Before the Storm Read online

  When she closed her eyes, she was back in that apartment again—shivering, shards of glass around her, her hands stained with blood…

  Six years earlier, Trina Grissom disappeared, on the run for her life. Now living under an assumed identity—as Samantha Marsh—she still struggles with the dark secret she harbors and the fear she might one day be found. When she moves to the coastal town of Rarity Cove, South Carolina, to open a café, a handsome widower begins to chip away at the walls she’s built to protect herself.

  Mark St. Clair lost his wife two years ago in a tragic accident. Head of the grand St. Clair resort, he distracts himself from his lingering grief by running the family business and caring for his troubled young daughter...until a beautiful restaurateur sets up shop in town. Before meeting Samantha, Mark was convinced he could never be drawn to another woman. But as his attraction to Samantha grows, the mystery surrounding her deepens.

  As the two begin a hesitant courtship, double perils emerge. Someone from Samantha’s lurid past comes calling, threatening to expose her. And a powerful hurricane is forming in the Atlantic with the small beach town in its path. Trapped in the storm by the brutal man who wants vengeance on Samantha, she and Mark must fight for their lives.

  Praise for Leslie Tentler and Her Novels

  “Taut, page-turning suspense and heart-stopping romance: Leslie Tentler is a rising star of romantic suspense.”

  - New York Times Bestselling Author

  Allison Brennan

  “A smooth prose style and an authentic Big Easy vibe distinguish Tentler’s debut…the shivers are worthy of a Lisa Jackson.”

  - Publishers Weekly on Midnight Caller

  “Suspenseful, intense and impossible to put down, Midnight Fear will thrill and seduce, as it leaves the reader begging for more.”

  - Examiner.com

  “A compelling plot, thick suspense, a cunning villain, a shattered cop and a victim who wants answers at any cost place Tentler in the same category as bestselling authors Lisa Jackson and Beverly Barton.”

  - RT Book Reviews on

  Edge of Midnight

  “Fallen is a fast paced, energetic novel, full of suspense and action…A great read.”

  - Fresh Fiction

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Before the Storm

  Copyright ©2015 by Leslie Tentler

  Published by Left Field Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without express written permission from the author.

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  ISBN: 978-0-9906390-4-6

  Cover art by: Damonza.com

  Copy editor: Joyce Lamb

  To my brother, Michael. This one is for you.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Other Works by Leslie Tentler

  About the Author

  Visit Leslie

  PROLOGUE

  Memphis, Tennessee

  “You really thought I’d let you leave here?” Devin Leary’s harsh laughter echoed through the spacious loft apartment. “I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, darlin’.”

  Despite the air conditioning’s chill, Trina Grissom felt a bead of perspiration roll down her back. She worked to keep her words even. “I-I was planning to talk to you, I swear.”

  With a cynical grunt, he roved through her open suitcase on the bed, extracting a pair of delicate panties from the hastily packed clothing. Trina glanced away, training her gaze on the hardwood floor as he lifted the lace to his nose and inhaled. “Talk, nothin’. You were gonna run out on me.”

  He loomed suddenly closer, and she found herself staring up into cold, dark eyes. A lock of longish, midnight hair fell into them. Stay calm, Trina implored herself. She knew all too well Devin got off on fear.

  “Look, I can pay you! I’ve got some money saved up—”

  “Now you want to buy your way free of me? That hurts.” He placed a hand over his chest in feigned grief. His eyes narrowed. “I don’t want your damn money, Trina.”

  “Twelve thousand dollars! I’ve been saving up tips minus cuts to the house. You can have all of it if you just—”

  “Stupid bitch. You got any idea how much you’re worth to me? You leave, it’s like stealin’ money right out of my pocket.” His tone lowered and grew huskier, a threat wrapped in black velvet. “Besides, this thing between us goes back a long way…”

  Her heart hammered as his fingers skimmed lazily over her upper arms, then bit punishingly into her flesh. Dread nearly choked her. He smoothed her platinum-blond hair back from her face as his hot breath played over her skin. Trina suppressed a whimper. She shouldn’t have come back here to retrieve her things, but sentimentality—and the desperate need for money—had been too large a temptation. Besides, Devin was always at the club this time of night. She’d even called to check. How had he known? It had to be Cassandra. Trina had been a fool to trust her.

  “Where you been hidin’ these past few weeks, sugar? I figure with the nights you haven’t shown up for work, you owe me most of that cash you’re goin’ on about, anyway. I’ve had men out all over town, lookin’ for you. That cost me money.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Sorry don’t buy much,” he snapped. Pushing her aside like a discarded toy, he began pawing again through her suitcase. With a snide shake of his head, he yanked out her mother’s cameo locket and the worn teddy bear, tossing them onto the bed. He began pulling out her clothing next. Trina took a step forward, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Behind him, floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the glittering Memphis cityscape.

  Please, no. Hope leached from her as Devin jammed his fingers into a side panel and discovered the thick stack of bills. Victoriously, he stuffed the wad into the pocket of his leather jacket. It was everything she had.

  “If you take that money, I-I get to leave.” Trembling, Trina tried to hang on to her co
ntrol, fragile as it was. “And you don’t try to find me.”

  “That’s the deal?”

  She swallowed with difficulty and found her voice. “Yes.”

  He gave another sharp laugh, his eyes glinting like knife blades. Trina flinched as he grabbed her again, this time shoving her back against the exposed-brick wall. She cried out as her skull met it with a sickening thud. Devin had the smile of a snake, and his lean, hard frame appeared ready to strike. Trina already knew the full extent of his bite. His poison.

  She felt dizzy, ice-cold terror curling around her spine. Breathing in shallow gasps, she struggled to get away, but his right hand had closed around her throat, anchoring her in place. His other arm braced against the wall over her head.

  “Know what I think?” Devin towered over her, his body pressing into hers. Lust and rage contorted his brutally handsome features. “I think you need to be taught a lesson.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Rarity Cove, South Carolina

  Six Years Later

  “Emily?” Mark St. Clair looked around crowded Main Street. She had been right here, watching as a clown with a painted face and red wig twisted balloons into barnyard animals.

  He scanned the street vendors hawking pecan pralines and tourist souvenirs. But there was no sign of a blond, pigtailed almost-five-year-old. He had turned his back for what? Ten seconds? On the street in front of him, the parade continued. An open convertible rolled past, a smiling Miss Peach Blossom waving regally from its backseat. He tamped down a surge of panic.

  “Mark St. Clair, as I live and breathe!” A heavyset woman wearing too much perfume stepped into his path. He recognized her as head of the Junior League. “Happy Founder’s Day! I do believe your great-great-great-grandfather would be so proud of our little town.”

  “Thanks. Nice to see you, Mrs. Botwin.”

  “I was just at the hotel last weekend. Tell your chef the pork tenderloin was out of this world—”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Mark smiled thinly, and with a polite excuse, he shouldered past, peering down the sidewalk for his daughter. As he searched, he tried not to think about the child-abduction stories that scared the bejeesus out of him, but he still couldn’t keep his heart from racing. It was early August, the humidity high, and his Ralph Lauren sports shirt stuck to his back. In the balmy afternoon breeze, the cloying aroma of cotton candy mingled with the briny sea air.

  Don’t panic, he told himself. But if Emily…if anything happened to her…

  He wouldn’t survive another loss.

  A break in the parade allowed him to catch a glimpse of the town square with its ancient live oaks and garlands of Spanish moss. A number of vendors had booths set up there, a banner overhead proclaiming The Perfect Summer in Rarity Cove.

  Relief washed through him. Amid the throngs of people, he spotted a small red skirt and sandals, then flaxen pigtails reflecting sunlight. Emily stood at one of the cloth-covered tables. What had he told her about crossing the street? He waited until a squadron of Shriners from the Masonic Lodge marched past in their red fezzes, swords drawn, then went after her.

  “Emily,” he called, catching her attention. She turned, beaming as he approached, and Mark felt his anger evaporate. He knelt in front of her. “You scared me to death, sweetheart. You were supposed to be watching the clown make balloon animals. Didn’t you want one?”

  Instead, Emily pointed at the table, bouncing with excitement. An impressive assortment of pastries was enticingly arranged, and not of the Ladies Garden Club bake sale variety. Sophisticated tartlets held jewel-like curds, and an arrangement of buttery linzer cookies and shell-shaped madeleines filled a silver platter. Decadent lemon bars and rich cream puffs looked nearly too perfect to eat. But most notable were the cupcakes. Each was a work of art, with thick caps of buttercream frosting and edible flower decorations.

  “I told her she could have one, but she needed to get her parents’ permission first.”

  Mark looked up at the comment. A slender, dark-haired young woman in a sleeveless white blouse stood behind the table. Doe-like brown eyes complemented delicate features. She was attractive—beautiful, actually. As he stood, he caught a glimpse of her long, tanned legs in faded jean shorts.

  “She doesn’t say much, does she?” She smiled at Emily. “I asked her name, but she wouldn’t tell me.”

  “She doesn’t really…talk,” Mark explained, his chest tightening. “Her name’s Emily.”

  The woman nodded as a faint frown creased her forehead. “I see. Can she have a cupcake?”

  “Sure. Which one do you want, baby?”

  Emily pointed to a rich-looking confection, causing the young woman to laugh. “A girl after my own heart. That’s the devil’s food. It’s chocolate-filled. The little purple flowers are lavender.”

  Mark noticed one with a deep red base and pristine white icing. A miniature rosebud sat on its top. Seeing that it had caught his attention, she said, “That’s red velvet, of course. A Southern favorite.”

  “We’ll take that one, too.” Their eyes met briefly, until the woman lowered her thick lashes and busied herself with placing the two large cupcakes in a white cardboard box. She tied the package with a blue satin bow and presented it to Emily, who practically danced in delight.

  Mark reached for his wallet. “How much?”

  “No charge. I promised one to Emily.”

  “How about mine, then?”

  “All right. That’ll be three ninety-five.”

  He shook his head good-naturedly. “Four bucks? That must be one heck of a cupcake.”

  She grinned as he handed her the bills, his fingers briefly brushing hers in the process. Mark experienced a small thrill of attraction, followed nearly as quickly by a sharp stab of guilt that made it hard to breathe. His eyes fell to the printed sign in front of the table. Café Bella.

  The place must be new; he’d never heard of it, and Mark could count the better restaurants in the small coastal town on one hand. He’d never seen the woman before, either. He realized that he should introduce himself, ask her name or at least the location of the eatery. But instead, he murmured a hoarse thank-you and took Emily’s hand. They made their way across the street after several more parade floats sailed past.

  Mark nearly choked on his hot coffee. “He’s coming when?”

  He’d been trying to get some paperwork done while he had a bite of food, but he now realized the hotel dining room probably wasn’t the best location. The tall windows that provided a scenic view of the Atlantic Ocean also made him visible to anyone going past on the boardwalk. And this particular afternoon, that anyone was Olivia St. Clair. Spotting him, his mother had come inside and sat at his table, seemingly oblivious to his open laptop and stack of files.

  “He’ll be here next week,” she said blithely, unfurling a sage linen napkin from the table and placing it on her lap. “They’re filming a Lifetime movie in Charleston.”

  “And you’re just now finding out about this?”

  “Carter was a last-minute casting replacement.” Olivia requested a mimosa from one of the wait staff, then returned her clear blue eyes to her eldest son. “The first actor—the young man on that silly detective show—dropped out. The filming schedule fit perfectly with Carter’s time off from the soap opera.”

  “He’s not staying here, is he?”

  “Why wouldn’t he?” Brushing at a lock of hair in her well-maintained silver bob, Olivia shot him a look of censure. “He wants to be with family. The St. Clair belongs to him, too, you know.”

  “Why can’t he just stay with you?”

  “Well, he could. But the hotel has such fine amenities. He also needs wireless Internet, and you know I don’t even own a computer.” She made the latter admission with a note of pride. “He was adamant about taking a room here.”

  Mark rubbed his closed eyes with his fingers. “If Carter stays here, there’s going to be a big to-do about it. We have guests, Mom. People who
pay a lot of money for solitude and relaxation.”

  “Oh, pooh.” She waved her hand in a Scarlett O’Hara-like gesture and took a sip from the crystal flute that had just been delivered. “You’ll hardly know he’s here. And we’ll keep the reception very low-key.”

  “Reception?”

  “Carter is Rarity Cove’s only celebrity. He needs a proper welcome home. Of course, we could have the reception at the country club, but I’d prefer it here in the ballroom. So much more nostalgic to have it in our own hotel, don’t you think? The place where he grew up.”

  Mark said nothing. Acting every bit the matriarch, Olivia leaned forward and covered his hand with her own. “For goodness sake, Mark. The two of you are brothers, not to mention grown men. You used to be so close. Can’t you get along for a few days for your old Momma?”

  He looked at her, slightly shocked to hear her refer to herself as old. Olivia’s beauty in her youth was legendary, and even in her early sixties she was the picture of Southern grace and style. Mark released a breath and nodded. “Okay. Carter stays here, but he isn’t getting the star treatment. He’s a regular guest like anyone else.”

  “Of course, darling. He wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  “And you can have the reception here, provided the ballroom is available. You’ll have to check with Mercer on that.”

  “I already have, and it is.” Olivia rose. She bent and kissed him on the cheek, probably leaving behind a stain of expensive coral lipstick. Then she located her designer handbag. “Now on to other things. I don’t suppose you’ve thought some more about asking out Felicity Greene?”

  “Don’t push it, Mom.”

  Olivia ran her fingers through her son’s hair, her voice softening. “She’s interested, Mark. And she’s quite a catch, in case you haven’t noticed. Felicity was homecoming queen at the University of South Carolina, did you know that?”