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

by Marie Ferrarella

  Catching hold of her arm, Bowie physically stopped her exit. “Marlowe, what’s wrong?”

  Because he had her arm, she was forced to stop. It was either that or create a scene, and while he knew she had no qualms about doing that if the situation warranted it, for the time being, it didn’t.

  Tossing her head, Marlowe looked up at him. “You mean other than the fact that your assistant over there could benefit from a crash course in manners?” she asked, casting a disparaging look in the older woman’s direction. Gloria stood, looking formidable, frowning at Marlowe.

  Right now, his attention was focused on the large box Marlowe was holding. He curbed his immediate desire to ask her about it.

  “Yes, other than that,” Bowie answered dismissively. He knew without turning to look in Gloria’s direction that the woman was taking in every syllable. The assistant was exceedingly protective when it came to him. “Why don’t you come into my office?” he suggested. “You can tell me why you’ve ventured into enemy territory.” He expected at least a small smile in response, but when Bowie peered at her face, Marlowe continued to look like the very definition of anger. “Nothing?” he asked. “This is bad, isn’t it?”

  Rather than answer his question, Marlowe said, “Let’s go into your office like you suggested—as long as your fire-breathing protector doesn’t object.”

  Bowie felt like he had to come to the woman’s defense. “Gloria was just doing her job, Marlowe,” he told her, leading the way back to his office. “There are a lot of people trying to get to talk to me for one reason or another.”

  “Really?” she said. “That must be really rough on you.”

  Bowie closed the door behind them. Once it was shut, he turned to look at his unexpected visitor. She really looked upset, and he didn’t think that he was the reason for that.

  “All right, Marlowe. Let’s stop waltzing around. What happened since I dropped you off? Why are you here?” he asked. And, since she hadn’t volunteered the information herself, he nodded at the box she was holding. “And what’s that?”

  She placed it on top of his desk. “That was waiting for me in my office when I got in this morning. When I asked my assistant who left it there, she didn’t know. She said it must have been put into my office before she got in. The woman regularly gives roosters their wake-up call, as a sideline.”

  “So whoever dropped that thing off either came into the office incredibly early, or he knew your assistant’s routine,” Bowie surmised.

  “And if it’s the latter, that suggests that whoever did leave this gift works at Colton Oil,” she told him. “Otherwise, how could he possibly have known Karen’s routine?”

  Bowie inclined his head. She had a good point there, he thought. “And just what did this mystery man drop off?” he asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

  Marlowe had been doing her best to distance herself from the implications that this “gift” brought with it, not to mention what it indicated about the person who had given it to her. She had just gotten the bear back from Security, which had found the stuffed animal to contain nothing harmful. A lot they knew, she thought.

  Telling Bowie about the bear brought those feelings back to her in spades.

  Pulling the teddy bear with its note out of the box, she put both on his desk.

  “This,” she declared.

  “A teddy bear?” he asked, as if not quite certain why she seemed to be so shaken up by the gift. “It’s a little strange, but I don’t—”

  “Read the note that came with it,” she insisted. “And then we’ll talk.”

  Picking up the card, Bowie quickly read it. His expression became grave. “I see what you mean.”

  “It appears that I’ve got a hostile admirer,” she told Bowie. She could all but feel the hostility emanating from the card. Restless, Marlowe began to pace back and forth in front of his desk. She wasn’t accustomed to not handling problems, and yet, with no one to focus on, there wasn’t anything she could do about this.

  Bowie nodded thoughtfully. “That would explain why the attacks on me started after I left your hotel room that morning. It points to the fact that this admirer of yours is jealous.”

  Marlowe tried not to shiver, but she failed. “My admirer is crazy,” she corrected.

  “Well, yes, that goes without saying,” Bowie agreed. “Can you think of anyone you’ve turned down recently?”

  Marlowe shook her head. “I haven’t turned down anyone,” she protested. “I’ve been so busy, nobody’s even approached me on a social level. It’s been all about work,” she told him.

  “Okay, have you noticed anyone staring at you lately—worshipfully or otherwise?”

  “No to both questions,” she told him. She drew herself up. “But I know one thing for sure.”

  “And what’s that?” he asked.

  “Whoever this so-called admirer is, it has to be someone who works at Colton Oil, because I spend all my time at Colton Oil,” she told him.

  Bowie showed just the barest hint of a smile.

  “Well, not all your time,” he told her, his eyes moving down to Marlowe’s waist and lingering there for the briefest of moments.

  Marlowe sighed audibly. “All right, except for that one anomaly,” she allowed. “Which wound up with me getting pregnant, as well as getting my very own creepy stalker—and someone trying to kill both of us,” she said in disgust.

  “The least I can do is get you a bodyguard,” he offered Marlowe as he reached for the phone on his desk, drawing it closer.

  Marlowe quickly stopped him from lifting up the receiver. When he looked at her quizzically, she said, “Like that won’t be at all conspicuous,” she told Bowie, vetoing the idea. “Look, if I wanted a bodyguard, I’m perfectly capable of getting one myself,” she informed him.

  “But you won’t,” he guessed. The woman was too stubborn for her own good.

  She shrugged off what she knew he was implying. She wasn’t being stubborn; she was being practical. “A bodyguard will only get in my way,” she informed him.

  “Yeah, well, so will a bullet,” Bowie countered matter-of-factly. “What if Callum kept an eye out for you?”

  But she shook her head. “I really don’t think this guy is out to kill me,” Marlowe told him. “You, maybe, but not me.”

  Bowie laughed shortly. “Well, that’s reassuring,” he said sarcastically. “Would you stop pacing?” he asked her. “You’re making me dizzy.”

  “Cold-blooded killers generally don’t leave cute teddy bears as their calling cards,” Marlowe pointed out, telling him the conclusion she had reached now that she’d had time to think about the situation. “And before you ask, I had Security take this guy apart to see if maybe he’d been wired with explosives or something else equally as lethal. Turns out that the teddy bear was just an ordinary teddy bear. Whoever left this,” she lifted up the bear again, “was either just trying to get my attention, or at the very most, to unnerve me.”

  “You can’t take that for granted. If he’s playing games like that, it could easily escalate,” Bowie told her. “Look, I’m going to get that bodyguard for you, so you might as well stop arguing with me. I can either do it with your permission, or behind your back. It’s up to you, but one way or another, you need to wrap your mind around the fact that you are going to get extra protection. I am not about to look back at this down the line and regret the fact that I didn’t go with my instincts, and because I didn’t, you and our child are no longer part of the equation.”

  “So now we’re part of some equation?” Marlowe questioned, clearly trying to goad him into an argument.

  “Don’t change the subject, Marlowe. I am getting you that bodyguard. And don’t worry, he’ll be totally vetted. His only job will be to look after you and keep you safe. That means that he’s not going to give a damn about w
hatever company secrets you might be harboring and could divulge. He’s just going to be there to watch your back—just in case.”

  He knew Marlowe’s suspicions wouldn’t be entirely put to rest, but she was going to have to trust someone, and it might as well be him.

  “I’ve got your word on that?” she asked.

  He was surprised at her phrasing. If she was being serious, that meant that they were finally making some headway, he thought, pleased.

  “Are you willing to take my word?” he questioned, watching her face for any telltale signs that she assented.

  She raised her chin and her eyes held his. “Yes,” she answered stoically.

  “Then yes, you have my word on that,” he told her.

  When he saw the smile that slowly bloomed on Marlowe’s lips, it hit him just how worth it all of this had been. Even though he tried to seal himself off, her smile really got to him.

  Marlowe’s phone buzzed at that moment. Forced to glance down at the screen, she read the text that had come in for her.

  It was from Callum, inviting her to come with him to Mustang Valley General Hospital. He intended to try to find out just who had been on duty that fateful night that the person they had come to know as Ace had been switched with the “real” Ace.

  We’re going archive hunting, the text told her. Want to come help?

  “More bad news?” Bowie asked, looking at Marlowe’s expression.

  That was when she remembered that she hadn’t told Bowie about the results of the DNA test—and the subsequent fallout that bombshell had had.

  But that was a story for another day, she decided. She didn’t want to get into it right now, nor did she really have the time to try to field any of his questions, legitimate though they might be.

  “No,” she answered. “No bad news. Possibly good news,” she continued, keeping her response deliberately vague. “I really won’t know until I actually get there.” She tucked away her cell phone as she started to go for the door. “Oh, Bowie,” Marlowe said, turning around to face him just before she opened the door and walked out, “about the bodyguard...”

  Because she was standing at the door, he had a feeling that she was going to tell him that she’d changed her mind about having one. Bowie braced himself for an argument. A knock-down, drag-out one if it came to that, because he wasn’t about to have her out there, possibly a moving target, without some sort of protection.

  “What about it?” he asked.

  Her expression softened into a smile. A smile that managed to curl up in the pit of his stomach. “Thanks.”

  He would have wanted to accept her thanks at face value, but he’d come to know that nothing, when it came to Marlowe, was that easy.

  “But?” he asked, waiting for her protest or refusal of the offer.

  “No but,” she told Bowie. “Just thanks.”

  Despite her initially trying to tell him that having a bodyguard wasn’t in the cards for her, Bowie had remained steadfast and pushed because he was concerned. Marlowe couldn’t help but compare that to her father’s reaction. Payne Colton knew that she had been the target of an attack at her apartment, but he hadn’t said anything about getting her a bodyguard or even acted concerned that the attack had happened.

  She knew that her father, by definition, was not a demonstrative man. As far back as she could remember, he had expected his children to take care of themselves, handle their own problems. Time and again, he had said that it “built character.” He obviously expected that it would do that for her, as well.

  But it was obvious to her that Bowie didn’t subscribe to that sort of philosophy. Or, if he did, he still wasn’t about to take any chances with the life of the woman who was carrying his child.

  There were all sorts of ways to view his insisting on a bodyguard for her in a bad light, but Marlowe chose not to go that route. Instead, she just wanted to enjoy the fact that someone cared enough about her well-being to stand up to her and do what he felt was necessary.

  His stock definitely went up, as far as she was concerned.

  Bowie grinned then, as if relieved he wasn’t going to have to fight her on this after all.

  “Don’t mention it,” he told her.

  “Just let me know when your guy starts to do his job,” she told him. “Otherwise, his head will end up mounted as a trophy on my father’s wall. My father has a way of shooting first and asking questions later,” she added.

  Bowie laughed dryly. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he told her.

  “You should,” Marlowe agreed, nodding. “For your own peace of mind, as well as for my future bodyguard’s well-being.”

  “Hey,” Bowie called after her as she opened the door and began to leave. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked.

  She had no idea what he was referring to. “Like what?” she asked, a trace of suspicion reentering her voice.

  In response, Bowie indicated the teddy bear that was still sitting on his desk.

  Strangely relieved that this wasn’t going to be something that could escalate into an argument between them, Marlowe laughed and shook her head. “I didn’t forget. He stays here,” she told him. “Think of him as your new little friend.” Her mouth curved a little more. “He’ll keep you company.”

  And with that, she walked out.

  * * *

  As was her habit, Marlowe drove back to Colton Oil with a lead foot, stepping hard on the gas to zip through yellow lights that were about to turn red. She admitted to herself that she was not known for her patience, and her patience was in exceedingly short supply when it came to wasting time being stuck in traffic, waiting for lights to turn green.

  She calculated that her method enabled her to save both on time and gas, and although saving gas meant nothing to her as a member of Colton Oil, time was something she had always valued a great deal.

  Zigzagging through the small, homey streets, she got back to Colton Oil’s headquarters even quicker than she had anticipated. Marlowe really hoped it was an omen of how things were going to go in her hunt through the archives.

  “You slowing down these days?” Callum asked when she pulled up. He was down in the parking garage, waiting for her, and she’d arrived later than he’d anticipated.

  “Hardly,” she retorted, getting out of her vehicle.

  Her twin knew better than to continue teasing her.

  Chapter 13

  Mustang Valley General Hospital was a large, inviting, five-story brick building that had been built back in 1925. It had gone through several renovations by now and could currently boast being a total state-of-the-art hospital. But it had become so only over the last fifteen years, thanks to endowments funded by Colton Oil.

  Located at the far end of downtown Mustang Valley on its own well-manicured five-acre plot, the hospital was on the tail end of a winding road down which Callum was currently driving himself and Marlowe. He pulled his car up as close as he could to the front entrance of the building. Because of its large parking lot, finding a spot wasn’t an issue.

  “Why do I get the feeling that we’re about to embark on a wild-goose chase?” Callum said to his twin as he got out from behind the wheel.

  “Could be because behind that handsome, rugged exterior, you’re a born pessimist,” Marlowe answered. “Do what I do. View this in a positive light.” She closed the passenger door. “Just think of it as unraveling a mystery for Ace.”

  “Except that he’s not Ace anymore,” Callum said as they crossed the parking lot and made their way to the hospital’s front entrance.

  Almost a foot shorter than her twin, Marlowe hurried to keep up. There was no way she was about to ask him to slow down. “Well, that’s the name that he’s responded to for the last forty years, and as far as I’m concerned, he’ll always be Ace to me.”

  “Yeah,” Callum agreed. “M
e, too. But Dad doesn’t see it that way,” he pointed out as they came up to the entrance.

  The hospital’s electronic doors drew apart and they walked in.

  “So we’ll work on Dad until we convince him,” Marlowe said. “After all, there’s two of us. We outnumber him.”

  It had been a while since either of them had been here, but the layout was still the same. There was an admission’s desk on the left and a desk for outpatients to register on the right. Comfortable love seats were scattered for people to use throughout the lobby.

  “Not the last time I checked,” Callum answered. “One Payne Colton outnumbers six offspring, especially when one of the biological ones turns out not to be the real deal.”

  “You’re impossible,” Marlowe complained. Zeroing in on the woman sitting at the admission’s desk, she physically pointed her brother in that direction. “C’mon, put that gorgeous face of yours to use,” she told him in a lowered voice. “Charm the lady behind the desk into giving us the information we need,” Marlowe instructed, all but giving him a push in the right direction.

  Walking up to the woman’s desk, he cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” Callum said, speaking up.

  “Be with you in a moment,” the woman behind the admissions desk, whose name tag read Irene Ryan, said curtly. She continued typing data into the computer that was on her desk, keeping her eyes on the monitor.

  Finished, she looked up. The moment she did and saw the man who was looming over her, her features instantly softened. Irene’s voice almost sounded melodious as she asked the man, “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “This is going to sound a little strange,” Callum said, prefacing what he was about to ask. “But we’re—” he glanced back at his sister as if for backup “—looking for information about births that took place at the hospital forty years ago. Specifically, births on Christmas morning.”

  The young admission clerk’s smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion. “Is this some kind of joke, or a prank?” she asked Callum. It was obvious that she was growing defensive.