Steeling a Dream:
Part 3: House of Steele (R)
Part 3: House of Steele (R)
Steeling a Dream:
Part 3: House of Steele
Part 3: House of Steele
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Steele Holting On
Chapter Twelve: Clues
Monday, 14 November 1988 -- 33 weeks, 4 days
The third week of November had Remington nibbling on his thumbnail more than once. At seven
months’ pregnant, Laura’s walk took on a distinctive waddle. He loved it. As her mood deteriorated,
her wit became sharper as she blamed anything and everything on him, and he had his hands full keeping
her soothed. He adored that too. Both Siobhán and the staff at the agency made it clear that his efforts
hadn’t gone unnoticed.
He knew Laura tried to have a positive attitude. She would paste a smile on her face each morning and
pretend that being pregnant brought her only joy. For certain, she would get the oddest look of happiness
whenever the baby moved about. But Remington knew that her newfound clumsiness--something she’d
never experienced--annoyed her, as did the constant questions from outsiders that she had to answer
about her pregnancy.
After Laura had spent an entire week at her desk, she’d insisted on doing a minimal amount of
fieldwork. At this point, she was willing to retrieve autopsy reports if it meant getting out of the office for
a while. It took some creativity, but he let her convince him to see things her way. In reality, the whole
staff had dropped subtle hints that Laura had too much time on her hands. With little else to do, she’d
cleaned out the supply closet and break room and spent the rest of her time hovering over the other
detectives.
But twice now, she’d stormed into the office threatening to sue well-meaning women for interference
when she was attempting to elicit information about a case. Having to deal with questions such as when
was she due, did she know what she was having, and what names had she picked out had completely
blown her line of questioning with both a store employee and a city inspector.
She’d also threatened to have the next grandmother that touched her belly arrested for harassment.
Remington couldn’t blame her for any of it. Honestly, she was dealing with the last stages of pregnancy
much better than he’d anticipated. Her verbal retorts were simply her way of blowing off steam. She
knew he could handle it.
Watching her ripen filled him with a kind of glee previously reserved only for the most difficult heists he’
d pulled off. The ridiculous smile he wore most of the time wasn’t to annoy Laura, although it was
certainly a nice side benefit. He simply couldn’t keep it off his face.
This morning, she’d finally given up on wearing heels to the office, favoring tennis shoes instead for her
swollen feet. It was her turn to take Siobhán to school, and she’d come into the kitchen where he was
filling her thermos with tea. Siobhán stuffed her books into her backpack resting on the barstool.
Seeing Laura’s irritation as she stamped into the kitchen and knowing it wasn’t seven-thirty yet, he asked
with studied aplomb, “What’s wrong, love?”
Planting one hand on the island and another on her hip, Laura held out a foot where the laces dangled
from her sneaker. He arched a brow and waited, manfully concealing a grin. But his lips twitched.
His indignant fairy snarled, “You got me pregnant. My feet won’t fit into most of my shoes, and now I
can’t even tie the damned things. If I lean over, either I can’t breathe or I have to go to the bathroom.
So now it’s your job to tie my shoes, Mr. Steele.”
Siobhán clapped a hand over face to stifle her laughter.
He tried. He really did. Remington looked away for a long moment to keep his own composure but lost
it anyway when he turned back to Laura. Laughing until tears came into his eyes, he picked her up and
twirled with her in the kitchen. Setting her down again, he framed her face with his hands and kissed her
silly.
Laura’s whole body softened. When they came up for air, Remington stroked her cheek, saying, “I don’
t mean to laugh, a chuisle mo chroí, but I can’t resist when you’re piqued.” He knelt down to place her
foot on his knee, tie her shoe, and then did the same with the other one. When he stood, he swooped in
for another kiss, leaving her shaking her head and trying not to smile.
“Damn it, Remington, how am I supposed to stay mad when you do that?”
He shrugged and handed over the thermos for her drive. “Beats the bloody hell out of me.” The grin
stayed with him for the rest of the morning.
On the way to school, Laura turned to Siobhán and asked, “What did Remington say to me--in Gaelic?”
Pinking a little, Siobhan answered, “Um, I guess a literal translation is ‘pulse of my heart.’ It’s something
you say only to those you love most.”
Laura only nodded and drove on, feeling the warmth of the phrase flood through her. She knew that
Remington and Siobhán spoke the language frequently when they were together. Lately, she’d noted
Remington's sprinkling in the odd Gaelic phrase here and there. It seemed as if Siobhán had reawakened
a part of him he’d kept hidden all these years. Six years of knowing him and she still discovered new
tidbits about him all the time.
After she dropped her daughter at school with a quick hug and a wave, Laura zipped to the agency. It
was too early for anyone else to be here. When she closed her office door, she leaned against it and bit
her lip against the emotions that threatened to swamp her.
She knew she’d been difficult this past month. Being pregnant had long lost its appeal--well, except for
feeling the baby move. That sensation usually put her in a good mood whenever it happened throughout
the day, but it rarely lasted long when countered by an aching back, swollen feet, and emotions bouncing
between the two extremes. But no matter what she dished out, Remington had a ready retort, hug or a
kiss that set her back on track. He understood exactly how hard it was for her to step back and let others
do the work she loved. He appreciated how frustrated she’d become with her own limitations. And
more importantly, he knew that she wouldn’t change one minute of being pregnant.
Holding out her shoe, admiring the neat bow, she grinned.
Remington appeared in the office at ten. After checking his schedule with Ian and picking up his mail, he
peeked in on Laura--who had a smile on her face and a stack of paperwork in front of her. A ready
wave and a smile meant that she would visit with him when she was off the telephone. Apparently, he
had lightened her mood better than he'd realized that morning.
But as he opened a brown enveloped marked “Private and Confidential,” he lost his breath. Black and
white eight-by-ten photos of Siobhán spilled out. Most of them were taken near her school as she was
dropped off or picked up. One was of her on the back of the horse she preferred at lessons, another
from their last trip to the beach.
He looked through the pictures again and in the envelope, but there wasn’t a note. The Los Angeles zip
code on the postmark was that of one of the major postal hubs. A quick phone call to the school
confirmed that Siobhán was in class and safe. He made another one to Sandra and asked her to make a
thorough reconnaissance of the area, looking for someone taking photographs.
Chewing on his thumb, he stared at the pictures, wondering what in the bloody hell they meant. Finally,
he stuffed the photographs back into the envelope and laid it in his drawer. They weren’t forgotten, by
any means, but he didn’t know what to make of them. Not wanting to worry Laura, all he could do was
to keep a very careful eye on Siobhán. He made a discrete phone call to Sandra.
Two days later, he received a second set of photographs. This time they were of Laura: Laura while
doing legwork, Laura on her way to therapy, Laura while picking up Siobhán from school, Laura while
selecting baby furniture.
The last one scared him nearly senseless. He’d been only a couple of steps away from her. Not once
had he suspected someone was snapping pictures nearby.
Again, he didn’t find a note. This time, though, he scrutinized every square inch of each photograph with
a magnifying glass, looking for fingerprints or any identifying marks. But whoever had taken these
pictures had personally developed them and carefully handled them. He couldn’t find any lab markings
on the back of any of them.
He didn’t want to share this with Laura. No, not with all they’d been through … but he gathered up both
sets of photographs, walked to Laura’s office to sit on the corner of her desk and handed them to her.
She frowned and opened the envelopes. As she withdrew the pictures, she asked, “What are these?”
“They were sent to me. Siobhán’s came two days ago; I received yours today. I’ve had Sandra
watching for anyone taking pictures of Siobhán at school.”
“That’s why she’s been unavailable.” Crinkling her brow, she peered into the envelope. “Was there a
note?”
“No. Both are postmarked at the downtown hub here in LA. No fingerprints and no photo processing
marks. Someone did these in his own darkroom.” Faintly clenching his jaw, he added, “Someone’s
trying to make me nervous, Laura, and he’s succeeding.” Remington tapped the last photograph. “I was
beside you here and didn’t suspect a thing.”
“Have you received anything else? Phone calls, notes, anything odd that stands out?” Keeping her cool,
she flicked her brown eyes to his face.
Remington abruptly stood and, in a hard tone, spouted out, “Damn it, Laura, I know how to do this!”
Calming himself, he held his hands up. “I’m sorry. No. No notes, no calls, nothing except a couple of
useless envelopes and a stack of damned good photographs.”
She nodded. “All right. Let’s call a staff meeting.”
“Laura, the connection there eludes me. I get photographs of my family, and you want to call a staff
meeting?” She hmmed an agreement and stood while he tossed up his hands in resignation.
It was after lunch before everyone could be rounded up. Sandra left her perch near Siobhán’s school,
and Kaleb returned from the security setup he had been supervising. Laura handed the photos to Mildred
and sat gingerly on the arm of the couch in Mr. Steele’s office. Still agitated, Remington paced.
Laura took the lead. “Monday, Mr. Steele received the packet of photographs of Siobhán in the mail.
This morning he received an identical packet with photographs of me. Nothing else was enclosed. There
are no unusual markings on the envelopes. I’m assuming that we are being targeted somehow. For
what, I don’t know.” She crossed her arms. “My first assumption is that it must be someone from our
past. Since the envelopes came here rather than our home, I will assume it’s an agency association, not a
personal one, although I don’t want to rule out the latter.
“Sandra, I’d like for you to continue your surveillance near Siobhán’s school to see if you can identify
anyone in particular who might be taking these pictures. Feel free to pass over any cases to me that I can
help you with in the meantime. Mildred, I know you’ve got a list of all the people we’ve put away since
the agency began. Work with Ian, and let’s find out who is still behind bars and who is out on parole.
“Kaleb, I want you to shadow Mr. Steele and me when we are out of the office. I think it’s safe to say
that for the time being, we’ll be staying close together, but I’d like an extra set of eyes.” Laura laced her
fingers together and laid them on her knee. “Now my question to all of you is simply this: have any of
you noticed anything out of the ordinary, had a case bother you recently, had a phone call that didn’t
seem right--anything at all.”
Sandra bobbed her head of short red hair. “The only thing that comes to mind for me is the file I gave
Mr. Steele a while back. But I’ve closed it and haven’t heard a peep since.”
Laura nodded. “Where is that file now?”
“Ah, still at home. I’ve flipped through it a time or two but couldn’t come to any conclusions either,”
Remington admitted.
Mildred cocked her head. “Mrs. Steele, you think this is someone we’ve dealt with out of the agency,
but he's personally targeting you, Chief? Any chance it could have something to do with … recent
events?”
Steele crossed his arms and gazed levelly at her--then agreed. “I’ll call Buchanan. We may not have
covered our tracks well enough with Siobhán.”
Remington’s call to James Buchanan proved fruitless. It appeared that only a handful of household
servants had any idea Siobhán was gone. The ones that did assumed she’d joined her father wherever he
was. It was a sad commentary that, despite losing their positions when Carlisle was jailed, most of the
staff held little concern for the girl. Only the former housekeeper fretted when she’d heard the news of
Carlisle’s arrest. Buchanan privately reassured the woman that Siobhán was in a safe place with people
who loved her.
Remington’s gut told him that whatever was happening here wasn’t related to Ireland. But he couldn’t
prove it.
Laura had her hands full keeping her husband from swaddling her and Siobhán in cotton and locking
them both away in the penthouse. But they did stay close, making certain no one was left alone. Fred
worked overtime driving the trio.
Remington had called the driver to give him a quick run-down of events on Thursday morning. “I can’t
leave Siobhán or Laura alone, mate. Not for a moment with this. I’m counting on you to help. Right
now, I have to assume one of us is a target, and as high-profile as the limo is, I want you to lock it up
and drive Laura’s car. Check the limo thoroughly for anything out of the ordinary--bombs, tracking
devices, bugs. For now, the Auburn is parked in the garage at the apartment. I picked it and the Lexus
apart last night, and they’re clean; but I’d rather they stay that way.
One of the cases Sandra turned over was one that Remington would have fielded anyway. Attorney
Josie Alvaraz had hired them again to search for some missing assets--including a Faberge egg and a
handful of valuable stock certificates. Once Ms. Alvaraz knew where they were hidden, she could
handle the matter from a legal aspect. But that meant getting eyeballs on them and photographs if
possible.
Sandra had narrowed down the field of possible locations for the missing items to either a yacht anchored
in the LA harbor or and a small penthouse in Bel Air. Thursday evening, Remington planned to hit the
boat first with Laura on lookout. Nervous about leaving his daughter alone, Siobhán came with them.
Carter tailed along in his own car to watch for spies.
On the drive, Siobhán worked on a piece of music for her piano recital. The composition had to be
original, and parts of it caused her to mutter more Gaelic curses--mild ones that Da didn’t protest. She
and Laura took turns humming the melody and harmony while Siobhán wrote notes in the margins of her
music book.
Thoroughly distracted as he thought about the photographs, Remington paid them little attention. In what
seemed like no time at all, Fred parked at the harbor, and Laura interrupted his reverie. They strolled
arm in arm down the pier with Siobhán leading them, peering over the railings and goggling at the huge
yachts lashed to the docks. Scores of other tourists strolled about, some families but mostly couples.
Laura and Siobhán found a handy bench to sit on while Remington slipped over the rail and into the
cabin of the yacht in question.
Laura wore the wire under her shirt with the microphone hidden by her collar. She listened to
Remington’s soft breath coming through the headset hidden in her hair as he picked the lock, disabling
the security system.
“I’m in,” he said, his voice low and quiet in her ear, “heading for the main cabin.”
Laura kept one eye on Siobhán and swept the area for anyone walking near their area. A young couple
walked by, whispering soft words Laura couldn’t make out. But they went on, posing no threat, and she
said nothing to Remington. She could hear the quiet snick of drawers opening and closing.
“Cabin’s clear. I’m checking the other rooms now,” he said.
It took Remington nearly forty-five minutes to determine that if anything was on board, he wasn’t going
to find it. “It’s not here, love. We’ll have to try the penthouse.”
The apartment was easier. Laura and Siobhán stayed in the car while Remington and Kaleb slipped
upstairs. Within ten minutes, the pair found both the Faberge egg and the stock certificates in a safe.
Laura followed their movements with the wires and kept a careful lookout with Fred. Carter snapped
pictures, and the two men slipped out the way they came in.
The next day, Carter eased into Laura’s office, shutting the door behind him. A glance at the connecting
door had Laura rolling back in her chair to quietly close it as well.
“What’s on your mind, Kaleb?” she asked softly.
The young man sat uncomfortably in the chair across from her. “Boss Man’s uptight, Mrs. Steele. It
took him three tries to crack that safe last night, and it wasn’t anything fancy. Don’t know how to tell
him to take it easy, but he’s got to or something’s gonna slip right by him. I know he’s worried ’bout
you and Shiv. We all are. Nothin’s gonna happen to you guys. We’re going to make sure of it.”
Laura nodded. “I’ll talk to him.”
When he left, she didn’t have time to sort through her mail before Mildred peeked in. “Mrs. Steele, I
have the list of crooks we’ve put behind bars since the agency opened. It’s quite a roster now. Nearly
half of them have served their sentences and are out on parole.”
She tapped her pencil. “What about some of the bigger ones? Wally Donovan, Major Descoine,
Wendell Whitaker, Eva Wilson, Anthony Delghetti?
Mildred flipped through her pages. “All of those creeps are still in the pen. So are Eldon Veckmer and
Steve Zweigenhoff. But Creighton Phillips, Considine, and Phil Lydon are all out on parole.”
“Okay, let’s find out where they are and if they pose any threat.”
“Will do, Mrs. Steele.”
Remington made a point of cooking fabulous meals that weekend. He knew Laura had seen through his
attempt to keep all three of them in the house. They’d had a short, nasty argument on this very subject
on Saturday morning She’d lost, throwing up her hands in frustration.
In the face of his near-incoherent fear, he fought a hard fight with himself over packing up his family and
moving to Tahiti. The incandescent spillover landed on Laura as she sketched out plans for the weekend.
“I’ll go to the market, Laura, but you and Siobhán are staying here.” His tone brooked no opposition.
Fire flared instantly in her eyes. “We can’t hole up here for the rest of our lives, Rei.”
“No, Laura. Not before we figure out what in the bloody hell is going on.”
“This isn’t the way to handle it.”
“This is the way we’ll handle it until we have more answers.”
Annoyed at his high-handed tactics, she crossed her arms. “And when did you begin making executive
decisions over what we’ll do?”
“Since I’m not the one that’s pregnant and convinced she’s immortal,” he very nearly yelled at her. Only
the knowledge that Siobhán played the piano in the living room kept his voice controlled.
“So, in other words, you’re going to set limits on what I do.”
Frustration crawled through him. He couldn’t think past protecting her and their unborn child. “Now,
yes. The rules have changed. You will not leave the house this weekend.”
The hard words made Laura flinch. “As you wish, Mr. Steele.” She walked out of the room to join
Siobhán.
Siobhán, unaware of any danger, spent most of the weekend at the piano working on her composition.
Monday morning, just three days before Thanksgiving, Remington stalked into Laura’s office and
dropped a familiar brown envelope on her desk. “Bloody hell, Laura, I’ve got more pictures today. This
time of the three of us.” He paced in agitation with his hands stuffed into his pockets. “I feel like a rat in
a maze. Someone is fencing me in, and I can’t see who it is.” Abruptly, he leaned on her desk with both
hands. “Laura, seven months ago I walked into a bloody trap and nearly lost you. I cannot do that
again,” he said hoarsely.
Despite the ice sliding down her spine, Laura stayed calm. Remington’s face had lost its color, and strain
showed in the lines on his face. Neither of them had slept well over the weekend with the harsh words
of Saturday still hanging between them. He’d succeeding in frightening her though, and she’d spent a
great deal of time thinking over old cases, attempting to determine which person might be responsible.
She reined in her own fears to focus on his words. “You think this is a trap?”
“What else could it be?” he retorted as he stood again and crossed his arms. “Why would someone send
me pictures of my family?”
She forced herself to look at the pictures as another case to solve, one not involving her own family. It
took her longer than she liked to close out her partner’s distress along with her own feelings, but she
succeeded. Nearly to herself, she muttered, “Why indeed?” Then her eyes narrowed as she reassessed
his comments. Remington’s instincts were rarely wrong. “But whoever it is just made his first mistake.”
“How so?” He paced the length of her office and back again.
“Because if this is a trap, now we can start looking for it. How do you escape a trap?”
Stopping, he opened his mouth and closed it again. “Spring it or don’t get caught in the first place.”
Leaning back in her chair, she nodded. “Exactly. How many ways can this mystery person get to us?”
She ticked off on her fingers. “Obviously physically, but also emotionally--by playing games with us--
and financially--either through our personal accounts or the agency's.
“Or the media,” he added. His experience with Siobhán and the gossip columns still rubbed raw in
places. Remington’s eyes narrowed much as hers had earlier, and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
Punching a button on her phone, he asked, “Mildred, when you have a moment.”
“Of course, Boss.”
The sly blonde with an accountant’s brain and razor-sharp tongue didn’t waste any time rounding the
corner from her office to Laura’s. She spied the envelope on her desk. “Aw, gee whiz. Not more
snapshots.”
“Aye, this time of the three of us. I’ll ask Sandra and Kaleb about them later, but I’ll assume whoever is
taking them is damned good at giving both of them the slip,” Remington answered.
Mildred sat down on the divan. Laura rose and crossed over to settle in next to her. She straightened as
the baby moved uncomfortably under her ribs. “Remington thinks someone is setting a trap. Whoever it
is wants us frightened and off balance. They’ve got us there. We’re probably extraordinarily easy to
keep tabs on right now because we don’t go anywhere. When we do, we go together.”
Remington eyed her before conceding. “First rule of giving someone the slip is to never do the same
thing twice. All right. Point taken, Laura.”
This time, grateful for his agreement, she only nodded. She needed him thinking, not panicking,
something she’d been unable to do at home. “What did you find on our parolees, Mildred?”
“Phillips moved to San Francisco and hasn’t left the city in weeks. Lydon moved to Indiana, and
Considine is keeping a low profile here in town. All of them seem to be on the up and up for the time
being.”
Disappointed by the answers, Laura latched onto the one that caused her the most concern. “How did
Lydon get out so quickly?”
“Light sentence, time off for good behavior, and the judge was in bed with the defense attorney,”
Mildred quipped with no little censure in her voice.
“Ah. That fills me with glee,” Laura muttered in annoyance.
“What else can I do?” Mildred asked.
Laura’s mind mentally flitted down the path of logic as she rose and began pacing on the other side of her
desk so that she wouldn’t interfere with the one Mr. Steele was wearing in her carpet. “Run a deep
search on our finances. Look for anyone tapping into our information but go deeper than that. Look for
anyone trying to set up false accounts, false investments and the like. Get Ian to check into our agency
and home phone records to see if anything funny is going on.”
Mildred nodded. “I’ll get on that right away.”
“Thank you, Mildred.” Tapping her fingers on her elbow, Laura turned to Remington. “Have there
been any ‘bells’ ringing on our security systems?”
“No. Now why does that suddenly seem odd?”
“Because if you are going to set a trap, the easiest place to set it is wherever the quarry is going to be.
Whoever it is has to know that I’m pregnant and probably won’t be going many places. Siobhán stays
very close to us. So--”
Mildred stayed silent while Laura worked her way through the clues, but Remington snapped his fingers.
“So, if the trap is physical, it won’t be here.” He shook his fingers at Laura. “No off-site meetings
without knowing exactly where we are going. We’re not going to have another situation like Major
Descoine's calling after hours and sending one of us on a wild goose chase.”
“Agreed,” said Laura without hesitation. Pursing her lips, she leaned through the office door. “Ian?”
“Yes, ma’am?” The young man set his coffee aside on his desk and approached her.
“You’ve developed a certain rapport with the media, wouldn’t you say?”
He flashed his California surfer grin. “Sure. Not a week goes by that I don’t receive an offer for tickets
or dinner from a hungry reporter. No offense, but you guys have been doling out more than your fair
share of headlines this year. Everybody is keeping me happy hoping that I’ll feed them a peanut every
now and then.”
Smiling at his imagery, Laura told him, “Let’s go to work on those contacts.” Shooting a sly glance at
Remington, she added, “Why don’t we offer interviews. I’ll take them this time, and we can ‘catch up’
the public on our growing family.” She patted her tummy.
“Sure, Mrs. Steele. I can do that. What’s this going to net us?”
With an admiring glance to Laura for her foresight, Remington interjected, “Good publicity never hurts;
but if someone attempts to throw a poor light on the agency, we’ll already be in a position to deal with it.
Publicly attacking a pregnant mother will only reflect poorly on the media. Plus, it will give her
something to do that won’t involve chasing down suspects.”
“Mr. Steele!” Laura chided him for the last statement. “It should raise our visibility too, making it harder
for someone to come after us. Whoever is after us won’t be interested in being caught on camera. We’ll
make a point of being seen, maybe even let one of the better reporters trail me and do a story about
working mothers. That gives me protection while freeing Mr. Steele to investigate.”
His jaw clenched. “So you’re going to serve as a decoy again.”
“Can you think of a better idea?” she retorted as her patience with him ran thin. He didn’t answer, and
she didn’t wait for one. “Then you and Ian decide which reporters we should use.” She dumped the
responsibility squarely in Remington’s lap, and the protest died on his lips. The faint quirk of his brow
told her he appreciated her trust, and she could see his temper cooling.
“Ian, is there anything on my calendar that can’t be cleared today?” she asked.
“You have an appointment with Mr. Diaz to close that case at one and Mrs. Dupont at three for an
update. Do you want me to move them?”
She tapped her cheek. “Sandra’s going to be in on the Diaz case. We’re giving him the evidence against
his wife, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And Dupont is the skip-trace on her aunt. She just wants an update. No, I can take both of those. Mr.
Steele? Are you free this morning?” She challenged him with a raised brow of her own.
“I can clear it,” he said shortly, before giving Ian a hard nod to do so.
“Good.” She rose and smoothed her jacket. “Mildred, let me know what you uncover. Mr. Steele and I
will be in his office.” She disappeared through the connecting door.
Remington crossed his arms. “Well, it appears we all have our marching orders.”
The other two hastily departed, closing Laura’s door behind them.
In the hallway, Ian scratched his ear. “Is it just me or has Mr. Steele been calling most of the shots here
lately?”
“Uh-huh,” Mildred agreed.
“And did I just see Mrs. Steele pull him up short and take control of this agency again?”
“Uh-huh,” she said again.
“Can we close for an early lunch?”
“Nope. Sparks are about to fly. I don’t want to miss it.”
“Who’s going to win?”
Mildred tilted her head. “You’ve been here two years, and you don’t know the answer to that?”
Confused, Ian shook his head. “Think about it. I’ll give you until lunchtime. You figure it out by then,
I’ll buy.”
Laura paced in front of Remington’s office window as he closed both doors to the office and locked
them. Neither of them spoke until she broke the silence.
“This frightens me, Rei. I don’t know what we’re up against.” Her frank answer led him to close the
distance between them. She put her hands up when he would have embraced her. “I don’t need
comfort right now. What I need is a little clear-headed thinking from you. I do know that if both of us
can’t get our heads straight, we’re going to lose this game. Someone out there knows you well enough to
push you off balance in a way I only see when you are scared.”
She leaned against the desk and held a hand on a bulge where the baby pressed a foot hard against her
rib. “Kaleb told me about the trouble you had cracking the safe last week because you were distracted,
and this weekend was terribly out of character for you. I’m sure you’ve purchased plane tickets for the
three of us. Where to?”
Remington crossed his arms in annoyance. “Denver. Between Murphy and me, we can keep you and
the children safe.”
Sighing in frustration, she said, “Rei, I’m not running from this. We have to find out what is going
on, or we will never be safe here. I need you thinking right now--icy calm, remember?” His eyes
traveled from hers to her belly where her hand still pressed against a stray foot. She caught his hand and
slid it under her own. “Remington, I’m not telling you you’re wrong for feeling the way you do. God
knows, I’m scared too. But I’ll be damned if someone is going to take away what we’ve built together.
Not here and not now.”
His expression lightened as the bump under his hand kicked once in protest before moving away to rest
on another part of Laura’s anatomy. At last, he nodded in agreement. “All right. All right, Laura. What
is it you want me to do?”
“You’re the expert at evasion.”
“Laura,” he chided at the reminder of his past.
She tapped his chest. “How would you get to one of us?”
Slowly blowing out his breath, he leaned against the desk as he thought. “The home and office are too
well secured to be breeched. So, it has to be in the open. Or I’d have to lead you where I want you to
go.” In frustration, he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “We’ve already covered this, Laura. None of
us will take clients out of the office for the time being.”
“How else? If this is a trap, how do you lead someone into it?”
“Laura--” he protested.
She threw up her hands. “Mr. Steele!” She calmed, taking several deep breaths before pacing about.
“Please. If you can’t get to us at home, or the office, or in the open, how would you do it?”
“Laura, you’re talking about something that would take weeks to set up. Time, money, and a bloody
good reason for vengeance.”
“It’s been at least two weeks that we know for certain, Mr. Steele. Who knows how long this has been
planned?”
Remington pressed his lips into a thin line. “Someone wants us off balance. Frightened into doing
something we normally wouldn’t do. Which means our normal routine is enough to defeat whatever he’s
planning. Otherwise, why send us the photos?”
Laura leaned against the desk, listening as her husband did what he did best. She analyzed clues; he
painted the picture.
“Which means,” he continued, “we do what we’ve been doing. No changes other than being sensible
about not being alone and being very wary of strange calls or cases. If it was me, I’d pretend to be
someone from the school. Naturally, one or both of us would rush right over.”
“So let’s set up a password for the school to use, or else we have to speak to Siobhán personally,” Laura
suggested.
Remington nodded. “That’s simple enough.”
“What else?”
He tipped his head back, thinking. “Same thing with your obstetrician, Laura. If I was to get a call that
you were in labor or having trouble, I wouldn’t think twice about going to your side.”
“All right. I’ll call the doctor--and we need to make certain Ian’s on board. More than likely, he’ll be the
one passing messages.”
“Of course. And Laura, I know we’ve our pager codes for emergencies, but I need to know the
difference between baby and any other kind of emergency.”
Her lips twitched at that, and she nodded. “My phone number, my code, and two stars instead of one
for the baby.”
“Good Lord, can you key all that?”
“I’ll have to.”
Remington eased down onto his sofa. “Bugger me, Laura. The best way to get at someone out in the
open is to follow him until the opportune moment arrives. That moment could be anything--a chance
meeting, a turn down the wrong sidewalk, or even a stumble on a step. I don't know what this bloke
wants, so I don't know how to avoid those things, except to make certain we aren't alone. Someone has
been following us, and neither of us has made him yet.”
Laura crossed her arms as she settled into the chair near him. “You’re not going to like this.” He slanted
narrowed blue eyes her way. “I think I need to be the bait with the media team. If you’re undercover,
you’ll spot whoever’s after us faster than anyone else.”
“Laura--”
“Hear me out, Remington. You’ll be right behind me. How else can we flush this person out? We’ll do
this while Siobhán is safe at school. I’ll have a reporter and a camera man with me. It’s not our usual
routine, which plays along with the setup, but we’re controlling the situation as much as possible.”
She could see him tamping down his irritation to give the scenario fair consideration. As he locked away
his emotions, she could see his personality change. He’d spent most of his life hiding behind a congenial
mask, but in the past three years, he’d set it aside for the most part whenever he was with her. Now it
settled back into place as Remington assessed her idea.
Paul Fabrini, she guessed. Sure enough, Remington rose to pour himself a finger of Amaretto over ice
from the bar in his office. There wasn’t enough liquid in the glass to qualify as a drink--only a taste, a
flavor that recalled the Continental persona he drew on like a tuxedo jacket.
He turned, his blue eyes icy and inscrutable and his posture impossibly correct. “It will work. It has to
be done now before you draw closer to your due date.”
Laura’s heart ached as she saw the man she loved revert to the mannerisms that expertly concealed the
essence of him. After the years of helping him to peel back those layers, it hurt more than she
anticipated to see them envelop him again. She could only imagine what it cost him.
Smooth British tones with a faint Italian air overlaid his voice, further cementing the persona. “I’ll be
with Ian. We’ll set up a press conference for tomorrow morning at ten and select a team to follow you.”
He pressed his lips together in irritation. “I suppose we’ll have to wait until after the holiday week to set
the trap. With your family, you’ll probably be safe enough.”
“Exactly, Mr. Steele. If you’ll arrange a staff meeting for this afternoon, we can prep the others.” She
tried hard to match his composure.
“Excellent thinking, Miss Holt.” Laura caught her breath. The hurt must have shown in her face
because Remington crossed to her, brushing his long, elegant fingers across her cheek. “Mrs. Steele.”
Without a word, he slid his hands into her hair, tilting his head for a ravenous kiss that melted her knees
and dug a hole in her heart all at the same time. He broke it off, touching his fingers to his lips before
nodding and exiting the office.
Laura ran her own hands through her hair, wondering exactly what she’d done.
6 November 2009
Chapter Thirteen: Preparation
Monday, 14 November 1988 -- 33 weeks, 4 days
The third week of November had Remington nibbling on his thumbnail more than once. At seven
months’ pregnant, Laura’s walk took on a distinctive waddle. He loved it. As her mood deteriorated,
her wit became sharper as she blamed anything and everything on him, and he had his hands full keeping
her soothed. He adored that too. Both Siobhán and the staff at the agency made it clear that his efforts
hadn’t gone unnoticed.
He knew Laura tried to have a positive attitude. She would paste a smile on her face each morning and
pretend that being pregnant brought her only joy. For certain, she would get the oddest look of happiness
whenever the baby moved about. But Remington knew that her newfound clumsiness--something she’d
never experienced--annoyed her, as did the constant questions from outsiders that she had to answer
about her pregnancy.
After Laura had spent an entire week at her desk, she’d insisted on doing a minimal amount of
fieldwork. At this point, she was willing to retrieve autopsy reports if it meant getting out of the office for
a while. It took some creativity, but he let her convince him to see things her way. In reality, the whole
staff had dropped subtle hints that Laura had too much time on her hands. With little else to do, she’d
cleaned out the supply closet and break room and spent the rest of her time hovering over the other
detectives.
But twice now, she’d stormed into the office threatening to sue well-meaning women for interference
when she was attempting to elicit information about a case. Having to deal with questions such as when
was she due, did she know what she was having, and what names had she picked out had completely
blown her line of questioning with both a store employee and a city inspector.
She’d also threatened to have the next grandmother that touched her belly arrested for harassment.
Remington couldn’t blame her for any of it. Honestly, she was dealing with the last stages of pregnancy
much better than he’d anticipated. Her verbal retorts were simply her way of blowing off steam. She
knew he could handle it.
Watching her ripen filled him with a kind of glee previously reserved only for the most difficult heists he’
d pulled off. The ridiculous smile he wore most of the time wasn’t to annoy Laura, although it was
certainly a nice side benefit. He simply couldn’t keep it off his face.
This morning, she’d finally given up on wearing heels to the office, favoring tennis shoes instead for her
swollen feet. It was her turn to take Siobhán to school, and she’d come into the kitchen where he was
filling her thermos with tea. Siobhán stuffed her books into her backpack resting on the barstool.
Seeing Laura’s irritation as she stamped into the kitchen and knowing it wasn’t seven-thirty yet, he asked
with studied aplomb, “What’s wrong, love?”
Planting one hand on the island and another on her hip, Laura held out a foot where the laces dangled
from her sneaker. He arched a brow and waited, manfully concealing a grin. But his lips twitched.
His indignant fairy snarled, “You got me pregnant. My feet won’t fit into most of my shoes, and now I
can’t even tie the damned things. If I lean over, either I can’t breathe or I have to go to the bathroom.
So now it’s your job to tie my shoes, Mr. Steele.”
Siobhán clapped a hand over face to stifle her laughter.
He tried. He really did. Remington looked away for a long moment to keep his own composure but lost
it anyway when he turned back to Laura. Laughing until tears came into his eyes, he picked her up and
twirled with her in the kitchen. Setting her down again, he framed her face with his hands and kissed her
silly.
Laura’s whole body softened. When they came up for air, Remington stroked her cheek, saying, “I don’
t mean to laugh, a chuisle mo chroí, but I can’t resist when you’re piqued.” He knelt down to place her
foot on his knee, tie her shoe, and then did the same with the other one. When he stood, he swooped in
for another kiss, leaving her shaking her head and trying not to smile.
“Damn it, Remington, how am I supposed to stay mad when you do that?”
He shrugged and handed over the thermos for her drive. “Beats the bloody hell out of me.” The grin
stayed with him for the rest of the morning.
On the way to school, Laura turned to Siobhán and asked, “What did Remington say to me--in Gaelic?”
Pinking a little, Siobhan answered, “Um, I guess a literal translation is ‘pulse of my heart.’ It’s something
you say only to those you love most.”
Laura only nodded and drove on, feeling the warmth of the phrase flood through her. She knew that
Remington and Siobhán spoke the language frequently when they were together. Lately, she’d noted
Remington's sprinkling in the odd Gaelic phrase here and there. It seemed as if Siobhán had reawakened
a part of him he’d kept hidden all these years. Six years of knowing him and she still discovered new
tidbits about him all the time.
After she dropped her daughter at school with a quick hug and a wave, Laura zipped to the agency. It
was too early for anyone else to be here. When she closed her office door, she leaned against it and bit
her lip against the emotions that threatened to swamp her.
She knew she’d been difficult this past month. Being pregnant had long lost its appeal--well, except for
feeling the baby move. That sensation usually put her in a good mood whenever it happened throughout
the day, but it rarely lasted long when countered by an aching back, swollen feet, and emotions bouncing
between the two extremes. But no matter what she dished out, Remington had a ready retort, hug or a
kiss that set her back on track. He understood exactly how hard it was for her to step back and let others
do the work she loved. He appreciated how frustrated she’d become with her own limitations. And
more importantly, he knew that she wouldn’t change one minute of being pregnant.
Holding out her shoe, admiring the neat bow, she grinned.
Remington appeared in the office at ten. After checking his schedule with Ian and picking up his mail, he
peeked in on Laura--who had a smile on her face and a stack of paperwork in front of her. A ready
wave and a smile meant that she would visit with him when she was off the telephone. Apparently, he
had lightened her mood better than he'd realized that morning.
But as he opened a brown enveloped marked “Private and Confidential,” he lost his breath. Black and
white eight-by-ten photos of Siobhán spilled out. Most of them were taken near her school as she was
dropped off or picked up. One was of her on the back of the horse she preferred at lessons, another
from their last trip to the beach.
He looked through the pictures again and in the envelope, but there wasn’t a note. The Los Angeles zip
code on the postmark was that of one of the major postal hubs. A quick phone call to the school
confirmed that Siobhán was in class and safe. He made another one to Sandra and asked her to make a
thorough reconnaissance of the area, looking for someone taking photographs.
Chewing on his thumb, he stared at the pictures, wondering what in the bloody hell they meant. Finally,
he stuffed the photographs back into the envelope and laid it in his drawer. They weren’t forgotten, by
any means, but he didn’t know what to make of them. Not wanting to worry Laura, all he could do was
to keep a very careful eye on Siobhán. He made a discrete phone call to Sandra.
Two days later, he received a second set of photographs. This time they were of Laura: Laura while
doing legwork, Laura on her way to therapy, Laura while picking up Siobhán from school, Laura while
selecting baby furniture.
The last one scared him nearly senseless. He’d been only a couple of steps away from her. Not once
had he suspected someone was snapping pictures nearby.
Again, he didn’t find a note. This time, though, he scrutinized every square inch of each photograph with
a magnifying glass, looking for fingerprints or any identifying marks. But whoever had taken these
pictures had personally developed them and carefully handled them. He couldn’t find any lab markings
on the back of any of them.
He didn’t want to share this with Laura. No, not with all they’d been through … but he gathered up both
sets of photographs, walked to Laura’s office to sit on the corner of her desk and handed them to her.
She frowned and opened the envelopes. As she withdrew the pictures, she asked, “What are these?”
“They were sent to me. Siobhán’s came two days ago; I received yours today. I’ve had Sandra
watching for anyone taking pictures of Siobhán at school.”
“That’s why she’s been unavailable.” Crinkling her brow, she peered into the envelope. “Was there a
note?”
“No. Both are postmarked at the downtown hub here in LA. No fingerprints and no photo processing
marks. Someone did these in his own darkroom.” Faintly clenching his jaw, he added, “Someone’s
trying to make me nervous, Laura, and he’s succeeding.” Remington tapped the last photograph. “I was
beside you here and didn’t suspect a thing.”
“Have you received anything else? Phone calls, notes, anything odd that stands out?” Keeping her cool,
she flicked her brown eyes to his face.
Remington abruptly stood and, in a hard tone, spouted out, “Damn it, Laura, I know how to do this!”
Calming himself, he held his hands up. “I’m sorry. No. No notes, no calls, nothing except a couple of
useless envelopes and a stack of damned good photographs.”
She nodded. “All right. Let’s call a staff meeting.”
“Laura, the connection there eludes me. I get photographs of my family, and you want to call a staff
meeting?” She hmmed an agreement and stood while he tossed up his hands in resignation.
It was after lunch before everyone could be rounded up. Sandra left her perch near Siobhán’s school,
and Kaleb returned from the security setup he had been supervising. Laura handed the photos to Mildred
and sat gingerly on the arm of the couch in Mr. Steele’s office. Still agitated, Remington paced.
Laura took the lead. “Monday, Mr. Steele received the packet of photographs of Siobhán in the mail.
This morning he received an identical packet with photographs of me. Nothing else was enclosed. There
are no unusual markings on the envelopes. I’m assuming that we are being targeted somehow. For
what, I don’t know.” She crossed her arms. “My first assumption is that it must be someone from our
past. Since the envelopes came here rather than our home, I will assume it’s an agency association, not a
personal one, although I don’t want to rule out the latter.
“Sandra, I’d like for you to continue your surveillance near Siobhán’s school to see if you can identify
anyone in particular who might be taking these pictures. Feel free to pass over any cases to me that I can
help you with in the meantime. Mildred, I know you’ve got a list of all the people we’ve put away since
the agency began. Work with Ian, and let’s find out who is still behind bars and who is out on parole.
“Kaleb, I want you to shadow Mr. Steele and me when we are out of the office. I think it’s safe to say
that for the time being, we’ll be staying close together, but I’d like an extra set of eyes.” Laura laced her
fingers together and laid them on her knee. “Now my question to all of you is simply this: have any of
you noticed anything out of the ordinary, had a case bother you recently, had a phone call that didn’t
seem right--anything at all.”
Sandra bobbed her head of short red hair. “The only thing that comes to mind for me is the file I gave
Mr. Steele a while back. But I’ve closed it and haven’t heard a peep since.”
Laura nodded. “Where is that file now?”
“Ah, still at home. I’ve flipped through it a time or two but couldn’t come to any conclusions either,”
Remington admitted.
Mildred cocked her head. “Mrs. Steele, you think this is someone we’ve dealt with out of the agency,
but he's personally targeting you, Chief? Any chance it could have something to do with … recent
events?”
Steele crossed his arms and gazed levelly at her--then agreed. “I’ll call Buchanan. We may not have
covered our tracks well enough with Siobhán.”
Remington’s call to James Buchanan proved fruitless. It appeared that only a handful of household
servants had any idea Siobhán was gone. The ones that did assumed she’d joined her father wherever he
was. It was a sad commentary that, despite losing their positions when Carlisle was jailed, most of the
staff held little concern for the girl. Only the former housekeeper fretted when she’d heard the news of
Carlisle’s arrest. Buchanan privately reassured the woman that Siobhán was in a safe place with people
who loved her.
Remington’s gut told him that whatever was happening here wasn’t related to Ireland. But he couldn’t
prove it.
Laura had her hands full keeping her husband from swaddling her and Siobhán in cotton and locking
them both away in the penthouse. But they did stay close, making certain no one was left alone. Fred
worked overtime driving the trio.
Remington had called the driver to give him a quick run-down of events on Thursday morning. “I can’t
leave Siobhán or Laura alone, mate. Not for a moment with this. I’m counting on you to help. Right
now, I have to assume one of us is a target, and as high-profile as the limo is, I want you to lock it up
and drive Laura’s car. Check the limo thoroughly for anything out of the ordinary--bombs, tracking
devices, bugs. For now, the Auburn is parked in the garage at the apartment. I picked it and the Lexus
apart last night, and they’re clean; but I’d rather they stay that way.
One of the cases Sandra turned over was one that Remington would have fielded anyway. Attorney
Josie Alvaraz had hired them again to search for some missing assets--including a Faberge egg and a
handful of valuable stock certificates. Once Ms. Alvaraz knew where they were hidden, she could
handle the matter from a legal aspect. But that meant getting eyeballs on them and photographs if
possible.
Sandra had narrowed down the field of possible locations for the missing items to either a yacht anchored
in the LA harbor or and a small penthouse in Bel Air. Thursday evening, Remington planned to hit the
boat first with Laura on lookout. Nervous about leaving his daughter alone, Siobhán came with them.
Carter tailed along in his own car to watch for spies.
On the drive, Siobhán worked on a piece of music for her piano recital. The composition had to be
original, and parts of it caused her to mutter more Gaelic curses--mild ones that Da didn’t protest. She
and Laura took turns humming the melody and harmony while Siobhán wrote notes in the margins of her
music book.
Thoroughly distracted as he thought about the photographs, Remington paid them little attention. In what
seemed like no time at all, Fred parked at the harbor, and Laura interrupted his reverie. They strolled
arm in arm down the pier with Siobhán leading them, peering over the railings and goggling at the huge
yachts lashed to the docks. Scores of other tourists strolled about, some families but mostly couples.
Laura and Siobhán found a handy bench to sit on while Remington slipped over the rail and into the
cabin of the yacht in question.
Laura wore the wire under her shirt with the microphone hidden by her collar. She listened to
Remington’s soft breath coming through the headset hidden in her hair as he picked the lock, disabling
the security system.
“I’m in,” he said, his voice low and quiet in her ear, “heading for the main cabin.”
Laura kept one eye on Siobhán and swept the area for anyone walking near their area. A young couple
walked by, whispering soft words Laura couldn’t make out. But they went on, posing no threat, and she
said nothing to Remington. She could hear the quiet snick of drawers opening and closing.
“Cabin’s clear. I’m checking the other rooms now,” he said.
It took Remington nearly forty-five minutes to determine that if anything was on board, he wasn’t going
to find it. “It’s not here, love. We’ll have to try the penthouse.”
The apartment was easier. Laura and Siobhán stayed in the car while Remington and Kaleb slipped
upstairs. Within ten minutes, the pair found both the Faberge egg and the stock certificates in a safe.
Laura followed their movements with the wires and kept a careful lookout with Fred. Carter snapped
pictures, and the two men slipped out the way they came in.
The next day, Carter eased into Laura’s office, shutting the door behind him. A glance at the connecting
door had Laura rolling back in her chair to quietly close it as well.
“What’s on your mind, Kaleb?” she asked softly.
The young man sat uncomfortably in the chair across from her. “Boss Man’s uptight, Mrs. Steele. It
took him three tries to crack that safe last night, and it wasn’t anything fancy. Don’t know how to tell
him to take it easy, but he’s got to or something’s gonna slip right by him. I know he’s worried ’bout
you and Shiv. We all are. Nothin’s gonna happen to you guys. We’re going to make sure of it.”
Laura nodded. “I’ll talk to him.”
When he left, she didn’t have time to sort through her mail before Mildred peeked in. “Mrs. Steele, I
have the list of crooks we’ve put behind bars since the agency opened. It’s quite a roster now. Nearly
half of them have served their sentences and are out on parole.”
She tapped her pencil. “What about some of the bigger ones? Wally Donovan, Major Descoine,
Wendell Whitaker, Eva Wilson, Anthony Delghetti?
Mildred flipped through her pages. “All of those creeps are still in the pen. So are Eldon Veckmer and
Steve Zweigenhoff. But Creighton Phillips, Considine, and Phil Lydon are all out on parole.”
“Okay, let’s find out where they are and if they pose any threat.”
“Will do, Mrs. Steele.”
Remington made a point of cooking fabulous meals that weekend. He knew Laura had seen through his
attempt to keep all three of them in the house. They’d had a short, nasty argument on this very subject
on Saturday morning She’d lost, throwing up her hands in frustration.
In the face of his near-incoherent fear, he fought a hard fight with himself over packing up his family and
moving to Tahiti. The incandescent spillover landed on Laura as she sketched out plans for the weekend.
“I’ll go to the market, Laura, but you and Siobhán are staying here.” His tone brooked no opposition.
Fire flared instantly in her eyes. “We can’t hole up here for the rest of our lives, Rei.”
“No, Laura. Not before we figure out what in the bloody hell is going on.”
“This isn’t the way to handle it.”
“This is the way we’ll handle it until we have more answers.”
Annoyed at his high-handed tactics, she crossed her arms. “And when did you begin making executive
decisions over what we’ll do?”
“Since I’m not the one that’s pregnant and convinced she’s immortal,” he very nearly yelled at her. Only
the knowledge that Siobhán played the piano in the living room kept his voice controlled.
“So, in other words, you’re going to set limits on what I do.”
Frustration crawled through him. He couldn’t think past protecting her and their unborn child. “Now,
yes. The rules have changed. You will not leave the house this weekend.”
The hard words made Laura flinch. “As you wish, Mr. Steele.” She walked out of the room to join
Siobhán.
Siobhán, unaware of any danger, spent most of the weekend at the piano working on her composition.
Monday morning, just three days before Thanksgiving, Remington stalked into Laura’s office and
dropped a familiar brown envelope on her desk. “Bloody hell, Laura, I’ve got more pictures today. This
time of the three of us.” He paced in agitation with his hands stuffed into his pockets. “I feel like a rat in
a maze. Someone is fencing me in, and I can’t see who it is.” Abruptly, he leaned on her desk with both
hands. “Laura, seven months ago I walked into a bloody trap and nearly lost you. I cannot do that
again,” he said hoarsely.
Despite the ice sliding down her spine, Laura stayed calm. Remington’s face had lost its color, and strain
showed in the lines on his face. Neither of them had slept well over the weekend with the harsh words
of Saturday still hanging between them. He’d succeeding in frightening her though, and she’d spent a
great deal of time thinking over old cases, attempting to determine which person might be responsible.
She reined in her own fears to focus on his words. “You think this is a trap?”
“What else could it be?” he retorted as he stood again and crossed his arms. “Why would someone send
me pictures of my family?”
She forced herself to look at the pictures as another case to solve, one not involving her own family. It
took her longer than she liked to close out her partner’s distress along with her own feelings, but she
succeeded. Nearly to herself, she muttered, “Why indeed?” Then her eyes narrowed as she reassessed
his comments. Remington’s instincts were rarely wrong. “But whoever it is just made his first mistake.”
“How so?” He paced the length of her office and back again.
“Because if this is a trap, now we can start looking for it. How do you escape a trap?”
Stopping, he opened his mouth and closed it again. “Spring it or don’t get caught in the first place.”
Leaning back in her chair, she nodded. “Exactly. How many ways can this mystery person get to us?”
She ticked off on her fingers. “Obviously physically, but also emotionally--by playing games with us--
and financially--either through our personal accounts or the agency's.
“Or the media,” he added. His experience with Siobhán and the gossip columns still rubbed raw in
places. Remington’s eyes narrowed much as hers had earlier, and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
Punching a button on her phone, he asked, “Mildred, when you have a moment.”
“Of course, Boss.”
The sly blonde with an accountant’s brain and razor-sharp tongue didn’t waste any time rounding the
corner from her office to Laura’s. She spied the envelope on her desk. “Aw, gee whiz. Not more
snapshots.”
“Aye, this time of the three of us. I’ll ask Sandra and Kaleb about them later, but I’ll assume whoever is
taking them is damned good at giving both of them the slip,” Remington answered.
Mildred sat down on the divan. Laura rose and crossed over to settle in next to her. She straightened as
the baby moved uncomfortably under her ribs. “Remington thinks someone is setting a trap. Whoever it
is wants us frightened and off balance. They’ve got us there. We’re probably extraordinarily easy to
keep tabs on right now because we don’t go anywhere. When we do, we go together.”
Remington eyed her before conceding. “First rule of giving someone the slip is to never do the same
thing twice. All right. Point taken, Laura.”
This time, grateful for his agreement, she only nodded. She needed him thinking, not panicking,
something she’d been unable to do at home. “What did you find on our parolees, Mildred?”
“Phillips moved to San Francisco and hasn’t left the city in weeks. Lydon moved to Indiana, and
Considine is keeping a low profile here in town. All of them seem to be on the up and up for the time
being.”
Disappointed by the answers, Laura latched onto the one that caused her the most concern. “How did
Lydon get out so quickly?”
“Light sentence, time off for good behavior, and the judge was in bed with the defense attorney,”
Mildred quipped with no little censure in her voice.
“Ah. That fills me with glee,” Laura muttered in annoyance.
“What else can I do?” Mildred asked.
Laura’s mind mentally flitted down the path of logic as she rose and began pacing on the other side of her
desk so that she wouldn’t interfere with the one Mr. Steele was wearing in her carpet. “Run a deep
search on our finances. Look for anyone tapping into our information but go deeper than that. Look for
anyone trying to set up false accounts, false investments and the like. Get Ian to check into our agency
and home phone records to see if anything funny is going on.”
Mildred nodded. “I’ll get on that right away.”
“Thank you, Mildred.” Tapping her fingers on her elbow, Laura turned to Remington. “Have there
been any ‘bells’ ringing on our security systems?”
“No. Now why does that suddenly seem odd?”
“Because if you are going to set a trap, the easiest place to set it is wherever the quarry is going to be.
Whoever it is has to know that I’m pregnant and probably won’t be going many places. Siobhán stays
very close to us. So--”
Mildred stayed silent while Laura worked her way through the clues, but Remington snapped his fingers.
“So, if the trap is physical, it won’t be here.” He shook his fingers at Laura. “No off-site meetings
without knowing exactly where we are going. We’re not going to have another situation like Major
Descoine's calling after hours and sending one of us on a wild goose chase.”
“Agreed,” said Laura without hesitation. Pursing her lips, she leaned through the office door. “Ian?”
“Yes, ma’am?” The young man set his coffee aside on his desk and approached her.
“You’ve developed a certain rapport with the media, wouldn’t you say?”
He flashed his California surfer grin. “Sure. Not a week goes by that I don’t receive an offer for tickets
or dinner from a hungry reporter. No offense, but you guys have been doling out more than your fair
share of headlines this year. Everybody is keeping me happy hoping that I’ll feed them a peanut every
now and then.”
Smiling at his imagery, Laura told him, “Let’s go to work on those contacts.” Shooting a sly glance at
Remington, she added, “Why don’t we offer interviews. I’ll take them this time, and we can ‘catch up’
the public on our growing family.” She patted her tummy.
“Sure, Mrs. Steele. I can do that. What’s this going to net us?”
With an admiring glance to Laura for her foresight, Remington interjected, “Good publicity never hurts;
but if someone attempts to throw a poor light on the agency, we’ll already be in a position to deal with it.
Publicly attacking a pregnant mother will only reflect poorly on the media. Plus, it will give her
something to do that won’t involve chasing down suspects.”
“Mr. Steele!” Laura chided him for the last statement. “It should raise our visibility too, making it harder
for someone to come after us. Whoever is after us won’t be interested in being caught on camera. We’ll
make a point of being seen, maybe even let one of the better reporters trail me and do a story about
working mothers. That gives me protection while freeing Mr. Steele to investigate.”
His jaw clenched. “So you’re going to serve as a decoy again.”
“Can you think of a better idea?” she retorted as her patience with him ran thin. He didn’t answer, and
she didn’t wait for one. “Then you and Ian decide which reporters we should use.” She dumped the
responsibility squarely in Remington’s lap, and the protest died on his lips. The faint quirk of his brow
told her he appreciated her trust, and she could see his temper cooling.
“Ian, is there anything on my calendar that can’t be cleared today?” she asked.
“You have an appointment with Mr. Diaz to close that case at one and Mrs. Dupont at three for an
update. Do you want me to move them?”
She tapped her cheek. “Sandra’s going to be in on the Diaz case. We’re giving him the evidence against
his wife, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And Dupont is the skip-trace on her aunt. She just wants an update. No, I can take both of those. Mr.
Steele? Are you free this morning?” She challenged him with a raised brow of her own.
“I can clear it,” he said shortly, before giving Ian a hard nod to do so.
“Good.” She rose and smoothed her jacket. “Mildred, let me know what you uncover. Mr. Steele and I
will be in his office.” She disappeared through the connecting door.
Remington crossed his arms. “Well, it appears we all have our marching orders.”
The other two hastily departed, closing Laura’s door behind them.
In the hallway, Ian scratched his ear. “Is it just me or has Mr. Steele been calling most of the shots here
lately?”
“Uh-huh,” Mildred agreed.
“And did I just see Mrs. Steele pull him up short and take control of this agency again?”
“Uh-huh,” she said again.
“Can we close for an early lunch?”
“Nope. Sparks are about to fly. I don’t want to miss it.”
“Who’s going to win?”
Mildred tilted her head. “You’ve been here two years, and you don’t know the answer to that?”
Confused, Ian shook his head. “Think about it. I’ll give you until lunchtime. You figure it out by then,
I’ll buy.”
Laura paced in front of Remington’s office window as he closed both doors to the office and locked
them. Neither of them spoke until she broke the silence.
“This frightens me, Rei. I don’t know what we’re up against.” Her frank answer led him to close the
distance between them. She put her hands up when he would have embraced her. “I don’t need
comfort right now. What I need is a little clear-headed thinking from you. I do know that if both of us
can’t get our heads straight, we’re going to lose this game. Someone out there knows you well enough to
push you off balance in a way I only see when you are scared.”
She leaned against the desk and held a hand on a bulge where the baby pressed a foot hard against her
rib. “Kaleb told me about the trouble you had cracking the safe last week because you were distracted,
and this weekend was terribly out of character for you. I’m sure you’ve purchased plane tickets for the
three of us. Where to?”
Remington crossed his arms in annoyance. “Denver. Between Murphy and me, we can keep you and
the children safe.”
Sighing in frustration, she said, “Rei, I’m not running from this. We have to find out what is going
on, or we will never be safe here. I need you thinking right now--icy calm, remember?” His eyes
traveled from hers to her belly where her hand still pressed against a stray foot. She caught his hand and
slid it under her own. “Remington, I’m not telling you you’re wrong for feeling the way you do. God
knows, I’m scared too. But I’ll be damned if someone is going to take away what we’ve built together.
Not here and not now.”
His expression lightened as the bump under his hand kicked once in protest before moving away to rest
on another part of Laura’s anatomy. At last, he nodded in agreement. “All right. All right, Laura. What
is it you want me to do?”
“You’re the expert at evasion.”
“Laura,” he chided at the reminder of his past.
She tapped his chest. “How would you get to one of us?”
Slowly blowing out his breath, he leaned against the desk as he thought. “The home and office are too
well secured to be breeched. So, it has to be in the open. Or I’d have to lead you where I want you to
go.” In frustration, he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “We’ve already covered this, Laura. None of
us will take clients out of the office for the time being.”
“How else? If this is a trap, how do you lead someone into it?”
“Laura--” he protested.
She threw up her hands. “Mr. Steele!” She calmed, taking several deep breaths before pacing about.
“Please. If you can’t get to us at home, or the office, or in the open, how would you do it?”
“Laura, you’re talking about something that would take weeks to set up. Time, money, and a bloody
good reason for vengeance.”
“It’s been at least two weeks that we know for certain, Mr. Steele. Who knows how long this has been
planned?”
Remington pressed his lips into a thin line. “Someone wants us off balance. Frightened into doing
something we normally wouldn’t do. Which means our normal routine is enough to defeat whatever he’s
planning. Otherwise, why send us the photos?”
Laura leaned against the desk, listening as her husband did what he did best. She analyzed clues; he
painted the picture.
“Which means,” he continued, “we do what we’ve been doing. No changes other than being sensible
about not being alone and being very wary of strange calls or cases. If it was me, I’d pretend to be
someone from the school. Naturally, one or both of us would rush right over.”
“So let’s set up a password for the school to use, or else we have to speak to Siobhán personally,” Laura
suggested.
Remington nodded. “That’s simple enough.”
“What else?”
He tipped his head back, thinking. “Same thing with your obstetrician, Laura. If I was to get a call that
you were in labor or having trouble, I wouldn’t think twice about going to your side.”
“All right. I’ll call the doctor--and we need to make certain Ian’s on board. More than likely, he’ll be the
one passing messages.”
“Of course. And Laura, I know we’ve our pager codes for emergencies, but I need to know the
difference between baby and any other kind of emergency.”
Her lips twitched at that, and she nodded. “My phone number, my code, and two stars instead of one
for the baby.”
“Good Lord, can you key all that?”
“I’ll have to.”
Remington eased down onto his sofa. “Bugger me, Laura. The best way to get at someone out in the
open is to follow him until the opportune moment arrives. That moment could be anything--a chance
meeting, a turn down the wrong sidewalk, or even a stumble on a step. I don't know what this bloke
wants, so I don't know how to avoid those things, except to make certain we aren't alone. Someone has
been following us, and neither of us has made him yet.”
Laura crossed her arms as she settled into the chair near him. “You’re not going to like this.” He slanted
narrowed blue eyes her way. “I think I need to be the bait with the media team. If you’re undercover,
you’ll spot whoever’s after us faster than anyone else.”
“Laura--”
“Hear me out, Remington. You’ll be right behind me. How else can we flush this person out? We’ll do
this while Siobhán is safe at school. I’ll have a reporter and a camera man with me. It’s not our usual
routine, which plays along with the setup, but we’re controlling the situation as much as possible.”
She could see him tamping down his irritation to give the scenario fair consideration. As he locked away
his emotions, she could see his personality change. He’d spent most of his life hiding behind a congenial
mask, but in the past three years, he’d set it aside for the most part whenever he was with her. Now it
settled back into place as Remington assessed her idea.
Paul Fabrini, she guessed. Sure enough, Remington rose to pour himself a finger of Amaretto over ice
from the bar in his office. There wasn’t enough liquid in the glass to qualify as a drink--only a taste, a
flavor that recalled the Continental persona he drew on like a tuxedo jacket.
He turned, his blue eyes icy and inscrutable and his posture impossibly correct. “It will work. It has to
be done now before you draw closer to your due date.”
Laura’s heart ached as she saw the man she loved revert to the mannerisms that expertly concealed the
essence of him. After the years of helping him to peel back those layers, it hurt more than she
anticipated to see them envelop him again. She could only imagine what it cost him.
Smooth British tones with a faint Italian air overlaid his voice, further cementing the persona. “I’ll be
with Ian. We’ll set up a press conference for tomorrow morning at ten and select a team to follow you.”
He pressed his lips together in irritation. “I suppose we’ll have to wait until after the holiday week to set
the trap. With your family, you’ll probably be safe enough.”
“Exactly, Mr. Steele. If you’ll arrange a staff meeting for this afternoon, we can prep the others.” She
tried hard to match his composure.
“Excellent thinking, Miss Holt.” Laura caught her breath. The hurt must have shown in her face
because Remington crossed to her, brushing his long, elegant fingers across her cheek. “Mrs. Steele.”
Without a word, he slid his hands into her hair, tilting his head for a ravenous kiss that melted her knees
and dug a hole in her heart all at the same time. He broke it off, touching his fingers to his lips before
nodding and exiting the office.
Laura ran her own hands through her hair, wondering exactly what she’d done.
6 November 2009
Chapter Thirteen: Preparation