Past Tense (9 page)

“Then I might bring some work your way,” Wheeler said. “I do business with a company in France. Just started, as a matter of fact. My French is rather rusty, so I wouldn’t mind getting some letters translated.”

“I am rather busy now—”

“Oh, I’m not in a hurry.”

“Well, we are,” Tony cut in. “Excuse us, please.”

The man’s expression didn’t alter from its somewhat vacuous affability. “Sorry. I won’t keep you.” He walked down the hall and disappeared into his flat.

“That guy gives me the creeps,” Samantha muttered as they climbed the last flight.

Tony scowled heavily. “Keep clear of him. Might be hard, though. He’s interested in you. I know that look.”

Something possessive in his tone penetrated her annoyance. “I can handle it.”

Eyes narrowed, he looked at her. “I’m sure you can. But be careful.”

“Be careful,” Samantha said irritably. “That’s getting to be the story of my life.”

“You could go to the police,” Tony said quietly as they entered her flat.

Samantha turned from closing the door, her heart making a peculiar lurch in her chest as she saw the soft warmth in his face. His black hair had dried in little ringlets. She wanted to reach out and smooth them back where they tumbled over his forehead. Clenching her hand, she restrained the urge. While it had been a comfort to talk to Tony, she couldn’t allow herself to rely on him. She had to solve the mess she’d made of her life. Then she might be free—

Free for what? Love?

Bemused, she shook her head. Not in the near future. Not until she was very sure.

“You should have gone to the police in Montréal,” Tony said. “All of this hiding might not have been necessary.”

The fragile bubble of closeness burst. “I was scared. And now, what do we have to tell them? Nothing but guesses.”

“Maybe tomorrow we’ll find something.” Tony reached for her hand, but she stepped back. Frowning slightly, he said, “Samantha, will you be all right tonight?”

“Sure I will.” Her laugh was brittle. “I was all right before.”

He still hesitated, reluctant to leave her. He couldn’t have explained why, just that she seemed to need somebody.

“It’s all right, Tony. I’ll be fine. I’m just tired, that’s all. It’s been quite a day. But Bennett’s hardly likely to find me tonight and murder me in my bed.”

“Not if he hasn’t figured out where you are yet. But he may have narrowed it down. Sam, where’s that brochure? Maybe you’d recognize the writing.”

“It was block letters, Tony. It looked like a child’s scrawl. No one would recognize it.” Nevertheless, she began to shift the day’s newspaper on the coffee table, folding it neatly before rifling through the stack of magazines. “Damn, where’d the thing go?”

She took up each magazine, shaking it, in case the brochure had gotten tucked between the pages. Nothing.

“Are you sure you left it there? You didn’t put it in a drawer or anything?”

“Positive. It was here.” She straightened the items on the table, the familiar panic tightening in her chest. Lifting fearful eyes to Tony, she whispered, “Someone must have gotten in here. The brochure’s gone, and so is the envelope.”

Chapter Six

The phone rang. Sam whirled around to face it, her heart pounding in her throat. Finally, on the fourth ring, she picked it up. “Yes?”

“Miss Smith, are you there?” The agitated voice sounded harsh, and it took her a second to realize who the caller was.

“Yes, I’m here.” Samantha gripped the receiver. Mr. Collins rarely phoned her, leaving most communications up to Mrs. Graham, his secretary. “Has something happened?”

“My office was broken into. The police are here now.”

Samantha sank down on the carpet, her head rolling back against the sofa. She felt cold all over. “Was anything taken?”

“I haven’t done a thorough check, but it seems a file in which I kept my monthly statements to you regarding Smith Industries is gone. Hardly state secrets, but they did contain your address and you’d asked me to keep it confidential. I’m sorry, Miss Smith. Terribly sorry.”

Too late
. Her heartbeat took up the rhythm.
Too late
. “I don’t think it matters any more.”

“Did you have a reason for leaving Montréal other than a broken engagement, Miss Smith?”

“Yes, Mr. Collins. But I don’t think anyone will be bothering you again.” She closed her eyes, wishing she felt as secure about her own future. “I’m sorry this happened. Since I seem to be responsible, please send me a bill for the damages.”

“I’m sorry to bring you distressing news, Miss Smith. If there is a problem, perhaps you should go to the police. They can help.”

Could they? Sam wondered after she hung up. She had nothing concrete to tell them. Or show them, not even the brochure.

“What is it?” Tony asked tensely. He’d been going crazy watching the play of emotions over her face, the fear that turned the rain-silver eyes dark. “What’s happened?”

“They know where I am.” Her voice was flat, toneless. “Even if they were just guessing before, they know now. My solicitor’s office was broken into, my file taken. It can’t be a coincidence. After they grabbed the wrong woman’s handbag, they must have gotten desperate.”

A muscle clenched in Tony’s jaw. “That does it. You’re staying at my place for the night. After that, we’ll see.”

Sam raked her fingers through her loose hair, pushing her glasses up onto her forehead as if their weight was suddenly too much for her face to bear. “Tony, you’ll be taking a risk, too. Don’t worry, I’ll lock the doors.”

“You lock them every time you go out, don’t you?” he reminded her. “That didn’t stop someone from getting in and taking the brochure.”

It was like a nightmare, a thick suffocating nightmare that stole her freedom and threatened her sanity. “Damn it, I never thought it would end up like this. I should have handled it differently from the first moment in Montréal. I can’t let you get involved.”

“I’m already involved.” And perhaps more than she suspected.

Placing his finger under her chin, Tony tipped her face up. “Look at me, Samantha. See, my eyes are open. I know what I’m getting into. I’m willing to take the chance.”
For you
, he added under his breath. “If you want, I’ll sign an affidavit swearing you’re not responsible for anything that happens to me.”

A reluctant amusement twitched her lips and he knew he’d won his point. “You need me, Sam. You need somebody, and I don’t think we have enough to go to the police at this moment.”

She realized that he was right. He could help her. Independence had become such a habit that she’d almost forgotten what it was to have someone care what happened to her.

She looked at Tony. His eyes were soft, his smile tender and expectant. No, he hadn’t made the offer because he thought she couldn’t take care of herself. He’d made it because he was honestly concerned about her safety.

“Yes, I’ll come,” she said, and discovered the words were neither degrading nor painful.

His smile broadened. “I’m glad, Sam.” He walked over to her, his steps sure and unhurried. Laying his palm on her cheek, he stroked her lips with his thumb.

The warm touch of his fingers was hypnotic, sending a stream of renewed strength through her body. She stared up at him, her mind still in turmoil, but in that moment her heart gave birth to the beginnings of trust.

Her lips parted, as an unfamiliar sensation came to life within her. With surprise she recognized it as desire, an emotion she hadn’t allowed herself to experience in so long she’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

For an instant she was aligned to the hard planes of his body, then she was free. Tony stood with his back to her, his two hands clenching in his hair. “I’m sorry, Samantha. I shouldn’t have touched you.”

But I wanted you to
. The thought slammed through Sam’s mind, almost shocking her with its intensity. “It’s all right, Tony. Forget it.”

He stood by the bedroom window as she began to pack, cursing his impulse, the attraction that lay between them like an unexploded grenade. If it wasn’t for the trade conference and her possible connection to it, he would have followed through on his desire to kiss her. As it was, he was the one hiding something now. He’d had enough of games with women. He wasn’t going to play them with Samantha.

“We should learn something tomorrow,” he said in an effort to restore his equilibrium. “Then we’ll decide what to do next.”

Yes, the newspapers would be their next step.

Worldwide’s reputation was on the line. Tony knew it, and was prepared to go to any lengths to insure than the conference went according to plan. No hitches. Not even a hint of hitches.

* * * *

Tony lived in a mews only seven blocks from Samantha’s flat. “So close,” she said as he pulled into the open garage at one end of the compound. “It’s surprising we never ran into each other shopping.”

“I guess it wasn’t the right time.” Tony let her out of the passenger door, frowning as he saw her looking at the dent in the fender. “Don’t sweat it, Sam. That’s why I carry insurance.”

He lifted her bag out of the trunk. “You’re not going to believe this, but the day you fainted in the lobby of the Regal Arms I was sitting in my office thinking that my life was boring. You certainly shook me out of that.”

The dimple winked in her right cheek as her lips relaxed in a smile. “Are you sure you aren’t wishing you were still bored?”

He tilted his head to one side. “Nope. Not at all.”

And the truth suddenly hit him that, even without the mystery in her past, he would have felt the same way. She was the most fascinating woman he’d ever met.

* * * *

The harsh clamor of the phone jolted him out of a pleasant dream in which Samantha lay beside him, in his bed rather than in the next room. Her skin was warm silk, bare—

“Yeah?” Blearily focusing one eye, he saw that it was 3:35. The room was dark except for the red figures on the clock radio.

“Yeah?” he repeated when no one spoke. “Who’s this?”

“Could I speak to Samantha Smith please?” The sexless voice pronounced the words with an odd precision, as if the speaker were used to another language.

A deluge of ice water couldn’t have woken Tony more abruptly. “I think you’ve got the wrong number.”

Apparently his quick thinking wasn’t enough. After only a slight hesitation, the voice said, “Anthony Theopoulos, you will regret you ever met Samantha Smith. Get her out of your life before it’s too late.”

“Before what’s too late?” Only the buzz of a vacant line hummed in his ear.

He put down the receiver and lay back, willing his heart to stop pounding. Adrenaline surged through his veins, arousing unfamiliar thoughts of violence. He wanted to get his hands on the person who was making the calls. He wanted to fight flesh and blood, not a ghostly voice on the phone. Knowing Sam was in danger aroused all his protective instincts.

Still, she was safe here. The compound that contained his house along with five others was closed off from the street by a tall iron gate. Only the residents had a key. The tiny gardens behind the houses backed onto the solid brick wall of a warehouse that faced the river. Unless the caller could fly, he couldn’t touch Samantha.

* * * *

Samantha’s grimy hand left a dark smear across her forehead as she brushed back a strand of hair. “What a job this is. I never thought we’d have to go through the actual papers. I assumed they’d have them on computer or something.”

The sub-basement of the library where back issues of international newspapers were kept was dark and gloomy. Most of the available space was piled high with boxes. A naked bulb that barely lit the work area swung over their heads.

“Have you found anything on Dubray?” Tony asked.

“Not yet, but I’m still working on the earlier months.” She reached for another bundle from the large file box, unfolding the top sheet and scanning the headlines. “I didn’t know they could print so much about so little. And you’re wasting your day. Won’t they miss you at your office?”

Tony gave a non-committal grunt. “Not likely. Probably glad I’m out for once.”

Samantha slapped shut the newspaper she was looking over, folding it and replacing it in the box. She picked up the next one. Her heart accelerated. “Tony, here’s the story about Dubray.”

The account was accompanied by a grainy photo of Dubray surrounded by lawyers and police, his face hidden behind his raised briefcase.

“’Dateline Montréal: Robert Dubray of Planning and Development has resigned from city hall amid rumors of scandal. Officials declined to comment but a reliable source informed this reporter that charges are being considered,’” Tony read over Sam’s shoulder. He glanced at the date. “March 7. That was just before you left, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” She bent to the boxes, sorting the papers by date. “Let’s see now. We have to find the one for the day I left.” Quickly she leafed through it, then picked up the next day’s edition. “Um-hmm. City News. Dubray’s scheduled court appearance was postponed when he failed to attend. Seems he was kept overnight in hospital for observation after a minor car accident. He was released the next day.”

“There you have it, Sam. They took him to a hospital and made up a story to explain the injuries.”

“Of course.” She looked up at Tony, her eyes dancing with excitement. “Do you realize what this means? Dubray was alive after I saw him. There was no murder.”

“You’re off the hook.” The words seemed to stick in Tony’s throat.

Sam’s euphoria died. “No, I’m not. There’s Germain. Being seen with him would incriminate Bennett. And Dubray.” She sat back on her heels. “Maybe Dubray is behind what’s happening to me. Maybe he saw me that day and recognized me. He could easily have seen my picture in Bennett’s office or someplace. He might be trying to hide his own association with Germain—not that it appeared too amiable.”

“Yeah.” Tony nodded, his mouth grim. “Okay, let’s both concentrate on March, see if we can find out what Dubray was charged with.”

 They plodded on, becoming more dirty and disgruntled. Then Sam found something. “Dubray is mentioned again, later in March. The charges against him were dropped. No one seems to know why, or even what they were. Somebody must have had some pull to keep that out of the press. The reporter says there were hints that it involved embezzlement of city funds.”