The Lost (24 page)

Their gasps filled the air, almost drowning out the susurrus of the waves. Above them a seagull cackled, as if chastising them, but nothing mattered but his embrace.

Completeness.

Contentment.

Peace, she thought, not even moving, such was the overwhelming joy and satisfaction of their union. All
around them the ocean shifted and flowed, folding them in its embrace, feeding them with its primordial power the way it nurtured so many beings within its realm.

The energy grew around them, within them.

Bobbie could not deny it or him and how he cradled her, his grasp protective and yet not smothering, the strength in him spilling onto her, into her, making her heart race and her body tremble as their passion grew ever higher until she could no longer keep it at bay.

Her climax ripped through her and she arched her back, driving him ever deeper. She lifted her face to kiss him, swallowing his rough call of completion, embracing those powerful shoulders that held her as if she were just a wisp, providing comfort, support, and love.

For minutes they floated there, savoring the remnants of their release, feeding from the life of the ocean as it caressed them. But soon dusk evaporated, warning them that the night had arrived. With her still wrapped around him, Adam propelled them toward shore, and as his feet brushed the sandy bottom he paused and allowed them time to retrieve their clothing and make themselves decent before they exited onto the deserted beachfront.

Once there, he slipped his arm around her waist and helped her from the wet sand to where they had dropped their towels. Bending, he quickly wrapped the terry cloth around her and tucked it tight, pausing to drop a quick kiss on her lips, because he couldn’t seem to get enough of her.

She returned the kiss, as hungry as he was, but slowly tempered her response.

“We should go back. Go over all that research we did,” she muttered against his lips, but her tone betrayed the
fact that she wished they were going back to do something else.

The reality of it was that they had a lot to do, including getting some dinner, he thought, as his stomach rumbled noisily.

Bobbie laughed and slipped her hand over his abdomen. “I have to warn you now. I’m not a good cook.”

He snagged a towel and wrapped it around his middle. He playfully grabbed her hand, and as he urged her back toward his house, he said, “Your family owns a restaurant and you can’t cook? How is that possible?”

“That’s precisely the reason why. My parents were too busy cooking to teach us,” she said, and took a step to block his way. Even in the growing dark, her gaze glittered and a broad smile shone brightly. There was something mischievous in her stance, especially as she laid her hands on his waist and tickled his sides. “Which means we can either go out or order in—”

“Or I can cook.” He laced his fingers with hers and offered her his support again as they did the short walk up the beach and across the street to his home.

Inside, he jerked his head in the direction of the stairs. “Why don’t you take a quick shower while I see what’s in the fridge.”

Bobbie didn’t argue. The ocean salt was sticky on her skin and the slight drop in the temperature of the nighttime air had chilled her even with Adam close by.

She nodded and stole a kiss across his lips before heading up the stairs and to the bedroom he had so graciously offered her the night before.

Had it only been a night? she mused as she grabbed clothes and headed for the shower. She wasted little
time in getting clean, wanting to enjoy her time with Adam.

Donning her own clothes, she skipped down the stairs, determined to be happy.

The sweetly aromatic fragrance of onions and pepper cooking hit her at the foot of the stairs. She followed the enticing odors to the kitchen where Adam was already at the stove, stirring something in a skillet.

Freshly showered, his wet hair was raked back from his face, exposing the marvelously sculpted lines of his features. The straight nose with just the right hint of pug. Chin with a perfectly sized thumbprint cleft. His lips—she could spend hours thinking about those lips—with their sharply defined edges and slight bow at the top. The dimple that emerged when he smiled.

“Hungry?” he asked, his emerald gaze fixing on her, one brow rising sardonically, probably because he had sensed she was eating him up with her eyes.

“How can I help?” she said, but even before he answered she was in motion, carefully walking to the center island in the kitchen where the ingredients for a salad sat on the counter.

“What else did you find on the web?” Adam asked, returning to the matter at hand.

Bobbie broke the lettuce as she spoke, tossing the bits into a colander in the sink. “After you discovered that two of the three murder victims had both scorch marks and smallpox scars, I searched for stories about people with cases of smallpox.”

“Which would be odd, since smallpox was eradicated in the late 1970s,” Adam said as he stirred the garlic and added red peppers and onions to the skillet.

“That’s what I thought also. A single death here and there. Maybe someone thought it was an accident,” Bobbie surmised, and rinsed the colander in the second sink in the island.

“But multiple deaths in a short span in Texas sent up an alarm and my dad went to investigate. And then found me.”

A hard edge crept into his voice and she walked over, slipping her arms around his waist to offer comfort. “I found a few other cases, Adam. Maybe it’s just coincidence that your father found you at the same time.”

He offered a noncommittal grunt, so she tried another tack. “I noticed some doodles on your notes.”

He nodded and glanced over his shoulder at her. “I sketch and scribble while I work sometimes. Helps me think.”

“The doodles looked familiar. Like the logo you use for your company.”

He paused as he stirred the vegetables in the skillet. He hadn’t given it a thought, but the scribbles were often the same designs over and over. Until her observation, it hadn’t occurred to him that the rough sketches were very similar to the fanciful Sun and Earth logos he had adopted for his business.

“I hadn’t realized it before, since all I did was give the graphic designers some rough ideas about what I wanted,” he admitted, and turned around and walked to the kitchen table where they had tossed the papers they had brought back from the library. He picked up his notes and scrutinized the designs. As with the energy blasts that had shaken loose a memory, the symbols—almost like hieroglyphics now that he thought about it—seemed long familiar, and yet he couldn’t remember why.

“Do they mean something to you?” Bobbie asked as
she took over for him at the stove, giving a stir before returning to the island and the salad fixings.

He shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not quite sure.”

She smiled. “In time, Adam. Everything will come to you when the time is right.”

He hoped so, he thought, as he tossed the notes back down and returned his attention to the meal, dropping in the precisely cut strips of raw chicken, following the recipe his father had taught him. He smiled as he thought of those times they’d shared during the breaks when his dad had been home from an assignment.

Placing the skillet back on the heat, he quickly sautéed the chicken and then added the crushed tomatoes. With a quick dash of some spices, he set the temperature to a low simmer and went to join Bobbie.

Contrary to her admission that she couldn’t cook, Bobbie seemed quite capable, he thought as he stood beside her, admiring the competent way she worked. Her fingers were long and elegant, her movements graceful as she chopped and sliced her way through the assorted vegetables on the counter.

He placed his hand at the small of her back and leaned toward her. He filched a slice of carrot from the cutting board, earning a playful slap on the back of his hand.

“Do not interrupt the chef,” she teased with a nudge of her hip against his.

Despite her warning, he couldn’t help messing with her. There was something about her that brought out a mischievous side of him. If she’d had pigtails, he could imagine that he’d be tempted to dip them in an inkwell to gain her attention.

Except that he had a much better idea of how to get
that, he thought, bending his head to nuzzle the straight line of her jaw with his nose before planting a kiss just behind one ear.

A shudder ripped through her body and she paused with the knife poised directly above the bright orange carrot.

“That’s so not fair,” she said on a shaky exhalation.

“Really?” he challenged, and gently bit his way down to the crook of her neck and shoulder.

The knife clattered to the surface of the cutting board as she raised her hand to hold his head close and turned in his direction.

“Am I interrupting something?”

They broke apart, the moment shattered by the sight of his father standing at the entrance to the kitchen.

He had thought it a good thing that his father have a set of keys in case of an emergency. Not a wise decision in retrospect, he considered as he reluctantly pulled away from Bobbie.

“I hope you have a good reason for coming here unannounced, Dad.”

His father seemed taken aback by Adam’s challenge, so much so that he actually fell back a step before squaring his shoulders and glaring directly at Bobbie.

“I guess that depends on whether you think finding out the truth about Bobbie and her family qualifies as a good reason.”

I
’m not the one hiding anything,” Bobbie challenged, in immediate defense mode against any possible attack on her family.

“Why don’t you let
my son
be the judge of that.”

Bruno didn’t wait for Adam to invite him in. He marched to the kitchen table where he flung his briefcase on the surface. Shooting Adam a look, she noted his raised brow at the almost theatrical behavior, but opted not to say anything.

His father was right that Adam had to be judge and jury on this. Her only role was to be an advocate against what she was certain would be lies.

Falling back toward the stove, she shut off the chicken and stood there, watching and waiting as Adam’s father yanked a number of folders from his briefcase and spread them out across the tabletop. When he was done and Adam had taken a seat, she finally approached, taking a position just behind Adam, where she could see the
assorted materials that Bruno somehow thought were damning to her and her family.

Adam opened and flipped through the first few folders, quickly dismissing them, and Bobbie understood why. They contained mostly financial information, including details she had already revealed to him, like the devastating fire at her parents’ restaurant that had nearly left them bankrupt and the long road back to some kind of financial stability.

Adam silently reviewed each file, then stacked them neatly to his right. Bobbie hoped his lack of commentary was an omen that so far nothing had created concern. When there were no files left before him, Adam peered up at his father and said, “Is that all?”

A dull flush suffused Salvatore’s face, but he shook his head. “I’m not sure Bobbie should be here—”

“It only seems fair that Bobbie has a right to face her accuser,” Adam replied, the glacial tone of his voice creating a chill in her but deepening the color on his father’s face.

Obviously flustered, Salvatore fumbled while he pulled two other files from his briefcase, one thicker than the other. He placed that thicker file before Adam first and held on to the second, clutching it tightly to his chest as if fearful it would grow wings and take flight.

Bobbie didn’t know what to expect of that immense pile of papers, but as he flipped open the cover she immediately realized what it was: her medical history.

A stunned gasp escaped her and her knees went weak as she wondered how Salvatore had gotten it. So weak she had to grab hold of the top rung of Adam’s chair to keep upright.

Adam was immediately on his feet, helping her to sit in the chair beside him before kneeling before her. “Are you okay?”

She would be if he didn’t read the file. If he didn’t find out about every little intimate detail of how her body had been violated by the IED or learn the truth about what she could no longer be.

“Please don’t read that file,” she pleaded, clenching her hands to keep them from shaking, the pressure she exerted making them appear nearly bloodless, much as she imagined her face might look, as a sickly sweat erupted along her body.

“Ask her why, Adam,” Bruno exhorted, a shark smelling blood in the water.

“Please, Adam. It has nothing to do with what’s going on,” she said, but there was no avoiding the look in his eyes begging for her to give him a reason to believe her, asking her why she couldn’t just tell him, and yet the words wouldn’t come to her lips. Couldn’t form in her brain, because she feared his reaction. Whether it was pity or disgust or anger, none of the emotions she expected would be welcome.

“Let me save you some time,” his father said and swiped the file off the table, then flipped through the pages until he reached the one he wanted. Then he handed the papers back to Adam.