Page 48 of Sacrifice

I spent the next twenty minutes cleaning the study and going through everything, but there was no laptop to be found. Just a bigger computer on the desk that belonged to Adam.

After I’d repeated the process throughout the entirety of the first floor, apart from the kitchen, Sebastian let out a heavy sigh. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he destroyed it after all,” he said. “Fuck, I wish I could just come in and look myself.”

“It’s too dangerous,” I whispered back to him. “Your dad has probably told Caroline to let him know if you show up.”

“I know. I just hate that you have to do this all alone.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted. “You know I’d do anything to help you.”

“Yeah. I know.” His voice had gone slightly husky. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” I whispered. “Where do you think I should try next?”

“His bedroom. It’s on the second floor. Turn left at the top of the stairs. It’s the door at the end.”

I followed his directions, hauling the cleaning equipment behind me. Once everything in the hall was vacuumed, dusted, and wiped down, I headed into the master bedroom.

“Wow,” I murmured breathlessly as I stepped inside.

The room was even nicer than the luxurious hotel room Sebastian had booked for us, with a soaring ceiling and large windows framed with heavy velvet drapes. A grand four-poster bed was the centerpiece, made up with bedding in tones of deep burgundy and gold.

Beside the bed was a leather armchair and matching ottoman, slightly worn from years of use, and on the opposite wall was a fireplace with a mantel that held a collection of photos. One of them featured Sebastian as a child, grinning as someone handed him a gift. The other person in the image was mostly obscured by the edge of another framed photo. When I pushed it aside, I saw that it was Miranda handing over the gift.

Of course.

Adam probably kept the photo around because people might find it odd for him to have no photos of his deceased wife in his room, given that he’d always painted himself as a still-grieving widower. At the same time, he probably didn’t want to see Miranda’s face staring back at him from the fireplace as he sat in his armchair—not after what he’d done to her—so he’d pushed the other photo in front of it.

“Asshole,” Sebastian muttered, clearly having the same thought as me.

“He certainly is,” I murmured, spinning around to look at the other wall. A wide door there led to a spacious walk-in closet. “I’ll check in there first.”

Unfortunately, the closet held nothing but the expected items—tailored suits, silk ties, an array of leather shoes, and drawers filled with neatly folded shirts, pants, underwear, and socks.

“The laptop isn’t here either,” I said with a heavy sigh. “Maybe you were right. He destroyed it after all. Or maybe he hid it somewhere else, instead of this house.”

“Shit,” Sebastian muttered. I heard a sudden intake of breath, and then he spoke up again. “Oh, no way. He wouldn’t. He fuckingwouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what?”

He went silent for a moment.

“When I still lived there, my room was the one down the opposite end of the hall,” he finally said. “But it wasn’t always that one. Before my mom died, it was the room just two doors down from the master bedroom. I changed rooms after she was gone, because… well, it’s hard to explain. I was so young when it happened, and I wasn’t really thinking straight. It felt like so many good memories of her were still in that room, and I worried I’d somehow disturb them if I stayed. It sounds ridiculous now that I’m older.”

“No, I understand. You were a grieving child,” I said, brows furrowing as I wondered where he was going with this.

“My father always knew that I never, ever wanted to go back in that room. It’s basically been a mausoleum of my early childhood for the last twenty years.”

I nodded slowly as his point dawned on me. “You think he could’ve hidden the laptop in there?”

“It’s possible. It’s theoneroom he knew would be totally safe from me,” he said. “The only people that would ever go in there now are the cleaners, and they only wipe down the surfaces and vacuum the floor. They would never look through any of the drawers or cupboards.”

“All right.” I took a deep breath. “I’ll have a look now.”

I headed down the hall and quietly opened Sebastian’s childhood bedroom door. It was just as he’d described, totally frozen in time. A wood-framed bed, made up with a red andblue quilt featuring a cartoon character, sat against the far wall, flanked by shelves filled with toys and books. On the opposite wall was a door leading into a walk-in closet.

I headed into the closet first and checked every drawer, followed by the cupboards.Nothing.

“Try the drawers under the bedside tables,” Sebastian suggested. I did as he said and came up empty—the drawers only contained scattered drawings, more toys, and a sizable rock collection.

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