He left Samantha in the living area admiring a bookcase filled with leather-bound books, knickknacks and family photos, while he went to change Emily into her nightgown and put her to bed. Once she was tucked in, he went into his own bedroom and removed his suit jacket and tie, undoing the top two buttons of his dress shirt so he was more comfortable. When Mark returned, Samantha held a silver-framed photo. Seeing him, she replaced it on the bookshelf.
“Your wife…Shelley. Mercer told me how pretty she was.”
He nodded faintly.
“Emily looks so much like her.”
They stared at one another in the room’s soft lighting, until Mark cleared his throat and remarked that she hadn’t helped herself to any wine.
“I was thinking I’d have coffee, too. Decaffeinated if you have it? It’s such a nice night. Maybe we can sit outside on the porch.”
Samantha went with him into the granite and stainless steel kitchen. They engaged in small talk while he prepared coffee. Once they had their mugs filled, Mark led her onto the covered porch. They settled beside one another on the swing’s soft pinstriped cushions, rocking slowly back and forth as the warm sea air brought in the scent of sea grass and brine. Along the shore, Mark could make out the images of two people—probably teenagers—holding hands and stopping briefly to kiss as the ocean water lapped around their ankles. He gazed at Samantha’s profile in the filmy porch light. She watched the young couple, too.
“Do you miss him?” he asked carefully.
“Who?”
“The guy you left in New York.”
“Oh.” She shook her head, avoiding his eyes. “No. It wasn’t a…good situation.”
Mark digested the information, wondering what had happened. “How long were you together?”
“Since I was very young. Just a teen, actually.”
“Like Shelley and me.”
She looked at him then, her caramel-brown eyes somber. “No, nothing like you and Shelley.”
Instead of saying more, she stood from the swing and placed the earthenware mug on the porch railing. Her shoulders lifted in a sigh as she stared out at the ocean. The teenagers they’d been watching moments earlier were out of view now, having traveled farther down the beach. Mark rose as well. Placing his mug next to hers, he stood behind her. His fingers ached to trace her bare upper arms, but instead he simply stood with his hands in the pockets of his pants.
“When you agreed to attend the reception with me…I know I said I didn’t have any expectations.” Swallowing, he felt his face flush with the admission. “But it’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this. Since I felt hope.”
Samantha turned to look at him, her eyes soft and lips slightly parted.
“We really just met, Mark. And you don’t know anything about me—”
“Then tell me about you.” When she remained silent, he said, “The night we went for a walk on the beach, you said you weren’t right for me. May I ask why?”
“It’s…complicated.”
He frowned. “Then explain it to me?”
She looked away, but Mark gently turned her gaze back to him, cupping her delicate jawline with his hand, his thumb stroking over her cheek. He was surprised by the physical desire that flooded through him at the mere act of touching her. His breath grew shallower as her fingers grazed his raised wrist in a caress. The romantic setting and their closeness emboldened him.
“Tell me you’re not interested…” His voice was low and rasping. “Tell me you don’t feel something between us, and I’ll drive you home right now.”
He searched her eyes, aware of the rising sadness in them.
“I do feel it,” she whispered finally. She appeared both sincere and vulnerable. “But it’s just not possible for us—”
Mark bent his head and pressed his mouth to hers, stopping her words. He savored the taste of her—his first taste of anyone since Shelley. Samantha didn’t resist. Their kiss became slowly deeper, their mouths melding as she responded and relaxed into him. Her palms lay against his shirtfront, then slowly slid upward until her arms were around his neck. Mark felt nearly dizzy with the sensation of holding her. As their lips and tongues continued to mingle, he drew her even closer. He nearly came undone at the sweet scent of her, the little mewling sounds she made as he passionately kissed her neck. When she pulled away, he stared at her in the porch’s deep shadows, his breathing hard and unsteady. Samantha appeared disconcerted, her face holding a mixture of desire and regret that Mark couldn’t understand.
She bowed her head, eyes shielded by the dark veil of her lashes. Her voice was strained and barely audible. “Please take me home.”
“Samantha,” he whispered. “We can take this slow—”
“I’d really like you to take me home now,” she repeated. “Please.”
He heaved a quiet, defeated sigh. Leaving her on the porch, Mark went inside to call the hotel’s concierge desk, requesting that one of the on-staff au pairs come to the bungalow.
Except for the occasional wash of light from the streetlights overhead, the Volvo’s interior was shrouded in darkness. Already clutching her apartment keys, Samantha shrank into the soft leather of the passenger seat, her mind reeling. Mark’s kiss had stirred feelings inside her she couldn’t deny, and she was remorseful for having let things go as far as she did. But some selfish part of her had wanted to know what it felt like to have his mouth on hers, to experience his solid male body pressed against her.
And she’d been right. It was like nothing she had ever experienced. Maybe she would’ve been better off not knowing.
There had never been a breathless moment like that with Devin, not even in the early days when she’d been so young and naïve, so stupidly blind to his evil.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” Mark said as he pulled the vehicle into the parking lot of the Wayfarer Apartments. He parked and turned off the engine. “I broke my promise. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“It’s not your fault,” Samantha answered in a near whisper. “And it took two of us.”
Mark looked at her in the shadows, his face pained. “What is it? Do you have a secret husband stashed somewhere?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Then what? You said you felt something between us, too—”
She opened her door and got out.
With a soft curse, Mark climbed from the car’s other side. “Let me get the door for you, at least.”
He caught up to her halfway up the walk. She stopped when he gently took hold of her arm, turning her to face him. She released an unsteady breath.
“Hey. Stop running from me, okay?”
A strand of hair blew across her face. Mark tucked it behind her ear, his fingertip brushing the delicate drop-pearl earring at her lobe. A small shiver ran through her at his touch.
Samantha took a step back from him. “Thank you for everything. But I…I don’t think we should do this again.”
He looked briefly at the concrete under his feet, his lips pressed together in a firm line. When he lifted his eyes to hers again, what she saw wasn’t anger but a deep confusion that made her heart twist. She had to remind herself it was for the best.
“Good night, Mark.”
Hands trembling, Samantha managed to open the door to her apartment using her key. She went inside and closed the door without looking back, although she waited unseen at the darkened window until Mark returned to his car. She watched as the station wagon pulled from the parking lot, its taillights fading into darkness. I’m sorry. A heavy sadness settled over her.
Turning from the window, Samantha sought out the lamp next to the sofa. Pale light flooded the room, bringing into view the grinning troll of a man who leaned against her bedroom doorway. She felt the blood drain from her face.
“Hey there, Trina, honey. Long time no see.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I brought you a gift.” The intruder indicated the coffee table, where sky-high
stilettos made of clear plastic and a black G-string sat. “Don’t you want to try ’em on?”
He’d called her Trina.
An electric current of panic jolted through her. Samantha glanced quickly around her normally tidy apartment. Sofa cushions were upended, and the foyer closet stood open, its contents tossed onto the floor. Books and DVDs had been pulled from the entertainment center in what looked like an all-out search.
“You’re lookin’ damn fine, babe.”
He impaled her with his leering gaze. Heart pounding, Samantha’s flesh pebbled as he came closer. He was short and thick-shouldered, with a stomach paunch and an oily comb-over that barely concealed his balding head. A dime-sized birthmark marred his right temple. She took a wobbly step backward. “I-I don’t know who you are—”
“You don’t remember me.” He made a tsking sound. Samantha fled to the door. She got it open a few inches before the man put his full body weight against it, slamming it closed. He was quicker than he appeared. A slicing fear weakened her knees.
“You could scream, but my guess is you don’t want to attract attention. Can’t call the police about an intruder, either. I’m bettin’ they’d like to hear what I have to tell ’em about you.” He reeked of whiskey and sweat. “’Course, the cops are probably the least of your worries. Red’s still lookin’ for you, too. Let me tell you, that psychotic bastard holds a grudge.”
She went cold at Red’s name. Breath bottled up inside her, Samantha stared into the man’s bloated face, trying to rise above her choking terror and think. She saw the same features looking up at her from a barstool. An image of thick, stubby fingers tucking bills into the elastic of her G-string caused bile to nearly rise in her throat.
“You…you’re from the Blue Iris,” she said shakily.
“The name’s Lenny Cook. Not that you ever bothered to find out.”
“What do you want?”
“Oh, lots of things. Including a little piece of the action.”
What was he talking about? Confusion mingled with her fright, making her heart slam harder.
“You covered your tracks real good—I’ll hand you that. Even bought yourself a new name and social security number. Pretty smart.” He tapped his broad forehead. “But ol’ Lenny here’s smarter. ’Course, by the time I tracked you to Manhattan, you’d taken off again. Picking up your trail the second time was easier, though, since I had your new name. I worked a long time for a collection agency—skills that come in handy now that I’m strictly freelance. You’ve been my hobby, Trina. It took me six fucking years, but I finally found you.”
She recoiled as he touched her hair. His closeness felt like a knife pressed to her throat.
“Samantha Marsh. Classy name.”
“Look, I-I don’t want any trouble—”
“I bet you don’t. You’ve got a nice little setup here. I’ve seen your fancy café. Not to mention your rich friends. That man you were with tonight looks like money. You giving that sweet stuff up for him, baby?”
He groped her breast. When she shoved his hand away, he grabbed her arm and twisted it roughly behind her, causing her to cry out. He moved her away from the potential escape route the door provided.
“Where are they, Trina?”
“Where’s what?” she gasped in pain.
“Don’t play stupid! The diamonds! You still got some around or did you fence ’em? Even with that café you bought yourself, I’m sure you’ve got something left.”
“I don’t know anything about diamonds,” she stammered. Her arm ached as he tightened his hold. “Please, you’re hurting me!”
He pushed her into the bedroom, which was in the same disarray as the living area. The window’s screen had been pried off, its glass broken so the inside latch could be lifted. Samantha thought of the derringer, but his tight hold on her kept her away from the bureau. Its drawers stood open and appeared rifled through.
“I oughta call Red right now and tell him I found his brother’s runaway whore.”
“Please,” Samantha begged. Tears filled her eyes as he twisted her arm harder. “Don’t.”
“Then here’s the deal. From now on, you’re going to do what I say.”
He let go, and she bolted toward the bureau.
“If you’re looking for that cute little gun, you’re not going to find it.”
She whirled to face him, panting. His greasy smile made Samantha’s stomach churn. She’d seen that same hungry look in too many men’s eyes.
“You can buy my silence with some of that money. But we’ll talk about a business arrangement later. Right now, I’m more interested in pleasure.” He licked his lips, his eyes roaming over her body. “How about you get undressed for me? Maybe dance a little like you used to on stage. A private show just for me.”
In disbelief, she shook her head. “No, I-I won’t do that!”
“Too good for that now, huh? Have it your way. Devin always bragged you liked it rough.” Lurching forward, Lenny grabbed a handful of her hair, dragging her face to his. He made a sloppy attempt to kiss her mouth. Repulsed, Samantha jerked her head away.
“Take off those fancy clothes,” he ordered in her ear. “Or I’ll take them off for you.”
He fisted his hand in the neckline of her dress and tugged hard. She made a strangled sound as the fragile silk tore, exposing her bra.
“I liked the big ones better, but these are still nice.” His hands on her made a sickness wash through her. A fresh wave of terror prickled her scalp.
“Get off me!” Struggling, nearly hysterical, she heard her own voice rise. An image of Devin pinning her down, his fingers biting into her skin, filled her head. She wouldn’t submit to this vile creature, even to keep her secret. She struck out, hitting Lenny in the mouth with a closed fist. He yowled, cursing and striking back at her with a thick arm. The blow dropped Samantha to the floor, her forehead bouncing off the bed’s footboard on the way down. Starbursts danced in front of her eyes. She tried dizzily to get up. When she couldn’t, she began crawling toward the living room. Lenny followed. He grabbed her hair again and yanked her painfully to her knees.
“Fine, bitch. I’ve got an idea what you can do from right there.”
Sobbing, she tried to wrench free of his hold but fell silent at a sound from the front of the apartment.
“Samantha?” Mark’s muffled voice came from outside. He pounded on the door. “Samantha! What’s going on? Open up!”
Lenny cursed, frozen in place. He deliberated for a tense second. “We’ll finish this later—tell him you’ll be right there.”
She worked to gain control over her voice. “Mark? I-I’m coming.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. Just give me a minute, okay?”
Lenny’s voice was a low growl against her ear as he bent over her. “I’ll be watching you real close, Trina. My eyes are on you twenty-four/seven. You even think about running from me and it’s over. I know your alias and your car license plate. You step one foot outside this town, and I’ll call the police and tell ’em who you really are. How far do you think you’ll get then? But it doesn’t have to be that way. I’m a reasonable man. We can make a financial deal to keep your secret.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Sweet dreams, babe. We’ll talk again real soon. Give me a minute before you let in your boyfriend. Bet he’d like to know who you are, too.”
Samantha covered her face with her hands as Mark continued pounding on the door, sounding more panicked by the second. In the bedroom, she heard Lenny’s grunt as he hoisted his girth through the window.
“Samantha!”
She struggled to stand, knees wobbly, drowning in her new reality. The fears that had haunted her had finally come true. She’d been found—not by Red or the police, but by someone who would still hurt her if she didn’t give him what he wanted. And what did this man want from her? She didn’t know anything about diamonds! But the Learys had been involved in multiple shady deal
ings. There had to be some mistake. She tried to think about what to do.
She unlocked the front door and met Mark’s worried gaze as he pushed past her and inside. He held her small black clutch purse. She must have left it in his car, and he’d returned to give it to her.
“I heard arguing and crying. What the hell?” He looked around the ransacked apartment. Samantha closed her eyes as he strode into the bedroom. Returning, he pulled her into his arms. She sank into him, letting him hold her as the weight of what had just happened crashed into her. Her body shook with a tremor she couldn’t control.
“Who was here?”
“A burglar, I think,” she managed to say.
“God. You’re bleeding.”
She became aware of wetness at her right temple. He gently tilted her head back, trying to get a better look at the injury.
“I’m okay,” she mumbled. “I-I just need to sit down.”
Taking her to a chair, Mark withdrew a clean cotton handkerchief from his pants pocket. He dabbed carefully at the cut, then held it against her forehead. “You need to go to a hospital. I’m calling the police.”
“No.” Samantha grabbed his forearm as he dug into his pocket again for his cell phone. She shook her head. “You can’t… Please, Mark. Don’t.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Don’t? You were attacked.” Mark knelt in front of her, his features hard.
“It was a break-in.” Despite her best effort, her voice shook. “I surprised him, that’s all.”
“That’s all? Look at your forehead.”
“I panicked and fell trying to get away.” She knew how ridiculous the explanation sounded. Samantha glanced down at her neckline. Seeing her lace bra, she pulled the torn edges of her dress together. “Whoever it was…he left through the bedroom window. We don’t have to report this.”
“Yes, we do.” Frowning, Mark looked into her eyes. “What are you afraid of?”
Before the Storm Page 11