Colton Baby Conspiracy (The Coltons 0f Mustang Valley Book 1)

by Marie Ferrarella

  If anyone could make some notable headway there, it was Daniel. Especially since she had made him realize how important finding whoever had sent out that email was to her. To the family.

  Still, Marlowe was definitely not looking forward to telling her father that, rather than “mission accomplished,” there was a chance, albeit it a slim one, that it might turn into “mission impossible.”

  She sighed. There was nothing to be gained by putting this off, so she went back down to the boardroom on the off chance that her father was still there. This was the kind of message that she preferred delivering in person rather than over the phone.

  As she made her way down the corridors, the area felt oddly empty at this time of the late afternoon. Unless faced with a deadline that necessitated working overtime, most of the Colton Oil employees had gone home for the day. Even the lights seemed dimmer than usual, somehow, although none had been turned off yet.

  Drawing closer to the boardroom, Marlowe heard the sound of raised voices. Or at least one raised voice. It didn’t take much for her to recognize that the one she could clearly make out belonged to her father.

  There was no doubt about it. No one could project his voice—or his emotions—the way that her bombastic father could.

  Knocking on the door, Marlowe didn’t wait for a response but opened it and walked right in.

  Payne Colton immediately swung around. “What?” he demanded, abruptly curtailing the supposedly encouraging words he was imparting to his firstborn, Ace. However, coming from Payne’s mouth, even encouragement came out sounding like he was venting his anger.

  Ace Colton wasn’t the target or the cause of that anger, but given the scope of his father’s displeasure, Marlowe could imagine he felt as if he might as well have been.

  All of his children had decided long ago that Payne Colton’s ways took a lifetime to get used to—and even then it wasn’t always easy.

  Marlowe mustered the best smile she could at the moment and told her father, “I just thought you’d want to know that I put Daniel Okowski on the trail of our anonymous emailer.”

  The silver-gray mane bobbed up and down in approval. “Good. What did Okowski say? How long before he has some answers for me?”

  The fact that her father had placed himself rather than her as the key player in this wasn’t lost on Marlowe, but then, he did own the company, and anything that affected the company affected Payne Colton directly, so she wasn’t about to quibble. It was a given, she thought, resigned to the fact.

  “That’s just it, Dad...” she began slowly, attempting to hedge her bets, only to have him break in and interrupt her.

  “What’s ‘just it’?” her father demanded. “C’mon, girl, speak plainly. It’s way too late in the evening to be playing riddles,” he thundered.

  “Let her talk, Dad,” Ace requested patiently.

  Payne glared at his oldest son. He’d never liked being interrupted. “I am letting her talk,” Payne retorted. “It’s not my fault that she doesn’t talk fast enough, and when she does talk, it comes out in circles.” His eyes shifted back toward his daughter. “Well, go ahead. What is it you’re trying to tell me?”

  Marlowe picked her words slowly, never taking her eyes off her father’s face. “Daniel said that navigating the message might have links to the dark web. That is tricky, and there’s a chance that we might never find out who’s responsible for sending that email to us.”

  “What do you mean by never?” Payne demanded, exasperated.

  “Exactly that,” she responded. “Those were Daniel’s words, Dad. Not mine. I guess he means that it’s a lot more complicated than any of us might think,” she began, only to be cut off again.

  Payne laughed. It was a nasty sound with no mirth attached to it.

  “Don’t be so naive, little girl. Money can buy anything. It can damn sure get us those answers we’re looking for, so we can fight even dirtier than this guy who’s hiding behind his anonymous email. I’ll just give Okowski a bunch of money to wave around, and you’ll be surprised how fast those ‘dark web’ doors will fly open for us,” he informed Marlowe and Ace with utterly unshakable confidence.

  “I certainly hope you’re right, Dad,” Marlowe said. Her eyes darted toward her half brother. “For everyone’s sake.”

  “Of course I’m right,” Payne retorted. Marlowe saw that her father was dead serious as he added, “I’m always right.”

  Marlowe only wished that she had even half of her father’s confidence.

  “I’m going to go back to my office and talk to Okowski about that added incentive I’m giving him,” Payne told his children. He held up the cell phone he had in his hand. “Keep these close in case I have to call you about any further developments.” And with that, he walked out of the boardroom.

  “Why don’t you go home, Marlowe, and get some rest,” Ace suggested kindly.

  She looked at him sharply. “Why would you say that?” she demanded. Did her brother suspect something?

  “Well, I hate to put it this way, but to be honest,” he said in a kind voice, “you look terrible.”

  She was instantly defensive, but the feeling quickly subsided. Ace was just watching out for her the way he always did. “Funny you should say that. I feel terrible,” she admitted.

  “Are you sick, Marlowe?” he asked, concerned.

  No, I’m pregnant.

  But Marlowe didn’t feel up to sharing this news with her family just yet, so she merely said, “Just about this situation.” Then, because it was in her nature to be the family cheerleader, she said, “Don’t worry, Ace. None of us are buying into that ridiculously fabricated claim in that email, and Dad’s behind you a hundred percent. We’re going to get to the bottom of all this,” she promised him with feeling.

  “I’m not worried,” Ace told her. “Just mad that this is taking away precious time from the work we should be doing.” He looked at her more closely. “Now go home and get some rest,” he repeated, kissing the top of Marlowe’s head. “That’s an order.”

  Though it was strong, she resisted the urge to wrap her arms around Ace and cling to him the way she used to when she was little and felt as if the whole world was closing in on her.

  Ace would never judge her, never indicate that he thought it was a sign of weakness for her to display a need for comfort. But she knew that if she did that now, Ace would sense that there was something wrong other than the fatigue she was claiming. He would start asking her questions, and she wouldn’t be able to lie to him. She never had, but she couldn’t burden him with this, either. He had more than enough to deal with without taking on her problem, as well.

  So instead, Marlowe flashed a smile at him. “Sounds like good advice, although I really am fine,” she assured him.

  He nodded, clearly glad she wasn’t fighting him on this. Seemingly as an afterthought, he told her, “Call me if you hear anything.”

  “You, too,” she told him.

  Ace grinned at her, that same warm grin that he usually flashed. She knew he was doing it for her benefit, and she appreciated it.

  “Count on it,” he said.

  Somewhat heartened, Marlowe left the building and got into her car. But instead of going home—a home she shared with all of her siblings as well as her parents, as the house was large enough to accommodate all of them without having any of them running into the other members—she made the decision to go to her other dwelling.

  She had purchased a condominium in downtown Mustang Valley. It was located at the very base of the mountain. She used it only whenever she found herself working late and didn’t feel up to undertaking the drive home.

  No one would bother Bowie and her there, Marlowe thought. That meant they could talk in private, although very honestly, aside from asking him a few questions about the allegations he had initially made, she didn’t know what
she was going to say to the man who had turned her entire world upside down by impregnating her.

  She wasn’t even sure at this point just what she planned to do about that pregnancy.

  Turning on the car’s overhead light, she took out her phone and sent a text to Bowie.

  If you still want to talk, I’ll be at my condo in half an hour. She then texted Bowie the address. Finished, she tucked away her phone and started up her car.

  She’d lied about when she expected to arrive home. The condo was only ten minutes away from Colton Oil’s headquarters. But she wanted the extra time to change her clothes and try to unwind from this overly stressful day before she had to face Bowie again.

  The traffic was light. She arrived at the condo in eight minutes rather than ten.

  Parking her car in the underground parking structure, she took the elevator up to her condo. The moment she walked inside, she stepped out of her high heels. The entire trip from her door to her bedroom, she shed one article of clothing after another.

  By the time she had slipped into her jeans and her oversize, baggy sweater, Marlowe felt like an entirely different person.

  Her stylish high heels were replaced by fuzzy socks with corgis pictured on the front of each. She did not look like the high-powered president of a major oil company. Instead, with her perfectly styled hair now pulled back into a jaunty ponytail and all of her carefully applied makeup completely wiped away, she knew she looked more like a teenage version of herself.

  Marlowe looked into the mirror, doing a quick survey of herself. For at least the rest of the evening, she had effectively gotten rid of “corporate Marlowe.” Or at least the aura of that persona. She had transformed into just a young woman who had unfortunately made a very bad misstep in the heat of passion.

  She’d completed her transformation just in time. The condo doorbell rang.

  Habit had Marlowe glancing at her watch. Apparently Bowie Robertson had a thing about punctuality. She had said thirty minutes, and damn if he wasn’t here exactly thirty minutes after she’d sent her text to him.

  Leaving her bedroom, she went to answer her door. She supposed there was something to be said about punctuality, Marlowe thought.

  Still, mindful of the fact that she was home alone and there was someone out there sending an anonymous email meant to throw her family’s life into total chaos, Marlowe took her small, unloaded handgun out of its lockbox and brought it with her as she went to answer the door.

  “Who is it?” she asked a second before she looked through the peephole.

  Bowie Robertson was standing on the other side of the door, suddenly feeling tenser than he could remember feeling in a very long time. He had no idea what he was going to say to Marlowe, or even why he was actually here. Everything seemed as if it was completely jumbled up.

  “Guess.”

  Marlowe couldn’t decide whether or not the voice she heard was friendly or ominous. Had Bowie come here to talk to her or to threaten her? She wasn’t sure, but she squared her shoulders, determined to meet this challenge head-on. She was a Colton, and Coltons were never afraid.

  Her hand closed over the small weapon in her pocket.

  “Well, it’s too damn early for Santa Claus, so I’m guessing that this is not the answer to my prayer,” she said, flipping the two locks on her door and pulling it open with her free hand.

  She saw Bowie’s gaze land on the handgun she had removed from her pocket.

  “Did you invite me over to shoot me?” he asked her, staying exactly where he was.

  “No,” she answered. After a beat, she lowered the weapon in her hand. “After what you said about someone trying to shoot you, I thought it wasn’t a bad idea to keep my gun handy when I opened the door to my condo.” She nodded over her shoulder, silently inviting him in before telling him, “Come on in, Robertson.”

  Bowie stepped over the threshold cautiously. “You know how to use that thing?” he asked, nodding at her lowered weapon.

  “My father took me to the shooting range the day he gave me this gun for my fourteenth birthday. I can shoot the top feathers off the head of a turkey at twenty paces,” she informed him proudly. “I could give you a demonstration if you’d like,” she offered.

  “Sorry,” he quipped, “I left the turkey at home.”

  “You could do in a pinch,” she told him. “All you’d have to do is hold up a few feathers in your hand and I can shoot those.”

  “Tempting, but I’ll pass,” Bowie told her. “My luck can only hold out for so long,” he added, doing a quick survey of her immediate living space. “I don’t intend to push it.”

  Once inside her condo, and with her weapon tucked away back in its place, Bowie sighed audibly.

  “You look different,” he told her.

  “Nothing gets by you, does it?” Marlowe quipped. “Do you want something to drink?” she asked. “I’ve got a fully stocked bar.”

  Marlowe was still waiting for him to answer her. “Robertson, you’re staring,” she said.

  “Sorry. I’ve never seen you look like a civilian before,” he told her. His face softened a little. “You look nice.”

  That surprised her. She had never been complimented before when she looked like this, and she had no idea how to respond, so she didn’t. Instead, she went back to her original question.

  “I asked you if you wanted something to drink.”

  He shrugged. “Sure. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

  “I’m not having anything,” she told him. “I’m pregnant, remember?”

  And the reason he was here, the attempts on his life and all that entailed—including an unknown source, now that Marlowe denied having anything to do with it—instantly came crowding back into his brain.

  “Oh, right,” Bowie murmured. “For a second, I just forgot.” And was trying to forget, despite everything, just how much he still wanted her.

  Chapter 6

  “All right, let’s get down to business,” Marlowe said, sitting down on her sofa and approaching this new problem logically. “Who would want you dead?”

  Her blunt question threw Bowie. He’d thought that she had asked him here to talk about what they were going to do about the condition she suddenly found herself in. That and perhaps even touch on the night they had spent together, when he had gotten to see a completely different Marlowe Colton than the one the rest of the world—including him, up until then—was acquainted with.

  But since she was asking about the attempts on his life, he was willing to address that first. Bowie sat down on the other end of the sofa. He had been giving his own dilemma a great deal of thought since he had confronted Marlowe in her office earlier. As a result, he had come to a new conclusion about it, a totally different one from the one that Marlowe was suggesting.

  He started out treading lightly. “While it’s true that I have made some enemies in my energy dealings, so have you,” he pointed out.

  “No argument there,” Marlowe acknowledged.

  But before she could continue, Bowie advanced his theory a little further, getting to the heart of what he believed.

  “I think that this would-be killer is somehow connected to you or maybe to Colton Oil.”

  Marlowe’s face clouded up. “So we’re back to you thinking I hired someone to kill you? Is that what you’re saying?” she asked incredulously.

  “No,” he corrected her, “what I’m saying is that these attempts on my life somehow have something to do with you, because someone started targeting me only after I spent the night with you.”

  “You mean you think that someone’s watching me?” Marlowe demanded, clearly doing her best not to show Bowie how much the very idea of what he was suggesting unnerved her.

  Bowie shrugged. “I honestly don’t know,” he admitted. “But it does make sense in a way. All I do know is
that no one took a shot at me or tried to run me over before you and I spent the night together.”

  Marlowe thought of the anonymous email that had been sent to all six members of the board. Was that somehow connected to these attempts that had been made on Bowie’s life?

  Maybe Bowie was onto something, she thought, although she was not about to tell him about that. She had absolutely no intention of divulging anything about what was going on in the company unless it turned out to be absolutely necessary.

  For now, she just shrugged, doing her best to seem casual. “Maybe you were just lucky before.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” he agreed, although it was obvious from his tone that he didn’t really subscribe to that theory. “All right, then why don’t we get down to it and talk about the elephant in the room?” he proposed.

  Marlowe stiffened, instantly knowing what he was referring to. She felt heat rising up her neck to her face, inevitably turning it to a reddish hue. She was far more comfortable talking about gunmen, hired or crazed, than she was talking about something that was so utterly personal.

  But she had been the one to initially blurt out the news to him, so she couldn’t very well just fluff Bowie off or shut him down now.

  “What about it?” she asked stiffly, her voice devoid of all emotion.

  “What do you want to do about...it?” he asked her point-blank.

  “You mean you don’t have any suggestions?” Marlowe asked sarcastically. After all, she would have thought that an opinionated man, such as he was, would try to impose his will on her, especially since the child was half his. Or at least she assumed that was the way he would think of it.

  “Oh, I have plenty of suggestions,” Bowie assured her.

  Big surprise. “I thought so,” Marlowe retorted.

  She’d pegged him right, she thought. But for some reason, she didn’t find that nearly as satisfying as she would have thought she would. As a matter of fact, as she examined her feeling, she was rather disappointed that he was like that.