Steeling a Dream
Part 1: Diamonds of Steele
Part 1: Diamonds of Steele
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Steele Holting On
Chapter 14 Legwork
Early the next morning, Murphy woke when Steele stepped out to the terrace. Yawning, he rolled off the
sofa and punched the button on the coffee maker. He carried his steaming cup to the little patio, shutting
the door behind him.
Remington barely shifted his gaze away from the horizon. “Sorry ‘bout waking you, mate.”
“Don’t think anything about it.” Murphy cocked his head thoughtfully. “I don’t sleep well when Kate’s
not with me. How about you? Are you two okay?”
“Fine, fine. We’ll be fine and all that. Just take a few days, that’s all.” He waved his own mug of tea in
the air and resumed staring at the brightening horizon.
“We don’t have a few days, old pal. We need both of you on your game and that means getting past this
... this--”
“Incident? Hiccup? Bloody buggering nightmare?” Steele shot back.
“Look, neither of you had any control over the situation. You did what you had to do. She’s not
blaming you, is she?”
“No, of course not,” he said without thinking.
“Then what are you blaming yourself for?” Remington didn’t answer. He just held up a hand and shook
his head. Murphy sighed. “When you figure it out, let me know so I can tell you how stupid you are.”
He flopped down on the wrought iron loveseat and drank his coffee.
Remington was conscious of Murphy sticking around and somewhere in the back of his mind, he was
grateful for his support. His muddied and disjointed thoughts tumbled around in his head for a while
before he came to the conclusion that sorting them took too much effort. Finally, he turned to his friend
and brother, “Want breakfast?”
“You cooking?”
“Aye, mate.”
“I’m in.”
While Murphy showered, Remington called room service and asked for a variety of groceries to be
brought up. Twenty minutes later, a confused bellhop set two large bags on the counter. “Thanks,
mate.” He slipped the boy a bill from his wallet. The boy touched his cap and slipped noiselessly out the
door.
He diced onions and tomatoes, minced garlic and sautéed mushrooms. By the time he cracked eggs into
a bowl, Mildred wandered out. “That smells divine, Boss. You sharing?”
“Of course, Ms. Krebs. Any special preferences?”
“Nope. You make it; I’ll eat it. Can I do anything?”
Remington glanced at their bedroom door. “Will you look in on Laura and make sure she’s still
sleeping?”
Mildred frowned at the back of his head. “Sure, Boss.” She wondered why he didn’t want to check on
her himself. Laura looked about fifteen years old without makeup and her hair tumbling all over her
pillow. Her heart ached at seeing all the swelling and bruising on the younger woman’s face. Her eyes
were still closed, so Mildred quietly shut the door behind her. “She’s still asleep.”
“Excellent. She needs her rest.”
“No offense, Mr. Steele, but you look like you could catch a few z’s yourself.” She hadn’t missed his
still-worn look that morning.
The phone rang. Mildred jumped to get it just about the time Murphy stepped out of the bathroom.
"Hello?"
"Where’s Steele? I know he’s there," said the voice on the other end of the line.
Mildred shrugged her shoulders and motioned that the caller wanted Remington. Murphy took the
handset from her. “Steele here.”
“We’re not done yet, Steele. I want my diamonds.”
“Find someone else to get them.”
“Get my diamonds or your wife leaves this country in a box.”
"Where is my wife?"
“In your own goddamned bed, Steele. You’ve got twelve days, and my men are watching you. One
wrong move and you’ll both pay. Don’t cross me on this, Steele. And don’t try to run either.”
Murphy quietly put the phone down.
“Not bad. I didn’t know you could do accents,” Mildred commented.
“Neither did I.” Murphy’s revelation cracked all three of them up and quiet laughter rang through the
kitchen.
Laura woke to an empty bed and a splitting headache. Someone had thoughtfully placed a glass of water
next to a pill on her bedside table. One guess as to who that might be. She swallowed the medicine and
lay back on her pillow, willing the pain to go away and wishing Remington were there. She missed him
holding her last night. It was the first time since they began sharing a bed that they didn’t touch in some
way while they were sleeping. Her heart ached.
Thirty minutes later Remington stood by her bedside. Laura opened her eyes, automatically reaching out
to him. He hesitated before taking her hand and placing a perfunctory kiss on her forehead. Even in her
foggy brain, Laura noticed the difference. She breathed deep to clear her head and smelled breakfast
wafting through air.
“Up, Laura. Time to eat. You need to consume something other than pills today.” He pulled her from
the bed and helped her into dining room. Mildred and Murphy were already there, happily inhaling the
mushroom and vegetable omelettes Remington had prepared.
“This is divine, Chief. I can’t imagine what kind of workouts you two to do to be able to eat like this all
the time. I’d look like a meatball by the end of the month,” Mildred joked.
“I, ah, thank you for the compliment,” he said slowly as he took his chair. Remington fed his wife
breakfast. She fidgeted and kept rubbing her eyes and head. “What’s wrong, love?”
“I feel fuzzy. I can’t concentrate on anything, and my eyes keep crossing."
“It’s the pain medicine.” Mildred patted her on the arm. “Ms. Sweeney said this might happen if you
took it on an empty stomach. Once you eat, you’ll feel better.” Laura gave a tiny nod and opened her
mouth for the bite of egg Remington held out for her.
Afterward, Murphy and Mildred volunteered for kitchen duty while Remington took Laura into the
bathroom. “Laura, uh, do you need to, uh ... “
“Go to the bathroom?” she added groggily.
“Ah, yes.”
“Yep. If you can get me close, I can do the rest.”
Thank God. “You’re sure?” Intimacy was one thing; watching your spouse pee was entirely another.
Remington was a big fan of doors on the water closet. Some things just didn’t need to be shared.
“Yes. I’ll need help in the shower though.”
Fingers capable of picking the most difficult of locks turned out to be equally adept at braiding long
auburn hair. Laura’s morning routine provided a constant source of fascination for Remington. Prior to
their marriage, he'd only cohabited with a woman occasionally and not for any extended period of time--
and he'd never shared a bathroom.
From their first day waking together in Ashford Castle, Remington made a point of watching Laura or
joining her for at least part of their morning toilette. He craved the intimate atmosphere that only the
closest of friends and lovers achieve. Laura was mostly amused by his presence. He studied her
cosmetics, her hairstyling tools, and even her razor--eventually replacing the latter with a superior version
of his own.
He loved brushing her long hair and watching the silky strands dance through the bristles. He spent
several hours one night learning to French braid Laura’s hair after nagging her for weeks before she gave
in. Of course, it did not take him long before he plaited her tresses with flair and precision. If Laura
could be pressured into admitting it, he did a better job than she.
This morning, Remington’s familiarity with Laura’s routine was priceless. Her hands were still incredibly
sensitive to heat, and her first two fingers had to stay dry, so they showered together with her left hand
covered in a latex glove. “Presidential Suite and no seat in the shower. What’s this world coming to?”
Laura muttered as she fumbled one-handedly with her buttons.
“Don’t worry; we’ll think of something.” He brushed her hands aside and had her clothes off in
moments. Seeing Laura naked and covered in dark bruises made Remington wince--although he
carefully schooled his expression not to let it show. Guilt tramped through him and kicked him in the
shin again.
He put one arm around her while he bathed her and washed her hair. Keeping her steadied was a neat
trick that relied both on his agility and strength and Laura’s intense desire not to fall on her ass in the
bathtub. Thank God my head is clearing up, she thought. I might not have enough balance for this
otherwise. Laura moaned as he rinsed the last of the soap from her hair. “Darling, that feels
incredible.” Fallon had helped her wash yesterday, but Remington knew her inside and out. In her
opinion, only a hot shower and a good scrubbing with her favorite shampoo truly made her feel clean.
“Mmm, good. Tilt your head back for me.” He sluiced water over her head. “There you go, love.
Now hold on to me while I wash.”
Laura leaned against the tiled wall and clutched Remington’s waist while he showered. She frowned at
the marks covering his body. The soap was sure to make them sting. He made short work of washing
up and turned off the water before wrapping her in one of the hotel’s thick towels.
They spent the next half hour treating each other’s bumps and bruises. She patched up his scratches,
and he worked his way up her body from foot to face. Her feet looked much better--a couple of band-
aids on the most sensitive blisters and thick socks took care of them. Then Remington wrapped her knee
with expert skill. The swelling was down significantly, and he was determined to keep it that way.
Working his way up, he pressed on the questionable ribs. “How do these feel?”
She winced. “Ow! That hurts.”
He nodded and wrapped them tightly as well, ignoring her quick inhalation as he cinched it a notch.
“You’re able to sit up without support, though I know it hurts, so I’m sure they’re not broken. Ms.
Sweeney’s right; they’re probably cracked. Two or three weeks will see them healed.”
He left her hands uncovered today except for the two left fingers. The skin peeled in places and itched,
but she was grateful to have some use of them.
“How does your head feel?” Remington stared into her eyes. She blinked at his intense gaze. “Any
headaches?”
She blinked again in surprise. “No, actually.” No wonder she felt better. The dull throb was gone.
Well, at least until Remington replaced the tape across the bridge of her nose. “Ouch!”
“Sorry, love. No other way to do it.” His eyes trailed over her face. “The swelling’s down. You’re
beginning to look like you again.”
Laura tried to look behind her into the mirror. “Really?”
“Mmmm, just the same as if Laurie Beth took her favorite marker to your face.” He referred to their
youngest niece and the bruises fading from deep purple to dark green.
“Oh! You!” She edged around and got a good look at herself. “I look terrible!”
“Love, it’s healing. Give it a week and you’ll be good as new.”
Laura reached into the drawer beside her and fished out her cosmetics bag. “At least I can do something
about it.” But it was harder than she thought to apply makeup with her right hand--especially with
sensitive, peeling tips.
Remington watched her struggle for a minute while he dressed. “Would you like some help with that?”
he offered.
Laura’s mouth fell open. “I, uh, okay.” He blended her foundation and concealer together and layered it
over the worst of bruises, then smoothed the crème over her entire face. When he was done, only faint
dark smudges could be seen under her eyes. She couldn’t hide her astonishment. “Rei, you do
occasionally surprise the hell out of me.”
He dropped a kiss on her head. “Good. It’d be a shame if I couldn’t do that after watching you every
morning for the past two years. Think you can do the rest?”
Laura nodded, thinking that his casual kiss felt good. She painstakingly applied mascara and lip gloss
while Remington dried her hair and plaited it. The two braids on either side of her head met at the back
where he secured them with a gorgeous black clip. “Oh, I like that.” She turned her head this way and
that. “I do believe, if you gave up detective work, you could find a career as a hairstylist.”
“Bite your tongue, Laura. I’ve little desire to play with anyone’s hair but yours,” he quipped. As he
assisted her into the living room, he realized that in the process of helping his wife this morning, she had
somehow managed to soothe some of the jagged edges in his soul.
While the couple dressed, Mildred and Murphy canvassed the hotel. They chatted up the valets, talked
to the check-in desk clerks and any other staff members they could corner for a moment or two. When
they returned to the suite, they found Laura and Remington sitting in the living room with Laura’s leg
propped up, going over Mildred’s notes from the previous day.
“Hi, Chief ... Hey, Mrs. Steele. You look better today,” she chirped.
“Thanks, Mildred,” Laura replied. “I feel better. What have you two been up to this morning?”
“Lots. Does anyone want coffee?” The Steeles shook their heads.
“I do, but I’ll pour. Go ahead and tell them what you found out,” said Murphy.
Mildred was excited about finding a witness to the explosion, a loose-lipped valet that had already spilled
his story to the reporters still milling around the hotel. She recounted his story to the team.
“Aye, the Bannisters waited for me to bring their car around. The street was blocked with the Steeles'
limousine and another car parked the wrong way on the other side.”
“Do you remember what that car looked like?” Mildred asked.
“Ah, hmmm--an Audi p’haps? Aye, I saw the four rings on the hood.”
“What color: light or dark?”
“Black for sure.”
“Did you see the explosion? Or anything that happened just before it?
“Aye, I did. Seems I was pullin' in the street behind the limo when a bellhop spoke to the limo driver.
This was before the Steeles arrived. I don’t know the chap drivin’, but they spoke a minute before the
bellhop left.”
“How did you know he was a bellhop?”
“’e was dressed in the hotel uniform.”
“Good. What happened after the bellhop left?”
“Ah, that’s when things got a bit hairy.”
“Go on.”
“The Steeles came out of the hotel, and the bellhop called for Mrs. Steele. I don’t know what he said to
the lass, but she turned around and went back into the lobby. Mr. Steele got into the limo, but a man
came to the other side of the car. Mr. Steele got out o' the limo and got in t’other car, the Audi. The
Audi drove off, and the bloody limo exploded. I didn’t see Mrs. Steele, but the others tell me she was
screamin’ and what not, pounding on the car for her husband.”
“What others are those?” Mildred wanted to know.
“Why, the Bannisters, o’ course.”
“Of course.” Mildred added that to her notes. “Can you describe the man from the other car?”
“Ah, well, I can a bit. He’s broad and stocky, darkish short hair. How’s that?”
Mildred stuck out her hand, “Thank you, young man. You’ve been a lovely help today.” He blushed
and tipped his hat to her.
“Very good, Mildred,” Laura complimented. “Those descriptions match ones that Remington and I came
up with.”
“Exactly.” Mildred beamed.
“If you ever get tired of year-round spring in California, come to Denver. I’ll hire you in a minute,”
added Murphy. He related how he spent his own time wandering the lobby, making notes about the
layout and visiting with the girl at the concierge desk. A little flattery from the handsome blond American
and some astute questioning yielded a fair amount of interesting information about the hotel, including a
map of the first floor sketched on a napkin and quite a few names and bits of gossip about several
employees.
When he finished, Mildred retrieved the stack of papers Remington lifted from the castle. She handed it
to the two men to sort through. Murphy changed chairs to sit near his brother-in-law while Mildred
began quizzing Laura on the details of her experience. Laura was able to fill in her conversation with
O’Callaghan and quite a bit of detail about the castle itself.
Catching the gist of the conversation, Murphy butted in, “Three stories, Laura? Good God!” He rubbed
his temples. Even Remington looked troubled. He hadn’t realized.
Laura ignored her old partner and drew out the map Remington had sketched the night before. She
pointed out elevations and exterior details along with approximate distances to the creek and road while
her husband made detailed notes. She continued, “The distance from the creek to the road is only a
guess. I walked for maybe three or four hours along the creek bed, but I wasn’t making very good time--
maybe one or two miles per hour? So let’s say I walked between four and seven miles to the road.
When Fallon gets here, she can pinpoint where she picked me up, but it’s not really important since
Remington already knows how to get to the castle.”
Mildred cocked her head. “Mrs. Steele, I just want to make sure I get this straight. You climbed up a
wall, down three stories of stone, crossed the meadow and then a creek to the road?” Laura nodded.
“On a gimpy knee and ice,” she added. Laura nodded again. “What were you thinking? What if your
knee had given out?”
Laura sighed. She didn’t like thinking about it. “Mildred, at that moment, I thought Rei was dead. I had
been drugged, raped and beaten. Quite frankly, I didn’t care if I made it. If I did, I figured either God or
Remington wanted me to live. I was betting on Rei when I found my lockpick under my wedding ring.”
Mildred’s mouth fell open. She’d never heard Laura’s nickname for Mr. Steele. She thought she knew
her kids pretty well, but discovery gave her a tiny glimpse into the profound relationship they had
developed in the past two years. Closing her mouth, she turned to him. “Where were you, Chief?” She
whipped out the timeline and began sketching notes.
Remington recovered from his own astonishment at Laura’s use of his nickname in front of the pair.
“Distracting O’Callaghan so she had time to get away.” He doodled on the notepad in front of him,
sketching diamonds in all various cuts and sizes.
Irked, Murphy flipped through Mildred’s notes of Remington’s recitation. “You didn’t mention checking
her cell to see if she escaped.”
“I tried, but couldn’t get to it. I could hear O’Callaghan ranting from the other end of the corridor.
Besides, his expression gave it away. That’s why he didn’t want me to see her again.”
“But when you escaped, you didn’t try to find her.”
“Murphy, I could have wasted hours looking for Laura in the dark. I had no idea in which direction she
headed. Not only that, I would double the chance of one of us getting caught. Instead, I headed to the
first place she would go.”
“But you left her behind while you made your escape. How could you leave her like that and not even
try to find her?” Murphy’s temper snapped as he jumped to his feet and began pacing. The image of
Laura trudging cold and battered through the countryside was burned into his brain. “She’s your wife for
God’s sake!” He thought of his own Kate in that situation and clenched his fist.
Steele stood, his own hands balling up as he shot back in icy cold tones, “If I, for one moment, thought
Laura couldn’t escape from that cell alone, I would never have left her. I bloody well did what I could to
ensure she could get out and then I let her do her job. If she could get out if that cell, she could see her
way to the nearest village.”
“It’s not a job; she’s your wife. And that’s a hell of a lot of faith, Steele.” Murphy crossed his arms to
keep from slugging that pretty face.
“Yes, it bloody well is. And if you think that walking out of the cell after seeing what they had done to
her wasn’t the hardest bloody thing I’ve done in my life, you’re quite mistaken,” he shot back in a hard
voice.
Privately, he admitted to himself if he had known she was three stories off the ground, he would have at
least checked to see if she made the descent. The image of her broken body lying in the frost flashed
through his head, making him wince. He shook his head to ward off the vision. “Don’t get me wrong,
Murphy, had I not known that Laura was already out, I would have never left the grounds.”
For lack of anything better to do, he jammed his hands into his pockets and looked down at Laura. He
frowned at her cheery disposition. Murphy caught the look and echoed Remington’s expression. Laura
leaned back against the sofa and cupped her uninjured knee. “It took you long enough, partner.” She
grinned.
Murphy stuttered, “You’re ... you’re not angry with him?”
“No. Why should I be? As Remington once told me, when you’re partners, you never leave someone
behind unless you can trust him to get himself out when things go bad. If you can’t do that, it’s time to
get out of the game.”
“I’m astonished you remembered that, love.” Remington picked up her injured hand and kissed the back
of it before sitting down again. Murphy took his seat as well, shaking his head.
Laura continued, “Murphy, Kate’s not in the business. She doesn’t know the things the four of us do.
Oh, I know she’s played detective once or twice, but it’s not the same. And as a couple, things are
different for us. If we’re going to be a real partnership, Remington can’t come rushing over to rescue me
from every single danger. And vice versa. Yes, we’re sensible and do our best to meet risky situations
together, but sometimes we have to trust the other one will be okay without us.”
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“Because for now, this is the life we choose. Really, Murphy, it’s not much different from working with
you or Mildred. You trusted your back to me many times when we worked together.”
“Yes, but I ... wasn’t in love with you,” he sighed.
Remington chimed in, “Indeed. It’s harder, and Laura’s beat me over the head with it here and again,
but we’ve managed to work through it.”
Murphy muttered under his breath, too low for Laura to hear across the table, “Just wait ‘til she gets
pregnant.” Remington caught it though and flashed Murphy a quick grin.
Laura, missing the whole exchange, demanded they get back to the task. Mildred added a hearty second
though she slid her eyes toward Murphy and stifled her own small smile.
Murphy grew serious as they returned to the recounting of events. “One more thing. That phone call for
you this morning, Steele. ...” He recounted the conversation for Laura while Mildred wrote it down.
“Then our little ruse in the lobby only fooled the reporters,” mused Laura. “They already know we’re
here.”
“We’ve got a snitch in the hotel.” That was from Remington.
“Who?” Mildred wondered, then snapped her fingers. “It’s got to be someone at the concierge desk or
nearby because all requests from the Presidential Suite are routed through the concierge. I’ll get the hotel
manager in here. I think we need to talk.”
Twenty minutes later, a fussy little man knocked on the door. Murphy opened it and waived him into
the living room where Laura was wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa and Remington paced behind it.
Mildred sat near Laura with her ever-present steno pad. Upon getting his first look at Mr. Steele’s icy
cold demeanor and Mrs. Steele’s battered face, the manager stuttered nervously. “Mr. Steele, I had no
idea you arrived back safely. May I ... may I call a doctor for your wife?”
“Already done. But we do have some questions for you. Please,” he gestured to the sofa, “have a seat.
Mind telling me your name?”
Thoroughly intimidated, the manager sat abruptly. “Sir, yes, I mean, of course, sir. Matthew Donovan.”
“Mr. Donovan. My wife and I were attacked outside this very hotel on Sunday. We were kidnapped
and mistreated before we were able to make our way back here.”
“Yes, sir. Surely you’ll not be thinking our hotel is responsible for these events?”
“Not directly.” The little man seemed relieved. That feeling didn’t last long when Remington continued,
“We do have concerns that someone on your staff may have tipped off the person or persons responsible
for our situation.”
“Wha-- How do you come by that conclusion?” Donovan’s face twitched and he clasped his hands
nervously.
Murphy walked over and stood next to the man as he took up the thread of interrogation. “Because I
checked and all internal hotel phone calls from the penthouse are routed directly to the concierge desk
with the exception of room service.” That little tidbit came from the girl at the check-in desk. “Which
means that when Mr. and Mrs. Steele called for their car on Sunday, someone at the concierge desk took
the message and notified another party quickly enough to set whatever plan they had in motion. Without
someone relaying that information, it would be impossible to time all the elements of the kidnapping
exactly.” Murphy propped a foot on the coffee table and leaned in. “So tell us, Mr. Donovan, who was
the concierge on Sunday afternoon?”
“Sean Hennessy. He’s a nice young lad I brought in nearly three years ago. Never had a problem.”
“And was he on duty Tuesday around lunchtime?”
“Ah, let me think. Yes, yes he was. He’s working the day shift right now with Mondays and Thursdays
off.”
“Thank you. How many other concierges do you have?”
“Three. I have three shifts a day, and someone has a day off.”
“Good to know.” Mildred wrote the details on her notepad. “We’ll need duty rosters for the past thirty
days and for the next two weeks,” she ordered. ”We’ll visit with each of them. I’ll speak with the three
on duty today--today’s Thursday--so perhaps you’ll give us Mr. Hennessey’s address, and we’ll call on
him at home?”
Reluctantly, the manager agreed. He feared the Steeles might file a lawsuit against the hotel if he refused
to cooperate. As the case had already garnered international attention, he had a vested interest in keeping
the hotel’s reputation unblemished. In fact, he could reap quite a bit of profit from the ensuing tourism if
he managed to keep both the press and the Steeles happy. In light of the former, he ventured to ask a
favor from the latter, “Would it be possible for y--for your representative to hold a press conference? Or
at least release a statement? The reporters are beginning to be a bit of a nuisance to the other guests. If
you would rather not, I quite understand.”
Remington arched a brow. “Indeed. Perhaps that would be best. We will inform you of our decision.”
The manager nodded, unsure if Mr. Steele was using a royal “we” or if he was referring to himself and
Mrs. Steele.
When Donovan left the suite, Murphy turned to Steele, “How would you like to pay young Hennessy a
visit today?”
An unholy grin lit up Remington’s face. “I’d like that very much, thank you.”
“Boys, boys. Let’s get back to work here,” said Mildred. “You can go intimidate Hennessy this
afternoon. Now, we have some ground to cover.”
Laura found the whole exchange fascinating. Whereas she nominally led most of the investigations in the
agency, this was the first time she stepped back entirely to let the rest of the team handle it. Really, she
didn’t have much of a choice. With all the painkillers floating through her system, she was having a hard
time concentrating on much at all. She refused to admit out loud that she could hardly make her way
through Mildred’s shorthand notes at the moment. Right now it was impressive watching the three of
them team up with Mildred playing centerfield. Her IRS roots showed as she snapped orders and
demanded answers.
Once she gathered the team around the table again and had an accurate recounting of the events since
Sunday, she pulled out the list of speculations from the night before along with the file folder from Mr.
Steele’s office. “I found one of the names you mentioned in your file, Chief. Rory Malone. What’s the
connection?”
“Somehow, Mildred, I knew you would leap on that.”
“This is no time for secrets, Chief. 'Fess up.”
Remington could see Laura furrowing her brow in concentration. “Malone’s a shady jeweler who
bounced around London and Dublin. When he needed, ah, shall we say, a significant infusion of capital,
he hired me to lift a particular jewel and stage a break-in so he could make a claim on his insurance. I
worked three separate jobs for him over four or five years. Each time I returned the jewels and was paid
a percentage of the insurance. All three times he shorted me.”
“How much?” Murphy wanted to know.
“My fee was twenty percent--he paid me fifteen the first two times and only ten the last time. He knew
better. The last time I lifted a little extra pay.” He tapped his wedding band and pointed to Laura’s. “I
found three small red stones hidden in his office and took them home with me. Once I figured out what
they were, I sneaked back in and substituted three rubies of excellent color and cut for the stones. They
cost me a few quid too.”
Mildred lifted Laura’s left hand. “I always assumed these were rubies. What are they then?”
“Red diamonds.” That came from Laura. “I knew you would have a story for them. Is this what
they’re after? Our rings?”
“No, I’ll get to that. By the time Malone figured out who nicked the gems, I already had built a decent
reputation as a bloody good thief. Malone was afraid if he called me on it, I’d pick his pockets clean.”
“Would you?” Laura asked.
“Of course. I’d a reputation to maintain.” Remington pretended to straighten his collar.
“Are you afraid he’ll come after you?”
“Doesn’t work that way, love. If he spills on me now, I’ll turn him in for the rest.”
“Red diamonds? I’ve never even heard of such a thing,” said Mildred.
Remington brushed his thumb across his own band. “They’re in the same class as any fancy coloured
diamond: pink, purple and red are all variants. But they are only found in one particular mine in
Australia. A true red diamond is so rare that perhaps one a year is found, cut, and sold at auction for
around a million a caret. A matched set like the ones we wear? Despite the fact they are small, they’re
worth a bloody fortune because they are cut from the same stone.
“A million a caret? I hope you’re insured.”
“Indeed we are. Thank you, Mildred.”
“Wait a minute; if you stole them all those years ago, how were you able to insure them? Surely they
would have turned up on the radar?” Murphy wondered
Remington rubbed his nose. “I, ah, stole the provenance when I replaced the stones.” All four of them
knew that provenance is the record of ownership for any valuable object such as art or jewelry. Without
it, the property could only be sold illegally on the black market. No legitimate auction house or museum
would accept a piece without provenance. He continued, “Since Malone never reported the stones
stolen, some time ago I simply added my name to the bill of sale and insured them. There’s very little he
can do about it now.”
“So what’s the link between Malone and O’Callaghan,” Murphy wanted to know.
“Malone’s got himself an uncut red diamond that O’Callaghan wants. It’s supposed to be about two
carets and pure red in color. What I don’t know is what he plans to do with it, and I don’t know why he
picked me. I’ve never worked for O’Callaghan, at least that I knew, so the connection has to be
Malone. But really, Malone made it easy for me to break into his shop and get the jewelry. I only had to
set the scene for the break-in, so to speak. The only time I actually lifted a gem from him was the last
time with the three diamonds.”
Steele paused for a moment. “What I can tell you is that he’s the only person besides Daniel, and now
the three of you, that knew about these diamonds and how I obtained them. When O’Callaghan and I
conversed, it was apparent that not only did he know I had them, he knew when and where I got them.
Which means Malone spilled the beans to him for some reason.”
“Sounds like we need to pay Malone a visit too.”
Before Remington could answer Murphy, a knock on the door interrupted them. Murphy opened the
door for Fallon and a much older man she introduced as Dr. Hathaway.
With Remington looking on from the doorway, Dr. Hathaway examined Laura in their bedroom. The
doctor had years of experience etched on his face, and his beefy hands carefully searched out every
injury on her tiny frame. “Just a wee slip of a lass, aren’t ye? Now take a deep breath. Since I can’t get
an MRI of your knee, I’ll have to feel out your ligaments to see what’s torn and what’s not. I’ll be
flexing your joint this way and that.” As he explained, he rubbed his hands together to warm them before
he began walking his fingers along her tendons.
In moments, Laura was sheet white. She tried to grit her teeth and think past what the doctor was doing,
but it hurt. She wanted Remington, but he was still so unnerved about touching her that he stood frozen
by the door. It wasn’t until she sucked in her breath and swayed when Dr. Hathaway pressed on a
particularly sore ligament that her husband slid an arm around her and let her bury her face in his
shoulder. Another long minute passed before she felt his hand come up to stroke her hair.
When the doctor finished, he wrapped the joint securely once again and fixed her a hard gaze under
beetled brows. “You are the luckiest lass I’ve treated. From what Nurse Sweeney tells me about the
shape she found you in Monday night, you’re fortunate to be in one piece. A bad stumble, another bump
on your head and you would be unconscious and freezing to your death.” He shook his head. “I agree
with Nurse Sweeney; you’ve got a concussion, a broken nose, bruised ribs, second degree burns on your
fingers, a torn knee and a touch of frostnip on your feet. All of these are healing well, thanks to the care
you’ve received. Now, about your knee--it’s apparent you’ve had surgery before.”
Laura nodded with her head still on Remington’s shoulder, and he answered for her. “She collided with
a tree while we chased a criminal down the street last year.” He described in detail exactly how the
kneecap and ligaments were repaired.
The doctor nodded and hmmmd to himself. “Ah, that explains all the scar tissue.” He fixed grey-brown
eyes on her again. “Me best guess is you took a solid kick right here.” He pointed to an area just at the
top and outside of her kneecap where the contusions were the darkest. “It doesn’t feel torn, just
stretched badly, and the whole area is bruised deeply. The scar tissue makes everything more sensitive
to swelling. For now, ‘tis critical you keep off it and elevated for at least a solid week.” He waggled a
finger at her. “No walking, no limping, no weight at all on it. Give it a chance to heal, lass.” He
breathed deeply. “When you don’t need the pain medicine anymore, start with the exercises you learned
in rehab. Ye understand?”
“Yes, thank you, doctor,” Laura spoke up and sat up.
“Good. Now get some more rest. Sleeps what’s best for healing, me girl. Especially for that hard head
of yours.” The doctor rose along with Remington. Fallon bustled in at that moment with a glass of water
and a milder pain medication for Laura. The woman helped Laura get resettled in bed before she left.
Remington smoothed the sheets around her and stood beside the bed. She reached out to touch his
fingers but missed when he turned to close the door. Alone and unhappy, Laura gave in to the
medication and slept.
Mildred offered the doctor and nurse a cup of tea. While the water was heating, Fallon motioned
Remington out to the terrace for a private conversation. Remington once again expressed his gratitude.
He brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Ms. Sweeney, my thanks for all you’ve done for us.”
She blushed merrily. “No thanks necessary, I’m glad to be of help.” She waved her hands at him,
shooing him to the rail. “Your lass stands not a chance against your Irish charm for sure.” He flashed
his characteristic wide grin at her. “Now lad, I want to talk a bit about what you told us yesterday.
‘Bout what you did to your wife.”
Remington straightened up and looked away, unable to meet her gaze.
“Me boyo, I’ve seen you with your wife. And I know how your wife thinks of you. Her grief over you
nearly tore me heart out.” She took his hand in hers. “Forgive yourself, Mr. Steele. Ye did what ye
thought best, awful though it may be. A lesser man would have left his wife so as not to be responsible
for her. You did the unthinkable and your wife is whole. She’ll never remember what happened.”
Fallon took another deep breath. “What’s more, forgive her for her actions, lad. She’ll never recollect
what she did to you. Don’t be afraid to tell her for she’s a strong one.”
Remington leaned on the rail and dug in his pocket for a toothpick. “I did. Inadvertently, I admit, but
she knows the whole of it.” He chewed on the tip.
“Then you’ll both be the better for it.” She patted his hand. “Neither o’ ye bears the blame for the
circumstances.” She blushed again and offered another bit of advice, “Don’t be afraid of loving her
again. It will be better than the last, and your heart will be that much mended.”
Now Remington flushed slightly at her frank advice. Fallon misunderstood his blush and roared with
laughter. “That’s me boyo. I see me meddling is useless. I think I’ll take me cup o’ tea,” she said with
a smile.
Remington stopped her when she turned to leave. “Ms. Sweeney, I’ll be sure to take your words to
heart. It ... helps. Laura told me much the same thing, but it helps to hear it from you.”
“You’re most welcome, me lad. Now come drink a cup whilst your wife rests a bit.”
While Dr. Hathaway quizzed Murphy about the merits of American football, Mildred pulled Fallon aside
to make notes on her map. The nurse pointed out where she picked up Laura. Remington looked over
her shoulder. “What castles are in this area? Maybe within ten kilometers or so?”
“Is that where ye were held? A castle?”
Remington raised a brow at her. “Yes.”
“The only one that comes to me mind is Castle Ballybruin. ‘Tis not far from here,” she tapped on the
spot Mildred marked. “Perhaps seven or eight kilometers. Here I think.” She tapped on another spot.
Mildred peered at the place she pointed out and compared it with her notes. “Look here, Chief. If the
castle is here, then here’s the stream she walked in, and there is the road where it crosses the stream.
Laura was right; this is seven kilometers or thereabouts--so maybe four and a half or five miles?”
“Do you know anything about the castle or who lives there?” Remington asked Fallon.
“Not much, I’m afraid. ‘Tis restored, I suppose, but no one sees much o’ the residents. I’ve never
heard of them entertaining or celebrating. For that matter, I don’t think they shop at the local markets.”
“Has it been sold recently?”
“No, maybe a decade or so ago? I’m not certain about that at all.”
“That’s quite all right. You’ve given us quite a bit to look into.” Fallon had merely confirmed what
Remington already knew about the place O’Callaghan called home.
Chapter 15 -- Teamwork
Early the next morning, Murphy woke when Steele stepped out to the terrace. Yawning, he rolled off the
sofa and punched the button on the coffee maker. He carried his steaming cup to the little patio, shutting
the door behind him.
Remington barely shifted his gaze away from the horizon. “Sorry ‘bout waking you, mate.”
“Don’t think anything about it.” Murphy cocked his head thoughtfully. “I don’t sleep well when Kate’s
not with me. How about you? Are you two okay?”
“Fine, fine. We’ll be fine and all that. Just take a few days, that’s all.” He waved his own mug of tea in
the air and resumed staring at the brightening horizon.
“We don’t have a few days, old pal. We need both of you on your game and that means getting past this
... this--”
“Incident? Hiccup? Bloody buggering nightmare?” Steele shot back.
“Look, neither of you had any control over the situation. You did what you had to do. She’s not
blaming you, is she?”
“No, of course not,” he said without thinking.
“Then what are you blaming yourself for?” Remington didn’t answer. He just held up a hand and shook
his head. Murphy sighed. “When you figure it out, let me know so I can tell you how stupid you are.”
He flopped down on the wrought iron loveseat and drank his coffee.
Remington was conscious of Murphy sticking around and somewhere in the back of his mind, he was
grateful for his support. His muddied and disjointed thoughts tumbled around in his head for a while
before he came to the conclusion that sorting them took too much effort. Finally, he turned to his friend
and brother, “Want breakfast?”
“You cooking?”
“Aye, mate.”
“I’m in.”
While Murphy showered, Remington called room service and asked for a variety of groceries to be
brought up. Twenty minutes later, a confused bellhop set two large bags on the counter. “Thanks,
mate.” He slipped the boy a bill from his wallet. The boy touched his cap and slipped noiselessly out the
door.
He diced onions and tomatoes, minced garlic and sautéed mushrooms. By the time he cracked eggs into
a bowl, Mildred wandered out. “That smells divine, Boss. You sharing?”
“Of course, Ms. Krebs. Any special preferences?”
“Nope. You make it; I’ll eat it. Can I do anything?”
Remington glanced at their bedroom door. “Will you look in on Laura and make sure she’s still
sleeping?”
Mildred frowned at the back of his head. “Sure, Boss.” She wondered why he didn’t want to check on
her himself. Laura looked about fifteen years old without makeup and her hair tumbling all over her
pillow. Her heart ached at seeing all the swelling and bruising on the younger woman’s face. Her eyes
were still closed, so Mildred quietly shut the door behind her. “She’s still asleep.”
“Excellent. She needs her rest.”
“No offense, Mr. Steele, but you look like you could catch a few z’s yourself.” She hadn’t missed his
still-worn look that morning.
The phone rang. Mildred jumped to get it just about the time Murphy stepped out of the bathroom.
"Hello?"
"Where’s Steele? I know he’s there," said the voice on the other end of the line.
Mildred shrugged her shoulders and motioned that the caller wanted Remington. Murphy took the
handset from her. “Steele here.”
“We’re not done yet, Steele. I want my diamonds.”
“Find someone else to get them.”
“Get my diamonds or your wife leaves this country in a box.”
"Where is my wife?"
“In your own goddamned bed, Steele. You’ve got twelve days, and my men are watching you. One
wrong move and you’ll both pay. Don’t cross me on this, Steele. And don’t try to run either.”
Murphy quietly put the phone down.
“Not bad. I didn’t know you could do accents,” Mildred commented.
“Neither did I.” Murphy’s revelation cracked all three of them up and quiet laughter rang through the
kitchen.
Laura woke to an empty bed and a splitting headache. Someone had thoughtfully placed a glass of water
next to a pill on her bedside table. One guess as to who that might be. She swallowed the medicine and
lay back on her pillow, willing the pain to go away and wishing Remington were there. She missed him
holding her last night. It was the first time since they began sharing a bed that they didn’t touch in some
way while they were sleeping. Her heart ached.
Thirty minutes later Remington stood by her bedside. Laura opened her eyes, automatically reaching out
to him. He hesitated before taking her hand and placing a perfunctory kiss on her forehead. Even in her
foggy brain, Laura noticed the difference. She breathed deep to clear her head and smelled breakfast
wafting through air.
“Up, Laura. Time to eat. You need to consume something other than pills today.” He pulled her from
the bed and helped her into dining room. Mildred and Murphy were already there, happily inhaling the
mushroom and vegetable omelettes Remington had prepared.
“This is divine, Chief. I can’t imagine what kind of workouts you two to do to be able to eat like this all
the time. I’d look like a meatball by the end of the month,” Mildred joked.
“I, ah, thank you for the compliment,” he said slowly as he took his chair. Remington fed his wife
breakfast. She fidgeted and kept rubbing her eyes and head. “What’s wrong, love?”
“I feel fuzzy. I can’t concentrate on anything, and my eyes keep crossing."
“It’s the pain medicine.” Mildred patted her on the arm. “Ms. Sweeney said this might happen if you
took it on an empty stomach. Once you eat, you’ll feel better.” Laura gave a tiny nod and opened her
mouth for the bite of egg Remington held out for her.
Afterward, Murphy and Mildred volunteered for kitchen duty while Remington took Laura into the
bathroom. “Laura, uh, do you need to, uh ... “
“Go to the bathroom?” she added groggily.
“Ah, yes.”
“Yep. If you can get me close, I can do the rest.”
Thank God. “You’re sure?” Intimacy was one thing; watching your spouse pee was entirely another.
Remington was a big fan of doors on the water closet. Some things just didn’t need to be shared.
“Yes. I’ll need help in the shower though.”
Fingers capable of picking the most difficult of locks turned out to be equally adept at braiding long
auburn hair. Laura’s morning routine provided a constant source of fascination for Remington. Prior to
their marriage, he'd only cohabited with a woman occasionally and not for any extended period of time--
and he'd never shared a bathroom.
From their first day waking together in Ashford Castle, Remington made a point of watching Laura or
joining her for at least part of their morning toilette. He craved the intimate atmosphere that only the
closest of friends and lovers achieve. Laura was mostly amused by his presence. He studied her
cosmetics, her hairstyling tools, and even her razor--eventually replacing the latter with a superior version
of his own.
He loved brushing her long hair and watching the silky strands dance through the bristles. He spent
several hours one night learning to French braid Laura’s hair after nagging her for weeks before she gave
in. Of course, it did not take him long before he plaited her tresses with flair and precision. If Laura
could be pressured into admitting it, he did a better job than she.
This morning, Remington’s familiarity with Laura’s routine was priceless. Her hands were still incredibly
sensitive to heat, and her first two fingers had to stay dry, so they showered together with her left hand
covered in a latex glove. “Presidential Suite and no seat in the shower. What’s this world coming to?”
Laura muttered as she fumbled one-handedly with her buttons.
“Don’t worry; we’ll think of something.” He brushed her hands aside and had her clothes off in
moments. Seeing Laura naked and covered in dark bruises made Remington wince--although he
carefully schooled his expression not to let it show. Guilt tramped through him and kicked him in the
shin again.
He put one arm around her while he bathed her and washed her hair. Keeping her steadied was a neat
trick that relied both on his agility and strength and Laura’s intense desire not to fall on her ass in the
bathtub. Thank God my head is clearing up, she thought. I might not have enough balance for this
otherwise. Laura moaned as he rinsed the last of the soap from her hair. “Darling, that feels
incredible.” Fallon had helped her wash yesterday, but Remington knew her inside and out. In her
opinion, only a hot shower and a good scrubbing with her favorite shampoo truly made her feel clean.
“Mmm, good. Tilt your head back for me.” He sluiced water over her head. “There you go, love.
Now hold on to me while I wash.”
Laura leaned against the tiled wall and clutched Remington’s waist while he showered. She frowned at
the marks covering his body. The soap was sure to make them sting. He made short work of washing
up and turned off the water before wrapping her in one of the hotel’s thick towels.
They spent the next half hour treating each other’s bumps and bruises. She patched up his scratches,
and he worked his way up her body from foot to face. Her feet looked much better--a couple of band-
aids on the most sensitive blisters and thick socks took care of them. Then Remington wrapped her knee
with expert skill. The swelling was down significantly, and he was determined to keep it that way.
Working his way up, he pressed on the questionable ribs. “How do these feel?”
She winced. “Ow! That hurts.”
He nodded and wrapped them tightly as well, ignoring her quick inhalation as he cinched it a notch.
“You’re able to sit up without support, though I know it hurts, so I’m sure they’re not broken. Ms.
Sweeney’s right; they’re probably cracked. Two or three weeks will see them healed.”
He left her hands uncovered today except for the two left fingers. The skin peeled in places and itched,
but she was grateful to have some use of them.
“How does your head feel?” Remington stared into her eyes. She blinked at his intense gaze. “Any
headaches?”
She blinked again in surprise. “No, actually.” No wonder she felt better. The dull throb was gone.
Well, at least until Remington replaced the tape across the bridge of her nose. “Ouch!”
“Sorry, love. No other way to do it.” His eyes trailed over her face. “The swelling’s down. You’re
beginning to look like you again.”
Laura tried to look behind her into the mirror. “Really?”
“Mmmm, just the same as if Laurie Beth took her favorite marker to your face.” He referred to their
youngest niece and the bruises fading from deep purple to dark green.
“Oh! You!” She edged around and got a good look at herself. “I look terrible!”
“Love, it’s healing. Give it a week and you’ll be good as new.”
Laura reached into the drawer beside her and fished out her cosmetics bag. “At least I can do something
about it.” But it was harder than she thought to apply makeup with her right hand--especially with
sensitive, peeling tips.
Remington watched her struggle for a minute while he dressed. “Would you like some help with that?”
he offered.
Laura’s mouth fell open. “I, uh, okay.” He blended her foundation and concealer together and layered it
over the worst of bruises, then smoothed the crème over her entire face. When he was done, only faint
dark smudges could be seen under her eyes. She couldn’t hide her astonishment. “Rei, you do
occasionally surprise the hell out of me.”
He dropped a kiss on her head. “Good. It’d be a shame if I couldn’t do that after watching you every
morning for the past two years. Think you can do the rest?”
Laura nodded, thinking that his casual kiss felt good. She painstakingly applied mascara and lip gloss
while Remington dried her hair and plaited it. The two braids on either side of her head met at the back
where he secured them with a gorgeous black clip. “Oh, I like that.” She turned her head this way and
that. “I do believe, if you gave up detective work, you could find a career as a hairstylist.”
“Bite your tongue, Laura. I’ve little desire to play with anyone’s hair but yours,” he quipped. As he
assisted her into the living room, he realized that in the process of helping his wife this morning, she had
somehow managed to soothe some of the jagged edges in his soul.
While the couple dressed, Mildred and Murphy canvassed the hotel. They chatted up the valets, talked
to the check-in desk clerks and any other staff members they could corner for a moment or two. When
they returned to the suite, they found Laura and Remington sitting in the living room with Laura’s leg
propped up, going over Mildred’s notes from the previous day.
“Hi, Chief ... Hey, Mrs. Steele. You look better today,” she chirped.
“Thanks, Mildred,” Laura replied. “I feel better. What have you two been up to this morning?”
“Lots. Does anyone want coffee?” The Steeles shook their heads.
“I do, but I’ll pour. Go ahead and tell them what you found out,” said Murphy.
Mildred was excited about finding a witness to the explosion, a loose-lipped valet that had already spilled
his story to the reporters still milling around the hotel. She recounted his story to the team.
“Aye, the Bannisters waited for me to bring their car around. The street was blocked with the Steeles'
limousine and another car parked the wrong way on the other side.”
“Do you remember what that car looked like?” Mildred asked.
“Ah, hmmm--an Audi p’haps? Aye, I saw the four rings on the hood.”
“What color: light or dark?”
“Black for sure.”
“Did you see the explosion? Or anything that happened just before it?
“Aye, I did. Seems I was pullin' in the street behind the limo when a bellhop spoke to the limo driver.
This was before the Steeles arrived. I don’t know the chap drivin’, but they spoke a minute before the
bellhop left.”
“How did you know he was a bellhop?”
“’e was dressed in the hotel uniform.”
“Good. What happened after the bellhop left?”
“Ah, that’s when things got a bit hairy.”
“Go on.”
“The Steeles came out of the hotel, and the bellhop called for Mrs. Steele. I don’t know what he said to
the lass, but she turned around and went back into the lobby. Mr. Steele got into the limo, but a man
came to the other side of the car. Mr. Steele got out o' the limo and got in t’other car, the Audi. The
Audi drove off, and the bloody limo exploded. I didn’t see Mrs. Steele, but the others tell me she was
screamin’ and what not, pounding on the car for her husband.”
“What others are those?” Mildred wanted to know.
“Why, the Bannisters, o’ course.”
“Of course.” Mildred added that to her notes. “Can you describe the man from the other car?”
“Ah, well, I can a bit. He’s broad and stocky, darkish short hair. How’s that?”
Mildred stuck out her hand, “Thank you, young man. You’ve been a lovely help today.” He blushed
and tipped his hat to her.
“Very good, Mildred,” Laura complimented. “Those descriptions match ones that Remington and I came
up with.”
“Exactly.” Mildred beamed.
“If you ever get tired of year-round spring in California, come to Denver. I’ll hire you in a minute,”
added Murphy. He related how he spent his own time wandering the lobby, making notes about the
layout and visiting with the girl at the concierge desk. A little flattery from the handsome blond American
and some astute questioning yielded a fair amount of interesting information about the hotel, including a
map of the first floor sketched on a napkin and quite a few names and bits of gossip about several
employees.
When he finished, Mildred retrieved the stack of papers Remington lifted from the castle. She handed it
to the two men to sort through. Murphy changed chairs to sit near his brother-in-law while Mildred
began quizzing Laura on the details of her experience. Laura was able to fill in her conversation with
O’Callaghan and quite a bit of detail about the castle itself.
Catching the gist of the conversation, Murphy butted in, “Three stories, Laura? Good God!” He rubbed
his temples. Even Remington looked troubled. He hadn’t realized.
Laura ignored her old partner and drew out the map Remington had sketched the night before. She
pointed out elevations and exterior details along with approximate distances to the creek and road while
her husband made detailed notes. She continued, “The distance from the creek to the road is only a
guess. I walked for maybe three or four hours along the creek bed, but I wasn’t making very good time--
maybe one or two miles per hour? So let’s say I walked between four and seven miles to the road.
When Fallon gets here, she can pinpoint where she picked me up, but it’s not really important since
Remington already knows how to get to the castle.”
Mildred cocked her head. “Mrs. Steele, I just want to make sure I get this straight. You climbed up a
wall, down three stories of stone, crossed the meadow and then a creek to the road?” Laura nodded.
“On a gimpy knee and ice,” she added. Laura nodded again. “What were you thinking? What if your
knee had given out?”
Laura sighed. She didn’t like thinking about it. “Mildred, at that moment, I thought Rei was dead. I had
been drugged, raped and beaten. Quite frankly, I didn’t care if I made it. If I did, I figured either God or
Remington wanted me to live. I was betting on Rei when I found my lockpick under my wedding ring.”
Mildred’s mouth fell open. She’d never heard Laura’s nickname for Mr. Steele. She thought she knew
her kids pretty well, but discovery gave her a tiny glimpse into the profound relationship they had
developed in the past two years. Closing her mouth, she turned to him. “Where were you, Chief?” She
whipped out the timeline and began sketching notes.
Remington recovered from his own astonishment at Laura’s use of his nickname in front of the pair.
“Distracting O’Callaghan so she had time to get away.” He doodled on the notepad in front of him,
sketching diamonds in all various cuts and sizes.
Irked, Murphy flipped through Mildred’s notes of Remington’s recitation. “You didn’t mention checking
her cell to see if she escaped.”
“I tried, but couldn’t get to it. I could hear O’Callaghan ranting from the other end of the corridor.
Besides, his expression gave it away. That’s why he didn’t want me to see her again.”
“But when you escaped, you didn’t try to find her.”
“Murphy, I could have wasted hours looking for Laura in the dark. I had no idea in which direction she
headed. Not only that, I would double the chance of one of us getting caught. Instead, I headed to the
first place she would go.”
“But you left her behind while you made your escape. How could you leave her like that and not even
try to find her?” Murphy’s temper snapped as he jumped to his feet and began pacing. The image of
Laura trudging cold and battered through the countryside was burned into his brain. “She’s your wife for
God’s sake!” He thought of his own Kate in that situation and clenched his fist.
Steele stood, his own hands balling up as he shot back in icy cold tones, “If I, for one moment, thought
Laura couldn’t escape from that cell alone, I would never have left her. I bloody well did what I could to
ensure she could get out and then I let her do her job. If she could get out if that cell, she could see her
way to the nearest village.”
“It’s not a job; she’s your wife. And that’s a hell of a lot of faith, Steele.” Murphy crossed his arms to
keep from slugging that pretty face.
“Yes, it bloody well is. And if you think that walking out of the cell after seeing what they had done to
her wasn’t the hardest bloody thing I’ve done in my life, you’re quite mistaken,” he shot back in a hard
voice.
Privately, he admitted to himself if he had known she was three stories off the ground, he would have at
least checked to see if she made the descent. The image of her broken body lying in the frost flashed
through his head, making him wince. He shook his head to ward off the vision. “Don’t get me wrong,
Murphy, had I not known that Laura was already out, I would have never left the grounds.”
For lack of anything better to do, he jammed his hands into his pockets and looked down at Laura. He
frowned at her cheery disposition. Murphy caught the look and echoed Remington’s expression. Laura
leaned back against the sofa and cupped her uninjured knee. “It took you long enough, partner.” She
grinned.
Murphy stuttered, “You’re ... you’re not angry with him?”
“No. Why should I be? As Remington once told me, when you’re partners, you never leave someone
behind unless you can trust him to get himself out when things go bad. If you can’t do that, it’s time to
get out of the game.”
“I’m astonished you remembered that, love.” Remington picked up her injured hand and kissed the back
of it before sitting down again. Murphy took his seat as well, shaking his head.
Laura continued, “Murphy, Kate’s not in the business. She doesn’t know the things the four of us do.
Oh, I know she’s played detective once or twice, but it’s not the same. And as a couple, things are
different for us. If we’re going to be a real partnership, Remington can’t come rushing over to rescue me
from every single danger. And vice versa. Yes, we’re sensible and do our best to meet risky situations
together, but sometimes we have to trust the other one will be okay without us.”
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“Because for now, this is the life we choose. Really, Murphy, it’s not much different from working with
you or Mildred. You trusted your back to me many times when we worked together.”
“Yes, but I ... wasn’t in love with you,” he sighed.
Remington chimed in, “Indeed. It’s harder, and Laura’s beat me over the head with it here and again,
but we’ve managed to work through it.”
Murphy muttered under his breath, too low for Laura to hear across the table, “Just wait ‘til she gets
pregnant.” Remington caught it though and flashed Murphy a quick grin.
Laura, missing the whole exchange, demanded they get back to the task. Mildred added a hearty second
though she slid her eyes toward Murphy and stifled her own small smile.
Murphy grew serious as they returned to the recounting of events. “One more thing. That phone call for
you this morning, Steele. ...” He recounted the conversation for Laura while Mildred wrote it down.
“Then our little ruse in the lobby only fooled the reporters,” mused Laura. “They already know we’re
here.”
“We’ve got a snitch in the hotel.” That was from Remington.
“Who?” Mildred wondered, then snapped her fingers. “It’s got to be someone at the concierge desk or
nearby because all requests from the Presidential Suite are routed through the concierge. I’ll get the hotel
manager in here. I think we need to talk.”
Twenty minutes later, a fussy little man knocked on the door. Murphy opened it and waived him into
the living room where Laura was wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa and Remington paced behind it.
Mildred sat near Laura with her ever-present steno pad. Upon getting his first look at Mr. Steele’s icy
cold demeanor and Mrs. Steele’s battered face, the manager stuttered nervously. “Mr. Steele, I had no
idea you arrived back safely. May I ... may I call a doctor for your wife?”
“Already done. But we do have some questions for you. Please,” he gestured to the sofa, “have a seat.
Mind telling me your name?”
Thoroughly intimidated, the manager sat abruptly. “Sir, yes, I mean, of course, sir. Matthew Donovan.”
“Mr. Donovan. My wife and I were attacked outside this very hotel on Sunday. We were kidnapped
and mistreated before we were able to make our way back here.”
“Yes, sir. Surely you’ll not be thinking our hotel is responsible for these events?”
“Not directly.” The little man seemed relieved. That feeling didn’t last long when Remington continued,
“We do have concerns that someone on your staff may have tipped off the person or persons responsible
for our situation.”
“Wha-- How do you come by that conclusion?” Donovan’s face twitched and he clasped his hands
nervously.
Murphy walked over and stood next to the man as he took up the thread of interrogation. “Because I
checked and all internal hotel phone calls from the penthouse are routed directly to the concierge desk
with the exception of room service.” That little tidbit came from the girl at the check-in desk. “Which
means that when Mr. and Mrs. Steele called for their car on Sunday, someone at the concierge desk took
the message and notified another party quickly enough to set whatever plan they had in motion. Without
someone relaying that information, it would be impossible to time all the elements of the kidnapping
exactly.” Murphy propped a foot on the coffee table and leaned in. “So tell us, Mr. Donovan, who was
the concierge on Sunday afternoon?”
“Sean Hennessy. He’s a nice young lad I brought in nearly three years ago. Never had a problem.”
“And was he on duty Tuesday around lunchtime?”
“Ah, let me think. Yes, yes he was. He’s working the day shift right now with Mondays and Thursdays
off.”
“Thank you. How many other concierges do you have?”
“Three. I have three shifts a day, and someone has a day off.”
“Good to know.” Mildred wrote the details on her notepad. “We’ll need duty rosters for the past thirty
days and for the next two weeks,” she ordered. ”We’ll visit with each of them. I’ll speak with the three
on duty today--today’s Thursday--so perhaps you’ll give us Mr. Hennessey’s address, and we’ll call on
him at home?”
Reluctantly, the manager agreed. He feared the Steeles might file a lawsuit against the hotel if he refused
to cooperate. As the case had already garnered international attention, he had a vested interest in keeping
the hotel’s reputation unblemished. In fact, he could reap quite a bit of profit from the ensuing tourism if
he managed to keep both the press and the Steeles happy. In light of the former, he ventured to ask a
favor from the latter, “Would it be possible for y--for your representative to hold a press conference? Or
at least release a statement? The reporters are beginning to be a bit of a nuisance to the other guests. If
you would rather not, I quite understand.”
Remington arched a brow. “Indeed. Perhaps that would be best. We will inform you of our decision.”
The manager nodded, unsure if Mr. Steele was using a royal “we” or if he was referring to himself and
Mrs. Steele.
When Donovan left the suite, Murphy turned to Steele, “How would you like to pay young Hennessy a
visit today?”
An unholy grin lit up Remington’s face. “I’d like that very much, thank you.”
“Boys, boys. Let’s get back to work here,” said Mildred. “You can go intimidate Hennessy this
afternoon. Now, we have some ground to cover.”
Laura found the whole exchange fascinating. Whereas she nominally led most of the investigations in the
agency, this was the first time she stepped back entirely to let the rest of the team handle it. Really, she
didn’t have much of a choice. With all the painkillers floating through her system, she was having a hard
time concentrating on much at all. She refused to admit out loud that she could hardly make her way
through Mildred’s shorthand notes at the moment. Right now it was impressive watching the three of
them team up with Mildred playing centerfield. Her IRS roots showed as she snapped orders and
demanded answers.
Once she gathered the team around the table again and had an accurate recounting of the events since
Sunday, she pulled out the list of speculations from the night before along with the file folder from Mr.
Steele’s office. “I found one of the names you mentioned in your file, Chief. Rory Malone. What’s the
connection?”
“Somehow, Mildred, I knew you would leap on that.”
“This is no time for secrets, Chief. 'Fess up.”
Remington could see Laura furrowing her brow in concentration. “Malone’s a shady jeweler who
bounced around London and Dublin. When he needed, ah, shall we say, a significant infusion of capital,
he hired me to lift a particular jewel and stage a break-in so he could make a claim on his insurance. I
worked three separate jobs for him over four or five years. Each time I returned the jewels and was paid
a percentage of the insurance. All three times he shorted me.”
“How much?” Murphy wanted to know.
“My fee was twenty percent--he paid me fifteen the first two times and only ten the last time. He knew
better. The last time I lifted a little extra pay.” He tapped his wedding band and pointed to Laura’s. “I
found three small red stones hidden in his office and took them home with me. Once I figured out what
they were, I sneaked back in and substituted three rubies of excellent color and cut for the stones. They
cost me a few quid too.”
Mildred lifted Laura’s left hand. “I always assumed these were rubies. What are they then?”
“Red diamonds.” That came from Laura. “I knew you would have a story for them. Is this what
they’re after? Our rings?”
“No, I’ll get to that. By the time Malone figured out who nicked the gems, I already had built a decent
reputation as a bloody good thief. Malone was afraid if he called me on it, I’d pick his pockets clean.”
“Would you?” Laura asked.
“Of course. I’d a reputation to maintain.” Remington pretended to straighten his collar.
“Are you afraid he’ll come after you?”
“Doesn’t work that way, love. If he spills on me now, I’ll turn him in for the rest.”
“Red diamonds? I’ve never even heard of such a thing,” said Mildred.
Remington brushed his thumb across his own band. “They’re in the same class as any fancy coloured
diamond: pink, purple and red are all variants. But they are only found in one particular mine in
Australia. A true red diamond is so rare that perhaps one a year is found, cut, and sold at auction for
around a million a caret. A matched set like the ones we wear? Despite the fact they are small, they’re
worth a bloody fortune because they are cut from the same stone.
“A million a caret? I hope you’re insured.”
“Indeed we are. Thank you, Mildred.”
“Wait a minute; if you stole them all those years ago, how were you able to insure them? Surely they
would have turned up on the radar?” Murphy wondered
Remington rubbed his nose. “I, ah, stole the provenance when I replaced the stones.” All four of them
knew that provenance is the record of ownership for any valuable object such as art or jewelry. Without
it, the property could only be sold illegally on the black market. No legitimate auction house or museum
would accept a piece without provenance. He continued, “Since Malone never reported the stones
stolen, some time ago I simply added my name to the bill of sale and insured them. There’s very little he
can do about it now.”
“So what’s the link between Malone and O’Callaghan,” Murphy wanted to know.
“Malone’s got himself an uncut red diamond that O’Callaghan wants. It’s supposed to be about two
carets and pure red in color. What I don’t know is what he plans to do with it, and I don’t know why he
picked me. I’ve never worked for O’Callaghan, at least that I knew, so the connection has to be
Malone. But really, Malone made it easy for me to break into his shop and get the jewelry. I only had to
set the scene for the break-in, so to speak. The only time I actually lifted a gem from him was the last
time with the three diamonds.”
Steele paused for a moment. “What I can tell you is that he’s the only person besides Daniel, and now
the three of you, that knew about these diamonds and how I obtained them. When O’Callaghan and I
conversed, it was apparent that not only did he know I had them, he knew when and where I got them.
Which means Malone spilled the beans to him for some reason.”
“Sounds like we need to pay Malone a visit too.”
Before Remington could answer Murphy, a knock on the door interrupted them. Murphy opened the
door for Fallon and a much older man she introduced as Dr. Hathaway.
With Remington looking on from the doorway, Dr. Hathaway examined Laura in their bedroom. The
doctor had years of experience etched on his face, and his beefy hands carefully searched out every
injury on her tiny frame. “Just a wee slip of a lass, aren’t ye? Now take a deep breath. Since I can’t get
an MRI of your knee, I’ll have to feel out your ligaments to see what’s torn and what’s not. I’ll be
flexing your joint this way and that.” As he explained, he rubbed his hands together to warm them before
he began walking his fingers along her tendons.
In moments, Laura was sheet white. She tried to grit her teeth and think past what the doctor was doing,
but it hurt. She wanted Remington, but he was still so unnerved about touching her that he stood frozen
by the door. It wasn’t until she sucked in her breath and swayed when Dr. Hathaway pressed on a
particularly sore ligament that her husband slid an arm around her and let her bury her face in his
shoulder. Another long minute passed before she felt his hand come up to stroke her hair.
When the doctor finished, he wrapped the joint securely once again and fixed her a hard gaze under
beetled brows. “You are the luckiest lass I’ve treated. From what Nurse Sweeney tells me about the
shape she found you in Monday night, you’re fortunate to be in one piece. A bad stumble, another bump
on your head and you would be unconscious and freezing to your death.” He shook his head. “I agree
with Nurse Sweeney; you’ve got a concussion, a broken nose, bruised ribs, second degree burns on your
fingers, a torn knee and a touch of frostnip on your feet. All of these are healing well, thanks to the care
you’ve received. Now, about your knee--it’s apparent you’ve had surgery before.”
Laura nodded with her head still on Remington’s shoulder, and he answered for her. “She collided with
a tree while we chased a criminal down the street last year.” He described in detail exactly how the
kneecap and ligaments were repaired.
The doctor nodded and hmmmd to himself. “Ah, that explains all the scar tissue.” He fixed grey-brown
eyes on her again. “Me best guess is you took a solid kick right here.” He pointed to an area just at the
top and outside of her kneecap where the contusions were the darkest. “It doesn’t feel torn, just
stretched badly, and the whole area is bruised deeply. The scar tissue makes everything more sensitive
to swelling. For now, ‘tis critical you keep off it and elevated for at least a solid week.” He waggled a
finger at her. “No walking, no limping, no weight at all on it. Give it a chance to heal, lass.” He
breathed deeply. “When you don’t need the pain medicine anymore, start with the exercises you learned
in rehab. Ye understand?”
“Yes, thank you, doctor,” Laura spoke up and sat up.
“Good. Now get some more rest. Sleeps what’s best for healing, me girl. Especially for that hard head
of yours.” The doctor rose along with Remington. Fallon bustled in at that moment with a glass of water
and a milder pain medication for Laura. The woman helped Laura get resettled in bed before she left.
Remington smoothed the sheets around her and stood beside the bed. She reached out to touch his
fingers but missed when he turned to close the door. Alone and unhappy, Laura gave in to the
medication and slept.
Mildred offered the doctor and nurse a cup of tea. While the water was heating, Fallon motioned
Remington out to the terrace for a private conversation. Remington once again expressed his gratitude.
He brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Ms. Sweeney, my thanks for all you’ve done for us.”
She blushed merrily. “No thanks necessary, I’m glad to be of help.” She waved her hands at him,
shooing him to the rail. “Your lass stands not a chance against your Irish charm for sure.” He flashed
his characteristic wide grin at her. “Now lad, I want to talk a bit about what you told us yesterday.
‘Bout what you did to your wife.”
Remington straightened up and looked away, unable to meet her gaze.
“Me boyo, I’ve seen you with your wife. And I know how your wife thinks of you. Her grief over you
nearly tore me heart out.” She took his hand in hers. “Forgive yourself, Mr. Steele. Ye did what ye
thought best, awful though it may be. A lesser man would have left his wife so as not to be responsible
for her. You did the unthinkable and your wife is whole. She’ll never remember what happened.”
Fallon took another deep breath. “What’s more, forgive her for her actions, lad. She’ll never recollect
what she did to you. Don’t be afraid to tell her for she’s a strong one.”
Remington leaned on the rail and dug in his pocket for a toothpick. “I did. Inadvertently, I admit, but
she knows the whole of it.” He chewed on the tip.
“Then you’ll both be the better for it.” She patted his hand. “Neither o’ ye bears the blame for the
circumstances.” She blushed again and offered another bit of advice, “Don’t be afraid of loving her
again. It will be better than the last, and your heart will be that much mended.”
Now Remington flushed slightly at her frank advice. Fallon misunderstood his blush and roared with
laughter. “That’s me boyo. I see me meddling is useless. I think I’ll take me cup o’ tea,” she said with
a smile.
Remington stopped her when she turned to leave. “Ms. Sweeney, I’ll be sure to take your words to
heart. It ... helps. Laura told me much the same thing, but it helps to hear it from you.”
“You’re most welcome, me lad. Now come drink a cup whilst your wife rests a bit.”
While Dr. Hathaway quizzed Murphy about the merits of American football, Mildred pulled Fallon aside
to make notes on her map. The nurse pointed out where she picked up Laura. Remington looked over
her shoulder. “What castles are in this area? Maybe within ten kilometers or so?”
“Is that where ye were held? A castle?”
Remington raised a brow at her. “Yes.”
“The only one that comes to me mind is Castle Ballybruin. ‘Tis not far from here,” she tapped on the
spot Mildred marked. “Perhaps seven or eight kilometers. Here I think.” She tapped on another spot.
Mildred peered at the place she pointed out and compared it with her notes. “Look here, Chief. If the
castle is here, then here’s the stream she walked in, and there is the road where it crosses the stream.
Laura was right; this is seven kilometers or thereabouts--so maybe four and a half or five miles?”
“Do you know anything about the castle or who lives there?” Remington asked Fallon.
“Not much, I’m afraid. ‘Tis restored, I suppose, but no one sees much o’ the residents. I’ve never
heard of them entertaining or celebrating. For that matter, I don’t think they shop at the local markets.”
“Has it been sold recently?”
“No, maybe a decade or so ago? I’m not certain about that at all.”
“That’s quite all right. You’ve given us quite a bit to look into.” Fallon had merely confirmed what
Remington already knew about the place O’Callaghan called home.
Chapter 15 -- Teamwork