He waited a bare thirty minutes before retrieving the tiny oil vial and his lockpicks from his jacket.  Oil on the hinges kept the old door from squeaking, and in absolute silence, he slipped the lock open.  A hardcover book left in the room made a handy cudgel to silence the lone guard.  Remington pocketed the man’s gun and dragged him into the room.  He made short work of tying him to the bed with strips of sheets and a quick twitch of the bedcovers made it look as if the man was sleeping.

Locking the door behind him, Remington began his exploration of the castle.  He retraced his steps to Laura but found the corridor stuffed with people.  He could hear O’Callaghan’s rants bouncing off the stone walls.  From the few words he could make out, it appeared she had escaped from the cell.  Good girl.

It took another twenty minutes before he found what looked to be O’Callaghan’s office, but it took just a scant few moments more to locate the tapes of Laura’s cell, which he pocketed.  His small flashlight danced over the computer and desk as he looked for anything that might compromise O’Callaghan.  He settled on tucking every computer disk he could find into a trash bag stolen from the nearest can, along with the Filofax.  Thanks to Mildred’s expertise, he thought to throw in the stack of bank records and other financial papers he found locked in a file drawer.  He hoped it would be enough to hang the bastard.

In front of the castle, he found a handy selection of cars, one of which he hotwired, and sped toward Cork.  Naturally, he drove the wrong way and had to make a quick U-turn at the next village, but he lost little time getting to the city.  He watched the roads for Laura but knew if she had an ounce of sense, she would stay away from them for a while.  It was risky going back to the hotel, but he needed to be at the one place his wife was sure to look for him.

*****

Full darkness had settled on the frosty land by the time Laura reached the stream.  Walking through the icy water prevented dogs or people from tracking her by scent or print as she trekked to the northwest, but it only took a short time for water to soak through the soft leather and numb her feet.  Eventually, the cold penetrated up to her knee and numbed it too, ironically giving her some relief.  In the end, Laura settled her frozen legs into a kind of shuffle.  She winced to think of the damage she was doing to the joint as she stumbled over rocks and branches.

Somewhere around midnight, she found that the little brook met up with a paved road.  Laura scrabbled up the embankment, slipping and sliding in her sodden boots and entirely unable to feel anything in her legs.  Gaining purchase on the pavement, she stumbled along, hoping to find somewhere, anywhere, to get warm.  She shivered violently.  It was a slow walk made even harder when her knee thawed out, and she could only hobble painfully along in the dark.

In the dim starlight, exhaustion, cold and pain collaborated to dull her senses to a point where she trudged mindlessly along on the side of the road.

*****

Somewhere around one in the morning, Fallon Sweeney sang cheerfully along with the radio on her way home from a long shift at the hospital in Cork.  She liked these night drives into the quiet countryside where her little cottage was tucked into a neat corner of a farmer’s wide field.  She nearly drove off the lane, though, when her headlights flickered on a woman staggering on the edge.  Punching at her brakes, she brought the car to a quick halt.

Despite her ample weight, she popped out of the car and rounded the front just in time to catch the slight figure as she wobbled unsteadily.  In the headlights, Fallon could see deep bruises on the woman’s face and the beginnings of two black shiners.  It took several minutes to convince the obviously terrified girl to get into the car.  “Dear me, girl, what happened to you?”

Laura muttered something about a car accident which Fallon didn’t believe for one minute.

“You’ll need to go to the hospital--no, hush then, if you’ll not do that, you’ll come to me cottage long enough for me to patch you up a bit.”  Fallon continued despite whispered protests.  “I’m a nurse, love, and it’s only a mile or two up the way.”  She tucked an extra blanket from the backseat around the tattered woman.  “What’s your name, lass?”

Laura could feel herself sinking fast.  “Ilsa, Ilsa Blaine.”

Fallon didn’t believe that either as she was quite the fan of Casablanca, but she let the lie stand.  “Stay with me, Ilsa.  We’re almost there.”

Fallon mostly carried the slight woman into the house, for she simply had no reserves left.  The girl was asleep in moments on the small sofa, which spoke volumes on the ordeal she had suffered.  While “Ilsa’s” injuries were not the worse Fallon had ever treated, they were easily the most extensive of any she’d observed on someone still walking in heels.  Quickly, she stripped off the damp clothes and wrapped the woman in dry blankets before building up a blazing fire to heat the room thoroughly.

Kicking off her own serviceable shoes, she tossed several more towels and blankets into the dryer to warm and retrieved the medical kit she had assembled over the years to treat the myriad of neighbors that found their way to her doorstep.  It was futile to deny them, nor would she want to, and she had converted the smallest bedroom of her cottage into a tiny treatment area.

Someone had made a hasty attempt to at least shore up some of the damage to the woman as evidenced by the tightly wrapped strips of white fabric.  Fallon noted the concussion, the broken nose and bruised ribs, the deep contusions all over her body, and, looking closely, the possibility she had been sexually violated.  She rummaged around for the rape kit and had Ilsa swabbed and re-covered without her even knowing.

Moving on, the nurse frowned when she peeled back the finger bandages.  She cleaned the blistered skin thoroughly and treated it with antibiotic ointment before rewrapping the woman’s hands from fingertips to wrist in order to prevent infection.  She finished with giving Ilsa a tetanus shot and inserting an IV of fluids and antibiotics, none of which caused the woman to stir.

Fallon replaced the covers with warm blankets from the dryer and wrapped each of the woman’s feet in heated towels while she readied a footbath for her.  After filling the deep container with warm water, the nurse shifted Ilsa so that her feet rested in the bucket.  Fallon poured herself a cup of tea while the water cooled.  Eventually, she dried off Ilsa’s legs and wrapped them with another coverlet fresh from the dryer.  Tea in hand, the kindly woman settled in to watch her patient sleep.

*****

Remington stashed the car just outside Cork and caught a taxi back to the hotel.  Despite his predilection for not carrying cash, Laura had convinced him after a couple of interesting cases to keep a large bill or two handy on his actual person.  Once again, the advice paid off with money for the cab.

Wary of inside informants, for that’s surely how O’Callaghan had managed to set up the trap, Steele slipped through a side entrance and climbed the stairs to the penthouse level.  Remington locked the door tightly and jammed a chair under the knob.  Without turning on the lights, he quietly placed the bag of evidence inside the door before trailing his sensitive fingertips over every surface in the suite, looking for listening devices.  Under tables, inside lamps, behind curtains, and even inside the cabinets, he searched thoroughly.  He smashed vases and hollow statuettes in case the bugs were hidden inside.

He found two: one in the living room under a side table and one on the top of the doorframe between the bathroom and bedroom.  With a sturdy solid figurine from the coffee table, he pounded them into tiny bits before sweeping the remains into a small bowl.

It was only then that he found the note from Mildred.  “Cavalry’s coming.  Be there Tuesday evening.  Stay put.  Krebs.”  Relieved to have help, but exhausted and anxious about Laura, Remington tumbled into their bed.  Agitated even in his sleep, he searched for her in his dreams.

*****

For the next twenty-four hours, Fallon looked after Ilsa.  The woman slept through the remainder of the night and throughout the next day.  From time to time she stirred, opening bleary eyes that comprehended next to nothing other than warmth and safety.  Once, she staggered to the bathroom with the nurse’s help, but she soon collapsed onto the sofa.  With Fallon’s calm reassurance, she drank broth and swallowed painkillers that persuaded her to sleep again.

*****

Remington sneaked out of the hotel early the next morning and rented a little Fiat from several streets over.  He drove through the verdant countryside, retracing his route as he looked for Laura.  The hazy day made for a long one while he explored every possible side road he found on his map along with any number of others that weren’t.  In each little town, he stopped in the bar or grocery and flashed a picture of her, only to be disappointed time and again at the lack of recognition.

Snow began falling early in the afternoon.  It wasn’t long after that when it began blowing hard enough to make searching useless.  He had to turn back to the hotel and desperately hoped Laura was safe somewhere.  His head hurt terribly as he worried.  Please be safe, love. 

When Mildred failed to arrive that evening, he had to assume her flight was delayed too.  For the first time in his life, he had no idea what to do.  Scared, alone and terrified for Laura, he crept back into his room and lay in the darkness.  Disturbing memories of long ago flashed in his head, and he swore with vehemence while he waited for the oblivion of sleep.

*****

Mildred cursed the weather nine different ways while she paced the terminal in Paris.  A snowstorm had grounded the planes for the night, and for the next several hours, she walked and worried about the Steeles.

*****

Heat radiated from the fireplace through the night and when morning came, Laura reveled in it.  Hoping the past few days were only a terrible dream, she snuggled into the blankets, only to be stopped by the tangle of needles and tubes attached to her forearm.  She struggled to sit up in confusion, but a smiling woman in her mid-fifties with corkscrew curls cautioned her to take care in a sing-song Irish country brogue.   

“You’ve had a rough couple of days, lass.  I imagine you’re aching in a place or two.”  That was an understatement.  There wasn’t a place on her that didn’t hurt.  But Laura was determined, and with the older woman’s help, she sat up while her ribs screamed and she panted through the sharp sensations.

“Do you remember me?”  The woman had a wonderfully deep voice that instantly felt comforting and lively.  Vague images of a dark car ride filtered up in her memory and Laura nodded, setting up a dull ache in her head.  “I’m Fallon Sweeney; this is my house and I’m a nurse in Cork.  You needed help and I gave it.  You’ll have it as long as you need.”  Laura’s throat closed over as she remembered the horrible events of the past few days--starting with the fact that Rei was gone.  She clenched her jaw tightly to hold back tears.  She would not cry.  She had to focus on getting her bearings first.

After a minute, Laura scrubbed at her face, forgot she had a broken nose when she bumped it, and winced when she saw stars.  “Oh, that’s bound to hurt.  Give it a minute and breathe slowly.”  Laura’s eyes uncrossed as the nurse looked carefully into them and laid a hand on her forehead.  “There now, still no fever and your eyes are looking better; that'll be a good thing.  Let’s get you cleaned up and fed, and we’ll talk about whatever we need to talk about, hmmm?”

With the brisk efficiency only an experienced nurse can master, Fallon stripped the IV out of Laura’s arm, undressed her and popped her into the tub with orders to soak and not get her hands wet.  Laura examined her own body, wincing at the black bruises spreading across her stomach and thighs.  Her swollen knee throbbed, and the bright red surgery scars stood out against the pale skin.  Her feet were a mass of broken blisters on whitened skin from the frost nip.  She gave a small sigh of relief when she wiggled her toes and found all of them still working.  That was something at least.

The older woman returned with an armload of clothes and deposited them on the counter.  “Don’t try to wash.  It will hurt to raise your arms as sore as you’ll be in the middle.”  So Laura sat while Fallon gently washed her body and hair.  The sweet lady chattered about mundane things to put her mind at ease, but she couldn’t help thinking about the last time Remington bathed with her.  That ended in a short but steamy encounter that left them both gasping.  The accompanying thought that it wasn’t the last time she was touched that way left her feeling quite ashamed.

Laura was in so much pain that Fallon practically had to lift her out of the tub.  The nurse wrapped her in a warm towel, but not before Laura caught a glimpse of her backside in the mirror.  No wonder it hurt to sit with her back and rear covered in darkening marks.

“Mrs. Blaine,” the nurse kept her voice low and calm, “with all these injuries, I know you didn’t have a car accident.  Someone laid his hands on you in a way he shouldn’t.  I think we need pictures for the gardaí, just in case.”  Laura hung her head and nodded.  She knew better than most about the importance of good evidence.  The nurse calmly took pictures of her face, back and front.  She rewound the film and pulled it out of the camera.  “I’ll put this in your purse, lass.”

Laura tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat.  Clearing it, she tried again, “I think I was raped.”

“Yes, love, I know.  I’ve got all the evidence we’ll need.  Do you think you can answer a few questions about it?” Hesitantly, Laura nodded.  The nurse helped her dress in a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants and long shirt.  “Was there any chance you were pregnant before it happened?”

Laura shrugged sadly.  “We just decided not to use birth control.  We agreed on the day ... on Sunday.”  Her scratchy voice made her hard to understand, but the nurse was well-practiced at extracting the information she needed.

“When was your last period, love?”

“A week ago Thursday.”

“Well now, me girl.  Today’s Wednesday, so let’s not count it out of the realm of possibility.”

Confused by the line of questioning, Laura started getting angry.  “Why are you asking all this?”  Her voice was raspy and faint.

“Because if you were raped and couldn’t be pregnant by your husband, I know of ways to prevent a pregnancy, and it’ll have to be done by day’s end.  If there’s any chance any child might belong to you and him, you might not be wanting that option.”  Fallon said this all very matter-of-factly, to give Laura a chance to calm down again.  She patted Laura’s hand.  “Think on it for now.  We’ll get ye fed and give ye a bit o’ something for the pain, then we’ll talk a bit more.”

And that’s what they did.  They had tea and soup while the pain pills did their job.  Or rather, Fallon fed Laura since her bandaged hands made picking up an eating utensil impossible.  When Laura’s eyes cleared a bit and her stomach wasn’t clenching in hunger, she was able to think somewhat clearly.  “Can you take me to Cork?” she asked in a low voice.  “My ... husband and I were staying at the Rothestown Park Hotel.  I’ll need to get my passport to go home.”

“Home to America?”  Laura nodded.  There was no denying her California accent.

“Did your husband do this to you, love?”

“No.  They killed him.”  Fat tears welled in Laura’s eyes, but she dashed them away with the back of her bandaged hand.  Fallon asked her to describe her husband as a niggling of suspicion formed.  “Tall, black hair, blue eyes, and too gorgeous for his own good.”

“What’s his name?”

“Rei--Richard, Richard Blaine.”  Laura rubbed her one unbandaged thumb against the gauze on her fingers and frowned at the feel of it.

Fallon smiled at the appellation from Casablanca.  “How’d ye meet him?”

“Work.  He showed up at the office one day and never left.  That was six years ago.  We just celebrated our second anniversary.”

“Were ye happy?”

Laura smiled sadly.  “Deliriously so.”  She rubbed her thumb against the gauze again.  The fabric was wrong.  “Fallon,” she spoke slowly as she tried to put the problem into words, “what was used for bandages before?”

“Ah, hmmm.  Strips of something.  Don’t know what.”  She cocked her head at Laura.  “Do you want to see them?”

“I think so.”

After clearing the dishes, Fallon retrieved the dirty, bloody fabric and placed it on the table.  With the nurse’s help, Laura reassembled the pieces into a semblance of a man’s t-shirt and now she realized why she kept stroking the material.  Remington was terribly picky about fabrics and seams and such.  The shirts he wore under his sweaters had to be silky soft and perfectly tailored.  They also had to be ordered from his favorite shop in London.

Is it his ghost?  Or is he still alive?  Laura stared at the pile in confusion.  “This is his shirt.  They’re special. ... I have to special order them.  How ... ?”   She stumbled over the words before lapsing into a daze.  “I need answers, and I’m not even sure what the questions are.”

With sympathy, Fallon grasped her forearm.  “All right then.  Let’s get you home.”

*****

You bloody buggering bastard.  You promised me they couldn’t escape this place.  Not only did they sneak out of here, Steele was sitting in my dining room as a distraction while she flitted out.

Goddammit, how was I supposed to know the woman’s related to Spiderman.  Who knew she could climb down three stories of stone wall?

Fuck me, I don’t know.  Then not three hours later, Steele strolls out of here like he lives here.  With my car!  Where the hell are they?

I’m looking.  My boys are looking.  I expect they’ll meet up at the hotel, but my contact hasn’t checked in yet.  I’ve sent someone to watch the place.

No Steele, no diamonds, and all this waiting will be for naught.

*****

Fortunately, Fallon kept a small wheeled chair at her house, or Laura would have never made it to the car.  She huddled in misery underneath her coat, the only piece of her own clothing she had bothered keeping.  It was a mere ten minutes into the bumpy drive, and she was already in agony from all the bouncing and jarring about.  Fallon threw quick glances at her ashen face and pulled the car off to the side of the road.

“Ilsa, I’m going to give you a pain pill that will help, but it’s powerful.  You won’t feel much at all, and you can hurt yourself worse that way, thinking you can do more than you should.”

“Will it make me sleepy?”

“You might take a small nap, just from getting away from the pain, but it won’t knock you silly.  Later though, when your energy runs out, you’ll drop like a stone so your body can rest and heal.”

“Sounds perfect.”  While Fallon dug around in her kit in the backseat, Laura burrowed into her coat, trying to keep warm.

Twenty minutes later Laura dozed lightly in the passenger seat.  Fallon eyed the scorched cashmere and nodded to herself.  She had seen the newspapers at the hospital and knew her patient to be none other than Laura Steele, Remington Steele’s wife.  She’d read that both were some sort of famous detectives out of America, and she thought that whoever had done the nasty deed were in for a surprise, for anyone with Mrs. Steele’s gumption would nail those that killed her husband to the wall.  As a nurse, she’d seen plenty of patients who squealed over a broken finger, but then there were those rare birds like Mrs. Steele whose iron-willed determination kept her upright and moving despite her injuries.  Idly, she wondered how Mrs. Steele managed to get almost an hour southwest of Cork and in the middle of the countryside.  She was sure that was a little mystery that Remington Steele’s wife would be unraveling soon.

Fallon woke Laura as they drove into Cork.  By the time the hotel was in view, Laura had gathered her wits together in time to notice the montage of reporters hanging about the entrance, hoping for a word about the Steeles.  “I can’t go in there like this,” Laura muttered.  “Where can we go to get clothes?  And shoes?” she asked the older woman.

Fallon humphed.  “Ilsa lass, what are you up to?  You need to get to bed and rest a bit, not gallivant all over the town, shopping like a tourist.”

“Ms. Sweeney, if I go into the hotel looking like this, every single one of those reporters will know exactly who I am.  There will be questions to answer, and whoever did this to Mr. Steele will know I’m here.  If I dress right, I can walk right by them, and they’ll never even know it’s me.  I can be in bed in fifteen minutes with no one the wiser.”

*****

Mildred’s flight departed Paris early in the morning.  Tired and cranky when she arrived in Cork, she found she had an hour before Murphy’s plane was to arrive as well.  By the time he disembarked, it was mid-morning, and Mildred had already located the bathroom, breakfast and the Irish Times newspaper.  A small article in the front section indicated that the gardaí were stymied in the investigation, and that they still were unable to locate Mrs. Remington Steele.  Mildred handed a wrapped breakfast sandwich to Murphy, and they found a local taxi to take to them to the Rothestown Park Hotel.

*****

In the end, Fallon had to agree with Laura, and she zipped the little car down the way to a sparkling dress shop.  Going in, she held a fistful of travelers checks the detective fished out of a hidden pocket in her coat.  The nurse had a fair eye for fashion and selected a pretty short-sleeved, calf-length red dress and a black hat for Mrs. Steele.  She completed the ensemble with sunglasses, stockings, long gloves, a scarf, somewhat sensible heels and her favorite find, a slimming bodysuit that would provide excellent support for her patient’s injured ribs.  Fallon wasn’t sure Laura’s ribs were actually broken, but she felt sure they were at least cracked and needed good support for proper healing.

Laura sent Fallon back for a splashier pair of shoes and a handbag, but otherwise, the outfit was perfect.  One more stop at a beauty shop yielded cosmetics capable of covering the worst of the bruises on her face, neck and arms.

Mentally thanking the manufacturer of great painkillers, Laura slipped into the thigh-high stockings and dress while Fallon kept watch in a vacant parking lot.  She brushed her hair and applied the heavy pancake makeup before slicking on red lipstick.  Careful highlights and shadows camouflaged the swelling on cheek and chin, and a last layer of powder covered the deep bruise on her temple.  Finishing with the shoes, gloves and scarf, Laura aimed for the aimlessly wealthy look and thought she pulled it off.

She steadied herself by holding onto the car door as Fallon looked her over for any evidence of bandages or bruises.  “How do I look?” she asked the nurse.

“Like a movie star, me girl, like a movie star.”

*****

Drying his hair briskly with the towel, Remington wondered when Mildred would arrive.  He was hungry and cranky but refused to use room service so as not to tip off his presence there.  A fruit and cheese tray and some cold cuts in the fridge managed to tide him over last night, but the veal advertised in the room service menu sounded more succulent and tasty every time he thought about it.  He hesitated at shaving and then decided the three days’ growth disguised him somewhat and left it alone.

When his pacing annoyed even himself, he decided he could wait in the hotel bar as well as he could hide in his room.  Just in case, he scribbled a note to Mildred.  He donned a white fedora and black sunglasses for a simple disguise and left the room the way he came.

*****

“What do you want me to do?”  Still in the parking lot, Fallon’s eyes fairly danced at the excitement though she worried about Laura’s knee in those heels.

“I’ll flag a taxi to the hotel.  You follow and come in right behind me.  If necessary, I’ll stall long enough for you to catch up.  I’ll walk straight to the elevator and wait for you to get in with me.  I’m assuming they haven’t closed us out of the suite yet, but if they did, we’ll go straight back to your car.” 

Laura was quiet as she thought it through one more time.  “Do you mind carrying my coat?  I would rather not lose it as it was a gift from Mr. Steele.”

“Of course not.  Just promise me you’ll not run in those shoes.  You’re hurting your knee even as we speak.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  Laura leaned over to give the woman a kiss on the cheek.  “Thank you for everything, Ms. Sweeney.  I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

Fallon blushed through her freckles.  “Ah, sure ye would.  But maybe you wouldn’t be so pretty when you got here.”  The two women shared a grin.

“Ready?” Laura asked Fallon.

But things never go quite as planned.

*****

By eleven-thirty in the morning, Remington nursed a glass of gin and tonic in the quiet hotel bar after a decent, if early, lunch.  A slim cigar smoldered in the ashtray.  He rarely smoked anymore, only indulging whenever a disguise called for it or in times of extreme stress.  The latter certainly qualified today.  Like a racehorse behind the starting gate, he strained at the bit to get out and look for his wife again as soon as Mildred arrived.

From the recesses of the elegant bar, dark with its hand-scraped walnut floors and paneling, he kept a discrete eye out for his surrogate mother.  At the moment, Mildred was his lifeline as he hung by the proverbial thread.  With no one else to trust, he brooded into his glass and concentrated on looking slightly disreputable.

*****

Mildred and Murphy’s taxi dumped them out into the middle of the reporters, and they had to fight their way through the milling bunch to check in at the front desk.

A woman arrived moments later, simple and stunning in red, with her hat angled down and the sunglasses covering the rest of her face, the crowd parted.  She tucked her black clutch beneath her gloved elbow and strolled through, ignoring them entirely. 

Murphy let out a soft whistle under his breath, and Mildred elbowed him firmly.

Suddenly, the woman paused mid-stride, staring into the bar.  A wide bank of windows backlit a man in a
fedora with the brim tipped low.  He brought a cigar to his lips and put it down.
 
“Huh, someone’s got her attention,” Mildred commented as she stashed her room key in her purse.

“Hope he’s worth her while.  She’s a stunner.”

“You’re wife would lock you in the closet for a month if she heard you.”

He flinched from Mildred’s elbow.  “Yep.  And that would be okay.”  Suddenly, he recognized the way she moved.  He waved his hand toward the glamorous woman.  “Doesn’t she strike you as familiar?"

“Her?  Oh my, is that--”  Murphy stopped her with a hand to her lips, and they watched the scene play out from across the lobby.

*****

Concerned about her sudden stop and wondering about her knee, Fallon called out softly, “Ilsa ... Ilsa, are you okay?”

The man’s head snapped up.

“Ms. Blaine?” Fallon asked again.

Sharing a stare with the man, "Ilsa" shushed the woman softly.  “I’m okay.  Give me a minute.”  She sauntered to the man’s table, stopping only to beg a cigarette from a portly business man whose heart floundered and fell at her feet in his haste to grant her wish.

Under the edge of his brim, he watched her flirt with a local patron and come away with a cigarette in her hand.  Light on her feet, she swayed to his table in a sensual strut.  He knocked back the remaining gin and carefully set the short glass down with a trembling hand.

She waved her cigarette toward him.  “Can a girl trouble you for a light ... Mr. Blaine?”  Her dulcet voice sent shivers through him.  It was a secret game they played time and again--he as Rick Blaine and she as Ilsa Lund in the famous movie Casablanca.  

True to form and with his heart soaring, he knocked over his glass as he swept her up in a ravishing kiss.




Chapter 12 -- Love