Before the Storm

by Leslie Tentler

  Instead, Mark got her voice mail. You’ve reached Samantha Marsh. I’m unable to answer my phone right now…

  He disconnected the call, feeling worse.

  Still, he waited until she was safely inside before turning back toward home. Despite what his heart wanted, he reminded himself that he had a troubled young daughter to care for and a large hotel to run. The rational part of his mind told him he was better off without Samantha, considering her ambivalence and secrets. Maybe he should follow her lead and shove aside any attraction, any feelings he had for her.

  Maybe this one time, his mother was right. He didn’t need the complication of another heartbreak.

  But as he made his way back to the St. Clair, it was all he could do not to call her again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “What’s the best swag you ever got?” The pretty bartender leaned over the chrome-and-glass counter at Sapphire in New York’s renovated, upscale Meatpacking District. Her chin rested in her palm. “You know, in gift bags at one of those award shows?”

  “A TAG Heuer watch maybe.” Carter sipped his scotch. “I also got a certificate for a weekend at a chalet in Vale once.”

  “I’m sure you took someone with you, too. Lucky girl, snowed in with you and a big, roaring fire. How did you pass the time?”

  Carter merely smiled. What he didn’t tell the bartender—he’d already learned her name was Leilani—was that soap actors didn’t go to all that many awards shows, with the exception of the Daytime Emmys.

  Filming on the made-for-television movie he was shooting in Charleston had taken a short break while the director handled another obligation. Carter had used the time to fly back to New York to meet with his agent and to audition for a guest spot on a prime-time television drama being shot on location in the city. The small but important role had come open at the last minute—they were seeking a prep-school-educated-type male in his early thirties to play an assistant district attorney. If he got the part, he’d be able to shoot it and be back in time to continue filming for the movie.

  “So what’s Amber Montrose really like?” Leilani asked, referring to one of Carter’s co-stars on Friends and Lovers. Waiting for an answer, she ran her hand through her raven hair and batted almond-shaped eyes. “C’mon, dish. Is she as big a bitch in real life as she is on the show?”

  “Actually, she’s a sweetheart. She’s from a small town in Montana. Her father’s a minister, and she’s engaged to her boyfriend from high school.” At her expression, he added, “You look disappointed.”

  “I guess I expect actors to be like the characters they play.” She gave him a seductive once-over. “Jake Burton’s gorgeous and sexy. So are you.”

  He smiled again and stared into her eyes, going into full flirt mode.

  She beamed. “You want a refill?”

  “Absolutely.” Carter watched as she turned to the shelf of liquor bottles and selected the Glenlivet. She had a fantastic ass, as did every woman who worked here. In fact, the establishment’s proclivity for hiring beautiful women—and one woman in particular—was the reason he’d dropped by the popular nightspot on impulse.

  “Could you give my headshot to the casting director at your soap?” Leilani refreshed his drink. “I just started acting classes, so I don’t really have much on my résumé…”

  “I’ll give it to him and put in a good word.”

  “Thanks.” Her fingers grazed Carter’s hand that held his scotch, sliding around to caress the underside of his wrist. “That would mean a lot to me.”

  She stepped away to serve a couple who had approached the bar, leaving him to nurse his drink. He glanced around the high-end establishment. The bar area was bathed in subdued lighting and played to a chic crowd of mostly young professionals and well-to-do Manhattanites. When Leilani returned, she brought him a small plate of sashimi, thinly sliced raw tuna that was one of the house specialties.

  “They sent it over,” she said, nodding toward two women seated at a nearby table. Carter tipped his glass to them.

  Leilani raised an eyebrow. “I bet you get that a lot. Women offering to give you their sashimi.”

  Carter caught her innuendo. “What about you, Leilani? You offering?”

  She nearly purred. “We’ll see.”

  Deciding to move from the sexual banter, he asked, “So how long have you worked here?”

  “Oh, for a while now. I started after college, working my way up from hostess to waitress, and just now to the bar. I had to do some training, but bartending’s where the really good money is. Wealthy, drunk men are excellent tippers.”

  “I’m sure.” Carter used his best acting skills to sound as if his next statement hadn’t been premeditated. “Hey, I met a girl who used to work here. I think she was a bartender, too. Her name was Samantha something…”

  “I remember her,” Leilani said. “Samantha Marsh.”

  “That’s right.”

  “She was tending bar when I was still waiting tables. That was about five months ago.”

  “What was she like? Nice?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t really know her that well. There’s kind of a caste system around here. Hostesses don’t fraternize with the wait staff, and bartenders are higher on the totem pole, right under management. Besides, Samantha pretty much kept to herself. She’d turn it on for the customers, then put her shield right back up as soon as she was off-shift.”

  That sounded like her. Carter sipped his scotch, uncertain of exactly what he had been expecting to discover. But Samantha had been on his mind ever since he’d learned about the mysterious break-in and assault at her apartment. The exotic tattoo, the ultra-sexy shoes he’d found in her closet—none of it was a match with the reserved, serious businesswoman she appeared to be. Which normally wouldn’t matter to him. Hell, with any other woman, the contradiction would only add to the allure…except that Samantha was finding her way into Mark’s heart. It had become clear to Carter she hadn’t just been a date for the reception as he’d first thought; his brother was developing a real thing for her. And, he admitted, his own damn curiosity was eating at him. He was in town anyway, so why not just drop by her past place of employment to see what he could find out? At least he had confirmation she’d worked here.

  He chastised himself, figuring he’d been listening too much to his mother, who didn’t like Samantha based on the simple fact that she wasn’t Felicity Greene.

  “It’s funny you should ask about her, because there was a man here a month or two ago asking about her, too,” Leilani said. “Weird-looking guy. Short and fat, with a spot on his forehead. He was trying to find out where she’d gone.”

  Carter looked at her, his interest piqued. “Do you know who he was?”

  “Are you into this Samantha or something?” She appeared a little jealous.

  He shook his head. “I barely know her. A friend of mine’s going out with her, is all.”

  “Well, you might want to tell your friend to watch his wallet.” Leilani wiped the bar’s glass top. “This guy said he was looking for her to collect on some bad debt. Apparently, a lot of it. He wanted her forwarding address, but she didn’t leave one. He said she’d moved out of New York.”

  “Do you remember this guy’s name? I mean, for my friend,” he added casually, despite the fluttering in his stomach. “He might want to know what he’s getting into.”

  “I can do one better.” Turning, Leilani opened a drawer underneath the liquor shelf. She squatted as she rifled through its contents, giving Carter a view of the lace thong underwear she wore under low-rise black slacks. When she stood back up, she handed him a business card.

  “He left this. He said if any of us remembered anything about her to give him a call.”

  Carter took the card, which was printed on no-frills white cardstock with plain black ink. Wrinkled, with an oily smudge on one corner, it read Leonard Cook, Private Investigator, and gave his contact information. According to the card, the priva
te investigator license had been issued in Tennessee.

  Carter lay next to Leilani, who was sprawled facedown on her bed, nude and snoring softly. Being careful not to wake her, he got up and picked his way through the darkness in the unfamiliar apartment, reaching its tiny kitchen. He opened the refrigerator to shed some light and look for something non-alcoholic to drink. Finding a bottled water, he rolled its cool plastic against his forehead before twisting off the cap and drinking greedily.

  He wondered what time it was.

  His mouth felt like cotton, and the dull beat of a headache played inside his skull. After taking a cab with Leilani to her walk-up third-floor efficiency, they had split a couple of bottles of red wine. Not a great match with the high-end scotch he’d been drinking earlier.

  Carter closed the refrigerator door, frowning in puzzlement at the Hello Kitty magnet staring back at him.

  Looking around, cursing as he bumped his shin, he spotted a shell-shaped floor lamp near the couch and turned it on, then attempted to find his wallet in the pale glow it provided. Finally locating it on the floor alongside his trousers, cell phone and Leilani’s panties and bra, he picked it up and checked to make sure the PI’s business card was still tucked inside. Carter had called both Leonard Cook’s office and cell phone while he’d been at Sapphire. He had left voice-mail messages at both numbers, saying only that his name was Mr. Carter and that he wanted to talk to him about his recent visit to a nightclub. With a low grunt, Carter bent again to retrieve his phone. No messages.

  Damn, his head hurt. He hoped the hangover was gone by his audition.

  He wouldn’t try again in the middle of the night. The guy was bound to call him back, especially if he was as interested in Samantha as Leilani had indicated. But even if he was looking for her, Carter didn’t necessarily plan to tell him where to find her. He just hoped to maintain the conversation long enough to find out a little more about her, including how much she owed and to whom, and whether there was anything else in her background to be worried about. It wasn’t a good sign that a private investigator had come all the way here looking for her. The debt must be substantial. And Samantha had never said anything about Tennessee, or Memphis, which was the area code listed on the card.

  Uncertainty over what he was doing spread in his gut. Carter scrubbed a hand over his face.

  You’re fortunate to have such a wonderful family. Don’t take any of them for granted, especially Mark. Stop trying to one-up him, and do what you can to mend fences.

  Samantha’s scolding the night of the reception had hit home. She had made him look beyond his own wounded ego and see his behavior for what it was. He’d been sincere when he’d told Mark that he hated how things were between them. Carter knew a lot of it—hell, most of it—was his fault.

  He also knew Mark wouldn’t approve of him going to Sapphire, and Carter wondered again if he should just let it go. But he saw what he was doing as being protective of Mark, as well as Emily. Perhaps New York and the entertainment industry had jaded him, but the St. Clair family had money, and he now wondered if Samantha’s arrival in their lives had really been coincidence.

  “I thought you’d left.”

  Leilani stood at the bedroom’s threshold. She pouted prettily, her nude body on full display.

  “Were you sneaking out?” she asked, moving closer. She ran her hand over Carter’s bare chest. “I haven’t even given you my headshot.”

  “Not a chance,” he rasped. “Just getting some water.”

  “You look like one of those brooding leading men right now—like Heathcliff in that movie.”

  “Wuthering Heights.” Carter wondered a little meanly if she’d ever read a book.

  She took the bottle he held and sipped. “Sex makes me thirsty, too.”

  Lifting on her toes, she kissed his mouth, her arms looping around his neck, and her pert, round breasts pressing against him. Still conflicted about his dilemma regarding Samantha, Carter had been contemplating the old saying about curiosity killing the cat. But his thoughts scattered as he felt his body respond.

  “It’s still early,” Leilani whispered. “Come back to bed.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Four days had inched by, and Samantha still hadn’t heard from Lenny. She’d been tense and on edge, expecting every phone call or customer entering the café to be him.

  What had happened? She seriously doubted he’d had a change of heart about blackmailing her, but it didn’t make sense that he had failed to meet her at the appointed place and time. Nor had he made any attempt to contact her since. Dicing onions in the café’s kitchen, she wondered nervously if he was playing some kind of mind game designed to prolong her torture.

  She was afraid to try to leave town, convinced that if he were still watching her, he’d make good on his vile threats. Queasy, Samantha could barely eat or sleep.

  She hadn’t talked to Mark in four days, either, not since he’d handed her a check for eight thousand dollars and she’d walked out of his hotel. He had called her once late at night, but she hadn’t answered, and he had left no message. Samantha had been too ashamed to speak to him, as well as fearful of what questions he might ask. She felt herself missing him even though she knew his absence from her life was for the best. For now, she’d deposited the money in her bank account, tensely awaiting Lenny’s next move.

  It was still early, and a small television on the counter blared a national morning news show. Luther pushed through the kitchen’s back door, hauling a box of potatoes that required peeling. Samantha laid her knife on the butcher-block counter and took a sip of her coffee. Keep going. Keep it business as usual. It was the only way not to go insane.

  “Quentin at the farmer’s market says the mâche you were looking for will be in early next week.” Luther dumped the potatoes into a tub of water. “Got to admit I don’t see what’s wrong with plain, old-fashioned lettuce.”

  “It’s for a salad with goat cheese I want to add to the menu,” she explained, grateful for the distraction he provided. “It has a sweet, nutty flavor.”

  “Sweet and nutty, huh? Sounds like you’re talkin’ about dessert. Not rabbit food.”

  They conversed as they worked companionably together, with Luther once again bringing up his desire to see the world. She’d learned he visited the town’s library often to read books on exotic places like Trinidad, Tobago and the Ivory Coast.

  “Got family in Haiti where my momma was born. Never met ’em, but I’d sure like to,” he mused as he scrubbed potatoes. “An aunt and two cousins. Only kin I have left.”

  “Maybe you should plan a trip.”

  He gave a sad chuckle. “Soon as I win the lottery, maybe.”

  Eventually, their conversation lapsed into silence. Needing to focus her thoughts somewhere, Samantha picked up the remote and switched the television channel to the local news on a broadcast station in Charleston. She’d finished chopping onions and had just moved her attention to a pile of celery stalks when a reporter’s words caused her to look up at the television.

  …body of a white male found last night here in a canal near the James Island Expressway. Drowning is suspected as the cause of death. An autopsy will be completed at the Medical University of South Carolina…

  Clutching a microphone, the reporter stood at the canal’s edge, a weathered strip mall in view some distance behind him.

  Charleston Police are looking for anyone who might have known the victim, described as being in his late forties, heavyset, about five-feet-eight inches tall with what may have been a birthmark on his right temple, although decomposition due to saltwater and warm temperatures was advanced. If you recognize this description, you’re asked to contact police…

  “Sam, you’re bleeding!”

  Crimson dripped from her index finger onto the counter, but she barely felt the sting. Samantha had gone numb. Taking charge, Luther reached for the knife and guided her to the basin. Holding her hand under the stream, he scolded h
er about not being careful.

  The birthmark. It had to be Lenny, didn’t it? Samantha’s stomach flip-flopped at the possibility that her blackmailer might be dead.

  “It doesn’t look too bad.” Luther studied the cut. “It’ll bleed for a while, but I don’t think you’re gonna need stitches.”

  “I’m fine,” Samantha mumbled, still staring over her shoulder at the television.

  “You better sit down.” He dragged a chair across the floor and eased her onto it. “You look like you’re gonna faint on me.”

  “I…I don’t like seeing my own blood, I guess.” Samantha held the dishtowel in place that Luther had wrapped around her now-throbbing finger. The news show had switched to the weather, and a blond woman in a silk blouse and tailored skirt began talking about a tropical depression forming in the Atlantic.

  Questions about the possibility of Lenny’s demise raced through her head. Not that she would wish anyone…dead, but had she just gotten the luckiest break of her life? She tried to shake off the worry that her troubles all seemed too neatly resolved.

  “Sure you’re okay?” Luther asked, looking at her curiously as he cleaned up the blood on the counter. He discarded the contaminated celery in a trash receptacle.

  In disbelief, Samantha blinked and gave a small nod. She wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, she really was.

  It was early the next week before the Charleston County Coroner’s Office released the official cause of death of the still-unidentified man in the canal. Glued to the television in the café’s kitchen, Samantha swallowed past the lump in her throat as the field reporter confirmed it had been an accidental drowning. According to the toxicology report, the victim’s blood-alcohol level had been more than three times the legal limit, the reporter revealed as he stood with one shiny dress shoe planted on the canal edge. After a reminder about the danger of intoxication around bodies of water, he segued back to the newsroom. The story had come on late in the newscast, as if it were already nearly forgotten, second-tier news.