Bowie: The Sinner Saints #5

by Adrienne Bell

  “B-Bowie,” she said, her voice shakier than he’d ever heard it. “I am so sorry. I have no idea what I was thinking.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “But I am so sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize,” he said, turning toward the window. He couldn’t bear to stare into the regret burning in her eyes. Regret for coming on to him. “Just go sleep it off.”

  “But—”

  “Go to bed, Charlie,” he said tightly. He balled his hands into fists as he struggled for control.

  He stayed there for a long time, standing straight and still, looking out over the sliver of city lights that shone through Charlie’s window. He listened to her footsteps as she moved away from him. The bedsprings creaked when she crawled on top. And he relaxed as her breathing gradually evened out and fell into a sleepy rhythm.

  Only after she’d been asleep for several minutes did he finally pull the phone from his pocket and dial Carter Macmillan. Not because he’d wrestled his emotions back under control, but because he’d realized that he was never going to.

  Chapter Four

  It was almost morning.

  Almost. But not quite. The clock on Charlie’s bedside table was still a few minutes away from hitting five o’clock. The window behind him was still dark. He figured he had at least another half hour before he could rise and check out the house without raising any eyebrows.

  A whole half hour.

  Bowie lifted his arms above his head and arched his spine as he leaned back in the chair that he’d pulled over to the edge of Charlie’s bed last night. He stretched out the tight muscles bunching in his shoulders and along his sides before relaxing into his seat.

  He let out a long breath as he raked a hand through his short hair. He could take it. After all, he’d lasted this long stretched out next to Charlie’s bed, fighting the urge to watch her sleep as the minutes ticked by.

  Not that he was winning the battle. Even now, he shifted uncomfortably at the sight of her fiery red hair splayed across the white pillow. Every time she rolled over in her sleep, or nestled deeper into the blankets, he had to push back the desire to take her up on her offer and slide next to her on the mattress.

  He hadn’t, of course. He never would. But his resolve hadn’t kept his mind from wandering, imagining how her breath would feel falling across his bare chest. How soft her hair would feel against his skin. Would she drape her arm across him, the way she was doing to the pillow at her side? Would she pull herself close?

  Damn it.

  He wasn’t falling down this rabbit hole. Not again.

  Bowie scooted up in his chair, and craned his head to look out the window. A few streaks of gold had just started to illuminate the sky. He glanced at the clock again.

  Five twelve.

  That would have to be good enough.

  He pushed himself up from the chair and strode over to the door. He was willing to bet that everyone was still asleep, but, then again, that made it the optimal time to run a sweep. And if he did run into another early riser, he could just explain that he needed a cup of coffee. Which after his crappy night, also happened to be the truth.

  Bowie was careful not to wake Charlie as he stepped into the hallway and silently shut the door.

  Charlie had been right about one thing. The house was solidly built. He hadn’t heard as much as a squeaky floorboard all night long, and he didn’t have to mask his own footfalls as he moved down the hall. The house felt still and peaceful as he made his way downstairs.

  He paused on the second story landing and looked down the hall. The floor appeared almost identical to the one above—more long hallways leading to more rooms. He gave the area a quick glance but didn’t see a soul.

  He kept moving down the stairs to the main floor, the open areas that Bishop would have easy access to. Eventually, he was in the large open room where he’d met Bishop last night. He checked for devices in a few of the usual hiding spots, inconspicuously sliding his hand under a couple of tables and ledges, but he didn’t find anything.

  Not that he’d truly expected to. Deep down, he’d known Charlie’s assessment of Bishop was right. He wasn’t the type of man to do his own dirty work. Not when there were plenty of underlings to do it for him.

  Bowie let out a sharp breath as he lifted his head and looked around the room. It was a little colder and darker now that the flames had burned out in the fireplace. Still, it was obvious that this room was the heart of the house—the only place in the whole residence where he’d seen personal items instead of impressive possessions. Like the line of family photos along the mantle. Curiosity dug its claws into Bowie’s mind and he moved closer to take a look.

  Most of the portraits were the standard posed kind—the family grouped all together at various ages, graduation pictures, society functions. There were also a handful of candid shots, mostly of Charlie’s brother. But then he spotted one of her. Down at the very end. Bowie walked over and plucked the silver frame off the mantle.

  It was Charlie, all right. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen. Her hair was bright blue and cropped short around her ears. She was sitting on the hood of an old beat up Volkswagen. The original paint job might have been tan, but it was hard to tell with all the dents and scrapes riddling the car.

  Not that Charlie seemed to mind. Her hands were lifted high above her head, and the smile on her face was one of unbridled joy. Bowie felt his lips start to curl up just looking at her.

  “I’m afraid it’s true.” Bowie’s head snapped up as a feminine voice filled the room. “Charlene has always been that way.”

  He turned toward the sound, and found Charlie’s mother standing on the far side of the room, next to an open doorway. Bowie straightened his shoulders.

  “What way is that?” he asked.

  “Hard-headed,” Mrs. Keswick said, walking toward him. “We offered to buy her a car when she turned sixteen, just like we had for her brother. But she refused. She said that she wanted something that was really hers. Whatever that means. So, she got a job a few blocks away at a computer store, and a few months later she drove up in this.”

  Mrs. Keswick let out a small sigh as she slid the frame from Bowie’s hands and looked down at the picture.

  “Sounds more like determination than stubbornness to me,” he said.

  Her brows arched slightly. “Well, that’s where you and my husband would disagree. Words cannot describe how much Oliver hated having that horrible thing parked in our driveway.”

  Bowie’s eyebrows pulled together. “But you still kept the picture.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? Look how happy she is. Charlene may be hard-headed, but she’s still my daughter.” Mrs. Keswick gently placed the frame back up onto its spot on the mantle before turning her attention on Bowie. “Now why don’t you tell me what you’re doing up at this hour.”

  “I’m always up this early.”

  “Ah.” Her tone was light, but the look in her eyes was skeptical. “But Charlene is not?”

  Bowie pressed his lips together when he realized that he didn’t know the answer. Other than her stint in the hospital, he’d never been with her in the morning. He had no idea what time she usually woke up.

  “Hmm.” A knowing smile crept across her face. It was a look Bowie knew well. Apparently, Charlie wasn’t the only one in her family with a talent for reading people. “Well then, Mr. Tamatoa. I just finished brewing a fresh pot of coffee. May I offer you a cup?”

  “I’d like that,” he said with a nod. “And please, call me Bowie.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, examining him briefly with her sharp gaze before walking toward the far door. “You certainly seemed to mind when Trevor Bishop wanted to call you that.”

  “But you are not Mr. Bishop, ma’am.”

  She smiled—a small one, but genuine. “No, I am not.”

  A moment later, she pushed open a swinging door and Bowie followed her into a bright and airy kitchen. While th
e rest of the house seemed old and historic, this room was surprisingly modern. White tiles and sparkling granite countertops caught the diffused morning light pouring in through the windows. He walked over to one and looked out over a more than respectable patio and garden.

  “How do you take your coffee?” Mrs. Keswick asked.

  Bowie turned around to see her pouring coffee from a silver carafe into two pristine porcelain cups.

  “Black is fine.”

  “I should have known,” she said.

  “Thank you.” He came back over to the kitchen’s center island and leaned his hip against the side. He nodded to Charlie’s mother in appreciation as she handed him the cup by the saucer. He took a sip then rolled his head to the side, stretching out the tight muscles in his neck.

  “I take it the night was as uncomfortable as you feared,” she said.

  Bowie looked down into his cup. “It was fine.”

  Mrs. Keswick gave another light laugh. “Then you and I must have a very different definition of fine.” She lifted her cup and took a delicate sip before placing it back down on the counter. “Did you and Charlene have a spat last night?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did you two get into an argument?” she asked again.

  Bowie’s shoulders stiffened. If he’d been back at the office he would have punched someone in the face for asking that question. But he wasn’t in the office. He was standing in Charlie’s mother’s kitchen. Drinking out of her fine porcelain cups. All while most likely being spied on by Darktide agents.

  If ever there was a time for control, this was it.

  “Like I said, everything’s fine.” He pushed the words out between gritted teeth.

  “Of course, it is,” she said. “That’s why I found you staring wistfully at family photos before dawn while wearing the same clothes that you arrived in last night.”

  Her smile widened as Bowie’s eyes narrowed. He was starting to see whom Charlie had inherited her backbone from.

  Bowie took a moment to swallow the last of the coffee. He put his cup on the counter, right next to Mrs. Keswick’s.

  “All right,” he said with a sigh. “We had a small argument last night, but it was nothing major.”

  “I thought so.”

  “But let me ask you a question.”

  Bowie silently cursed even as the words left his lips. He knew he shouldn’t get involved. He should walk away. Go back to Charlie’s room. Spend the next couple of hours retightening the knot in his stomach as he watched her sleep.

  After all, this family drama was none of his damn business. But deep down, he couldn’t help but bristle at how easily everyone in this house dismissed Charlie.

  He drew in a deep breath as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you so hard on your daughter?”

  “Because I’m afraid that she’s throwing her life away,” the woman said without hesitation.

  “Throwing her life away?” Bowie’s brows pulled together. “Your daughter is a hero. She’s vital to the work we do at Macmillan Security. We couldn’t function without her. She’s been personally responsible for putting dozens of criminals behind bars.”

  “And she nearly got herself killed in the process.” A combative spark flickered to life behind the woman’s pale blue eyes.

  Bowie felt a sharp stab of guilt at the reminder.

  “But she didn’t die,” Bowie said. “She saved countless lives before she was shot, and then she was brave enough to come back and keep going. I don’t know many people with that kind of courage. She refuses to stay down. She refuses to lose. Charlie might not look or act the way you want her to, but I don’t know a soul that has half her heart.”

  A satisfied smile spread across Mrs. Keswick’s face. “You really are madly in love with her, aren’t you?”

  Bowie stiffened. This is why he never opened his damn mouth. He knew better. He knew all the tricks. Get someone talking, and eventually they would tell you everything that you wanted to know.

  Hell, he had to tip his hat to Mrs. Keswick. The woman had played him better than anyone he’d known.

  “She’s the most exceptional woman I know,” he said.

  “That’s not an answer,” Mrs. Keswick said. She turned around and took another cup down from the cupboard above her head.

  “I would do anything for Charlie,” Bowie said honestly. Not sure if the statement was more for her mother or anyone else who might be listening in. “Anything.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Mrs. Keswick said, filling the cup and pushing it down the counter toward him.

  Bowie shook his head. “I don’t need another cup of coffee.”

  “It’s not for you,” Mrs. Keswick said with a too wide smile. She raised her hand and pointed to the doorway behind him. “It’s for Charlene.”

  The center of Bowie’s chest tightened into a hard knot. It only clenched tighter when he turned around and saw Charlie standing in the doorway, her fingers curled tight around the edge. Her lips were parted. Her eyes were wide. And her gaze was fixed on his.

  Bowie ground his back teeth together.

  Damn it.

  How long had she been standing there? How much had she heard?

  Enough.

  That much was obvious. Enough to make the rest of the week harder and more strained than it already was.

  “I thought you were asleep,” Bowie said tightly.

  Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, but her eyes didn’t leave his…not even for a second.

  “I was,” she said. “But I woke up and you weren’t in the room, so I decided to come find you.”

  “And in the same clothes she was wearing last night,” Mrs. Keswick said behind him, her voice sounding more than a little amused.

  “Well, I wasn’t aware that I was coming down to the kitchen for a photo shoot,” Charlie said.

  “Oh, that reminds me.” Mrs. Keswick’s tone changed instantaneously. Suddenly, she was all business. “I need to finish getting ready. We’re meeting with the wedding planner early this morning. We have appointments with the photographer at nine, and with the caterer at ten.” Bowie heard the soft clink of her placing her coffee cup on the counter. “Do you two have any plans today?”

  Charlie nodded. It looked like she was slowly coming back to her senses. “Bowie and I have to go into the office for a little while.”

  “Really?” her mother asked. “I thought you had taken the whole week off.”

  “It’s just a small thing,” she said quickly. “We won’t be there long.”

  “Just remember that you promised to meet us at The Barons for dinner tonight.”

  Bowie barely noticed as Mrs. Keswick moved past him and into the doorway with Charlie.

  Charlie shot her a tight smile. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to make it, Mom.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” her mother said, placing a quick kiss on her forehead before passing through. “You already promised.”

  Charlie let out a long sigh as her mother left the room. She was slow to turn around and face him. When she did her shoulders were visibly tight. A long, silent second passed between them.

  “Do you want your coffee before we go?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No, I’m okay. But we should probably get rolling before anyone else in the house gets up.”

  Bowie nodded his head. She was right. The sooner they got into the office, the better. Even though the last thing in the world he was looking forward to was being alone with Charlie for the drive across town.

  ***

  Charlie knew there were all kinds of amazing people who took vows of silence—cloistered nuns, hermits in hovels, monks who went their whole adult lives without saying a single word.

  She was not one of those people.

  Not quite five minutes into a silent car ride across the crowded streets of San Francisco, and with each passing second she was dying a little more inside.

  The trouble was Bowie didn’t wan
t to talk. Not about what happened last night. Not about what she’d just heard him say in her mother’s kitchen. None of it. That much was crystal clear.

  He hadn’t so much as turned his head her way since getting in his SUV. He hadn’t made a single sound. His lips were pressed together tight. He couldn’t have been more shut off if there was a solid steel divider between them.

  But the problem was, she wasn’t. Her heart was practically bursting out of her chest with unspoken emotions. And if she didn’t get them out soon, well…

  Charlie sucked in a deep breath before swiveling to face him. She slowly reached out and placed her hand on his arm.

  The muscles lining Bowie’s jawline tensed but he didn’t pull away. That had to count for something. Right?

  “Maybe we should talk,” she said.

  Charlie watched as his fingers tightened around the steering wheel. His knuckles jutted out hard, turning the skin above them white. He didn’t say a word.

  Okay. So he really didn’t want to talk. Point taken. She didn’t want to make things any more awkward.

  Charlie faced forward, looking through the windshield at the cars and buildings slowly going by. A few more silent seconds passed. They were still miles from the office. With this kind of traffic, it was going to take them at least another fifteen minutes.

  Fifteen long silent minutes.

  Yeah, she wasn’t going to make it.

  “I’m sorry about last night.” The words burst from her lips.

  Bowie’s shoulders stiffened. “I already said you don’t have to apologize.”

  “But I want to,” she said.

  “Resist the temptation.”

  “But—”

  “Charlie, stop,” he said. His brows pulled down so hard that two deep grooves appeared above his nose.

  She snapped her mouth shut.

  That didn’t last long.

  When they came to a stop at the next red light, Charlie glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

  “Well then, thank you for what you said to my mom.”

  “Charlie.” He said her name in a long sigh. His chest expanded as he rolled his shoulders, but he still didn’t look her way.