Taki hung her glorious angels one at a time, hoping the hovering guardians would protect her from the negative thoughts in the world.
She really needed the angels’ protection tonight. Why did she feel this odd, wild connection to Reese Beauchamps? Goose bumps popped up along her arms as she pictured his handsome face, his soulful dark eyes when she’d met him last night.
And why did the sound of his deep voice excite her in an unsettling physical way? It made no sense to be attracted to an intense, detail-focused lawyer. One who made fun of her bowl and the whole concept of karma.
Disturbed by her thoughts, Taki brought her fingers to her temples and applied gentle pressure. Hadn’t Guru Navi warned her about judging others? Reese was just upset, as she was, about the loss of important property. Guilt, her constant companion since childhood, weighed upon her, almost pressing her into the mattress.
There had to be some reason he stirred such strong emotions. Maybe her suspicion that she’d known him in another lifetime was the answer. She closed her eyes, deciding he’d likely made her life miserable for centuries. No doubt the man had a lot to answer for.
A light, cool wind rustled through the open window, tinkling her mobiles and sending the angels into flight. Her home had no heat, but she didn’t need any. Where she grew up, this temperature was considered balmy. To her, South Florida’s weather seemed heavenly tonight.
She inhaled deeply, taking in clean air, then stretched her arms high overhead, enjoying the breeze as it brushed across her overheated skin, her though
ts circling back to Reese. Since last night, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. It was possible his obvious position and power reminded her of what she’d gladly left behind, what she continued to run from.
She turned on her stomach and lifted her shoulders, stretching along the front of her body. She needed to clear her mind. She refused to think about greed and selfishness, the things her father’s endless parade of lawyers knew best.
The bowl’s disappearance was already beginning to affect her. She needed to find it as soon as possible. She’d do a short practice and meditate until tranquil.
Tomorrow she’d look for her bowl by visiting pawnshops herself.
Copyright © 2014 by Sharon S. Hartley
ISBN-13: 9781460342282
Christmas at the Cove
Copyright © 2014 by Rachel Brimble
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www.Harlequin.com
Home is where the love is. Especially at Christmas!
Commander Jonas Scott got through a tough deployment by thinking about his family home on Whidbey Island. The same home his deceased stepmother, Dottie, had promised him. His Navy homecoming turns sour when he discovers that Dottie left his house to a stranger named Serena Delgado….
Serena, an Army widow with a young son, is fixing up her house. But as Christmas approaches and she gets to know Jonas, Dottie’s plan becomes clear. It wasn’t about fixing up the house, it was about fixing up Serena and Jonas!
This was the woman Dottie had given his house to.
Serena had ruined his homecoming—and his Christmas. Jonas couldn’t forget that. But he didn’t like the tired lines under her eyes. He disliked even more that he cared about her exhaustion at all.
Best stick to the basics. “ID?”
She handed over her military ID card and her son’s.
Jonas’s fingers flew over the keyboard as he automatically typed in the last name, the active-duty sponsor’s social security number—
His hands stilled.
Delgado, Philip. Gunnery Sergeant, U.S. Marine Corps. Deceased.
He knew Serena was a war widow. That she had a son. But to read it, in black and white, made him wish he could have been there and been the one to save her husband. Anything to take the sorrow from her eyes.
He glanced over at her. Her gaze was intent on her son, and Jonas waited for her to look back at him. When she did, he saw the cold edge of distrust on her face.
His mind kept going over his last conversation with Dottie.
“You’ll love Serena. It’s as though she’s always been here.”
Dear Reader,
I was delighted when Harlequin Superromance asked me to include another World War II subplot for Navy Christmas, much as I did with my very first book, A Rendezvous to Remember. In Navy Christmas, we meet Dottie Forsyth’s parents and find out how her family settled on Whidbey Island over a century ago. Dottie isn’t even in the contemporary story—she’s already passed on. But as the story between her stepson, Jonas, and niece, Serena, progresses, it becomes certain that Dottie had a hunch they’d make a good pair. Because of reservations on both their parts, it takes them a while to acknowledge their romantic feelings for each other. Serena is a war widow and not looking for a new father for her six-year-old son. Jonas is fresh back from deployment and still smarting over Dottie’s amendment to her will—leaving Serena the family house instead of Jonas, as she’d once promised.
Serena discovers, along with the reader, the history of Dottie’s parents, which includes her father’s service as a Flying Tiger in World War II.
When the opportunity arose to donate to a fundraiser for the National League of POW/MIA Families (www.pow-miafamilies.org), my editor suggested I donate a character’s name for Navy Christmas. The successful event found Dawn Dempsey as the winner. Dawn graciously gave the name of her grandfather, Charles G. Dempsey, for a World War II sailor. Charles served in the navy during WWII and in the Pacific theater. You can find out more about him on my website (and on the following pages!). While my characterization of Charles is fictional, I used details of his life that Dawn provided to make the character authentic. I hope I did his memory, and Dawn’s family, proud.
If you like reading about Whidbey Island during Christmas, don’t miss Navy Joy, a novella in the anthology Coming Home for Christmas, which also has stories by sister veterans Lindsay McKenna and Delores Fossen. It’s out this month, too.
I love hearing from you—please reach me via my website, www.gerikrotow.com, Facebook, Twitter or Pinterest. Don’t forget to sign up for my newsletter and be automatically entered into the Geri Krotow Loyal Reader program, where you have a chance at winning a signed book each month.
I wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas, and may the peace of the season find you wherever you are, whatever your walk.
Peace,
Geri Krotow
GERI KROTOW
Navy Christmas
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Former naval intelligence officer and U.S. Naval Academy graduate Geri Krotow draws inspiration from the global situations she’s experienced. Geri loves to hear from her readers. You can email her via her website and blog, www.gerikrotow.com.
Books by Geri Krotow
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
1547—WHAT FAMILY MEANS
1642—SASHA’S DAD
1786—NAVY RULES*
1865—NAVY ORDERS*
1925—NAVY RESCUE*
HARLEQUIN ANTHOLOGY
COMING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS “Navy Joy”*
HARLEQUIN EVERLASTING LOVE
20—A RENDEZVOUS TO REMEMBER
*Whidbey Island books
Other titles by this author available in ebook format.
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To My Loving Family Steve, Alex and Ellen. You’ve given me the best Christmases of my life. I love you with all my heart.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
<
br /> CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
EXCERPT
CHAPTER ONE
Whidbey Island
One week before Thanksgiving
“MOM, MY EAR IS FINE. How much longer do we have to wait?”
Serena Delgado looked up from the pair of socks she was knitting. Her six-year-old son Pepé’s brown eyes and earnest expression looked so much like his father’s it made her smile.
A smile was a big improvement over the heart-crushing pain the thought of Philip used to bring.
“Pepé, we have to be patient. I brought my new knitting project to keep me busy. Look, they’re the Army-green socks you asked for.”
“Mom.”
Pepé wasn’t impressed by her intricate stitches, or the fact that she was knitting both socks at once on her circular needles.
“Are you that bored with your video game already?”
“This waiting is taking a long time, Mom. I’d rather be playing soccer.”
Serena checked her watch. She’d never attempted two-at-a-time socks before, and her absorption in the task must have been deeper than she’d realized.
They’d been sitting in the pediatric waiting area of Naval Hospital Oak Harbor for forty-five minutes. Located on Naval Air Station or NAS Whidbey, it was the only military medical facility on the island.
“Maybe you’re right, mi hijo. Let’s go see if we can find someone to help us. They may have lost our paperwork in the shuffle.”
Harlequin Superromance November 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: Christmas at the CoveNavy ChristmasUntil She Met Daniel Page 28