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He laughed. “Only if I learn how to fly.”
“I thought you already had that superpower,” she deadpanned.
“Very funny. Look, I just need to wrap something up and I’ll be there as quick as I can. Wait for me.” It wasn’t a request, it was an order.
She didn’t like being given orders, even if she was asking him to come. She struggled to make light of it. “Or what, no dessert?” she asked him.
Another one of his chuckles rippled through her. “Okay, if you want to call it that.”
Was he talking about sex? She could feel herself responding to the very suggestion and abruptly shut down. That was what had gotten her into this mess to begin with, she reminded herself.
“Robertson, if you don’t get down here in the aforementioned fifteen minutes, I will be gone by the time you do get here,” she warned.
“Cool your jets for a few minutes, mama. I’ll be there.”
Mama.
Marlowe felt her back go up. “Don’t call me that,” she retorted.
“Don’t worry, you’re not going to lose your identity. But you are going to be someone’s mama—aren’t you?” he asked.
“Just get here, Robertson. We can have that other discussion some other time,” she informed him.
She had already made up her mind about the baby. But she didn’t want Bowie thinking that he could just bend her will and turn her into some obedient, subservient human being.
Maybe she shouldn’t have called him, she thought, terminating the call.
She didn’t need this further aggravation.
Chapter 17
It had been almost a week that she and Bowie had been conducting their surveillance on Selina. Six days of discreetly sitting in his car near the guest house where Selina resided on the Colton ranch.
It had gotten them no closer to any answers about her former stepmother. Nor had they gotten more information about the attempts on their lives or the mysterious email sent to the board.
Selina was either determined to keep a low profile now that the wheels of her plan had been set in motion, or “she didn’t have anything to do with that email about Ace that went out to all of you,” Bowie concluded on the sixth evening. After sitting in the car, night after night, he was beginning to feel as if his legs were permanently cramping up. “And this is all just a wild-goose chase.”
Bowie had parked his car well in the shadows, confident that Selina couldn’t detect them.
From their present location, Marlowe couldn’t even see the main house, and after being out here, night after night, she was beginning to get a little antsy, not to mention really stir-crazy.
Added to that, she felt much too close to Bowie, and she didn’t need that added stimulus.
Glancing toward Bowie, Marlowe sighed in response to his last comment. “I’d hate to think you were right,” she admitted.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he qualified. “I am perfectly willing to sit in this car with you
for as long as you want, but wouldn’t you feel more comfortable sitting in a secluded booth in a restaurant?” Bowie asked her. “If nothing else,” he shifted, doing his best to get comfortable, “there’s more leg room in a booth.”
Marlowe looked toward the guest house again.
Nothing.
Selina had gone inside the house a little more than two hours ago, and the lights throughout most of the house had been out for the last forty-five minutes. “She’s got to be up to something,” Marlowe insisted. She felt it in her bones, even as she noted to herself that no further attempts had been made on their lives.
“Oh, no argument there,” Bowie agreed. Selina was far too devious a woman to just sit around and do nothing. “But right now I’m not so sure what that something has to do with Ace.”
Marlowe sighed. Bowie was right. This was just a waste of time—just as the other five nights of surveillance that had come before tonight had been.
