Colton Baby Conspiracy. Marie Ferrarella

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       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.

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