Past Tense by Freda Vasilopoulos Page A

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