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Callum laughed. “You’re preaching to the choir, Mar. That man’s picture is in Wikipedia with the word surly written right under it.” He turned toward Bowie. “I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but if you need anything at all involving my sister, give me a call.”
Bowie nodded. “Consider it done.”
For a split second, Callum locked eyes with the other man. The silence hung heavily between them. And then Callum said, “I’d better.”
/> Marlowe knew that was as close to a threat as he would allow himself to utter. And then he left.
“Are all you Coltons always this charming, or is it just me, bringing out the worst in you?” he asked Marlowe, following her to her bedroom as she went to pack an overnight case.
“You really want to know the answer to that?” she asked him.
“No, on second thought, maybe I don’t,” Bowie answered.
“Wise choice,” she told him, nodding her head. She closed the lid on the suitcase and snapped the locks shut, secretly marveling at how oddly final that sounded.
Chapter 8
Marlowe found the silence in the car almost deafening. Bowie had insisted that they just take one vehicle to go up to the cabin: his. Marlowe had let him win that argument, even though she didn’t like being chauffeured around. Moreover, she liked the control of having and driving her own car. But she could even put up with that if she had to.
What she couldn’t put up with was this oppressive quiet that was beginning to burrow its way under her skin. Marlowe had to admit that it was quickly getting to her.
Just as she reached over to turn on some music, Bowie stopped her cold with a question. “So what’s this that’s going on with your family?”
Marlowe dropped her hand in her lap. The question, coming out of the blue, completely stunned her. She hadn’t been prepared to field anything like this.
“What do you mean?” Marlowe asked. Even she had to admit that her voice sounded rather stilted to her own ear, not to mention that her mouth had gone dry.
“I’m not sure if it was Callum or you, but one of you said something about there being a major crisis that needed handling,” Bowie said. He glanced in her direction. “What major crisis?”
Marlowe’s protective barriers immediately fell into place. When unarmed, she had always felt that denial was the best way to go. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Yeah, right, Bowie thought.
“C’mon, Marlowe, you’re way too smart to play dumb,” he told her, and then he added the crowning touch. “That doesn’t look good on you. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, and maybe I can help.”
For one moment, Marlowe wavered. She really wanted to be able to tell him. For possibly the first time in her life, she found herself wanting to share her burden with someone rather than just shoulder it on her own the way she always did.
But the truth was she didn’t know if she could afford to share it with Bowie—because this could all be just a ploy on his part to get information out of her so he could, in turn, score points with his father.
Despite the fact that she had told her father that he had to find a way to bury the hatchet when it came to Bowie’s dad, she herself trusted Franklin Robertson just about as far as she could throw the man—which meant not at all.
Marlowe looked at him, unable to sublimate the suspicion in her eyes. “Just how do I know that I can trust you?” she asked Bowie bluntly.
Bowie laughed under his breath. “We’re totally traveling off what’s considered the beaten path in order to get to a cabin hideaway in the mountains. As far as I can see, there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that we’re being followed—as per your brother’s instruction. If you don’t already trust me, then you seem to be willingly setting yourself up for a world of hurt,” he told her.
“Now, you don’t have to trust me if you don’t want to,” he continued. “I can respect that. But if you’d like to talk about whatever it is that’s clearly bothering you, I just wanted you to know that, at least while we’re out here, I’m here for you.”
“Oh, you mean like a Boy Scout,” Marlowe mocked, worried that she might have made a major mistake in trusting Bowie. Maybe she should just find a way to boot him out of the car and then drive quickly back to the family house.
“No, like the father of that baby you’re carrying,” Bowie reminded her. “And, to answer your question,” he said, “yes, you can trust me.”
“No,” she replied pointedly, “my question was how do I know I can trust you. After all, someone did just try to kill me, thanks to you.”
There was nothing on the road up ahead, just as there hadn’t been for miles now, so Bowie spared Marlowe a long look. “Because I said so,” Bowie answered.
She felt anger crease her forehead. Did he think she was that gullible? “And I’m just supposed to take your word for that, is that it?” Marlowe asked. For all she knew, he might have told people at his company what she had shared with him in confidence. What if her father found out? Would he accuse her of siding with his enemy in this eco-friendly war that was being fought between the two companies?
“Yes, you are,” he told her firmly. “Because I don’t lie.” His eyes met hers before he looked back at the road again. “My word is my bond.”
