Past Tense

by Freda Vasilopoulos

  Snarling, Wheeler pulled back his arm to hit Tony once more. “That’s enough, Jason,” Bennett said crisply. “He’s right, of course. There’ll be no murder.”

  His smile turned thin and cruel. “We’ll keep you in cold storage, so to speak, for a day or two, and then you’ll die in an accident. The tragedy will be a good human-interest story. Two lovers going off together, only to die in a car crash.”

  Turning back to Samantha, he rifled through the papers until he found the one he wanted. “Sign this one too. It’s a letter giving me power of attorney. You know,” he added, “the double indemnity clause in our insurance policy will work right into my hands.”

  As Tony had warned, Sam thought sickly. She looked at Tony, her eyes wide and desperate, trapped. The nod he threw her was not so much a gesture of his head as a flicker in his eyes. Go ahead, he seemed to be telling her, we’ll undo it later.

  She carelessly scribbled a signature she hoped would be questioned, tossing down the pen when she’d finished. “There, are you satisfied?”

  Bennett eyed her, never losing the smile she wanted to smash down his throat. “Not really, my dear.” He stroked his hand over his chin as if he wished it was her skin. “But I guess it will have to do.”

  “Just for the record, Bennett,” Sam asked with defiant look in her eyes, “were you ever in love with me as you said once?”

  Bennett’s smile slipped from his face, and for an instant she could have sworn he looked regretful. “You were sweet, Samantha. If I believed in love, I would have felt it for you.” He picked up the overcoat he’d taken off. “However, power and money are more important than love, more important than sex or lust, as well.”

  He was a stranger. Sam hadn’t known him at all. Tony on the other hand—her eyes sought his, clung to the warmth in their dark depths—she’d known Tony only a matter of weeks, yet he’d never been the stranger Bennett was.

  Tony coughed, his throat sore from the effort of breathing after the blow to his stomach. “Just how do you think you’ll engineer this assassination, Price?”

  Bennett laughed. “Who said anything about an assassination?”

  “Dubray did. He phoned me and said someone was going to die.”

  An expression of intense hatred fled across Bennett’s face, twisting his mouth into a vicious grimace. But he recovered quickly. “So what?” he said tightly, his eyes hooded. “People die all the time, especially those in high places. At a conference as potentially volatile as this, it would be a superb, dramatic touch, don’t you think?”

  “The security is tighter than a hangman’s noose,” Tony said while his mind raced over possible slip-ups that might have been made.

  “Ah, but that’s where the weakness lies. You trust people. When there’s enough money available, you find out that anyone can be bought, for any job.” He tapped one perfectly manicured finger on the papers Samantha had signed. “And this will ensure that there’s plenty of money. I didn’t need Germain, after all.”

  “Yeah, Germain,” Tony said. “Where did he come in, anyway? Did you even bother to look for Sam before he so conveniently died?”

  Bennett’s lip curled. “Inconvenient is more like it. Germain was going to supply the cash, but when he was killed—not my doing, by the way—that source dried up. I never liked using him, anyway, because if it was found out, I would be blackmailed at best, and ruined at worst. Even though I figured Sam would show up sooner or later, I got a private detective to speed up the process.”

  “Then you didn’t need to break into poor Mr. Collins’s office to get my address,” Sam said. “Especially with Wheeler already living in my building, spying on me.”

  “I needed some of the information in the files,” Bennett said. “Besides, it seemed a good idea to keep you on edge. You’ve already been to the police several times with wild, improbable stories. When you disappear along with Tony, they won’t even question it until your bodies are found.”

  “It won’t work, Price,” Tony retorted. “It’s hardly going to look plausible if I disappear just when the conference delegates are coming to my hotel. In fact, the police may already be looking for me.”

  “Well, they won’t find you.” Bennett shrugged into his coat. “You can count on it.” He peered out of the dusty window. The pile driver had stopped its pounding. Quiet settled over the construction site as the workers locked up their tools and closed up for the day. “A few more minutes and it’ll be safe to move you.”

  Move us where? Samantha wondered with a sick feeling in her stomach. Her eyes met Tony’s and she saw the same bleak dismay in his face, although he tried to cover it with a facsimile of a grin.

  Moments passed, punctuated only by the hoot of a tugboat on the river. Outside, the heavy clouds produced a premature twilight.

  To Sam’s surprise they didn’t go to the car when Bennett herded them out of the trailer. Instead he set a brisk pace to the edge of the site where excavations the size of city blocks awaited the pouring of concrete foundations. Earthmoving machinery stood silently by, the shifting river mist giving them the appearance of dinosaurs in a primeval swamp.

  Bennett was forced to untie Tony’s hands so that he could clamber down a wooden ladder into one of the pits. His fingers were numb, clumsy on the risers, and once he almost lost his grip as the stinging pain of renewed circulation cramped his hand.

  Wheeler gave him a push, nearly sending him to the bottom without the benefit of the stairs. “Get a move on. We haven’t got all night.”

  “Leave him alone,” Samantha retorted. At the bottom of the pit, she sloshed through water that was ankle deep in places to Tony’s side, wrapping her arm around his waist.

  “I can manage, Sam,” he muttered. “Just look after yourself.”

  “I got you into this.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Tony interrupted. “I walked in with my eyes open.”

  “Knock off the chatter, you two.” Wheeler swung his gun meaningfully.

  He marched them across the pit to the opposite side where lumber was piled in preparation for building the foundations. One wall was already prepared and it was to the corner that Bennett led them. Here an alcove, probably for an exit stairway, jutted out from the main building. It, too, was lined with wooden forms, ready for pouring the concrete.

  Bennett took hold of a crowbar and began to pull the short planks loose from the narrow end of the alcove, nails shrieking loudly as he drew them out. In a short time he’d cleared enough space for a man to get through.

  “In there,” he growled.

  Tony glared belligerently at Wheeler and for a moment Sam feared that he would attack the man in spite of the gun he held on them. “Why not kill us now, and get it over with?”

  “I’d like nothing better.” Wheeler’s finger tightened on the trigger.

  Bennett calmly pushed the gun aside, lifting his own. “We’ve got preparations to make. I don’t want any possibility that someone will suspect foul play later. Anyway, Sam, I thought you might enjoy thinking over what you could have had if you’d cooperated.” He laughed. “Au revoir. We’ll be back in a day or two.”

  He pushed them into the opening, signaling Wheeler to hammer the boards back into place. Just before he fixed the last one in, Bennett added, “Don’t waste any of the time you have left.”

  Sam and Tony listened in silence as the tramp and slosh of the footsteps died away. Enough daylight seeped between the planks that they could see each other. Tony sighed and opened his arms. With a little cry Sam walked into them and held on as tightly as she could.

  “It’s not going to end like this,” Tony said huskily. “I won’t let it.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sam’s teeth chattered. She knew it was stark terror, not the cold. She’d never liked closed in places, but that consideration faded in the face of another, far more critical one.

  No one knew where they were. Even if Tony were missed, as he was sure to be, no one knew where to begin
a search. Which meant they could only rely on their own ingenuity to find a way out of their prison.

  “We’ve got to get out of here, Sam.”

  At Tony’s almost prosaic tone, Sam couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. The necessity to escape was self-evident. “Yes, but how?”

  He held her more closely, wishing he’d stopped to pull on his overcoat before he’d rushed wildly out of the hotel in answer to Sam’s phone call. The suit he wore was little protection against what promised to be a wet, miserable night.

  Sam wasn’t much better off in tailored trousers topped by a wool sweater that was fluffy under his hands. The soft fibers already felt damp.

  “We’ll find a way,” he said stoutly, wishing he were as confident as he tried to sound. “I’ve no intention of waiting calmly for Bennett to come back and kill us.”

  He brushed his mouth over hers and was gratified when her cold lips stopped trembling and warmed under his. A slow heat uncoiled in his body, awakening a desire he rebuked sternly. There was no time for indulgence of the need she could arouse with only the light in her eyes. They had to direct all their energy and resources on an escape plan.

  Sam pulled free of Tony’s arms, reluctantly, the desire to stay close to him where it was warm and safe almost stronger than the instinct to survive. Her fighting spirit, fragile after days of battering by one frightening event after another, was at its lowest ebb. Yet, giving up was unthinkable.

  “We have to get out,” she said. “It’s not only our lives that depend on it.”

  If it hadn’t been for the renewed pain in his wrists and hands, Tony would have smiled. Trust Sam to think of the possible assassination they were powerless to prevent unless they could get out in time. Rubbing his fingers, he followed her as she prowled around the enclosure.

  One side of their prison appeared to be solid earth. The other walls were covered with planks, old and slimy in contrast to the rough lumber encrusted with old cement that Bennett had opened up to give them entry. That side was hopeless. The boards were solid and thick, well nailed and reinforced to withstand the weight of wet concrete until it set.

  The sides covered with old lumber might be more vulnerable. Tony pulled at a protruding corner, cursing as the wood snapped back and pinched his finger. “Ouch, damn it.”

  Sam turned, the concern on her face visible even in the dim light. “What is it, Tony?” She hurried to his side. “You took quite a beating. Is it bad?”

  He kneaded at his right hand with his left. “My hands. Circulation was cut off too long.”

  Samantha took both his hands in hers, massaging them gently. Looking down at her bent head, seeing the courage she had managed to retrieve even as it was slipping away from her, Tony felt tears sting his eyes. His mouth tightened with anger. If he got his hands on Bennett…

  The irony of the thought didn’t escape him. His hands were practically useless at the moment. He pulled one free of Sam’s capable fingers, clenching it experimentally. A smile broke over his face. “You know, Sam, that’s wonderful.”

  She worked over the base of his thumb, her hands firm and sure as she manipulated the muscles underlying his skin. “Just let your hand relax. That’s it. Let me do the work.”

  “Where did you learn that? Not by chance, I’d guess.”

  She bit her lip in concentration, her hair falling forward over her cheeks. “My grandmother suffered from arthritis. I used to rub her hands and her back when she had pain. A friend of mine who’s a physiotherapist taught me how.”

  Lifting her head, she shook her hair back from her face. “There, that should do it. Flex or shake your fingers now and then, until they feel normal.”

  Stepping back from him, she stared up at the ceiling, making a little grunt of disgust when she saw the heavy concrete slab, festooned with spider webs. No way out there, unless they could produce a jackhammer and were willing to spend a year or two drilling a hole.

  “How long do we have, do you think?”

  Tony blinked at her evenly voiced question. “Until tomorrow I’d guess, maybe even tomorrow evening if they don’t want to risk being seen moving us in the daytime. You’re taking this remarkably calmly, aren’t you?”

  She bent over, tapping her fist against a rotting plank at the back of the enclosure. “What do you want me to do, scream and carry on? Hysterics won’t get us out of here.”

  Straightening, she tapped the next board. “We have to find a way out. The sooner we get started the better. By tomorrow we’ll be awfully hungry.”

  Tony grimaced at the wet earth floor, puddled with water in low spots. “At least we won’t lack for water, although forcing ourselves to drink it may be another matter. Still, it might come to that. They say thirst is a great motivator.”

  He began to tap on the other plank wall, listening for a hollow sound that would indicate a possible passage out.

  Daylight was fading fast. Outside, the clouds had fulfilled their promise. A steady hissing and gurgling told them rain fell heavily. Not a desirable state of affairs at all. Water was seeping from the larger excavation into their alcove. Although it was hardly likely to reach dangerous levels, once the floor was flooded they wouldn’t be able to sit or rest, not without getting soaked.

  “If we don’t find a way out tonight, do you think that the work crews would be able to hear us shouting when they come back in the morning?”

  Tony shook his head. “I wouldn’t count on it. Once the equipment is running, they wouldn’t hear us if we screamed our heads off.”

  Which meant that ultimately they could only rely on their own wits. Samantha accepted that. There was little else she could do. If she allowed herself to think beyond the moment, she was afraid she would dissolve in ignominious tears.

  Her eyes met Tony’s, the worry she knew was on her face reflected in his. “There has to be something. All the guidebooks say London is riddled with underground tunnels and passages, especially close to the river.”

  She gave him a little push. “You start over there, I’ll continue here. We’ll meet in the middle.

  “It’s worth a try.” He splashed across the small room, muddy water soaking his shoes and socks.

  After an hour of minutely going over every inch of the grimy rotting planks, Sam sagged against the wall. “This isn’t working, is it? Every place I tap sounds the same. I thought we’d be able to tell by a hollow noise if there’s a passage behind the walls.”

  The light was still strong enough for Tony to see the smudges of dirt and lichen on her face. She had never looked dearer, and he inwardly railed at the injustice of it. He’d found her only to lose her.

  His thoughts must have shown on his face. Samantha smiled sadly and reached her hand out to him, burying her face against his shirt as he went to her. “Oh, Tony, it’s not fair.”

  “Not fair at all.” He held her close, running his hand up and down her back, feeling the little indentations of her spine through the inadequate sweater. “You’re freezing.”

  Taking off his suit jacket, he draped it over her shoulders, holding it so she could slip her arms into the sleeves. He buttoned the front, overlapping the lapels at the top.

  “When we get out of this, Sam, I promise you—” He broke off, emotion tearing at him. Cupping his palms around her face, he kissed her gently on the lips.

  Sam smiled a little as this choice of words. When. “You promise what?”

  He returned her smile, willing her to hope. “You’ll see.”

  It was so dark by now that they could hardly see each other. The construction site was lit by spotlights, but the beam from the nearest one, located on the edge of the excavation, barely reached their prison. Only the cold, rain-laden wind had no trouble chilling them through the minute spaces between the forms.

  “You’ll catch pneumonia,” Sam said as she felt Tony shiver in only his shirt.

  He shrugged. “You catch cold from a virus, not a chill. I’ll be okay. Come on, Sam, let’s get back at it.” />
  The rain had subsided to a soft drizzle that no longer drowned out the rustling in the walls that sounded like sinister whispers. Sam tilted her head to listen. “What are those noises?”

  “Probably mice. Doesn’t mean anything. They tunnel through wood, soil, possibly even brick and concrete.”

  Sam took an instinctive step closer to Tony. “Mice? Can they get in here?”

  Tony’s spontaneous laugh echoed around the room. “You stare down Bennett even when he’s holding a gun, and yet you’re afraid of a mouse? Sam, I’m surprised at you.”

  “Not scared,” she declared. “But I don’t like little furry things crawling on me, especially in the dark.”

  “They’re hardly likely to do that.” A thought struck him. “Sam, check the pockets in my jacket. There might be some matches. We leave packets of them on all the tables in the lobby and I sometimes pick one up.”

  She groped in the pockets, encountering a folded handkerchief and what felt like an extra tie, sleek and cool. She’d noticed his dislike of ties, how he would rip them off by the end of the day and tuck them in his pocket. “Nothing in the outside pockets.”

  “There’s another inside the jacket. Try that.”

  The pocket was long and narrow, apparently empty. She reached the bottom and made a sound of satisfaction. “Here they are. Now if we had some dry wood we could make a bonfire.”

  “We used to do that every Halloween,” Tony mused aloud. “Make a big fire, set off fireworks, and toast marshmallows.”

  He struck a match. As the light flared, something ran over Sam’s foot. She uttered a small, involuntary shriek and grabbed Tony’s arm, nearly extinguishing the match. “What was that?”

  A shadow, grotesquely elongated, drifted up the farthest plank wall and disappeared. “Probably a rat.”

  Sam felt herself turn pale. “A rat? There’re rats here? Then I’m not closing my eyes all night.”

  The flame guttered, then steadied. “Look, Tony.” She forgot about rats as her voice rose on an edge of excitement. “Look at the flame.”

  It was pulling definitely to one side, toward them from the plank-covered wall. “That’s where the rat disappeared. There must be a hole if there’s a strong airflow coming from that direction. Come on, Tony, let’s have look.”