Tony was conscious of relief. Contrary to what he might have thought, given her background, she wasn’t a playgirl, blithely cutting a swath through hordes of men, leading them on, and then dropping them when she got bored.
“That’s once,” he said gently when she didn’t speak.
“Yeah. It seems I couldn’t stop there. As soon as I got home after the school term, I started seeing a boy I’d known since kindergarten. It was strictly on the rebound from the prince. Luckily I came to my senses in time. Such a gentle boy. I hated to hurt him but I’m sure he now realizes it was for the best.”
She lifted her hands and rubbed her temples, her mouth turning down in self-disgust. “Oh, forget it. I was a fool.”
“We’re all fools sometimes,” Tony said. Far from undermining the attraction he felt toward her, her story only increased it. She was human; she’d made mistakes and been hurt. But she’d learned from the mistakes.
The knowledge warmed him. He’d been afraid her aloofness might be her whole personality.
But none of this solved the immediate problem of who was harassing her.
“Do you think Bennett’s found you?”
She gave a harsh laugh. “I’d say we can assume that. Or one of the other men.”
Tony looked at her, his eyes narrowing. “Did you know any of them?”
“Yes, Robert Dubray, the man I thought was dead. But he’s hardly likely to be after me. He would have been too busy looking after his own skin.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, there was some sort of scandal in city hall. I don’t remember the details. I never thought I’d ever see the guy, so I didn’t pay attention to the stories.”
Tony’s brows drew together, his thoughts racing. “Anything else?”
“No. Yes.” She closed her eyes, again feeling the gut-wrenching fear that had dogged her during the first weeks after she’d left Montréal. The terror was beginning all over again. And since Tony was now involved, it was better that he knew the worst. “Yes, I saw the man who hit Dubray. It was Claude Germain.”
Tony stared at her, an icy chill creeping over his skin. “Claude Germain the mobster?”
“Yes.”
He gulped. “No wonder you ran away.”
For a long moment he was silent. Claude Germain. Here was the first evidence that Samantha’s problems might be linked to the upcoming trade conference. If rumors were to be believed, Claude Germain had financed the threat that had aborted the trade conference last April. Because of the continued uneasy relations between French and English speaking factions in Québec province, the conference had been rescheduled to take place in London. Was it possible that someone had breached the shroud of secrecy and again posed a threat?
Robert Dubray, perhaps? If Dubray were connected with Germain, his presence in the hotel might have significance far beyond what Samantha had imagined.
“We’d better check if Dubray is really at the Regal Arms,” Tony said. “That should prove whether he’s dead or alive.”
“I’ve already done that, Tony. He wasn’t registered.”
“He wasn’t? Well, that doesn’t prove it wasn’t him. He might have been in the hotel to see somebody, or for a meeting.” He sat up straighter. “You know, Sam, we should be able to find out if Dubray was killed. A body is not so easy to get rid of. Of course, there is dumping it in an isolated wooded area, in the proverbial shallow grave. But if the dead man was a prominent person, he would be reported missing.”
“Newspapers,” Sam exclaimed. “It would have been in the newspapers.” She turned toward him, her face animated again. ”Tony, where can we get hold of back issues of the Montréal papers?”
All of Tony’s earlier suspicions about Samantha evaporated. Her willingness to follow up on her story, and get to the bottom of it, was genuine. He would give her every assistance he could since it also served his own purpose.
He smiled. “The Montréal papers are part of a major newspaper consortium, aren’t they? Either a library or one of the offices on Fleet Street should have copies in their archives. If we can get a look at them, we should find out something.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. Can you take a day off?”
“I suppose. I’ll work some evenings to make it up if I have to.”
* * * *
They were coming back from dinner an hour later when they met Jason Wheeler at the second floor landing.
“Good evening, Miss Clark,” he said, shifting the basket of laundry in his arms. “Did you enjoy your day out?” He didn’t address Tony, merely nodding in his direction.
“Yes, I did,” Samantha lied. “Except for the rain. How did you know my name?”
“Oh, that was easy.” Propping the basket against his hip, he gestured airily. “I asked Miss Hunnicott. Translations? That’s what you do, isn’t it? How are you at French?”
“Fluent, Mr. Wheeler,” Samantha said crisply, wishing he’d move aside so they could get by.
“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.
“A
re 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 t
houghts 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.”
Past Tense Page 7