Before the Storm

by Leslie Tentler

  With her car back, at least she would have a means to try to leave, if she made that choice.

  The door to the café opened, and another group of vacationers strolled inside, bringing with them the scent of sun and sand. Already, the place had begun to fill. Samantha stood behind the register, ringing up totals as two other lunchtime workers filled orders, mostly to-go items so diners could enjoy the beach or picnic tables on the square under the shade of moss-draped live oaks.

  She made change for a twenty, handing it back to a sociable young couple who had purchased two sandwiches and a cupcake to share. The glint from the café door as it opened again caught her eye. Her heart turned over as Lenny ambled inside. He fit in perfectly with the hungry crowd, wearing a T-shirt that proclaimed Historic Summerville, his balding head sunburned. Samantha stole a look at Luther, but he was busy stacking the preserved lemons in the window.

  “Business is good,” Lenny commented as he came up to the register.

  “What’re you doing here?” she asked angrily, her voice low.

  “I came for lunch.” He made a show of casually scanning the paper menu. “How’s the Greek panini with tomato jam and roasted peppers?”

  Despite the innocuous question, he had a look in his eyes that told her he had come for more than food. Samantha rang up the order, feeling nauseated in his presence.

  “What else?” she asked wearily.

  “A brownie. And a large peach iced tea, extra sweet. What do I owe you?”

  “That’s…thirteen ninety-five.”

  Lenny tossed a one-dollar bill onto the counter, along with a piece of paper folded in half. Hands trembling, Samantha took the note and shoved it into her apron pocket. He leaned toward her, his words meant for her alone. “I’ll be seeing you real soon, Trina. And don’t do anything stupid like tryin’ to slip out on me. You won’t get far once I give the police your license plate number. Besides, why would you want to leave? You’ve made friends here.”

  He gave her a greasy smile. “Speaking of, that was a real cute little girl with you at the beach yesterday.”

  At the mention of Emily, Samantha’s eyes crashed into his, her throat going dry.

  Lenny shrugged. “I’d hate for anything to happen to her, that’s all. The world’s a bad place these days…”

  She felt the threat in her veins. “Stay away from her—”

  “Then you stay put,” he ordered. “Look, I’m a reasonable man, sweetheart. I don’t want to mess up your nice situation. I just want a little piece of the pie, and then I’ll be on my way like a bird with wings.”

  He waggled his fingers to demonstrate. Samantha glared at him. Waiting until he had gotten his food and exited, she asked one of the workers to take over her duties at the cash register. Heart pounding, she went to the storeroom, locking the door behind her. She unfolded the paper he’d given her.

  Sea King Motor Court, room six. One hour before midnight. Twenty thousand dollars and wear the gifts I gave you.

  The air inside the storeroom felt stagnant. She sank to the floor against the wall. Tears of anger and helplessness brimmed in her eyes. Most of all, she couldn’t believe he had threatened Emily. The thought of Lenny going anywhere near Mark’s daughter caused perspiration to break out on her skin. She felt like a frantic, trapped animal—if she did attempt to run now, what if he took Emily to flush her out? If anything happened to that sweet child because of her…

  She closed her eyes, sickened. If she made the ultimate decision to flee, she would make sure Mark knew to protect Emily. She rebuked herself yet again for having gotten them involved.

  Twenty thousand dollars.

  Where was she supposed to get money like that? Her car was eight years old and had well over a hundred thousand miles on it. She doubted she could get more than a couple thousand dollars for it, not that she could sell it between now and their meeting tonight anyway. Samantha tried to think. She had a couple of credit cards, and she might be able to get some kind of cash advance with them. But would it be enough? And despite what he claimed, how long would it be before he was back, wanting more?

  Wear the gifts I gave you.

  And Lenny did want more. When she delivered the blackmail money, he also expected sex as part of the package. Samantha pressed shaking fingers against her lips, swallowing down her disgust. No matter what, she wouldn’t let it come to that. She thought of the way Devin had used her.

  Not again. Never again.

  If she could pull the money together, she would make it clear it was a one-time payoff. She’d have to convince him she had nothing more. Perhaps he’d leave town for a while, leave her alone long enough for her to make a more organized disappearance.

  Emily. Her heart squeezed. He’d actually threatened Emily…

  She jumped as the doorknob twisted and she heard Luther’s deep voice.

  “Sam, you in there? Ed from the repair shop’s here with your car.”

  “I…I’ll be right out. Can you just get the keys from him?”

  “Why’s the door locked?” The knob rattled again.

  Rising, Samantha grabbed several packages of paper napkins and opened the door. She tried to appear in a rush to get back out front. “We’re running low on napkins. We need to reorder—”

  Luther placed his large hands on her shoulders, halting her. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “Nothing, I…” Samantha avoided his stare. She gave a weak shrug. “You were right. I’m not feeling up to work today. Maybe I’ll go home after the lunch crowd is gone.”

  She left him standing in the hallway.

  The Camry idled near the entrance to the St. Clair. Samantha slumped behind the steering wheel, feeling ill as she stared at its graceful front. Uniformed bellmen bustled about, unloading luggage from luxury cars as guests passed through revolving glass doors that were flanked by massive ferns in ornate pots. The beautiful weather and bright blue afternoon sky contradicted the bleak darkness inside her. I don’t want to do this. But she had no other ideas, and she was running out of time.

  When she’d left her apartment, she had glimpsed Lenny’s Crown Victoria in her rearview mirror, tailing her from a distance, although it had dropped off once she reached the peninsula road.

  Steeling herself, she rolled the Camry forward, coming to a stop under the hotel’s black awning. A parking attendant opened the door so she could exit the car.

  “Do you have any luggage, ma’am?” the slim-faced young man asked.

  “No.” Samantha smoothed her skirt and handed him the keys. “Just something in the backseat.”

  He helped her extract the large gift basket adorned with a blue satin bow. Numerous Café Bella food items were artfully arranged inside it.

  “Do you need help carrying this inside?”

  “I can take it from here. Thank you.” Lugging the basket, Samantha navigated the revolving door, butterflies fluttering in her stomach as she traveled across the lobby’s marble floor. She had tried desperately to find another way. But using both her credit cards, she’d been able to get an advance of only twelve thousand dollars. Resigned, Samantha walked up to the concierge desk. An attractive blond woman stood behind it, wearing a navy jacket bearing the St. Clair crest.

  “I’d like to see Mr. St. Clair. My name’s Samantha Marsh.”

  “Do you have an appointment, Miss Marsh?”

  “No. But please ask if he has time for me.”

  Balancing the cumbersome basket on the desk’s edge, she waited as the concierge called Mark’s office. Hanging up the phone, she smiled. “Mr. St. Clair will see you now. He’s just down the hall to the left.”

  Samantha went down the richly appointed corridor. An oriental carpet runner covered the polished hardwood floor, and brass wall sconces illuminated tasteful wallpaper and a series of oil paintings in gilded frames. Mark met her outside his office, dressed in dark suit pants, a cream-colored shirt and silk tie.

  “Samantha,” he said. His soft-blue eyes reflected
concern, causing her heart to constrict. “Is everything all right?”

  She nodded.

  “Did the shop return your car?”

  “It’s how I got here. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “That looks heavy. Here, let me help you.” Mark took the basket from her.

  “It’s for you, actually. It’s a prototype of the baskets I’m designing for the gift shop.” Samantha followed him into his office. It was spacious and decorated with masculine accents, including a barrister’s bookcase and fine leather upholstery. Near the desk, a large picture window encased in teal silk curtains offered a view of the hotel swimming pool and, beyond it, the ocean.

  Mark set the basket on the desk, studying its contents.

  “This is the deluxe basket,” she explained. “I’m planning several smaller ones as well so there will be a range of prices.”

  “It’s nice.” He returned his gaze to Samantha, his eyes saying all the things she guessed he could not. Then he moved to stand in front of her, taking her hands in his. They’d grown closer in the short space of time since Lenny’s intrusion into her apartment. Despite her edict the night of the reception, she had leaned on Mark, accepting his kindness and becoming more familiar with him. Longing welled within her to be held by him, just as he’d held her in his bed, and she blinked to stop the tears that threatened to come to her eyes.

  I’ll get through this. Somehow, she would manage to survive this day and the night that lay ahead.

  “This is a professional visit, Mark,” Samantha clarified softly, slipping her fingers from his. “I was wondering if I could…”

  She floundered, losing her words. She rubbed her bruised temple, almost dizzy with dread and hating herself for what she was about to do.

  “What I meant to say is…I need an advance on the sales from the gift shop in order to finish the baskets.” The lie tasted bitter in her mouth. “Web site sales are coming along, too, and this time my order is so large the food manufacturer wants prepayment. I have most of the money, but I’m a little short and…”

  He studied her. “How much?”

  “Eight thousand dollars.”

  After a beat, Mark nodded. “All right. I’ll send them a check—”

  “I need it today, actually.” She felt her face heat. “They’re bumping me up in the production line, but I have to pay them today to hold my spot. If you could make the check out to me, I’ll have the money wired out before the close of business. I would really appreciate it, Mark. I’ll even reduce my profit margin on the baskets to make up for the inconvenience.”

  His eyes bore into hers for several long moments, as if he were evaluating what she had just told him. Samantha fought the urge to drop her gaze. But then, releasing a breath, Mark went to the other side of the desk and extracted a small leather booklet. Gripping a pen in his right hand, he made out a check.

  “I’ll pay you back if the sales don’t cover the advance,” she promised as he walked back to her. She took the voucher with trembling fingers. “If you can just give me ninety days—”

  “I don’t care about the money, Samantha.” Deep concern tightened his features. “I care about you.”

  She looked at the check and saw that it was from Mark’s personal account, not from the hotel’s. She knew in that moment that he had seen through her ruse, but he was giving her the money anyway.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. On weak legs, she walked out of the office.

  Outside, Samantha waited for the valet to deliver her car. She half-expected Mark to follow her out and demand the truth. But instead she stood alone until the Camry was brought around. Feeling an ache inside her chest, she tipped the valet and slid inside. As she drove away from the hotel, Samantha finally allowed hot tears to slip down her cheeks. She had used Mark and his attraction to her, as much as any dancer at the Blue Iris had ever used any patron to gain cash or expensive gifts. The fact that her life depended on her lie was little comfort to her.

  Bile burned in the back of her throat, but she forced herself to postpone her self-loathing. She had exactly one hour before the bank closed. Samantha would cash Mark’s check, and then tonight, she’d go to Lenny’s motel and give him the money. But that was all he would take from her, she vowed. She would tell him that was the last of it, and she wouldn’t allow him to touch her.

  She would defend herself if she had to.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Sea King Motor Court sat off the two-lane highway heading inland out of Rarity Cove. A good four miles from the beach, the one-story, painted cinderblock structure was outdated and somewhat run-down, with a small swimming pool surrounded by a chain-link fence next to the parking lot. Samantha walked past the unoccupied, darkened pool, clutching her purse that contained Lenny’s payoff.

  Room six. She stood outside it and reminded herself to breathe. But her courage felt shattered, like so many broken shell fragments washed up along the shore. The porch light beside the door had either burned out or been purposely extinguished. If not for the moon overhead and the iridescent, droning orange of the motel signage, she would be in eerie darkness.

  Nearly choking on dread, Samantha knocked. As she waited, her fingers roamed inside her purse until she felt the handle of the kitchen knife she’d brought with her from Café Bella. If Lenny tried to take more than the money, if he grabbed her and tried to force her…

  She had already stabbed a man to death. Could she do it again? On purpose this time? She didn’t know and hoped the mere threat would be enough to curtail Lenny’s advances. Samantha shivered despite the evening’s humidity. Jittery, she knocked again, louder this time.

  The muffled blare of a television came from another of the guest rooms. But the one in front of her remained silent. Samantha glanced at her wristwatch, checking the time again. Five minutes past eleven. An eighteen-wheeler pulled into the parking lot, its big tires crunching over gravel. It came to a stop at the far side of the motel. A driver wearing cowboy boots, jeans and a baseball cap climbed down from the cab. The man approached and nodded politely at her as he traveled past, then disappeared inside one of the rooms.

  Samantha knocked again on Lenny’s door, this time with the flat of her hand. Her palm smarted with the effort. But again there was no response. What kind of game was he playing?

  Weak with pent-up fear and growing frustration, Samantha moved to the window and tried to peer between the slit in the closed curtains. But the room’s interior appeared dark. She sagged onto the white plastic lawn chair next to the air conditioner vent. A thin trail of water leaked from the unit across the grimy concrete stoop, reaching her leather thong sandals. She hadn’t worn the requested stripper heels.

  She wondered what to do. Keep waiting? For how long? She squinted at a line of plastic flamingos planted in the motel’s patchy Bermuda grass. They called attention to a sign urging passersby to inquire about weekly rent specials.

  Lenny wasn’t home, apparently. Samantha rubbed her hands over her upper arms, confused. Had he forgotten it was his payday?

  That didn’t seem possible.

  Despite the cold blast of the Volvo’s air conditioner, Mark felt as if he were about fifteen seconds from suffocating. He ran his hand over his face and did his best to stay calm.

  His vehicle sat in the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant adjacent to the Sea King on the outskirts of town. Only the feathery plumes of tall pampas grass separated the two properties, but at least the blanket of darkness provided some cover.

  Unable to think about anything but Samantha, he’d finally called one of the hotel au pairs to his house and then headed to her apartment, only to see her car drive past him on the road. Mark had taken a U-turn and followed.

  Who the hell was she meeting here so late and why?

  He watched as she alternately fidgeted on the cheap plastic chair and paced in front of the door to room six. The term no-tell motel awakened his jealous streak, but the panic he had seen in her eyes earlier that
day negated the thought that she was here for some kind of tryst. When she had asked for such a large advance on the gift-shop sales to pay the food manufacturer, Mark had known she was lying. And yet he had given her the money without question. Her need and the gravity of her situation—whatever it was—had been achingly apparent.

  A group of teenagers sauntered from the restaurant, engaging in horseplay as they made their way to an oversize pickup. Mark slunk down in the leather seat, hoping the rowdy kids wouldn’t attract Samantha’s attention. Eventually, the one who was driving started up the truck’s powerful engine, and it roared from the lot. But if Samantha had noticed, she gave no indication. Instead, she rapped on the motel door again. Mark sat up, alert, as another car pulled into a space near her car, its headlights briefly illuminating the stoop where she waited. She appeared to relax only when an elderly man and woman exited the sedan and tottered off into one of the other rooms.

  Mark dragged his lower lip between two fingers, observing as Samantha passed her hand wearily over her face. She looked as out of place at the Sea King as fine porcelain among paper plates.

  More than a half hour later, she returned to her car. Whoever she planned to meet there had stood her up, apparently. Someone she hoped to get rid of with cash. The thought that she had been meeting the man who had hurt her in her apartment both angered and frightened him. Starting the engine and pulling from the lot, Mark trailed at a discreet distance as she headed back toward town, unsure of what he should do. What he really wanted was to confront her and demand the truth, to crush her against him and hold her until she finally revealed it to him. But she had made it clear in his office that, beyond his money, she didn’t need or want his help.

  There’s something about that woman that sets off alarm bells…

  As she pulled into the lot in front of the Wayfarer Apartments, Mark remained on the main road, parking the Volvo outside the murky glow of a streetlight. He extracted his cell phone and called her number. Emerging from her car, Samantha fished her phone from her purse. She stared at its screen but didn’t answer, confirming again that she didn’t want to talk to him.