Past Tense by Freda Vasilopoulos

her safe for long, if someone was determined to find her.
    Changing some of her habits might throw them off the track for a while. In the meantime, going out with Tony just this once would take her mind off her problems—give her the illusion of normalcy.
    She glanced at her watch—9:25. He said he’d be by at half past. Bagheera had settled himself in the living room chair to sleep off his nightly carousing. He opened one eye and blinked as she patted his head, then tucked his nose between his folded paws. Satisfied, she left him, knowing he’d be fine until she returned.
    * * * *
    “Good morning.”
    Startled, Sam looked around as she descended the last flight of stairs. “Oh, good morning.”
    The man was about her height and age, with curly brown hair and a friendly, engaging smile.
    “I’m new here, haven’t met many of the other residents.” With a backward toss of his head, he indicated the floor above them. “My name’s Jason Wheeler. I’m on the second floor. You are—?”
    He was handsome in a boyish way. Harmless. She opened her mouth to answer. “I’m—excuse me. I’ve got to go. See you later.”
    Quickly she ran down the rest of the stairs, stopping to catch her breath when she reached the street door. It was probably her own paranoia, brought on by months of considering herself a fugitive. He looked innocent enough, but when he’d asked her name, she had noticed his eyes. They were brown, but not warm like Tony’s. There had been something hard and calculating, in their scrutiny of her.
    No, she had misjudged badly in the case of Bennett with his charming mouth but barracuda instincts. She had no intention of falling for the wrong man again.
    Tony? Well, she would suspend judgment for the moment. She was only planning to spend a couple of hours with him. What harm would it do as long as she reminded herself that there was no room in her disjointed life for a relationship.
    Tony stood outside, next to a small white car. He was smiling, his eyes on the glass-paneled door through which she would come. She pushed it open. It was too late to back out now.
    Tony felt his heart lurch as she skipped lightly down the shallow step. He loved the way she walked, so quick and free. “Hi. You’re late.” Inane. He hadn’t been this awkward on his first date at fifteen.
    “Only a minute or two.” Her laughter had a musical lilt that made the gray day light up.
    “Cute car,” she added, still a little off-balance from the encounter with her new neighbor. “I thought all big shots drove a Rolls or a Daimler.” As soon as the words were out, she could have cursed her errant tongue. Another slip.
    Big shot? The phrase jangled in Tony’s brain. Did the British use “big shot”? He bent to open the passenger door, hiding his reaction as he made up his mind to listen closely, and question her again if he found an opportunity to do so without arousing her suspicions.
    “I like this car,” he said. “And it’s mine. There’s a Jag that comes with the job, but I only use it for what you might call state occasions.”
    Sam exhaled gustily as he closed the door with a solid thump. He hadn’t noticed, but she’d have to be more careful.
    “Where are we going?” she asked as he threaded the Peugeot onto one of the main arteries that carried commuters in and out of the city.
    The wipers swished monotonously, clearing the glass as the rain fell more heavily. “First to a small town in Surrey. I have to look at a hotel that just came on the market. It might be suitable for our chain.”
    He smiled at her, his face unclouded, honest, making Sam feel guilty at the duplicity of her own circumstances. “After that I’ll be free, at your disposal.”
    “It’s too bad about the rain,” Sam murmured. “A picnic would have been nice.”
    “Just like Vancouver where I lived for five years before coming here, good weather all week and then rain on the weekend.”
    The hotel was a disappointment, a shabby