Past Tense (22 page)

“A walk in the fresh air would help. I’d like to stop by my flat and give Bagheera something to eat.”

Tony frowned worriedly. “He managed before he adopted you. Sam, I don’t know about you walking on the streets on your own—”

She squeezed his hand, touched by his concern. “Tony, I’ll be fine. If Bennett is with the police, he’ll be tied up for hours. It’ll be perfectly safe.”

After her appearance in the hotel this morning, Tony knew it was useless to argue unless he had some very heavy ammunition. “Okay, Sam. But take a taxi.”

That was a suggestion made to be broken, she decided as soon as she stepped outside. The sunlight spilling over the old brick buildings issued an invitation too tempting to ignore. Throwing back her shoulders, she strode down the street, her headache already a vague memory.

* * * *

Her flat appeared undisturbed. She wrinkled her nose as she inhaled the stuffy air. Opening a window at the front, she let in a breeze already scented with the pungency of autumn.

In the kitchen she threw open the back door, delighted to see Bagheera preening on the little landing. “There you are, cat. I was beginning to worry.”

“Not half as much as I,” he seemed to say as he wound himself around her legs, purring ecstatically.

She rinsed out his food dish and filled it. Bagheera left off his purring and began to greedily devour the meat. “Cupboard love,” Sam murmured affectionately.

Taking the mail she’d brought up, she went into the bedroom. Tony had asked her to be his guest at the trade conference’s opening banquet and she had nothing at his place that was suitable for a formal occasion.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she opened several of the envelopes, tossing junk mail and bills aside to be dealt with later. The last envelope was a fat one. She turned it over curiously, her heart jumping as she saw the Smith Industries logo. The items James had promised to send. She ripped it open, letting the papers and photographs tumble out.

With mixed feelings she sorted through them. Several photos were of her as a child, with her mother. There were also transcripts of school reports. She hugged the papers for an instant to her chest, closing her eyes as tears threatened. Her father
had
cared. He hadn’t shown it often, especially since she’d grown into an adult, but he had cared.

The last item was a long white envelope. She tore it open and drew out a document bearing the letterhead of the corporate law firm that handled Smith Industries’ legal work. Her eyes widened in horror as she ran them over the pages. Although written in lawyers’ jargon, she had no trouble understanding the gist of it.

With trembling fingers she picked up the phone on the bedside table. “Tony, you were right,” she said, in a voice gravelly with despair. “Bennett does stand to gain.

“What do you mean, Sam?”

“I just got a document that my father had made up before his death. It gives Bennett half of Smith Industries as soon as we marry.”

Tony let out a long, low whistle. “No wonder he didn’t come after you right away. He figured if he gave you time, you’d come back. Of course, when you didn’t, he had to find you and put on the pressure. Sam, I’m coming over.”

A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. She sniffed. Standing, she pulled open a drawer to find a handkerchief.

A knife.

There, obscenely displayed on a white satin slip, lay a knife. Bloodstains darkened the blade. It was a very large knife and the last place she’d seen it was in her kitchen drawer.

Her hand fell limply to her side, and she almost dropped the phone. A scream formed in her throat. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to stifle it. The hot metallic taste of blood stung her tongue, but she ignored it as she tried desperately to think.

An image of Dubray’s lifeless body flashed into her head. She’d thought him dead months ago. Had the sight of him alive and in apparent good health unhinged her so that she’d fulfilled the memory, made sure he wouldn’t come back to life and remind her of Bennett’s duplicity?

Without taking her eyes from the drawer, she backed away, giving a little cry as she came up against the bed. Through the receiver still in her hand, she could hear Tony calling. Fearfully she dragged her gaze back to the drawer.

The knife still lay there, a silent and grisly accuser. A whimper escaped her dry lips, and she slammed the drawer shut.

“Sam, what was that? Sam, what’s happening? Answer me!”

Slowly, as if her muscles had turned to cement, she brought the receiver back to her ear.

“Sam? Is something wrong?”

Sickness rose in her throat. She fought against a desire to scream. “You might say that.”

“What is it, Sam? You sound—”

“Tell me one thing,” she interrupted. “Did Inspector Allen tell you how Dubray died?”

“Knife wound. Why?”

She closed her eyes, black shadows threatening to smother her. “Tony, I think I killed him.”

“Sam, are you crazy?”

“Yes, I think I am. I’m at my flat. There’s a big knife here, and it’s covered with blood.”

She distinctly heard Tony swallow, but when he spoke his voice was tight with a deadly calm. “Sam, stay in your flat. Don’t touch anything. I’ll be right there.”

“But you won’t be, Miss Smith.” A large hand reached around and broke the phone connection. “By the time Theopoulos gets here, you’ll be gone.”

Chapter Fifteen

Sam felt the blood drain from her face, and looked down curiously, half expecting to see it puddled on the floor. Jason Wheeler, a self-satisfied smile on his lips, jabbed the gun he held into her ribs.

Twisting the set of headphones off his head, he spoke briefly into the mouthpiece attached. “It’s all right. I’ve got her.”

A resigned fatalism settled into Sam’s chest. “That’s how you knew where I was and how long I’d be out. You bugged my flat.”

“And your phone, dear lady.” He lifted the gun and ran the barrel caressingly along her cheek.

Sam flinched violently away. “Then you must have been quite put out when I stayed at Tony’s.”

Wheeler shrugged, the gun steady on her. “Over there, you were even more ridiculously predictable.”

“Who are you working for?” If she was going to die, she wanted to know why.

“Me,” Bennett Price said from the doorway. “Jason, bring her into the living room. Change of plan. We’ll wait for Theopoulos.”

She felt cold but, oddly, no longer frightened. Or perhaps fear had become so much part of her, she’d built up an immunity to it. “I might have known it would ultimately come back to you, Bennett. But why?”

Bennett walked over and took her arm. Lifting his other hand, he ran it over her glossy hair in a gesture that might have indicated regret. “So pretty, Sam. I always loved your hair, your skin, your coolness. The princess.”

His fingers clenched, gripping painfully so that she was forced to lean her head toward him to releive the pressure. He was sweating. She smelled the astringent tang of tension on him.

“Why, Bennett?” She couldn’t raise her head, her eyes held at a level with his vest buttons.

He jerked her head up. “If you’d married me for real, you would have understood. Money can buy power. And power is the one thing that gets you respect in the world. It’s going to be mine, as soon as I remove a few minor obstacles.”

“Like the premier of Québec.”

His expression turned from gloating into hard calculation. “How did you guess that?”

“It was rather obvious, wasn’t it? None of the federal leaders are likely to step down. Provincial politics would have given your man, Paul Messier, a nice start, especially in Québec, which had more autonomy than the other provinces. But don’t get your hopes up, Bennett. Scotland Yard is already suspicious. If someone were to die at the conference, you might find yourself first in the line of suspects.”

He gave a harsh laugh. “Not likely, Samantha. In this, my reputation is impeccable. Whatever happens won’t be connected with me. Or if it is, someone else will take over. Our cause will go on. Besides, Scotland Yard is tied up with Dubray’s death, and security for the conference. They’ve got plenty to keep them occupied.”

He propelled her into the living room, pushing her down on the sofa as he spoke to Wheeler. “Watch her. I’ll check if Theopoulos is coming.”

He moved to the window, flicking the curtain aside as he peered out. The day’s sunshine had vanished, swallowed up by thick clouds massing themselves over the sky.

As the damp breeze touched her, Sam realized the window was still open. She dragged in a long breath, but before she could scream, Wheeler gestured with the gun. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

She glared at him, daring him to use the gun. They were on the third floor of a building with limited escape routes. If he shot her, the neighbors would surely hear.

A movement at the kitchen doorway drew Sam’s attention. Bagheera, always curious about strangers, poked his black head around the corner. She extended her fingers. “Come here, cat.”

Bagheera hesitated, sizing up the situation, clearly picking up some of the tension in the room. Making up his mind, he deliberately paced over to Wheeler. Only Sam knew his approach wasn’t friendly. The cat’s tail hung low. The hairs on his neck were just slightly erect, a ruff that denoted caution.

Wheeler stepped out of the way, not liking the cat, although Sam was sure they hadn’t seen each other before. The evening Wheeler had stopped for coffee Bagheera had been out.

A plan began to form in Sam’s mind. Bennett stood at the window, which he’d closed, his back to the room. She called to the cat. “Bagheera.”

He swung his head toward her, his fur settling down and his tail coming up, waving once. Gathering his muscles, he leaped upon her lap. Sam pretended to give him all her attention as she stroked his belly in the spot he liked. Wheeler visibly relaxed. He pulled a chair closer to the sofa and sat down on it.

Sam looked at him. “I suppose it was you doing all those things to frighten me,” she said conversationally. “What I don’t understand is that if you wanted to kill me, why bother with the other stuff?”

Bennett turned around, answering. “We didn’t want to kill you. Only to get you in the right frame of mind.”

Sam frowned. “That business with the truck certainly looked real. And dangerous.” Her voice rose angrily. “It wasn’t fair to involve Tony.”

“So naïve, aren’t you, Samantha?” Bennett drawled. “In a war, sometimes bystanders get hurt. You didn’t need to get involved with Theopoulos. Anyway, the truck wasn’t my idea. That was Dubray.”

“I thought Dubray was dead. That’s why I left.”

“He wasn’t. So you admit you were at the house that day, do you, Sam?” Bennett asked in a silky tone that held an undercurrent of naked steel.

There was no use denying it. She already knew too much. “Yes. I saw Germain.”

“That’s why Dubray wanted you dead. He knew it would put an end to everything if he were connected with Germain. As it was, he might have been able to salvage part of his reputation, although he was finished at city hall.” He nestled his elbow in his palm and tugged at his ear. “Dubray was helpful in finding you. He knew the person who could keep track of your bank account. But he got too vindictive, too nervous.”

“Yes,” Jason Wheeler put in. “He had to be eliminated.”

“You killed him.” The statement was matter-of-fact, but an icy knot tightened in her stomach. If Wheeler had killed once, he would find it easier to kill a second time.

“He was becoming a liability,” Bennett said. “We had to get him out of the way.”

“But why have me find his body?”

Bennett didn’t answer, merely smiling slyly as he turned back to the window.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Wheeler said. “After they discover the knife in your room, the police are going to think you killed him.”

Were they? There was a hole in the premise. She was sure of it, but at the moment it eluded her. She closed her eyes for an instant, shutting out the room, Bennett, and Wheeler with that deceptively small gun. Bagheera purred and she held onto the normality of the sound as if it represented her sanity.

“The old lady got too nosy.”

Wheeler’s low voice penetrated her thoughts. Sam’s eyes popped open. “You killed her. You bastard.”

“Shut up,” Bennett ordered without turning around. “Theopoulos just came round the corner. Get ready.”

Now was the time. She’d have no other chance. As Wheeler’s eyes flicked momentarily toward Bennett, Sam’s grip tightened on the cat. “Sorry, cat,” she muttered, and threw him at Wheeler.

The man yelled and recoiled. The chair tipped over, catching his legs. Sam was on her feet before it stopped falling. She yanked open the door and broke into a run.

Her feet clattered on the stairs as she tore down them. She made it to the second floor landing before she heard a pursuer panting behind her, shoes falling heavily on the thinly carpeted treads.

“Tony,” she yelled, confident her pursuer wouldn’t shoot.

It was Bennett behind her. He caught her on the next landing, tangling his hand in her hair while with the other he prodded a gun into her back. Helpless, she had no choice but to let him drag her down the last flight. Wheeler followed close behind.

Tony walked into the main floor hall the same instant they reached it. He stopped in his tracks, but his expression gave away nothing. His eyes met Sam’s briefly, sending a message she could only interpret as “Stay cool.”

Faint hope rose in her. Although she would have given anything to have prevented Tony walking into danger, together they might be able to escape yet.

“One sound and I’ll shoot her,” Bennett warned, his eyes opaque and deadly. “No, I won’t kill her, but she’ll wish I had.”

A pale gray Mercedes stood parked at the curb. The chauffeur, whom Sam remembered from Paris, sat impassively at the wheel.

“So it was your car that was parked in Pickle Herring Street last evening,” Sam said. “Not Aunt Olivia’s.”

“You didn’t even know what kind of a car Olivia had,” Bennett said scornfully.

“But the message said to look for a car like this.”