The Lost (5 page)

“We want you, Mr. Bruno,” the first man answered and laid his thick hands on Adam’s shoulders. With that first contact a blast of power surged through Adam.

It was like being stung by a jellyfish, only one with ten thousand volts, Adam thought, as his body jerked from the shock, and burning pain erupted at the spot where the man had grabbed him. With each millisecond that passed, Adam grew weaker. He had to break free before the man drained him of life. Bringing his arms up between the other man’s outstretched arms, Adam shoved outward, dislodging the man’s hands from his shoulders.

An intense echo of power reverberated from the contact and sparks flew like metal striking metal. The man staggered backward as he experienced the jolt.

Adam was no sooner free than the second man encircled him with his arms, sending yet another shock into Adam’s body. The electricity raced through him, bringing more pain and robbing him of strength once again. As his knees began to buckle, Adam summoned his waning strength and tossed the man behind him up and over his body. His attacker landed with a heavy thud on the
ground beside his friend, who was still recovering from the earlier blast Adam had released.

Adam somehow stayed on his feet, swaying, his mind disoriented from the electrical shocks, more potent than those from any stun gun. In response, the power inside him screamed to be set free, but before he could command it, the two men were upon him, lethal energy coursing from their touch, threatening to overwhelm him.

Bobbie witnessed the man stagger as his two assailants renewed their hold. She didn’t have time to ponder why he wasn’t fighting anymore. Instinct told her to act as she finally reached the trio.

She smashed her cane down across the arm of the man closest to her. It was like hitting a concrete block. The force of her blow reverberated painfully up the cane, but she managed to break the assailant’s grip.

The assailant grunted in pain and leaned away, exposing his front. Bobbie swung her cane like a baseball bat, hitting him squarely across the nose.

Blood spewed over her and the other two men as he staggered back, holding his face and howling from the blow.

Home run, she thought, and turned back to the fray.

“Bitch,” his friend said, and released his captive to launch a hook at her face. She blocked his punch with her damaged left forearm, ignoring the searing pain when his strike landed on weakened muscle and fragile bone. Reaching past the pain, she shot out with her right hand to land a vicious chop to his windpipe that had him backpedaling, gasping for air.

But only for a few precious seconds.

The man charged her, and Bobbie braced for impact,
aware she was no match for someone his size in her current condition but hoping she’d be able to use his momentum and weight against him. But before her assailant could come any closer, the handsome man seemed to come out of his stupor. One moment he was feet away and then in a blur of light, he intercepted the man in midair and tackled him to the ground.

Stunned by his speed, Bobbie watched in awe as their bodies went down hard in a sprawl of arms and legs. But before anything else could happen, the shouts of people running from the SolTerra building toward the commotion caught the attention of their two attackers.

The man on the ground scrambled to his feet and shuffled back to stand beside his broken-nosed friend. The two men hesitated for a moment as if wondering if they could overcome the crowd swarming toward them. But then the taller, older one Bobbie had bloodied jerked his head in the direction of the van.

One moment they were before her and then in the blink of an eye, they were streaks of light disappearing through the open door of the van. With the squeal of tires and burning rubber, the vehicle jerked into reverse and then sped away, sideswiping a few cars at the far end of the lot as their attackers made their escape.

“Mr. Bruno, are you okay?” a security guard asked as he came running up to them, the radio in his hand squawking with chatter.

The guard reached for the young man—Mr. Bruno, Bobbie assumed—but he waved him off and gingerly came to his feet.

“I’m okay,” he said, and whirled to face her, concern etched on his features.

When he took note of the way she was cradling her left arm, he said, “Damn it, you’re hurt.”

Before she could respond, he touched her, barely grazing her arm with the tips of his fingers, lightly brushing the scarred skin that hid muscle and bone ruined by the shrapnel that had torn into her after the explosion.

An intense tingle danced along the path of his fingers, and for a moment, she thought she detected a glimmer of deep blue light where his skin touched hers. As she had before, she experienced the pull of power and a connection stronger than any she had felt before. Beneath his fingers, her skin was growing warmer, and a prickly sensation spread upward, growing more potent.

Her heart raced as the heat multiplied quickly throughout her body. Between her legs desire rose heavy and unbidden. As her gaze met his, the darkening of those changeling emerald eyes suggested he was experiencing the passion also.

She jerked away, unnerved by the sensations buffeting her body, afraid of the inexplicable attraction arising between them, and yet still embarrassed that he had noticed her weakness and touched her injuries. Judging from his clothing and looks, he was a man used to perfection and the finer things in life. Even before her wounds, he would likely have never given her a first glance, much less a second. They were from two different worlds that just skirted each other, interacting only when the one needed their lawns mowed or some cleaning done.

“I’m fine,” she lied, the stinging sensation from his touch still alive on her, almost akin to pins and needles. The tingle and heat continued up her arm and she rubbed
at it, wishing it would go away, along with the intense throb of want that had blossomed with his touch.

He tracked her movements and seemed almost taken aback by his earlier actions. Self-consciously, he also rubbed his hands together as if regretting that he had touched her. Bending, he picked up her cane and handed it to her, apparently in lieu of a more traditional handshake as he said, “Adam Bruno. And you’re…”

“Roberta Carrera.” She accepted the cane from his hand and leaned on it heavily. As the unwanted desire fled her body, a dull, painful pressure developed at the small of her back along with a slight pull threading along her midsection. Assisting him in her debilitated condition had taken its toll.

“Carrera?” Adam murmured, wondering if there was some connection to an intern he had recently hired, but before he could ask, he heard a concerned, “Excuse me,” from the group of people gathered beside them.

Looking at the crowd, he noticed Tony Carrera battling his way through the pack to stand beside the woman. There was no denying the resemblance. There was also no denying that like his sister, Tony possessed an aura of power, but it was barely visible. Just a slight glow of a faded denim blue, which Adam might not have even noticed under normal circumstances.

But he couldn’t fail to detect it now as he considered them. Brother and sister were of a like height and athletically built, although Roberta was an inch or so shorter than Tony’s six feet. They had similar faces, with creamy olive skin and brown hair. Roberta’s hair was lighter, though, almost caramel-colored, and tumbled down to her shoulders in thick waves.

On Tony the features and coloring were handsome, while on Roberta…

Superb, he thought, and once again had to fight back the intense need that had arisen from the simple stroke of his fingers across her skin. But when he refocused his attention on her face, he detected the pain in her eyes and the tense furrow at the bridge of her nose.

“Bobbie, are you okay?” Tony asked, and laid a hand on his sister’s arm.

Bobbie, he thought, thinking that it suited her. There was something too schoolmarmish about Roberta; Bobbie inspired visions of a reckless tomboy, but one who could also dress up like a lady. He’d seen that wild side today as she had charged to his aid, courageous and impulsive.

When Bobbie finally answered her brother, her voice was tight. “I need to get home.”

Feeling guilty that she had been hurt because of him and wanting to further explore the unusual connection between them, Adam motioned to his building. “If you need medical care—”

“I’m fine,” she said from behind gritted teeth, and took an unsteady step toward the older-model Chevrolet beside which she had been standing when he had first noticed her.

Tony glanced at him uneasily, a combination of concern and condemnation in his eyes, but didn’t say anything. Adam was the boss, and in the corporate world Tony could ill afford to upset him, but Adam didn’t run his ship like that.

“Please let me know how she is.” Adam handed Tony a business card with his personal contact information. With
a curt nod, Tony chased after his sister, and as he caught up to her, he solicitously placed his arm around her waist, offering her additional support.

“Mr. Bruno. Is there anything I can do?” the guard beside him asked as the group that had congregated around them started to disperse now that the action was over.

“Please get me the security tapes of the parking lot area for the last hour,” he replied and stalked back toward the SolTerra office building. As he did so, he whipped out his phone and texted a message to the engineers he had been supposed to meet to discuss a new hybrid battery technology. He had been excited about their work and possibly acquiring the knowhow, but would have to postpone their meeting until another day. Given what had just happened, the novel process now seemed almost inconsequential.

He needed to find out more about the men who had tried to grab him and why they possessed powers so similar to his. An electric touch and something he hadn’t even known he possessed—the ability to race through several feet in just milliseconds. He didn’t know how he had done it, but he had, almost as if his body had moved at the speed of light, or just transported, like in an old episode of
Star Trek
.

He needed to explore that ability in greater depth, but just as important, he needed to get to know Bobbie Carrera and understand what kind of woman would rush to his help. What kind of woman carried such an unusual aura, and how could a simple touch rouse such emotions in him?

Want for sure, but also completeness. The nagging unrest he had been experiencing earlier and he had
ascribed to an age-related countdown had stopped ticking in that moment when skin had met skin and desire had arisen. With her gone, the emptiness was back, but not for long, Adam thought.

He intended to find out every little thing he could about the intriguing Bobbie Carrera.

S
omehow Bobbie made it to Tony’s car.

The weird pins and needles were still stinging all along her left arm along with a bit of lingering heat and some discomfort in her abdomen. The worst of the hurt was at the small of her back. The dull pressure there had blossomed into a knot of pain so powerful, tears stung at her eyes.

With just a quick glance as he helped her into the passenger seat, Tony knew better than to ask how she was. He knew she hated being sick and weak. That she hated relying on others, because she wasn’t used to needing help. Bobbie had always been the one who took care of others, not the other way around.

As Tony pulled out of the parking spot and drove away, the car rolled up and over a speed bump. The jerky motion sent even greater waves of agony through Bobbie, dragging a long, low moan from her.

“Bobbie? What can I do?” Tony finally asked, shooting a nervous side glance her way.

Tears running down her face, Bobbie could manage only a short request before curling up into a tight ball.

“Just take me home, please.”

She gathered what strength was left in her and focused, staving off the pain as best as she could, chastising herself for ignoring common sense to assist some stranger who hadn’t really needed her help anyway.

Not really a stranger, but Tony’s boss, Adam Bruno, she thought, liking the sound of his name in her head, and remembering the color of his eyes—an emerald green that seemed alive with the nature around him.

Another bounce of the car across a pothole made her grit her teeth in agony and earned a contrite apology from Tony.

“S’okay, Tony. Not your fault,” she said, and willed herself to focus on something other than the pain. Adam’s face came to mind again and she used him as her focal point, recalling the feel of his touch, light as a breeze against her skin before the contact had become charged with heat and desire. Even now the recollection of that want caused her to dampen and twist with need.

“Tell me about your boss,” she asked.

“Seriously? You’re thinking about my boss?” Tony questioned, obviously incredulous.

“I’m not dead… yet,” she teased, trying to not only lighten her brother’s concerns, but keep herself distracted.

“He’s rich. Millionaire kind of rich.”

“Damn. I knew there was something awful about him,” she kidded, dragging a chuckle from Tony.

The throbbing at the small of her back had receded just a bit, and she slowly straightened in the passenger seat. Beside her, Tony turned his head to check a blind
spot before shifting into the left lane and said, “He’s not your type, Bobbie.”