Past Tense (24 page)

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.”

The match went out before they reached the corner, but Tony lit another, holding it high.

“Looks the same as the other walls,” Sam said skeptically.

The ceiling was low, six inches or so above their heads. Tony reached up to the spot where the rat had gone, groping with his fingertips. “Ah, there’s a strong draft here. Put your hand up, Sam. You can feel it.”

Gingerly, picturing a pointed furry face and sharp teeth, she did so. Cold air blew steadily. “I’d say it’s open behind there,” she ventured, hardly daring to raise her hopes. Even if there was a passage, how could they reach it?

“Ouch.” Tony dropped the spent match, shaking his singed fingers. “Sam, up there it’s drier because of the air flow. The wood is probably pretty rotten. You see, when wood is soaked constantly it stays in good condition. But when it’s wet and then dries, continuously over the years, it deteriorates.”

“Really? Want me to hold a match while you check it out?”

Tony frowned. “Better save the matches. I’ll do it by touch.”

As he suspected, the wood was soft, crumbling away as he tore at it with his fingers. But without tools he only succeeded in enlarging the rat hole until he could put his arm through it. ”It is hollow, Sam,” he announced. “And cold. I’d say we’ve hit a tunnel.”

“But can we get into it?”

“That’s the problem. Sam, let me have the matches. No, wait, I’ll lift you so that you can have a look round.”

She hesitated. “Will the rat come back?”

Tony chuckled, a heartening sound. “Not likely. We’ve been making too much noise.”

“Okay.” She sounded so resigned he laughed again.

“Don’t worry, Sam. Think of it as an adventure to tell our children.”

Our children
. A curious emotion ran through her. She looked at Tony, not really seeing him in the dark but strongly aware of his presence, the warmth of his body and the faint scent of his shaving lotion.

Was it possible that this man would not betray her, if she gave him her heart? She shook off the thought, pushing it into a recess of her mind where she could save it for later. “Okay, what do I do?”

“Take off your shoes and step into my hands.” He cupped his palms together and held them close to his crouching body. She was light, lighter than her height and figure indicated, easy to lift. “Okay, Sam, strike a match and tell me what you see.”

Balancing precariously she managed to light one without either dropping the others or setting herself on fire. “A black hole, odd bits of fallen lumber, brick arches. I can’t see the floor, but there must be water because the drips are making plops. There’s an awful echo. Maybe we should try shouting?”

Tony lowered his hands and set her on the ground, helping her into her shoes. “Around here, the tunnel is bound to be deserted. Odd bits of lumber—could you reach any of them?”

She slipped out of her shoes again. “Lift me and I’ll see. If we could make the hole only a little bigger I could crawl through.”

Banishing thoughts of mice and rats, she groped on the far side of the hole. “Lift me a bit more, Tony. I feel something.”