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“I really don’t,” Adrian said upon reflection. There was nothing genuine in this man’s words. In fact, he was a terrible actor.

“Why?” The man’s voice broke. Finally something that sounded real.

“Because you lied to me about your name.”

“You’re wrong. I promise I’ve done no such thing. I swear to you—”

“And the best reason I can think of for you to do so is if you don’t want the real you to be found. Given the fact that you’re here of all places, I suspect you to be one of three people. Doctor Lester, Doctor Preordian, or Doctor Islington. My bet would be on the latter.”

* * *

Having found no hint of anyone’s presence upstairs, Samantha returned to the foyer with every intention of heading down to the basement and checking on Adrian. Retracing the path he’d taken earlier, she walked toward the back of the house where the door to the service stairs was located.

Adrian had left the door open, granting her easy access.

She stepped forward, prepared to descend, when the hair at the nape of her neck stood on end, alerting her to a presence behind her.

The hand holding her pistol sought its mark as she whipped around, but the narrow space hindered her movements.

Her elbow caught on the wall. A fraction of a second’s delay. Enough, however, for her attacker to shove her backward, into the vacant space behind her.

She fell, prepared to hit the floor hard.

Her spine slammed into the stone tiles before she was ready. Pain lanced through every part of her body. The air was punched from her lungs.

Shoes clattered upon the steps. She sucked in a breath and flexed her fingers, only to find the pistol gone. Agony speared her as she tried to move, to get up and ready for the fight that would either save her or kill her.

Groaning, she attempted to push up onto one elbow. Her eyes sought her assailant. She needed to get her bearings but it was so bloody dark. Her head pounded but she ignored it. Loud banging ensued, accompanied by a familiar voice shouting her name.

“Adrian?” Her own voice was but a weak rasp.

She twisted, tried to get one knee under her body so she could get upright, only to be kicked off balance. If she could just get to her husband…

Her arm gave out at the same time as glass exploded from somewhere nearby.

“Stop right there or I’ll kill her.” A woman’s voice, followed by a distinctive click. The sound of a pistol’s hammer being pulled back.

Samantha tipped her chin up and peered at the woman, but the darkness prevented her from discerning her features. All she saw was a silhouette.

“If you kill her, you’ll be signing your own death warrant.” Samantha recognized Murry’s low growl. He must have smashed his way through an external door to gain entry.

The woman’s snort was mostly drowned out by continued banging and shouts from Adrian.

It sounded like he was locked in one of the rooms. To free him, Samantha would have to overpower the woman who threatened her.

Despite the pain slicing through her, she’d manage.

For Adrian. Especially with Murry now here to help.

All she needed was a distraction, but what?

The woman chuckled in response to Murry’s threat. “I don’t think you realize who you’re dealing with.”

“Do you?” Samantha asked. If she could keep the woman talking, maybe Murry could somehow gain the upper hand.

“Of course we do,” a man’s voice answered. Though she recognized it, she couldn’t quite place it.

She squeezed her eyes shut. This had just gotten so much harder. “Who are you?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure. All that matters right now is that I will shoot your friend dead if either of you try anything. Understood?”

“What I understand,” Samantha seethed, “is that you are a murderous prick. I will take pleasure in sending you off to hell.”

The man clicked his tongue. “Such foul language from an upper-class lady. Then again, you’re not really a lady at all, are you?

I mean, you can’t be when you’re married to Croft, a man who has done his own share of killing.

I wonder if you would call him a murderous prick too. Semantics and all that.”

Enraged by his comment, Samantha pulled on every bit of strength she possessed. With a cry of fury, she pushed herself onto her knees, got one foot under herself, and was almost upright, ready to sprint toward the nameless bastard, when something hard connected with the side of her head.

A guttural yelp flew from between her parted lips as she stumbled and fell, palms slamming against the ground for purchase, scraping against it so hard they burned. The woman’s foot pressed down on her back, holding her there. No doubt with her pistol directed straight at Samantha’s head.

“She’s trouble,” said the woman. “We should kill her now before she becomes a bigger problem for us to deal with.”

“No. The whole point of capturing her and her husband was so they could help us.” The man paused for a moment. An unidentifiable sound followed. “However, three people might be more than we can manage, and I’m thinking this one will be tougher for us to restrain than an injured woman.”

Thunder echoed through the basement before his words had time to register with Samantha. It was followed by a loud thud.

“No.” The word was wrenched from somewhere deep in Samantha’s gut. Her ribs squeezed her lungs, trapping her heart so it struggled to beat. “Murry?”

The pounding on the door resumed. “Samantha?”

“She’s fine for now,” said the man. “The brute you brought with you, however, has taken a swift exit.”

A roar of anger was accompanied by more pounding. “I’ll bloody well—”

“Think before you make additional threats,” yelled the man. “And step away from the door. Mrs. Lester and I have business to attend to.”

So it was true. Mrs. Lester was one of the villains. They’d have to tell Murdoch to pay more attention to his informants.

Footsteps clicked against the floor. Samantha tried raising her chin for a better glimpse of the man who’d killed Murry.

Unfortunately, her current position coupled with the darkness made it impossible for her to see who he was.

But then she heard metal strike flint. Additional rummaging sounds followed and light swiftly bloomed as an oil lamp was lit and the flame turned up.

Before she was able to make out more than a pair of shoes and the hem of a dove-grey skirt, a hand grabbed the back of her neckline, pulling it tight against her throat.

She choked as she was yanked upward, the pain darting into each limb producing a series of winces.

She’d no time to adjust, to gather her wits and prepare, before fresh agony speared her.

All she could do was grit her teeth against it as the end of a pistol was thrust straight into her spine.

“If you try anything, you’ll end up like him,” said the woman.

Samantha looked to Murry, who lay in a crumpled heap on the ground. Blood stained the back of his jacket and… God . Her throat closed so tightly it ached. Tears welled in her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. These people could not have brought them to their knees with such ease.

She wanted to scream.

Despite all her training, the experience she’d gained in previous fights, a nurse and her deadly companion had wrecked her. By shoving her down some stairs. That was it. Senseless and stupid. Murry was dead now because of that. Because of her .

The only thing left to do now was to save her husband, whatever the cost. She had not fought to free him from prison just so he could succumb in a townhouse basement.

“Walk,” said Mrs. Lester. She pressed the pistol more firmly against Samantha’s back, pushing her forward.

Staying directly behind Samantha, both the man and the woman remained out of sight. Even when she tried turning her head, she managed to catch only a partial glimpse. It wasn’t enough to get a clear look at either.

Mrs. Lester directed her toward the door.

“I suggest you retreat, Mr. Croft,” said the man. “Your wife has a loaded pistol at her back. If you so much as flinch in a threatening way, we’ll blast a hole straight through her. Is that clear?”

A brief silence followed before Adrian answered. “Yes.”

“Excellent,” said the man. He swept a hand in front of Samantha, offering her a key. “Please do the honors.”

She took the object and set it into the lock. The mechanism grated as she turned it all the way to the right. And then the door opened, allowing her to meet Adrian’s frosty gaze.

He stood by the far wall, utterly still, his features like granite.

It was a moment she’d never forget, for as he took her in, something about him shifted, darkening and tensing even further. There was a lethalness to his appearance that told her he’d not let her save him. What he showed in his stance and expression were her own emotions reflected back at her.

He’d die if it meant she lived. A powerful reminder of who he was and what he was capable of. If only she’d let him. Which she wouldn’t. There was no way in hell she’d allow him to do something foolish.

She stepped forward and her gaze shifted toward a large table to which a man had been tied. Mrs. Lester nudged her forward and Adrian made a guttural sound.

“I knew I’d find Mrs. Lester here, but you’re a surprise.”

“Fooled you, did I?”

“Without a doubt, Doctor Ashburry.”