“Why are you doing this?” she cried, her nerves at the breaking point. “Why are you so determined to hurt Adrian? What did he ever do to you? He was just an injured little boy when your parents married each other.”
Roger dropped to his knees, looming over her, his eyes gleaming with fury. “He killed my father! Is that good enough for you?”
She drew in a breath, surprised, then shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. Adrian told me he was only a child when your father died.”
“I don’t know how he did it. Perhaps the others helped him, but I know it was him.”
“Why would they want to?” she asked, deciding that if she were to die, which she was almost certain now that she would, she would at least get to the bottom of this mystery that had scarred her beautiful husband far more than the fire had.
Roger leaned back on his heels, his smile suddenly back in place. “Perhaps he didn’t like the way Father and I played with him.” The sick satisfaction, the predatory pride in his voice, twisted her stomach.
“You hurt him,” she whispered. “You and your father hurt him the way you hurt me.”
“He liked it,” Roger snarled. “He begged me for it.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Adrian sank back againstthe wall right outside the open door that led down to some sort of cellar, Roger’s words ringing in his ears. He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to breathe, to focus on getting Vanessa out alive, instead of the fact that Anne was dead and Vanessa now knew the worst thing there was to know about him.
For a brief moment, he was sucked back to the terrible dark days in the tower, when he’d been too young and too weak to fight back. The pain and humiliation he’d endured had marked him, and until Vanessa, he’d never thought he’d get past it.
For her sake, he had to. He had to forget the past and concentrate on right now, this moment. Shaking himself mentally, he ran through his options. Morgan, Luke, and Clinton wouldn’t be here for an hour or more, and he didn’t think he had that long. Roger was playing with Vanessa like a cat with a mouse. Soon he’d become tired of the game, and then Vanessa would be dead.
Adrian eased out his gun and checked it again. His instincts told him to rush in, guns blazing, but there were three of them, and he feared Vanessa would be killed in the crossfire.
What else? What else could he possibly do to get her out of this?
Vanessa and Roger were shouting at each other, and he forced himself to concentrate on what they were saying.
“I’m glad they killed your father,” Vanessa cried, obviously having no instinct for self-preservation. “I can’t wait for them to kill you, too. Adrian will come for me, you know that, don’t you? He’ll come for me, and he’ll kill you.”
Adrian wanted to scream at her to be quiet, but he couldn’t deny that her faith in him warmed his heart. How had he ever doubted her? How could he bear to lose her? He had to think of a way to draw the others out. If he could take care of them one by one, then he might have a chance.
He quietly backed away from the door and down the hall, looking for something big to create a diversion. At last, he found a large crate leaning against another doorway. He shoved it over, and it clattered against the floor with a resounding boom. He ducked inside the door and waited, hoping his plan worked.
* * * *
