The Lost (Sin Hunters)

by Piñeiro, Caridad

  “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.”

  CHAPTER

  25

  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.

  Slowly Adam came to his feet, but he hesitated about taking the file. It took his father thrusting it against his belly for Adam to finally accept the documents. With a last fleeting look in her direction, he bent his head to read.

  She knew what was there for him to know. The long pent-up inhalation told her he had seen the information and was processing it. The rough breath that followed, along with his rocking back on his heels, communicated that he had understood and accepted the truth of the prognosis on the paper.

  This time when he glanced at her there was no denying the emotion.

  Pity. It might have been easier for her to handle anger or disgust.

  After a long swallow, he said, “I’m—”

  “Don’t say you’re sorry,” she parried straightway. “At least I’m alive.”

  Unlike her men.

  A muscle ticked along the side of his jaw as Adam closed the file brusquely and flipped it onto the surface of the table. Jerking his hand in the direction of the file, and without facing his father, he said, “Now that you’ve violated Bobbie’s privacy, care to explain what that has to do with anything?”

  Bobbie stared hard at Salvatore, wanting to lash out at the man, but contained herself. Her anger would accomplish nothing.

  “I noticed Ms. Carrera seems to be walking better,” he said, craning his head to glance past Adam to her cane as it rested on the rung of a nearby seat.

  “Where are you going with this?” Adam challenged.

  “Where? I thought that would be obvious to a genius like you.” With those caustic words, Salvatore tossed the final report onto the table.

  Adam flipped the file open and flinched.

  Bobbie glanced over at the papers, but couldn’t make anything from them. They were just random bars and lines and what looked like lab results, but of what, she didn’t know.

  Until Adam’s father started his explanation.

  “I haven’t said anything because I was hoping it was just coincidence that you and Bobbie seemed to have met, but when I did some digging around, I found these test results.”

  “DNA analysis. My DNA and yours, Bobbie,” Adam said, gazing at her, the pity and concern in his eyes slowly switching to accusation.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, and reached for the file, but Adam kept a tight grip on it.

  “The last case I worked on—am working on now in a supervisory role—involves Bobbie’s brother and sister. I thought it odd that one family could find itself involved in the same case not once but twice. Now I understand,” Salvatore said.

  Bobbie marched up to him until she was nearly nose to nose with him. “Why not make me understand, then?”

  “Your family seems to like collecting people with unusual powers, don’t they? Caterina Shaw. Jesse Bradford. Did you plan to add Adam to your family’s collection?”

  “That’s insane! Adam… Bobbie started to refute the accusation, but as Adam once again flipped through the papers, she could feel the doubt creeping into his mind.

  “Bobbie’s older brother and sister are married to people who were genetically engineered. Bobbie’s sister somehow got your DNA and Bobbie’s for analysis.”

  “Tell me you didn’t give it to her,” Adam said, gazing at her as if he was seeing her for the first time and not in a good way.

  “Of course I didn’t. I would not betray you like that. And my family has no reason to do this.”

  “Except of course to obtain yet another specimen with unique abilities. Maybe even secure patents on whatever properties can be distilled from my son’s DNA. They would be quite valuable and would certainly help your parents with their financial issues. Help you pay for your medical expenses,” Bruno reasoned.

  “That’s a lie. I would not betray you, Adam,” Bobbie repeated, reaching for the file to examine it herself, but Adam stopped her by trapping the papers beneath his hand.

  As she glanced at Salvatore, his smug smile said it all. She looked back at Adam.

  “When could I have given anyone your DNA? I’ve been with you since the attack. Let me have the file and talk to them. Hear their side of it,” she said, but Adam’s hand remained on the papers.

  “Give it to her, son. I’ve got a copy.”

  Adam clenched his jaw so tightly Bobbie thought she heard bones pop. His knuckles were white from the pressure he was exerting on the files and she could feel his anger and confusion within her, creating a swirl of emotion deep in her core from the link between them, a link that suddenly felt as if it was growing stronger. He pushed the report in her direction.

  “I don’t know, but I think you should go.” Gone from his voice was any trace of the day’s earlier passion.

  Bobbie grabbed the file and strode toward the door to the garage, but as she neared it, she realized she had forgotten the cane, which hung on the rung on one of the kitchen chairs.

  She turned and her gaze fell upon it, but so did Adam’s.

  “You forgot this.” He jerked the cane from the chair and flung it at her.

  She caught it with her left hand and pain radiated from her palm from the force of his toss. But that pain was minuscule compared to that from the fist squeezing her heart. She bit back her distress and met his gaze directly, unafraid. She had truth on her side. In time that would win out over his father’s lies.

  Without another word, she left.

  CHAPTER

  26

  When the door closed behind Bobbie, it was if someone had drained the life out of him. Adam plopped down heavily in the kitchen chair and buried his head in his hands, almost overwhelmed by the enormity of all that had transpired.

  “I’m sorry, son,” his father said, and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Adam shrugged it off.

  With a belligerent stare, Adam replied, “You said you had a duplicate of the file.”

  “Of course, I do. I wouldn’t—”

  “Let me have the copy,” Adam said, his tone flat and somewhat curt while he held out his hand for the documents.

  “But, Adam—”

  “Let me have the copy.” Each word was clipped and cutting sharp.

  His father must have realized that although he’d driven Bobbie away, Adam wasn’t completely under his control. With a resigned nod, Salvatore reached into his briefcase and extracted his copy of the file. Adam snared it from his hands and placed it on the table before him.

  “Now go,” Adam said.

  “But, son—”

  “Go, Salvatore. Before I lose all respect for you.”

  His father’s face fell, but the action struck Adam as theatrical, much like his behavior while he’d been busy staging his case against Bobbie and her family. But no matter how melodramatic his actions had been, Adam could not afford to ignore the cold, hard facts included in the various files.

  Rational or not, he was angry that she hadn’t told him her full medical condition. How could she hold back when he’d offered his most vulnerable memories?

  And he was furious at the DNA testing, and the risk it presented to his existence, even if there was a measure of thankfulness that the tests had proven what his gut had told him all along—that he was different. Possibly not human, and yet coupled with that was the reality that he wasn’t alone. The tests had shown a genetic link between him and Bobbie.

  True, they had bee
n together almost constantly, but what if the first attack had been a setup? A ruse to collect a sample of skin or hair. The first night she showed up at his home, was it to collect something then?

  So lost was he in his thoughts that it took him a moment to realize that his father still stood there, as if expecting a reprieve from Adam’s condemnation. But there would be none. Not tonight at least.

  “Go,” he repeated again, more forcefully, and this time his father left the kitchen.

  Adam waited until he heard the snick of the front door lock. Then he went to the security system panel by the garage door and set it, engaging the system so that the moment any entry was opened the alarms would trip. He didn’t want any disturbances or surprises as he reviewed the test results and tried to make sense of what they indicated about who he was and maybe even where he came from.

  Hands shaking and palms wet with nervous sweat, he flipped open the file.

  Alexander Sombrosa glared at his son’s soldier, rage churning in him from so many things. Maya, who had been standing beside him, side-stepped away as the force of his anger created dangerous spikes of energy that jumped out to singe anyone nearby.

  “Are you certain of this?” Alexander pressed, unable to believe that his own son was keeping secrets from him. Why hadn’t Christopher mentioned the possibility of an incredible source of power they could use to heal themselves?

  “I am sure, Añaru,” the foot soldier replied, pumping his hand to his chest and dipping his head in deference to Alexander’s rank. “It happened two nights ago. Not far from Christopher’s home and near the territory belonging to the Ocean clan of the Light Hunters. A wave of power like nothing we had ever experienced washed over us. Restoring us,” he said, and held out his hand.

  Alexander leaned close and peered at the seemingly normal-looking appendage. As he did so, he perceived the power radiating from the man, so alive and enticing. He grabbed hold of the cadre member’s hand, ensnaring it tightly in his grip. The rush came immediately as the unique energy flowed into him, and like the spider for which the Añaru was named, he shot out tendrils of power, which wove a web around the man’s hand. They sank into the man and spread up his arm, slowly sucking the life juices from him.