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“Wrong, Dad. We do now,” she said, addressing her absent father.
Preoccupied with her thoughts and with this decision she had just made to keep the baby, Marlowe jumped when she heard the knock on her bedroom door.
“Marlowe, can I come in?” Bowie asked, waiting for her permission.
Part of her would have expected Bowie to come barging in, the way he had into her office. That he didn’t surprised her—and, she had to admit, pleased her.
Bracing herself, Marlowe said, “Okay. You can come on in.”
Bowie opened the door, but rather than walk right in, he peered into the room, checking to see if she was alone. “You had me worried. I thought I heard you talking to someone.”
She felt embarrassed that Bowie had overheard her. Rather than explain what she’d been doing, Marlowe said, “No, just to myself.”
She had a defensive look in her eyes, Bowie thought, so he tactfully retreated and changed subjects. “I made breakfast.”
That was the last thing she was interested in. Her stomach was knotting up again. “I hope it’s something you like to eat, because I’m not hungry.”
Bowie frowned. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “You have to eat,” he told her.
“Later,” Marlowe answered, putting him off. “I’ll eat later,” she promised. “I never eat first thing in the morning.”
“You didn’t eat last night, either,” Bowie reminded her.
“So now you’re the food police?” she asked with a trace of annoyance.
“No,” he answered patiently, “just someone who knows that you need to keep your strength up.”
“My strength is fine, thank you,” she answered curtly, then immediately felt guilty about the tone she had used. She hadn’t meant to lose her temper. He was just trying to be thoughtful, she told herself. “I’m sorry, this whole situation has me on edge. I don’t mean to be taking it out on you.”
“Well, that’s good to know. By ‘whole situation,’ do you mean this business with the email, the shooter or the pregnancy?” Bowie asked.
“Yes,” she answered glibly. When he looked at her quizzically, Marlowe told him, “All of the above.”
Bowie sat down on the bed next to her and put his arm around Marlowe’s slim shoulders. There was nothing sexual in the gesture. She sensed his only intent was to try to offer her some measure of comfort and support.
“You’re not alone in this,” he told her quietly. “I intend to be with you on this new journey every step of the way.”
She turned her head slightly to look at him. “You mean with the baby?”
“With the baby, with finding out who sent this email to your family and with discovering who the hell is using either of us or both of us for target practice,” he concluded.
Hearing him say that made Marlowe feel infinitely better.
And a great deal safer, she realized.
With a relieved sigh, she leaned her head against Bowie’s shoulder.
Just having him there beside her like that succeeded in making her feel that all of this would eventually somehow be resolved.
“Thank you,” she murmured so quietly that at first he thought that he had imagined it.
She felt Bowie smile against her head.
“Don’t mention it.” He rose to his feet, extending his hand to her. “Now come into the kitchen and keep me company,” he said.
She was glad he refrained from asking her again to have something to eat.
She would do that all in good time. He just had to be patient. It was, she thought as they left the room, a learning process.
