“We still got the other one,” Otis offered hopefully. “The real pretty dark-haired one. She tried to run away, but I put ’er in ’er place! And we got the baby.”
Roger whirled on Otis in fury. “Did you hurt her?”
Otis shook his head, his eyes worried. “No, sir. Not much anyway.”
Adrian’s wife, Vanessa, was still alive. Roger supposed he could make do with that for the moment. Morgan’s wife’s death had complicated things considerably though. He turned on his heels and started for the door.
“Take me to the bitch,” he snarled. “I want to see her.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
As he and Clinton approachedRoger’s house, Adrian pulled a hat he’d borrowed from Lucien down low on his brow, ducking his head, knowing that his face was distinctive enough to cause a stir. All he wanted was to remain in the shadows until he assessed the situation.
A pang went through him as he realized that since Vanessa had become his bride, he’d stopped hiding quite so much. He’d begun to believe her when she said that his scars didn’t matter to her. If he lost her, he knew he’d lose the small bit of self-esteem she’d instilled in him as well.
“Sir, over there,” Clinton murmured, interrupting his thoughts.
Adrian glanced in the direction Clinton indicated and saw Roger exit the house and get into a waiting carriage.
“Should we stop him?” Clinton asked, and in his old friend’s eyes, Adrian saw the same rage and protectiveness he was feeling.
As much as Adrian would like to put a bullet in the bastard’s head, he shook his head. “No, let’s follow him. Hopefully, he’ll lead us to the girls.”
He had no faith in his ability to get their location from Roger by questioning him. He feared Roger would refuse to answer even if he beat him to death. In fact, he was very afraid that if he did start down that road, he wouldn’t stop until Roger was dead.
Clinton nodded in understanding. The two and their mounts melded into the shadows at the side of the house beside Roger’s until there was quite a bit of distance between them and the coach.
The streets were crowded, so it was slow going, which was good. They were able to keep Roger’s coach in sight without being close enough to be spotted. To Adrian’s surprise, it soon became clear that they were heading toward the docks.
Clinton spared him a glance. “Do you know if he owns any property down here?”
Adrian shook his head. He’d stolen records of Roger’s real estate investments to help in his quest to shut him down but hadn’t paid much attention to the property that wasn’t being used as a house of ill repute. Damn it! Why hadn’t he grabbed those documents before he’d left his house?
He soothed himself by deciding that if this didn’t work, and if Roger didn’t talk once he did approach him, he could always send Clinton back for them.
At last, Roger’s coach turned off the main road down a small, winding side street, and Adrian knew they must be getting close. He and Clinton fell back even more, and within a few moments, the vehicle stopped in front of a rickety old warehouse. This neighborhood was far from savory, the smell of dead fish and the river hanging heavy in the air.
