He was busy running the store and drumming up a crowd for Mercer’s big event. She had also had a quick fling with Bruce, just another in his long line of trysts.īut Bruce wasn’t thinking about another fling, or at least he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t. Three years earlier she had spent a month on the beach in the family cottage and managed to entangle herself in some local mischief. Mercer had deep roots on the island, having summered there as a girl with her grandmother, Tessa, the inspiration for the novel. Its publisher, along with its author, had dreamed of selling thirty thousand in hardcover and e-book combined, but the novel was already beyond that.
Labeled literary fiction, as opposed to one of the more popular genres, it had seemed destined for the lower rungs of the lists, if it made it at all. Its reviews were glowing and it was selling faster than anyone had expected. Her second novel, Tessa, was the talk of the trade and currently in the top ten on all the best-seller lists. Mercer Mann was ending a two-month summer tour that had been wildly successful. Surely Leo would not disrupt the pleasant homecoming Bruce had planned for one of his favorite authors. His store hosted at least four readings a week, and a major appearance was on for tomorrow night. He’d been there for twenty-four years and had not seen a destructive storm. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and Bruce bought into the legend that Camino Island was immune to dangerous hurricanes.
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and Bruce bought into the legend that Camino Island was immune to dangerous hurricanes.īruce Cable, the owner of Bay Books, kept one eye on the Weather Channel while he hustled customers and chided his staff to get about their business. If Leo had proved anything, though, it was that he cared nothing for the models. But the Europeans had him coming ashore south of Savannah as a Category 4, with massive flooding in the low country. The hurricane center in Miami was now plotting a trajectory that sent Leo farther out to sea without landfall. He then followed Interstate 4 and dumped ten inches of rain on Orlando and eight on Daytona Beach before leaving land as yet another tropical depression.Īnother theory was that the luck had run out and it was time for the Big One. Flooding was heavy, electricity was knocked out, flimsier buildings were flattened, but there were no fatalities. Petersburg with winds at a hundred miles per hour. For a change he maintained a straight course and his eye passed over St. For two days he chugged along with Tampa in his sights, then suddenly came to life again as a Category 1. Three hundred miles south of Mobile, he faked to his left, began a slow turn to the east, and weakened considerably. As a Category 4, and veering east and west along a steady northbound trek, Leo seemed destined for a historic and ugly landfall.Īnd then he stalled again. Fleets of boats and airplanes scrambled to reposition inland. Evacuation plans in five states were activated. Oil companies scurried to extract ten thousand rig workers from the Gulf, and, as always, jacked up their prices just for the hell of it. Warnings were posted from Galveston to Pensacola.
Dozens of giddy camera crews raced into harm’s way. Once again he rapidly grew in size and speed, and in less than two days had his own news special on cable, and Vegas was posting odds on the landing site.
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