Deadly enemies undermine her life and business

When a mysterious email threatens her family’s corporation, executive Marlowe Colton puts all her energy into protecting Colton Oil. But a more shocking scandal comes in the form of her archrival—and one-night lover—Bowie Robertson, who uncovers the consequence of their passion. As danger encroaches, Bowie and Marlowe must put aside any bitterness to safeguard the family neither ever expected.

USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author MARIE FERRARELLA has written more than 250 books for Mills & Boon, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, marieferrarella.com

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Colton Baby Conspiracy

Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90484-5

COLTON BABY CONSPIRACY

© 2020 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This 300th book is dedicated with love

To my wonderful readers,

Without whom I would still be working as

a health insurance claims adjuster,

Dreaming of becoming a writer;

To

My fabulous editors, especially Patience Bloom,

Whose fear of being buried alive in stacks of

Proposals had them finally deciding to take a

chance on me;

And

To

Charlie,

Who was, and is, my inspiration for every single hero

I have ever written about.

I couldn’t have done it without you, honey.

From the bottom of my heart,

Thank you!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

About the Publisher

Prologue

They enjoyed being in control; they always had. Even back in the early days, alone and struggling to make ends meet, a day-to-day world nothing if not hopeless and bleak, they’d dreamed of being in a position when they would finally be in control.

Slowly but surely, they had worked relentlessly toward reaching that goal, moving from stepping-stone to small stepping-stone until finally, finally arriving at a place of authority. When they finally controlled people who didn’t even realize they were being controlled.

I am that good, they thought with a self-congratulating smile.

And this, this, they thought, looking at the email draft on their laptop, was going to be the ultimate achievement, the crowning glory. Because when this email went out and at long last set this greatest plan in motion, they were going to be in control of not just a person or a small group of people but of a large, thriving company.

An entire, billion-dollar company.

It would be, they thought with a smug, self-satisfied smile, like going from presiding over a tiny cottage in the forest to ruling over a giant kingdom.

My giant kingdom.

Oh, there would be a figurehead to front the company, but they would be the one who told that figurehead what to do, what to think. They would be the one in charge of everything.

As it should be. After all, who better to control all those employees? Who was more deserving to reap all those rewards?

They laughed to themselves.

“Why, me of course. I’m the most deserving person I know,” they announced to the surrounding darkness of the small office where they presently oversaw the organization they had created and molded out of nothing.

Taking a deep breath, they pulled back their shoulders and focused on the task at hand. The shadowy figure reread the words that had been typed and then retyped so many times since this idea had begun to take its final shape.

This had to be perfect.

The email had to sound coherent. To read as if it was written by an intelligent person—but not by someone who was overly intellectual. Or that some delusional, misguided person had written it.

Above all, it could not come across as if it was a hoax. It had to read as if every word was nothing but the absolute truth.

They wanted the message to read as if the person who wrote it was cool, calm and just a touch superior. Because I am, they thought. Superior to the lot of them. And more than just by a touch. Because once they acted on this knowledge, it would be the beginning of their downfall.

It might take a week, or a month or even a year—although they doubted it would take that long—but they would definitely fall.

A smug smile curved their lips as they relished the thought and looked forward to the day all of this would come together.

For what felt like the hundredth time, they scanned the words on the computer screen. Words they had been tweaking and tinkering with for what felt like an eternity now.

They would really love to sign a name to the email, but in order for this to work, to avoid intense scrutiny and questioning, the source generating this had to be thought of as anonymous.

One last time, they read each word very slowly.

To: Colton Oil Board Members Listserv

From: Classified

Subject: Colton Oil CEO Ace Colton is NOT a real Colton

Ace Colton, born 40 years ago on Christmas Day in Mustang Valley General Hospital, was switched at birth with another newborn baby boy in the nursery. This shocking truth can be confirmed with a simple DNA test that will prove Ace is not a Colton by blood. Since the Colton Oil bylaws state the CEO must be a biological Colton, Ace must be ousted. I will provide you with no further information, but rest assured this bombshell is the tip of the iceberg.

Good Day

As their eyes rested on the last word, they felt their smile widen, even more smug and far more self-satisfied than it had ever been.

“Perfect.”

Now there was nothing left to do but send this email to all six members of the Colton Oil board—and then sit back, calmly waiting for the fireworks to start going off.

With a mixed surge that was composed of equal parts excitement and confidence, they handed the computer over to their tech expert. This trusted employee had organized the logistics of this mission and would continue to monitor it. They pressed Send.

“And now it begins!”

Chapter 1

Marlowe Colton had always thought that one of the perks of being the president of Colton Oil was having her very own private, luxurious en suite bathroom installed within her rather cavernous office.

An en suite bathroom where she was currently having her very own private nervous breakdown as she stared at a small white stick that had the audacity to mock her with a glaring pink plus sign.

Her breathing grew shorter and more erratic as she continued to stare at the awful, incriminating stick. Her stomach kept tightening until it had twisted itself into a hard, painful knot.

Marlowe realized that she was sweating even as she felt a cold chill shooting down her spine and passing over every part of her body.

And the nausea was back. In spades. Any second now, she was going to throw up.

Again.

“No, you’re a Colton,” she told the unusually pale blonde looking back at her in the mirror. “You’re not going to throw up. You’re not!” she insisted.

Marlowe blinked back tears. They weren’t tears of joy, or tears of sorrow. What she felt stinging her eyes were angry tears. Angry tears that were aimed at no one but herself.

How could she have let this happen? One stupid moment of intoxicated but entirely willing weakness and longing and now here she was, in the throes of morning sickness.

It wasn’t possible.

It wasn’t.

And yet the stick in her hand told her it was all too possible.

It was a reality.

The white stick had come out of the discarded white box that was now haphazardly sitting on the edge of the sink. The pharmacist had assured her that this product was supposed to be the best, the most accurate pregnancy test on the market. She truly doubted that it had made a mistake.

Besides, if she was being completely honest with herself, the thought that she was pregnant had been in the back of her mind for the last six weeks. Ever since she had lost her head and her iron grip on her emotions by succumbing to the sexy, dark good looks and charms that she had been all but bred to hate. Because the man on the other side of that bed six weeks ago had a father who hated her father, and that feeling was very, very mutual.

What in the name of all that was good and proper had she been thinking? Marlowe silently demanded of her reflection.

That was just it—she hadn’t been thinking. For once in her career-driven life, she hadn’t been thinking at all, just feeling. Or at least telling herself that she’d been feeling. Feeling an overwhelming attraction to a man she had viewed as the enemy for as far back as she could remember.

This was what came of trying to behave civilly toward someone who she had been taught did not deserve to be treated with any sort of respect.

All of her life, Marlowe had done exactly what was expected of her—and then some. She was a Colton, and Coltons were supposed to behave a certain way. At least Payne Colton’s daughter was supposed to behave in a certain way.

She closed her eyes, fighting another strong, rising wave of stomach-lining-destroying nausea as it tried to claw its way up her throat.

If only she hadn’t gone to that stupid energy conference...

Or, at the very least, if she hadn’t spent so much time arguing with Bowie Robertson, president of Robertson Renewable Energy Company, over proposed pipelines and the environmental consequences they could have. The argument went on and on relentlessly until everyone else at the conference had withdrawn for the night. That left just the two of them to continue the argument on their own.

How heated words had somehow given way to splitting a bottle of champagne—or had that been two bottles?—she still really wasn’t clear about. But somewhere along the line, their different philosophies and the eternal ongoing rivalries that defined their lives had just somehow managed to melt away, leaving nothing to get in the way of a very real and exceedingly strong attraction that had mysteriously taken root and been growing between them for who knew how long.

Marlowe could remember only bits and pieces of their night together after that. One of those bits and pieces had included a very strong desire to be, for once in her life, swept away, for the space of at least that one isolated evening.

An evening that became free of thoughts about rivalries, corporate profits and even the ever-increasing concerns about green energy being a threat to her family’s oil company.

Just one carefree evening, that was all she had wanted, Marlowe thought.

And now this stick and its menacing, mocking pink cross were exacting a price for those frivolous few hours of passion she had spent.

A price she had never, even in her wildest dreams, been prepared to face up to and pay.

That wasn’t to say that she didn’t want children. She did, Marlowe thought. She did want children. But just not now.

And definitely not with him.

They hadn’t even spoken a single word to each other since that fateful night, as if silence was actually an acceptable way of denying that those few hours of unabashed passionate consorting—of wild, consensual lovemaking—had ever happened.

But not talking about it, not acknowledging that it took place, was not a way of wiping that night’s existence out of the annals of time. The pregnancy test clearly testified that it had happened, she thought ruefully, frowning at the offending mark on the white stick. And that, in turn, had most definitely produced a consequence. A very big consequence.

Marlowe felt her throat closing up. What the hell was she going to do now?

The question throbbed insistently over and over again in her brain. But no matter how many times she asked herself, she came up with the same answer.

She didn’t know.

She had absolutely not even a glimmer of an idea what she was going to do about this.

The only thing that she did know was that her father was going to see this pregnancy—and how it came about—as nothing short of a personal betrayal of him of the first order.

“I wasn’t thinking of you at the time, Dad,” Marlowe whispered to the man who wasn’t there in person but was somehow always around Colton Oil headquarters in spirit. Payne Colton was the reason behind everything she did.

The truth of the matter was that her father had always been a very strong presence in her life, influencing, in one way or another, her every move, practically her every thought.

But not that night.

That night the intrusive spirit of Payne Colton had been utterly absent. At least, he had been by the time she and Bowie Robertson, drunk on champagne and each other, had gone up to her suite at the Dales Inn.

The Dales Inn was the only hotel in town, and coincidentally it was also where the green energy conference was being held.

To someone viewing this from the outside, with everything that was going against them—feuding fathers, rival companies—that night she and Bowie might have come across as a modern-day Romeo and Juliet. Except, once the dust had settled again, they were much more like the Hatfields and the McCoys, but with the Coltons focusing on drilling oil wells and the Robertsons worrying about environmental impact.

She sighed, holding her head with one hand. There was no happy ending in sight here.

But then, she remembered, there hadn’t been one for Romeo and Juliet, either.

Her head was really beginning to hurt, Marlowe thought. And it didn’t exactly help her condition any to have both her desk phone and the cell phone she had left next to it when she’d walked into the bathroom ringing like crazy now. The phones sounded as if they were jointly heralding the end of the world and doing so just slightly out of sync.

Maybe they were, she thought darkly, still staring at the offending stick.

“Why don’t they shut up?” she cried, helplessly putting her hands over her ears.

As if that would stop the noise, Marlowe thought angrily.

She rose to her feet—her legs felt oddly shaky, she realized, holding on to the wall for a moment to get her balance—and opened the bathroom door and glared accusingly at the offending phones.

If they were both ringing like that, something had to be very, very wrong, she thought.

Something other than an offending white stick with its glaring pink cross.

Taking a deep breath, Marlowe made her way over to her wide custom-built desk. Part of her was hoping that the ringing would abruptly stop by the time she reached the phones.

No such luck.

Braced for almost anything—after all, the worst possible thing had already happened, she reasoned—Marlowe picked up her multiline desk phone. Thinking it was one of the company’s many administrative assistants on the other end, she said tersely, “Okay, this had better be good.”

“On the contrary,” she heard her father’s deep voice rumbling against her ear, “this is very bad. And where the hell have you been? Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Payne Colton, chairman of the board of Colton Oil, demanded angrily. “Your damn phone’s been ringing off the hook. Why were you just ignoring it?”

“Dad?” Marlowe said shakily, still looking at the stick she was clutching in her hand.

Payne snorted. “Well, at least you still know who I am,” he retorted in disgust. “Did you forget your way to the boardroom?”

“What?” What was he talking about? It was after five o’clock. There was no meeting scheduled this late, at least none that she recalled. “No,” she responded after a beat.

“Well, that’s good, because that’s where the rest of us are, sitting around that big old table and twiddling our thumbs, waiting for you to make an appearance.” His voice hardened. “I sent you a text,” he snapped, the fury he was feeling now more than evident in his voice. “Didn’t you see your email?”

No, Dad, I didn’t see my email. All I see is this big, ugly white stick that’s about to topple my whole world, Marlowe thought numbly.

“Well, Your Highness, we’re still all waiting for you to deign to put in an appearance,” her father was saying while she was having her crisis. “So read that email I forwarded to you and get that skinny behind of yours in here. Pronto! Do you hear me?”

Hovering over her laptop, Marlowe hit a key. The screen that was currently there gave way to another one that contained her corporate email. She scrolled up the page to the latest message to see what had set her father off like this.

Her mouth dropped open when she got to the subject line.

She reread the words twice.

“Oh my Lord!”

Her father took her shocked response to mean she had looked at the email. Or at least she had seen enough of the email to shake her up, which was good enough for his purpose.

“All right, get in here now, Marlowe!” Payne screeched. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

Marlowe’s knees were shaking so badly, she had to sink down into her chair. This had happened to her twice in the last fifteen minutes, she thought, feeling as if she was completely losing her grip on the immediate world.

Despite her father’s voice reverberating in her ear with his loudly shouted demands, Marlowe opened her email, hoping that maybe the contents weren’t as bad as it initially seemed.

It was worse. Marlowe’s head was suddenly filled with a swirling kaleidoscope of memories, all grounded in her childhood. Adventures and events that she and Asa, whom everyone called Ace, had shared as children. Ace was her big brother. He was a big brother to all of them, even to her adopted brother, Rafe. Ace didn’t care. He treated Rafe just like he was a real brother.

That was just the way that Ace was.

Marlowe looked back down at the email’s subject line.

That was absolutely absurd, she thought. Who would say such a crazy thing? Who would even come up with such an idiotic idea, she silently demanded, stunned beyond words. Maybe this was the work of some competitor in an attempt to disrupt the company.

“Marlowe? Marlowe, are you there?” Payne Colton’s deep voice thundered, bringing her back to the moment and her suddenly cold and incredibly inhospitable-feeling office.

It took her a second to focus and come around. Thinking took another second. “Yes,” she said, breathing heavily, “I’m here, Dad.”

“No,” her father corrected her sharply, “you’re there. I need you to come here. Now!” he declared. “Can you do that for me?” he asked his daughter sarcastically. “Can you hightail it out of your overdecorated office and get yourself to the boardroom five minutes ago?” Payne shouted.

It wasn’t just Marlowe’s knees that were shaking now—it was all of her.

With effort, she gripped the armrests of her chair and literally hauled herself up to her feet. Testing the strength of her legs for a second to make sure that she wouldn’t just fall flat on her face with the first step she took, Marlowe slowly moved her hands away from the armrests. By now her heart was pounding against her chest like a drumroll.

“I’m coming,” she told her father in what seemed like a whisper.

“What did you just say?” Payne demanded angrily. “I can’t hear you!” he declared like the marine drill sergeant that all his children, at one time or another, had felt he was.

Marlowe took a deep breath, filling her lungs with air before she repeated the words. “I said I was coming.”

“Then get here already!” Payne snapped.

The next moment, the connection was abruptly terminated. Only her father’s disapproval and anger lingered in the air around her like a dark, malevolent cloud.

This wasn’t happening, Marlowe silently insisted as she closed down her laptop.

That done, she raced out of her office. None of it, she tried to console herself. None of this terrible stuff was happening. Not this hateful email and not that positive pregnancy test.

It was all just a bad dream, and any second now, she was going to wake up, Marlowe promised herself. And when she did, all of this was just going to be an awful, fading memory.

Her high heels resounded, clicking rhythmically against the highly polished marble floor as she ran down the corridor to the Colton Oil boardroom. The staccato sound seemed to mock what she had just told herself.

Her heart fell with a thud as she reached the open boardroom door.

It didn’t look as if she was going to wake up from this one after all.

Chapter 2

It was almost surreal that after all these years of being on the opposing side of every argument, Bowie Robertson couldn’t seem to be able to get thoughts of Marlowe Colton out of his head. The simple truth of it was that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the Colton Oil president for the last six weeks.

At first, it had been because the woman was single-handedly responsible for what was admittedly the greatest night, bar none, of his thirty-two-year-old life.

Granted that, for years now, he had been very aware of the fact that Marlowe Colton, with her shoulder-length mane of whitish-blond hair and a figure that wouldn’t quit, was drop-dead gorgeous. But he had also viewed the woman as the personification of an ice queen. An ice queen with nothing but cutthroat ambition running in her pretty veins.

He had been completely blown away to find out that the total opposite was really the case.

Yes, he had had a great deal of champagne to drink that night, but even an entire river of alcohol wouldn’t have been able to drown his brain to the point that would get him to believe something that wasn’t really true. He would have to have been beyond utterly drunk to believe that what had actually been a sow’s ear had transformed into the proverbial silk purse.

No, he wasn’t suffering from some sort of delusion; that had actually happened.

But as enchanted as he’d been by the slightly vulnerable, passionate, warm, funny woman he had made love with in her oversize hotel bed, the cold reality was that it had turned out to be just another illusion, a sleight of hand with no staying power once it was viewed in the light of day.

In fact, he had discovered that Marlowe actually did care about the environment and that she had set up awards for Colton Oil employees who created sustainable technologies and were working to make the family business more eco-friendly. That notably went against her father’s narrow-minded view, but once he had left her room and was on his way back to his own world, Bowie quickly found out just how cold and vicious Marlowe Colton could really be.

A few short hours after they had spent what he had viewed at the time as an exceptionally passionate night together, Bowie found himself to be a marked man.

Marked for death.

There had been two attempts made on his life in breathtakingly short order. Right after he had left the hotel, someone driving a black SUV tried to run him over. When that attempt hadn’t been successful because he had managed to get out of the way just in time, someone tried to shoot him.

The sound of a gunshot had been so benign that at first he thought it was a car backfiring—and then he saw the hole a bullet had made right through the car window that was less than a foot away from where he’d been standing.

The two incidents, so close together, were just too much of a coincidence for Bowie to merely shrug off. It had to have been because of Marlowe—or someone acting on that she-devil’s orders. It was too much of a coincidence that, right after he’d slept with the enemy, someone tried to kill him...right?

He speculated that the reason for the attempts on his life—the failed attempts, he gratefully amended—were twofold. One, the woman had obviously let her guard down that night, and since he was the one who had witnessed this drop and been on the receiving end of the consequences of that action, she undoubtedly didn’t want him telling anyone about it. The only way to ensure that didn’t happen was to have him eliminated.

Why had she gone to such drastic lengths? She had also shared something with him that, in hindsight, would probably be considered a company secret. She was going behind her father’s back and looking into ways to make Colton Oil more eco-friendly. She hadn’t told Payne yet because she had nothing tangible to present to him, but it wouldn’t be long. All this was told to Bowie in strictest confidence. And even though he had promised to take that to his grave, Marlowe had obviously decided to hasten that scenario along and kill him. While he didn’t think her so-called “secret” was a big deal, she obviously did.

Maybe, given time, he might have just chalked up these feelings as unnecessarily paranoid. After the second failed attempt on his life, he had deliberately kept his distance from Marlowe, avoiding all forms of contact and definitely not calling her. He even made sure to have a security detail around him at all times.

But now, six weeks after their one wildly insatiable night of passion—as well as the two subsequent attempts on his life that had occurred—a third attempt had been made just that morning.

This attempt had borne fruit. It hadn’t wounded him, but the bullet that had been fired killed his security guard.

A second bullet had narrowly missed hitting Bowie himself.

It was now painfully obvious to Bowie that lying low and avoiding contact with Marlowe wasn’t working. And ignoring the source of the problem was not making the problem go away.

So, focusing on that, he decided that it was time for him to confront Marlowe before another attempt was made on his life. Or before anyone else wound up paying the ultimate price by being on the receiving end of a bullet that was meant for him.

Out of respect for the night they had shared, he’d wound up behaving like a coward, not confronting Marlowe about their time together and the subsequent attempts on his life. That in itself was something that, to Bowie, was even worse than death.

Death was quick and final, but the label of being a coward carried with it a stigma that could haunt him until the end of his days. He was not about to allow that to happen.

It was time, Bowie decided, to confront the lioness in her den and get this whole thing out in the open.

Marlowe entered the boardroom, crossing the threshold on legs that still didn’t quite feel as if they belonged to her.

She was no longer clinging to the hope that this was all just a bad dream, but she had to admit that the scenario still didn’t feel as if it was real.

Marlowe took in the immediate scene within the room. Her father was right. The rest of board was already there, and they were obviously waiting for her.

Looking around, she quickly scanned all their faces. Her father; Ace; her half sister, company attorney Ainsley; and CFO Rafe all looked to be stricken to varying degrees. The only member of the board who did not look stricken was Selina Barnes Colton, the company VP and director of public relations, and coincidentally, her father’s second—and mercifully ex—wife.

Not only was Selina not stricken looking, but if Marlowe hadn’t known any better, the auburn-haired viper seemed to be almost gleeful about this potentially dire situation threatening to unravel right before them.

Marlowe had never liked Selina. None of her siblings ever really had, she’d discovered years ago. But truthfully she had never disliked the snide, smug woman more than she did right at this very moment. Why her father insisted on keeping his ex-wife not just with the company but actually serving on the board, giving her an equal voice when it came to decisions, was totally beyond her.

The air in the boardroom was exceedingly tense. Out of the corner of her eye, Marlowe could see that her father was waiting for her to take her seat, so she did.

Only then did Payne speak. The anger vibrating in his voice was impossible to miss.

“Now that we’re all here, let me take this opportunity to say that this email, sent by a quivering coward who didn’t even have the nerve to sign his own name, is a complete and utter fabricated lie. It’s obviously a pathetic stunt pulled by some spineless, sniveling jackass who is trying to derail our company in any possible way that he can.”

Listening, Rafe could clearly barely contain himself. “Of course it’s a lie,” he cried, agreeing. “But how can it possibly be able to derail a billion-dollar company? Even if what this jerk is claiming was true—which it isn’t—who cares?” he demanded. Rafe glanced at the man who was the center of this ridiculous email. “Ace is a Colton, blood or not. Right?” he said, looking at Payne.

To Rafe, it was a rhetorical question that didn’t even need or expect an answer.

But the opportunity was far too good to waste, so Selina was more than happy to offer an answer to her former stepson’s question.

“Not to throw water on your theory,” Payne’s ex-wife murmured in a just barely audible voice. “But you, Rafe, of all people, being adopted the way you were by Payne and his kind late first wife,” Selina continued, her voice fairly dripping with a false sweetness as she circled back to her point, “should know that blood is everything when it comes to being a Colton.”

Although there was a smile on the woman’s face, her eyes were cruel and ice-cold, looking not unlike those belonging to a cobra just before its fatal strike.

“What are you talking about?” Rafe asked. “What is she talking about?” he repeated, turning toward the other people on the board for an answer.

When his gaze landed on Ainsley, the woman shifted uncomfortably. Marlowe knew the last thing Ainsley would want to do was side with Selina, especially against someone she actually considered family. In this particular case, however, as odious as it seemed, apparently the law was on the woman’s side.

Clearing her throat and avoiding looking at either Ace or Selina, Ainsley told the others, “The reason it would derail the company is because on page one, paragraph two of the Colton Oil bylaws, it clearly states that the company CEO must be a Colton by blood only.”

Okay, enough was enough. Incensed, Ace shot to his feet.

“This is crazy,” he declared, using, Marlowe thought, the exact same phrasing she had when she’d seen the results of her pregnancy test.

This was crazy. They couldn’t oust Ace from the board, Marlowe thought. He belonged on it.

And yet...

“This ridiculous email is a lie,” Ace was saying. “A total fabrication meant to send shock waves through our entire company and undermine its very structure. I’m a Colton! I was born a Colton and I’ll always be a Colton.” He looked at his father. Though it wasn’t in his nature to ask for any sort of help or backup, this one time he made an exception. “Tell them, Dad.”

It wasn’t a plea, it was a request for the older man’s verification about his birthright.

Payne nodded so hard, his thick silver-gray hair shook and fell into his eyes.

“Of course it’s a lie!” he declared with a fierceness that defied opposition. “Ace is my son. I was right there, in the delivery room, the day that he was born,” Payne said, looking directly at his oldest son. “Of course, he wasn’t quite this big at the time,” he added with a small, dry chuckle. “As a matter of fact,” Payne recalled, “he was pretty frail. Everyone in the hospital, myself included, thought it was a Christmas miracle that he even survived. But he did survive. Not just survive—he managed to thrive almost overnight,” Payne recalled with a nearly tangible wave of nostalgia. “And now just look at him!” the family patriarch cried.

It took Marlowe a moment to realize that his small trip down memory lane had been received with surprise by the others around the conference table.

This was part of the narrative that hadn’t been previously broadcast. This was the first she’d heard that Payne and Tessa’s big, robust firstborn had been born a sickly infant whose chances of making it through the night had been regarded as slim to none.

Despite their obvious surprise, only Selina picked up the thread that had been dropped.

“A Christmas miracle?” she asked in a slightly mocking tone. “Really? Or did you or your first wife at the time deliberately decide to switch that sickly, frail baby with a healthy newborn?”

Payne’s face immediately turned a vivid shade of red.

“How dare you insinuate,” Payne screeched, “that either I or Ace’s mother could do something so reprehensible as—”

He couldn’t even bring himself to finish his sentence, he was so incensed.

Everyone suddenly started talking at once, their raised voices drowning one another out as each tried to make his or her point.

Despite the turmoil going on in her head and her life, Marlowe’s inner instincts took hold. Before she even realized what she was doing, she was on her feet, her raised voice louder than anyone else’s as she attempted to calm them down.

“People. People!” she cried even louder. “Calm down!” she ordered in a semi friendly, albeit very authoritative, voice. “Of course this is all a huge mistake. My big brother is a Colton. He always has been—in his heart as well as in his blood. You know that,” she insisted. “And, like this awful email said, one simple DNA test will prove that.”

“You’re right,” Ainsley said, adding her voice to back up her younger half sister. She glanced at Ace. “I’ll go with Ace to make sure he gets a test fast and have that test expedited as quickly as humanly possible. It’ll cost a fortune,” she said before Selina had the opportunity to raise an objection concerning the cost of having the test results delivered so quickly, “but it will definitely be worth it. Especially when you think of it how it will prevent certain chaos if the press ever got hold of this.”

Selina raised and lowered her shoulders in a careless, dismissive shrug. “It’s only money, right?” the woman said scornfully.

“Yes, it is,” Marlowe replied. “And it’s not your money,” she deliberately added, knowing that was the sort of thing that would really irritate the hateful woman.

Selina’s eyes narrowed, her pupils like two laser pointers as she glared at Marlowe. “To prevent anyone from contesting the results and saying that they were deliberately manipulated to give the results we were all after—” her tone placed quotation marks around the word we “—shouldn’t there be a disinterested third party present to act as a witness—just to keep everything honest?” she concluded sweetly.

“You’re absolutely right,” Payne said. It was obvious that agreeing with his ex-wife was costing him. “Any suggestions?” he asked the others, deliberately ignoring Selina as he looked around the table.

But Selina refused to be ignored. “How about—” the woman began, only to be drowned out by Ainsley, who spoke over her.

“I can ask Chief Barco to come along and serve as a witness to the whole procedure, from the initial taking of Ace’s blood to every single step taken in order to get to the end result.” Only then did Ainsley look at Selina. “Will that satisfy you, Selina?” she asked the woman.

“Absolutely,” Selina replied smugly. “I’m just trying to make sure that everything’s aboveboard so that no one can say the results were manipulated or doctored,” she told the rest of the board.

Marlowe kept her expression neutral even as she glared at Selina. They all knew that the only one who would claim that the results were “doctored” was Selina. Selina was clearly the enemy in their midst, but they were going to have to deal with that if the company was going to continue to survive the way it had all along.

Marlowe made a silent pledge that it would, if she had anything to say about it.

For the time being, focused on fighting for the company—and her brother—all thoughts of the earthshaking test in her office were temporarily pushed into the background.

Chapter 3

Marlowe quickly made her way back to her office. She was a woman with a mission. The crisis surrounding Ace and whether or not he was truly a Colton—a ridiculous question at best—had, however temporarily, displaced her own personal drama. After all, it wasn’t as if that problem was going anywhere, at least not without some sort of intervention on her part.

And besides, there was still a chance, albeit an increasingly slim one, that it was some sort of mistake, or glitch, and she really was not pregnant. But pregnant or not, she would tackle that problem later. Right now, she had to join the rest of her family and do something about this terrible, unfounded rumor before it made the rounds. It needed to be disproved and stopped at its source.

Which meant finding out just who this so-called “anonymous” sender was who had emailed that hateful message to all six of them. Getting to the bottom of this was going to require some expert online sleuthing by someone who was far savvier than she was when it came to technology.

And Marlowe knew just whom to turn to. The reigning expert, as far as she was concerned, was an IT specialist who was already employed by Colton Oil and was currently working right here in the company’s headquarters.

If anyone could get to the bottom of all this and track down just where this heinous email had originated, it was Daniel Okowski. Not only was Daniel good at his job, but he was also decent and loyal. Marlowe knew that she could trust the IT director to keep the subject matter he was going to be investigating quiet, just as she was confident that once he did find out who was responsible for sending this email, he wouldn’t make that information public, either.

Picking up the telephone receiver, Marlowe was about to call Daniel when the cell phone that she’d left on the side of her desk beeped, informing her that she had a text.

Her first inclination was to ignore it. She just didn’t have time to handle yet another new crisis. One more thing and she was in danger of having a real breakdown.

Her deeply imbedded work ethic trumped her survival instinct, and Marlowe looked down at her phone screen, bracing herself.

The text was from her administrative assistant, Karen. Marlowe didn’t even bother reading it. Karen was not the type to bother her unless it involved something important.

Taking a deep breath, Marlowe pressed the number that directly connected her to Karen. The second her assistant picked up, she told the woman, “I’m kind of busy right now, Karen. Can this wait?”

“I don’t think he wants to wait, Ms. Colton,” the assistant whispered nervously into her phone.

“He?” Marlowe questioned. But even as she asked, her sixth sense, ever alert for the next pending disaster, caused her stomach to suddenly plummet to her knees.

Still, she told herself that she could be wrong, which was why she asked, “Just what ‘he’ are you referring to, Karen?”

The next second, rather than hearing Karen’s voice giving her an answer, Marlowe saw her door being slammed open. Bowie Robertson came barging into her office, loaded for bear. He had no sooner entered than the door banged shut behind him, the sound reverberating throughout the office and echoing menacingly in her head.

“Me, Marlowe. Your assistant is referring to me,” Bowie declared angrily.

A beat behind, Karen appeared directly behind the man who was currently behaving like a raging bull. Her normally efficient assistant looked extremely fearful and was all but quaking in her shoes.

“Do you want me to call Security, Ms. Colton?” she asked, her eyes furtively glancing in Bowie’s direction, then looking away again.

Yes, I want you to call Security, Marlowe silently answered her assistant. But saying that out loud would make Bowie think that she was afraid of him, and she would rather die than have him believe that. She wasn’t afraid of anyone, she thought fiercely.

So instead Marlowe tossed back her head, sending her blond hair flying over her shoulder. Her brown eyes, shooting daggers, met Bowie’s green gaze dead-on.

“No, not yet, Karen,” she told her assistant. “You can go. But stay close to your phone,” she cautioned the young woman.

Looking somewhat uneasy, Karen never took her eyes off the back of the intruder’s dark head as she slipped out Marlowe’s office. She eased the door closed behind her.

The second her assistant had left, Marlowe turned her attention back to the man she regarded as a detestable, unwanted invader. She was now all but shooting bullets at him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, barging into my office like this? Who the hell do you think you are?” Marlowe demanded hotly of the man she held responsible for the personal minidrama she was going through.

Bowie clearly was in absolutely no mood to back away, no matter how much she yelled. “I’m a man who’s done hiding!” he shouted right back at her.

Marlowe stared at him. That made absolutely no sense to her. Bowie was just tossing about meaningless words. Why would he be in hiding?

“Hiding?” she repeated. “Hiding from what?” Marlowe demanded, both confused and enraged.

Bowie’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t play dumb with me, Marlowe. It doesn’t suit you,” he said bitingly. Then, because she continued to look like she didn’t understand what he was saying, he snapped, “Hiding from your goons.” Like she didn’t know that, he thought.

“Goons?” she repeated, still just as lost as she had been a moment ago. “What goons? Did you fall on your head, Robertson? What are you talking about?” she asked, growing angrier by the second.

So she was going to play it dumb, was she? Okay, he’d spell it out for her, even though he was certain that she wasn’t ignorant of the reason that he had come looking for her.

“The goons that tried to run me over and who shot at me—twice,” he emphasized. “The second time they went target shooting, they killed my bodyguard and, incidentally, just narrowly missed me. Now do you know what I’m talking about?”

This had to be an act, Marlowe thought. Nothing more than an attempt to throw up a smoke screen for some unknown reason. The man was crazy.

Furious, she shouted at him, “You are totally delusional!”

“Yeah, well, there’s a body lying on a slab at the morgue who begs to differ with you,” Bowie told her in disgust. “Why don’t you have one of your minions call up the medical examiner at the morgue and ask if he just did an autopsy on a Miles Patterson?” he suggested. “I bet the answer’s going to be yes.”

He looked absolutely serious, Marlowe realized, beginning to feel uncertain. But how in heaven’s name could he be? She hadn’t sent anyone to shoot at him or threaten him in any way.

Marlowe glared at the impertinent man. If anyone was going to do something to this raving lunatic, it would be her, she promised herself.

And she’d do it with her fists, Marlowe thought.

“You are insane,” she accused.

“No,” he contradicted, “I was insane to ever allow what happened between us to go as far as it did. But what’s done is done,” he snapped. “It’s in the past, and I’ll be regretting it for the rest of my natural life.

“But I’m here to tell you that you don’t have to worry. I don’t know what kind of people you’re used to dealing with, but I’m not about to take something that was told to me in confidence and spill it to anyone willing to listen. You said it was a secret when you told me, and unlike you people,” he said, encompassing her entire family, “when I make a promise, I keep it. So call off your hired guns, Marlowe, and just let me go on with my life in peace.”

She looked at him as if he were babbling in some foreign language she couldn’t begin to identify.

“What the hell are you talking about?” she demanded, growing steadily angrier and more frustrated with every second that went by.

Bowie stared at her, incredulous. How far did she intend to carry this charade?

“So what?” he asked. “You’re telling me that you’re going to continue playing dumb?”

“I am telling you that I don’t have the faintest idea what you are carrying on about,” Marlowe informed him, exasperated. She was not buying into this act of his, and she was insulted that Bowie would even think that she would.

His eyes pinned her where she sat. “You mean to tell me that you don’t know that someone’s been trying to kill me ever since I left your hotel room at the Dales Inn six weeks ago?” Bowie questioned angrily.

Marlowe looked at him, stunned and momentarily speechless that Bowie could actually believe she was some sort of black widow, femme fatale capable of “mating” and then killing the man she’d just had sex with.

That was totally bizarre.

Of all the images she’d ever had of herself, that wasn’t one she’d even remotely ever entertained. She’d never thought herself capable of doing something like that. She knew she wasn’t glamorous enough to pull it off.

Nor would she want to. Behavior like that was vapid and empty, and completely devoid of any sort of moral scruples. None of that would ever come even close to describing her.

Pulling herself together, Marlowe found her tongue. “Again, I have no idea what you’re talking about. None,” she emphasized. “I don’t even remember what this ‘secret’ was that I was supposed to have told you.”

The second the words were out of her mouth, Marlowe’s eyes grew large as it occurred to her that she had another problem on top of the one she was already aware of. Oh God, what was this secret she’d told him, and how was this going to blow up in her face?

The suspense and anticipation threatened to eat away at her stomach lining in record time.

“You don’t remember telling me anything,” Bowie said in a mocking tone. “You honestly expect me to believe that?”

“I can’t help what you believe or don’t believe, but that’s the truth,” she insisted angrily.

“No, you’re lying,” he accused, standing firm. “It’s too much of a coincidence that right after you told me your precious secret, people started aiming their cars at me and shooting at me.” His eyes darkened. “Our families have been rivals practically since the beginning of time, and I should have had my head examined for going against everything that made sense and thinking that I could have misjudged you. I should have kept my distance from a viper like you the way I always have.”

Marlowe glared at him, furious at what Bowie was insinuating. Furious with herself for ever letting her own guard down and allowing him to get close enough to really complicate her world.

Furious with herself for ever thinking that he could be capable of being a decent human being...even though he was the father of her child.

Staring at the ruggedly good-looking man now, Marlowe couldn’t help wondering if he—or maybe someone in his family, if not the entire lot of them—could be behind that awful email that had thrown her own family into such turmoil.

“Well, you didn’t keep your damn distance, did you?” she all but spat out. “And pretty soon everyone’s going to know that.”

He stared at her, completely at a loss as to what she was saying to him. The woman certainly spent a lot of time babbling, he thought, irritated.

“Now what are you talking about?” he demanded. “I don’t speak gibberish.”

Marlowe glared at him. “Neither do I,” she shot back at this interloper.

“Then what the hell are you saying?” he asked.

He wanted it spelled out? All right, she’d spell it out for him. She was through being patient. “I’m saying that our families are going to have to find a way to tolerate one another.”

“And why, pray tell, would they want to do that?” he asked, really wishing that in the middle of all these hot words that were flying back and forth between them he didn’t find this woman so damn attractive that his toes all but curled.

Why couldn’t he find her the least little bit repulsive, or ugly or even off-putting? Hell, he’d really settle for off-putting.

Instead, while shouting at this woman he was convinced was trying to have him killed, all he could think of was the way her mouth had tasted that fateful night. How soft her skin had felt beneath his hands and how much he still wanted to make love with her.

He had to be out of his mind, Bowie thought. That was the only explanation he could come up with. Maybe she had slipped him something that night, something that was now making him behave like a mindless, lovesick loon.

At least he was managing to cover that part up, he thought thankfully.

His question rang in Marlowe’s ears. If she had an iota of sense, she would have just let the subject drop, or answered him with some mindless bit of trivia that said nothing. She could just accuse his family for being underhanded and causing all this havoc in her own family.

She could say anything but what she knew she’d wind up saying in response to his question.

“Our families are going to have to figure things out, because in seven and a half months there’s going to be a little human being with both Colton and Robertson blood running through his or her veins,” she said from between gritted teeth.

Dumbstruck, Bowie stared at Marlowe. When he finally recovered the use of his tongue, he could only inanely echo, “What are you saying?”

“What I’m saying, Einstein,” she answered sarcastically, “is that our temporary truce that night resulted in a permanent baby. I’m pregnant, you idiot!” she shouted at him.

She felt angry that she was trapped in this situation. Angry that it had ever happened. And most of all, angry that out of all the men in the world who could have been the father of her child, it had to be this Neanderthal.

“You’re lying,” Bowie accused numbly. She had to be lying, he told himself. She couldn’t be telling him the truth.

But the expression on Marlowe’s face gave him very little hope.

“I really, really wish I was,” she told him, meaning her words from the bottom of her heart.

Bowie’s stomach twisted in a knot, coming perilously close to making him throw up.

“You’re pregnant,” he repeated.

She blew out a frustrated breath. “That’s what I just said.”

It wasn’t sinking in. He felt like a drowning man fighting like crazy to keep his head above water. “And it’s mine?”

“Yes, it’s yours, damn it.”

He didn’t remember forming the words until they finally emerged. “How can you be sure?”

There was fury in her eyes, and for a moment, he was certain she was going to really blow up. But somehow, she managed to keep herself under control.

“Count yourself lucky that the handgun my father gave me for my fourteenth birthday is in a lockbox and not in a drawer in my desk because I have a license to use it and if it was the latter, right now I would be sorely tempted to use it on you. In the long run that would be preferable to having you as the father of my baby, but there you have it. You are the father of my unborn child, and that’s a horrible fact we’re both stuck with.”

Her eyes grew very, very dark as she added, “And to answer your question as to how I know you’re the father of this child, I know because I haven’t had the time or the inclination to sleep with anyone in months, so unless this baby is the result of some sort of spontaneous generation, you, Bowie Robertson, are the father.” Her eyes narrowed as she concluded, “Deal with it!”

Chapter 4

Marlowe looked at the silent man sitting directly opposite her.

Tall, dark and handsome by anyone’s standards, Bowie Robertson’s complexion had suddenly turned very, very pale right before her eyes. If it hadn’t been for the change in his color, she would have thought she was witnessing, up close and personal, one of the finest acting performances of her life. But to her knowledge, no one could turn that pale at will. Which meant that her news had caught Bowie totally by surprise.

Well, that makes two of us, Robertson, Marlowe thought.

She almost felt sorry for him, considering what he was probably going through—the key word here being almost, Marlowe thought, because she was the one who was pregnant, not him. “Wow,” Bowie murmured, more to himself than to Marlowe. The thought of having fathered a child left him numb. He had no idea how to deal with it. He had never even thought of himself as a father. Unable to deal with it, he pushed the thought into the background for the time being.

“I believe that sums it up as good as any word.” She agreed sarcastically, then switched gears as she demanded, “Now what was that secret I told you?”

Bowie blinked, scrutinizing her more closely. She was being serious, he realized. “You mean you really don’t remember what you told me?”

Marlowe liked to think of herself as a patient woman, but after all the things that had happened today, she was utterly out of patience and dangerously close to another out-and-out display of pure, unadulterated anger.

“No, I really don’t know what I told you,” she snapped, enunciating each syllable.

Bowie continued to stare at her. If what Marlowe was saying was true—and she really didn’t know what secret she had shared with him or that she had even disclosed any company secret while in the throes of their lovemaking—then she couldn’t be the one who was trying to have him killed. She would have no reason to want to eliminate him.

So who the hell was trying to kill him?

The attacks had started shortly after he had slipped out of her room at the Dales Inn. Had someone—either there or just outside the hotel—seen him leaving the bar with her?

Or maybe these attempts on his life didn’t even have anything to do with him spending the night with Marlowe. All right, then what? Why would someone be trying to kill him?

His mind was a total blank.

Marlowe noted that Bowie’s brow was completely furrowed and he had a very strange expression on his face. So strange, in fact, that she couldn’t even begin to fathom what was behind it.

“What is it?” she asked.

Her almost melodious voice broke through the fog around his brain. For a second, he thought she sounded genuinely concerned. So much so that he forgot to keep his guard up against a woman he had been indoctrinated his entire life to regard as someone who came from the enemy camp.

His guard down, he said aloud the words that were currently buzzing around in his head. “If you’re not the one who hired someone to kill me, then who the hell did?” he said, totally exasperated.

She had no idea, nor the will, at this moment, to figure it out. Maybe she hadn’t even told him anything of importance that night and he was just yanking her chain.

“Well, it’s not that I wouldn’t love to help you find an answer as to why someone is supposedly using you for target practice,” she said flippantly, “but I’m kind of in the middle of a crisis of my own right now.”

“You mean something else besides suddenly finding yourself pregnant with the enemy’s child?” he asked her cryptically.

Marlowe raised her chin defiantly. “Yes, other than finding myself pregnant.” She bit off the words, skipping the rest of his description. The fact that it was his baby only added to her feelings of being overwhelmed.

“So what’s this other big crisis of yours?” It seemed to be the right question to ask, Bowie thought, given the situation.

“I can’t tell you,” Marlowe said. When she saw him raise a quizzical eyebrow, she did offer one piece of information. “It’s not just a company crisis...it’s a family crisis, as well.”

The moment she said the last words, she suddenly covered her mouth with her hands, horrified, as she rolled her eyes. That was too much. Annoyed with herself, she dropped her hands from her face and blew out a ragged breath.

“What is it about you that keeps making me blurt things out like that?” she demanded accusingly, glaring at Bowie.

“Then you do remember what you said to me?” he asked her.

“No, I don’t,” she answered, frustrated, “but apparently you seem to have that kind of effect on me.” Marlowe was angrier with herself than she was with him. She should have never had that champagne that night at the inn. Then none of this would be happening.

Belatedly, she thought of where she had been about to go when Bowie had suddenly come storming into her office. Nothing had changed. She still needed to see Daniel and talk to him about trying to track down the person who had sent this email that was causing such shock waves to go ripping through her family’s lives.

“Look,” she told Bowie as she rose to her feet, “I really have to go right now—”

Bowie followed suit, standing up, as well. He followed her to the door. “To handle that company-slash-family crisis, right?” he assumed.

“Something like that,” she replied noncommittally. “But I’ll be in touch later to arrange a meeting between us. Somewhere private,” she added, “so then we’ll be able to talk.”

“All right,” he agreed. “I’ll wait for your call.” His tone made it clear that if it didn’t come, he would be back to see her.

By now they had walked out of her inner office. Karen looked apprehensively at the heads of the two most influential energy companies in Arizona. “Is everything all right, Ms. Colton?” she asked nervously, her eyes darting toward Bowie and then back again.

Marlowe wasn’t in the habit of wearing her emotions on her sleeve, but just for a second, she was tempted to say “No, Karen, it’s not. It’s so far from being all right, it might never be right again.” But she managed to suppress the urge as well as the words. Instead, she said, “Yes, Karen, everything’s fine. Thank you for your concern.” She swept past her and headed toward the elevator.

Because his legs were longer, Bowie easily matched her quick stride step for step until they reached the elevator. He was going out while she was going up, so he paused for a moment before leaving the building.

Whispering into her ear, he told her, “You lie like a pro.”

Stunned, she demanded, “Excuse me?”

“Just now,” Bowie explained, nodding his head toward the office she’d just vacated. “When you answered your assistant’s inquiry, you told her that everything was all right, but you told me that you were in the middle of a crisis.”

“There’s no reason for Karen to know about that.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him just as the elevator arrived. “There’s no reason for you to know that, either, but you seem to have this strange power to make me lower my defenses and say all manner of things to you that I shouldn’t.”

“I’ll do my best to use that power wisely,” he told Marlowe with just the faintest hint of a smile curving his lips. “Don’t forget to call and tell me the time and place that we’ll be meeting,” he reminded her as the elevator doors shut, removing her from his view. “Or I’ll be back,” he called out, raising his voice, although he doubted that she could hear.

Marlowe uttered a few choice words in response to his parting ones, but the doors had closed by then, sealing her off from him.

It was just as well, she thought. Why had she ever even bothered to talk to the man at the conference? Yes, what came afterward could easily be described as the best, the most remarkable night she had ever spent in her life. But at what price? Marlowe asked herself. And could she really say that it had been worth it?

In view of the present situation, she couldn’t honestly say yes. But then, she couldn’t really say no, either.

With all these diametrically opposed thoughts going on in her mind, Marlowe felt as if her head was liable to explode at any moment.

She knew she was dangerously close to being on overload, with just too many shocking pieces of unsettling information bouncing around in her brain, all accumulated in such a short amount of time. She didn’t feel able to sort them all out without drowning in words and feelings.

C’mon, Marlowe, get a grip. If you fall to pieces, everyone else will, too. You have got to get it together! For everyone’s sake, she admonished herself.

Marlowe realized as she quickly walked down the long corridor that she was consciously or unconsciously pinning all her hopes on Daniel, fervently trusting that somehow he would come up with something, preferably the name of the person who had sent them that unnerving email. She was convinced that he had it in him to save the day.

The boyish, studious-looking IT director was only six years older than she was, but in her opinion, he looked younger. Despite his looks, however, he possessed a razor-sharp mind, and if there was anyone who could unearth the name of the person sending them this awful email, it was Daniel.

His door was wide-open, and she knocked on the door frame as she crossed the threshold into the office. It looked like the other two people who were part of his department had already left for the night and that Daniel was just about to leave the office himself.

“Daniel?” she said, walking toward his desk. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

Whatever humorous retort he was about to offer instantly faded without a single syllable even partially emerging when he saw who was approaching him.

“For you, always,” the tall, thin man told her. Rather than just paying lip service for the effect it had, she knew Daniel truly meant what he had just said. He felt boundless loyalty to the family that had taken a wet-behind-the-ears computer science graduate and placed him in a department where he worked in positions of respect and power, something he had never experienced before.

In return, Daniel had gone to great lengths to show them that he was worthy of the faith and trust they had placed in him. Even so, he never took anything for granted. She knew for a fact that there were a lot of other people in his graduating class who were still struggling to pay off their school loans, while he was able to move around completely debt free because the Coltons had been willing to take a chance on him.

“Something’s come up,” Marlowe began, trying to find just the right words to use in order to present and explain the dilemma that they all—especially Ace—found themselves currently facing.

“Please, have a seat,” Daniel said, gesturing toward a chair that was facing his desk.

At first, Marlowe looked almost hesitant to sit down. But then she finally did, sinking into the chair almost in slow motion.

“Go on,” he urged.

After a beat, Marlowe took a deep breath. “Maybe it would be easier if I just showed you, Daniel,” she said, because saying the words just might have made her choke, she thought.

“Whatever works for you,” Daniel responded amicably. He waited for Marlowe to make the next move or say the next thing.

He watched in silence as Marlowe dug into her skirt pocket and pulled out her phone.

Marlowe forwarded the anonymous email and looked at the explosive piece on the screen in front of Daniel.

“This was sent to all six board members a few hours ago,” she told the IT director. At least she assumed that was the timeline, although for all she knew, her father had been aware of this email’s contents longer than that. She had no idea how she knew, but she just had a feeling.

She fell silent as she allowed Daniel several seconds to read the words.

Once he had finished reading and then rereading the email, Daniel raised his eyes to meet hers. “Is this on the level?”

“Whoever sent it seems to think so,” she answered grimly.

“Do you know who sent it?” Daniel asked next.

Marlowe shook her head. “No. That’s where you come in, Daniel,” she told him. “I was hoping that you could track down whoever sent this to the board and find him for me.”

“You said him—we’re sure it’s a he?” Daniel questioned.

Sighing, she shook her head again. “Daniel, at this point we’re not sure of anything.”

“Okay,” Daniel said, taking the information in stride. He approached the problem from another direction. “You said this just came in?”

This time Marlowe nodded. “From all indications, late this afternoon. My father was the one who notified me,” she added. “Do you think you’ll be able to track this email back to its source and find out who sent this abomination out?”

“And you have no idea who might have sent it?” he questioned.

“Not even a clue,” she answered him flatly. “Daniel, it’s extremely important that you get us a name as fast as possible. This needs to be nipped in the bud before it somehow gets leaked to the press.” She caught herself gripping the armrests and forced herself to make her hands go lax. “I don’t have to tell you that we don’t need that sort of publicity getting out.”

Daniel nodded, his unruly dark brown hair falling into his eyes. He combed his fingers through it, absently brushing it aside from his black-framed glasses. His attention was completely focused on his boss. “Understood,” he replied.

She was struggling to project the picture of confidence, but at the moment, given everything that had toppled down onto her shoulders, that was definitely not easy.

“Do you think you can do it, Daniel?” she pressed.

“I can certainly try,” he answered cautiously. She knew he didn’t like making promises unless he was 100 percent certain that he could successfully deliver.

“But can you do it?” Marlowe asked again, needing an affirmative promise from him. “You’re the best in the business, Daniel, and if you can’t do this...” A note of hopelessness filtered through her voice as it trailed off.

“Ms. Colton, you have to understand that a search for something this heinous could very well involve the dark web, and that’s a great deal trickier to navigate than the regular web. They don’t call it the dark web just to create an aura of mystery. The transactions carried out on this part of the internet are way more difficult to pin down. I would be remiss if I wasn’t being honest with you, Ms. Colton,” he confided. “The truth of it is that you might never find out who sent this email.”

“But you will try to, right?” She was aware that she was practically imploring Daniel at this point.

“That goes without saying, Ms. Colton,” he told her. “I will use every trick in the book and lean on everyone I know to help me uncover just who sent out this piece of unfounded propaganda.”

She knew he was doing his best to comfort her, but she had one more request. “Can you do all that without telling them why?”

Daniel smiled at her. “The people I deal with are accustomed to these sorts of nefarious transactions. Don’t worry, Ms. Colton. If it can be done, I’ll do it,” he promised, “and no one will be the wiser.”

“That’s good enough for me,” she told him, rising to her feet. “And when you do find out, call me, Daniel. Night or day, call me,” she repeated.

“I’ll be sure to do that, Ms. Colton,” he promised solemnly.

Chapter 5

Well, that didn’t exactly go as planned, Marlowe thought as she left the IT director’s office.

She supposed that part of her disappointment was tied to the fact that she had begun to expect nothing short of miracles from Daniel. Marlowe had always had a great deal of respect for the man’s abilities. The problem was that she had gotten those impressive abilities confused with his ability to do anything when it came to the internet.

Truthfully, until he had mentioned it, she hadn’t even thought about the dark web. To her, the internet was the internet, whether it was “dark” or not.

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.

“But,” Bowie went on to say, “it’s your body. So ultimately, the decision is yours.”

That he was capable of that sort of thinking caught Marlowe totally off guard. Was she actually wrong about him?

“Then you don’t care what I do about this baby?” Marlowe asked, trying to get a handle on how he really felt.

“I didn’t say that,” Bowie pointed out. The fact of the matter was that he clearly did care. Cared a great deal, Bowie thought. “But I’m not the one who has to go through this.”

Bowie meant the pregnancy and birthing part, but Marlowe immediately jumped on a different interpretation entirely.

“You’re damn right you don’t.” She couldn’t begin to think about everything that was involved, the huge changes that she was going to have to make in her life. Her head began to swirl. “I don’t know the first thing about being a mother—” she began in exasperation.

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