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Marlowe thought back, remembering that uneasy, really creepy feeling that would come over her unexpectedly. He had to work somewhere in the company where he could see her with a fair amount of regularity. Maybe even daily.
Whom did she have daily contact with but didn’t notice?
She tried to think, but it was almost as if her brain was suddenly paralyzed. Frozen.
Nothing came to her.
His smile faded as the truth came to him. “You don’t remember me,” he shouted. “You only have eyes for that Robertson man. Ever since I saw you two at that conference...”
“Oh, but I do, I do,” Marlowe told him with feeling, trying to convince him. “It’s just that you’re waving that gun around and you’re scaring me, so I’m having trouble thinking.”
Anger creased his forehead as he glared at her. “You’d like me to put the gun down, is that it?” he asked her.
Her eyes met his, and she did her best to stay calm. More than anything, she needed to get him to listen to her. “Yes, please.”
His eyes grew even colder. He raised the gun, aiming it at her. “You must think I’m really stupid,” he accused her with a sneer.
“No, no, I don’t think you’re stupid at all,” she denied adamantly. “I think you’re smart. You were just biding your time, that’s all. That was your plan all along.”
Marlowe kept talking, but she could see that she wasn’t getting through to this man. She was beginning to think that he was totally crazy. She could feel her heart starting to sink.
Her phone had already gone off once since her stalker had come on the scene, menacing her. And now it rang a second time.
Her stalker cocked his weapon, taking aim at the offending cell phone.
“Turn that damn thing off or I’ll turn it off for you with my gun!” he all but shrieked.
“All right,” she told him in a soothing voice as she reached for her phone, “I’ll turn it off.”
“Use your left hand!” he ordered sharply. This time the stalker shifted the gun so that it was pointed at Wallace. “Or so help me, I’ll finish him off right now,” he threatened.
The last of her hope withered and died within her. Marlowe drew in a shaky breath. She had no choice but to do as he said.
* * *
Damn it, Bowie thought, Marlowe wasn’t picking up, either. Now he knew something was wrong.
It had become his habit to check in once an hour with Wallace. But the bodyguard hadn’t picked up his cell phone in the last hour, even though he’d called Wallace a total of three times.
And then he’d called Marlowe, but she wasn’t picking up. He’d had his assistant check to see if there was a dropped signal, but all systems came back up and running.
Bowie tried again without success.
If the system was up, why weren’t Bigelow or Marlowe answering their cell phones?
He could feel a knot tightening in his already twisted stomach.
Something was very, very wrong.
Racing to his car, he drove over to Colton Oil headquarters at top speed the entire way, thinking that Marlowe would have enjoyed feeling the rush of cold air against her skin.
The sports car had barely come to a stop when Bowie leaped out, running all the way into the building. All he could do was pray he wasn’t too late.
The elevator wasn’t there. He didn’t have time to wait for it. Instead, he took the stairs, racing up the steps and taking them two at a time.
His lungs were burning by the time he reached Marlowe’s floor.
Running to her office, he nearly came to a stop right then and there when he saw Wallace on the floor, unconscious and bleeding.
