Before the Storm

by Leslie Tentler

  She was tempted to tell him everything, confess who she really was and what she’d done. Besides, now that Lenny had found her, how long would it be before the truth was out? The new life she’d worked so carefully to build was starting to crumble. Fresh panic bubbled up inside her.

  “Samantha,” Mark urged in a low voice. “Whatever’s going on, we’ve got to bring in the police. They can help you.”

  Closing her eyes, she sighed in weary resignation. “Call them, then. But there’s nothing going on. It was just a burglary.”

  He appeared incredulous, even a little angry. “You’re actually sticking to that story?”

  Samantha didn’t respond. Instead, she said softly, “I’m not going to the hospital. I hate hospitals.”

  “Your dress…the guy didn’t…I was only gone a few minutes—”

  “Nothing happened.” She couldn’t help it. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks. Wordlessly, Mark took her into his arms, his hand rubbing comforting circles on her back as he held her. Samantha felt the wetness on her face soaking into the polished cotton of his dress shirt. She tried hard not to make any sound as she cried.

  “You’re okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

  Samantha clung to him, overwhelmed, wondering how long his words would hold true. The realization that someone had found her, that someone knew her secret—it made her heart race and stomach clench.

  It had been Lenny in the Crown Vic following her that night.

  I oughta call Red right now and tell him I found his brother’s runaway whore.

  She’d known Red was looking for her, seeking retribution, as well as the Memphis Police. But diamonds? Confusion swept over her again. She searched her memory for anything she’d seen, any conversation of Devin’s she had overheard that could make some sense of Lenny’s claim. But that had all been so long ago.

  “I need to make the call, Samantha. This guy could still be in the area.”

  With a small sniffle, she released her hold on Mark. He stood and, withdrawing his cell phone, placed a call to 911.

  Samantha got up shakily, only half-listening as he went into the kitchen to speak to the emergency dispatcher. Looking around the apartment, she felt a tingling in her chest as she spotted Lenny’s gift. The high heels and raunchy G-string lay on a stack of culinary magazines on the coffee table. There was also a box of condoms—something she hadn’t noticed before. Her stomach turned as she thought of what Lenny had been planning. Samantha picked the items up, opening the closet and hastily stuffing the G-string and condoms into the pocket of her windbreaker that hung on the back of the door. She hid the shoes under a mound of fallen clothes. When she turned around, Mark was disconnecting the phone.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “I’m just making sure nothing was taken.”

  “Are you missing anything?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Not that I can tell.”

  “They’re on the way. They’re sending paramedics, too. I won’t force you to go to the ER, but you should still be looked at.”

  Already, Samantha could hear the faint wail of sirens in the distance. Rarity Cove was a small community. When one of its civic leaders called requesting police help, apparently they didn’t waste time in responding.

  “I’m going to go change,” she said quietly.

  Mark nodded. The worry she saw on his face caused tears to threaten all over again. She hadn’t wanted to drag him into this.

  She hadn’t wanted to be found, either.

  Where had she gone wrong? Samantha mentally retraced her steps, starting with the new identity she’d bought on the black market in New York. There had been only one time she had risked any interaction with her former life, and that was a year ago. Closing her eyes, she berated herself, wondering if that one foolish, sentimental move had been her downfall.

  Regardless of how he had found her, how long would Lenny keep her secret? He’d talked about a financial arrangement. The only problem was that she had little to give in exchange for his silence. Nearly everything she had was tied up in Café Bella.

  Head pounding, Samantha closed the door to the bedroom behind her. She checked the bureau drawer where she kept the derringer. Gone. Blue flashes of light reflected on the broken window glass as a patrol car pulled into the lot outside, the town’s lone ambulance following behind it. Shell fragments crunched under the vehicles’ tires as she watched them roll to a stop. Clutching her stomach, she sat on the edge of the bed and listened as Mark let the officers inside.

  Driving back to the resort, Mark stole a glance at Samantha. She sat huddled in the passenger seat, wearing a sleeveless top and khaki shorts. Her overnight bag had been placed in the backseat. The small bandage on her forehead appeared to be only a shade or two whiter than her face. Other than seeming to check the road behind them in the visor’s mirror every few minutes, she had barely moved since getting into his car. He suspected she was in shock.

  Mark kept his eye on the rearview mirror, too, but saw no one following them.

  She had brooked no argument when he’d told her she was coming back with him, at least until her broken window could be repaired. In fact, she had said little beyond what she’d recounted to the police: A man had been burglarizing her apartment, and she’d had the misfortune of walking in on him. In her panic, she had fallen, torn her dress and hit her head.

  She hadn’t gotten a good look at his face. But he’d been white, average height, average build.

  Whatever had happened tonight, Mark believed it was no random burglary. Samantha had been roughed up, and he didn’t like to think about what might have happened if he hadn’t shown back up when he did. Even more suspicious, her car tires had been slashed, something the police had made note of. He shook his head, wondering what kind of trouble she was really in.

  “You’re not taking me to the hotel?” Samantha asked, finally speaking as they drove past the glowing lights of the St. Clair’s main property. Guests were milling about under the hotel’s awning as valet staff orchestrated the retrieval of cars.

  “I called earlier. The reception’s winding down, but people are still there. I didn’t think you’d want anyone to see you…like this.” Mark turned the Volvo onto the road that ran adjacent to the hotel grounds. “The bungalow has a guest room.”

  She bit her lip. “I don’t want to put you out.”

  “You’re not.” He looked at her in the darkness. “I don’t think you should be alone tonight.”

  A short time later, after passing through automated security gates that kept non-guests off the private lane, they arrived at the house. Mark took Samantha’s bag from the backseat. As they reached the door, the au pair he’d called earlier to stay with Emily greeted them. Benita Santos was a gray-haired, motherly looking woman who had worked at the St. Clair for years.

  “Miss Emily is still fast asleep.”

  “Thank you for staying, Benita. Should I take you back to the hotel?”

  She waved a hand. “No, thank you. I enjoy driving the golf cart.”

  Her eyes, however, hadn’t missed Samantha, whom she’d met earlier. “Ay Dios mio! What happened to you, mija?”

  “I took a little fall. It’s nothing.” Appearing self-conscious, Samantha averted her gaze from the woman’s curious stare.

  Mark escorted Benita outside, then returned to find Samantha staring out through the large bay window at the darkened ocean. Her long, slender legs appeared golden in the soft lamplight, and her dark hair was lustrous and smooth as it fell around her narrow shoulders. She turned to face Mark as he made his presence known.

  “Since the café’s closed tomorrow, you can sleep as late as you want,” he mentioned. “I’m sending one of the hotel’s maintenance staff to your place tomorrow to repair the window. I don’t want you to have to wait until the apartment superintendent gets around to it.”

  “Thank you, Mark,” she said, swallowing hard.

  He approached
slowly, until he stood in front of her. “You can trust me, you know. Whatever you’re dealing with…”

  She didn’t reply, although her fingers briefly touched the front of his dress shirt. A few drops of her blood marred the white cotton from where he had held her.

  “Samantha. I want to help you.”

  “You are helping me. You’re giving me somewhere to stay tonight.”

  Mark sighed inwardly, frustrated that she wasn’t willing to share the truth about whatever had happened. He wondered again at the possibilities, including a violent ex-husband or boyfriend. But why then would she be unwilling to accept help, or place a complaint with the police? Whatever the reason, he was pretty damn sure she was withholding a more detailed description of her assailant. He’d heard too much standing on the outside of the apartment to think otherwise.

  “The wine you offered earlier?” she brought up, her features tense. “I’d like to take you up on that now.”

  Mark went into the kitchen to pour a generous glass for them both. The evening had been unsettling for him, too.

  “How’s your head?” he asked when he returned, handing her the goblet.

  Absently, she touched the bandage. “I have a small headache, is all. I forget what a klutz I can be.”

  She was still trying to play down what had happened, chalking her injury up to her own clumsiness. He gave her a stern look, trying to understand. “If I hadn’t come back with your purse, do you realize what might’ve happened?”

  “Whoever it was, I scared him as much as he scared me. He went out through the window when I—”

  “I’m not an idiot, Samantha,” Mark cut in, voice low. “I heard you crying and I heard a man talking. I couldn’t make out the words, but I could tell he was threatening you.”

  She fell silent, bowing her head.

  Defeated, Mark moved to the foyer, setting the security system. He wouldn’t push, but this also wasn’t over. At least she was here tonight, on the resort grounds where he knew she was safe. “I’m sure you’re exhausted. The guest room is the first one on the right. There’s pretty much everything you need in the hall bathroom.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, appearing on the verge of tears.

  He gazed at her, his heart constricting at how alone she seemed. “I meant what I said. If there’s anything I can do…”

  Mark let his words hang in the air between them. Then, taking his wine with him, he said a soft good night and retreated to his bedroom. He wondered why she wouldn’t tell him the truth. Worried, he went into his own bathroom to prepare for bed, his mind weighed down with questions.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The hard punch imploded her stomach. Trina sagged to the floor, but Devin hauled her back up, the open suitcase toppling as he shoved her onto the mattress. She curled up protectively, trying to find her breath.

  “You think you can just run out on me?” Scowling, he shrugged out of his leather jacket and let it fall, a volcano on the verge of erupting. “You think you’re done with me, bitch?”

  The metallic rasp of his pants zipper sent her back into flight mode, but another vicious blow—this time to her face—stunned her and stopped her struggling. Pinning her to the bed, Devin wedged his knee between her legs, forcing them apart. He shoved her skirt up her hips and tore away her panties, then forced himself roughly inside her. Pain exploded in her body as an anguished sob escaped her lips.

  God, please! No more.

  Tears leaked from Trina’s eyes as he held her down and raped her, his right hand clamped to her throat. A twisted game he liked to play. He would decide when she could breathe. She bucked, coming out of her stupor, panic seizing her as her lungs began to burn for air. Glass from the shattered lamp lay under her, cutting into her back. Her frantic heartbeat roared in her ears as Devin rutted into her, grunting, eyes squeezed closed in brutal ecstasy.

  She couldn’t breathe! Trina’s trembling fingers closed around something sharp on the duvet. Desperate for oxygen, her vision blurring, she raised it blindly and plunged.

  Devin stilled above her. Trina coughed and greedily sucked in air as his fingers went lax on her throat. But as her world came back into focus, a knife-edge of terror cut through her. She gaped in horror at the cobalt-blue shard protruding from the base of Devin’s neck.

  Jesus…Oh, Jesus…

  He slid out of her and backed off the bed.

  “What the fuck did you do?” he croaked, panting as he shakily touched the lodged shard. His ashen face mottled with rage. “You’re dead this time, Trina. You hear me? Dead.”

  Grimacing, he pulled out the long shard. A heavy line of crimson ran down his shirtfront. Trina scrambled to the other side of the bed. There was no escape. She cowered, whimpering, her palm bleeding from where she’d gripped the broken glass.

  He’ll kill me.

  A prayer from childhood echoed inside her as Devin advanced on her with clumsy steps. Blood leaked from between the fingers he pressed to his neck, his other hand drawn back and curled into a fist. Then he stopped. His eyeballs rolled slowly to the back of his head. He swayed.

  Collapsed.

  Samantha woke to silence, the only sound in the unfamiliar room her own labored breathing. Outside, it was still dark, deep night. The bed linens were damp and twisted around her body. Her heart pounded as if it might burst. Her head hurt, too, from the amount of wine she’d drunk in order to fall asleep, the remainder of the bottle. She ran a hand over her face, trying to stop the gruesome images playing like a horror movie in her brain.

  Even in death, Devin still had the ability to torture her.

  Rising from the bed and going into the hall bathroom, she ruminated on what she had done. Had she meant to kill him, or had she only been defending herself?

  Sometimes she didn’t know.

  There had been so much blood. Inching closer to Devin’s motionless body, she had felt for a pulse with shaking fingers but found none. Then she’d dug through his jacket pocket and extracted the money he had taken from her. Weeping quietly, wrapping her bleeding palm with a strip of cloth she had torn from a T-shirt, she’d hastily repacked her belongings, snapped the suitcase closed and, holding her injured stomach, lugged it to the door.

  Then Trina Grissom had disappeared forever.

  Or so she’d thought.

  Feeling queasy, Samantha ran cool water into the sink and splashed it onto her cheeks. When she looked again at her reflection in the framed mirror, what she saw was a young woman with sleep-mussed hair and too-large, haunted dark eyes. The bandage on her forehead stood out against her pale skin, the bluish bruise around it the only wash of color in her face.

  You’ve got her looks, Trina. The boys’ll be sniffing around soon enough.

  Her mother had taken her own life with an overdose of pills, quite possibly intentionally. If she had access to the same drugs right now, would she?

  No.

  She squeezed her eyes closed. Nothing was worse than death, was it? But if the truth came out…

  She thought of going to prison if she couldn’t prove she had killed Devin in self-defense. And that was the least of two evils. She didn’t want to imagine what Red Leary would do to her—his brother’s murderess—if he got his hands on her. Red’s taste for brutality was legendary. He wouldn’t care why she had stabbed Devin. He would exact his revenge in pain and blood.

  A small voice told her to run. But if Lenny was watching her like he had claimed…

  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.

  With an all-points bulletin out on her, she wouldn’t get far. Regardless, Lenny had slashed her car tires, ensuring she wouldn’t be leaving tonight.

  For all she knew, he was here on the resort property, keeping watch. Samantha berated herself, knowing she shouldn’t have let Mark bring her here tonight, shouldn’t have drawn him further into her mess. She hadn’t been thinking cle
arly. Wrapping her arms around the modest cotton nightgown she wore, she wandered aimlessly down the hall. She couldn’t slip out of the house even if she wanted to, she realized—she didn’t know the code to disarm the security system. Fighting back panic, she weighed the possibility of staying in town, waiting to find out how much Lenny wanted for his silence.

  But in her rational mind, she knew blackmailers couldn’t be trusted.

  She padded slowly to the half-open bedroom door, drawn by moonlight spilling from its threshold. Magnetized, shivering violently, she inched closer to the only source of comfort she knew. Mark lay sleeping in a large four-poster bed, one arm draped across his T-shirt-clad chest and the other over a plump goose-down pillow. In the dim light she could make out the elegant planes of his face, his thick eyelashes creating half moons against his skin. Her heart ached. He really was a beautiful man, and far too good at heart.

  She wasn’t certain how long she stood there just watching his slow breathing, but he finally spoke her name in the darkness. Pushing himself up, he squinted at her, his voice husky and sleep-roughened. “What is it?”

  “You said…” She halted, her words tremulous and uncertain. The need to feel some measure of security, however temporary, overwhelmed her. “You said if I…needed anything…”

  She rubbed her fingers over her chilled upper arms. Somehow, he knew exactly what to do. Wordlessly, Mark shifted in bed and opened the covers to her. Samantha slipped in beside him and felt the warm strength of him fold around her. But he didn’t try to kiss or fondle her. Instead, Mark simply held her against him, his gentle breath playing over her hair. They lay silently together in the darkness. Slowly, her trembling began to subside as fatigue shuttered her mind.

  She drifted into a troubled sleep in Mark’s arms.

  Shallow morning light entered through the bedroom window. Mark looked at the clock on his nightstand. It was still relatively early in the morning.

  He was alone in bed. His first thought was that Samantha had slipped away during the night, until he remembered that he had deliberately set the security system to keep her there.