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 Fourteen: False Trails
Tuesday, 23 November 1988 -- 34 weeks, 5 days
Mildred waited as a mom does when her errant child is due home. Only in this case, she patiently cooled
her heels until Mr. Steele arrived at the office. This morning, she had arrived early enough to clear a few
key items from her desk before the press conference … and to have a little talk with Mr. Steele.
Last night, Siobhán had turned in nearly a half hour before her parents arrived home from birthing
classes, leaving Mildred alone in the living room with reruns of The Honeymooners. Thus, she’d been
well-situated to see the distress on Mr. Steele’s face when the foyer door opened. Oh, the pair was
laughing over names again--pulling random ones out of a hat and trying them on before one or the other
nixed the suggestion. But Mildred had noted the usual concern in his eyes as they looked after Laura and
picked up on the touch of fear adding faint stress lines at the corners.
At a quarter to nine the Steeles arrived, followed by Ian and Sandra moments later. Kaleb wandered in
at five after with a box of donuts. Mildred hopped up and absconded with a cream-filled one before the
smells wafted into Mr. Steele’s office and brought him out to pick through the rapidly depleting box. She
made a face at the chocolate-covered chocolate cake donut, and Ian guffawed as Mr. Steele grimaced
before wrapping it in a napkin to drop on Mrs. Steele’s desk. Sandra used her long, hot-pink-tipped
fingernails to select a jelly-filled donut that sprinkled sugar in its trail when she lifted it from the container.
At this time of day, most of the co-workers had open doors as calendars were reviewed, appointments
shifted, questions asked and resources gathered. Mildred occupied herself by going over research with
Ian at his desk where she kept an eye on Mr. Steele eating his donut from his perch on Mrs. Steele’s
desk. When he brushed the last of the sugar from his fingers and leaned down to kiss his wife, Mildred
began wrapping up her questions. By the time he'd closed Mrs. Steele’s door and reappeared in his own
office, Mildred had timed her entrance with his and shut his door behind her.
“Ah, good morning, Ms. Krebs.” His cheerful voice still didn’t completely cover the worry in his eyes.
“Good morning, Boss.” She crossed the floor to quietly close the connecting door to Laura’s office.
Raising his eyebrows, he asked, “What can I do for you?”
“You can start by telling me what happened at class last night that is making you cluck around her like a
mother hen. If you aren’t careful, she’s going to notice and call you on it.”
He peered at her. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to me. She’s fairly preoccupied at the moment or she would have caught on last night.” The
quizzical expression on his face gave way to worry again. He turned to face the window and stuffed his
hands in his pockets as she walked up beside him. “Come on, Chief, spill it.”
“My mother died having me, Mildred. Until last night, I hadn’t let myself think about Laura in that light.”
Mildred nodded to herself. Laura had spoken to her about this very subject weeks ago while on one of
their mid-afternoon ice cream missions. Laura didn’t want to bring it up with him, in case he’d either
come to grips with it or in the event he hadn’t thought about the parallels. She didn’t really believe the
latter was a possibility, but the former was likely.
Unless, of course, all those doubts and fears bubbled up again to occupy one’s mind when faced with the
reality of a pregnant wife.
Mildred infused as much compassion into her voice as she could manage. “Mr. Steele, your mother was
alone, in Ireland, with few resources, nearly thirty-six years ago. On top of that, from what Mrs. Steele
tells me, she was ill prior to having you.” She paused before continuing, “Laura will be in Cedars-Sinai,
one of the best hospitals in the country. She’s ridiculously healthy and physically stronger than most
women. I suspect she could deliver this baby all by herself if we gave her a chance, but we’re not going
to do that, are we?”
The snort he let out was half in humor, half in relief at her jibe. “Is it all right if I worry from time to
time?” He slanted a wry glance her way.
“Of course. I wouldn’t expect any less of you, Mr. Steele.” She put her hands on her hips. “That class
must have been a real doozy.”
He brought the back of his fingernail up to nibble on it. “Mildred, if I’d gone there first, Laura wouldn’t
be pregnant.”
Waggling her brows at him, she retorted, “Then it’s a good thing you didn’t. I, for one, am ready to
have another kiddo to spoil.”
“How do you do it?”
“Do what, Chief?”
“Read me like a damned book. Once upon a time, there wasn’t a soul who could see through me.”
Huffing a little, she spoke frankly. ”I started reading you when you quit hiding from me. If I remember
it right, it was in a London hotel in 1985.” Patting him on the cheek, she turned back to her own office,
already considering the day an accomplishment.
Remington sat on the corner of his own desk and watched her go, astounded by the short conversation.
He knew she was right about Laura. Just as somehow she knew he needed reassurance that Laura
would be all right.
Had he really let down his guard with Mildred that much? He supposed so. Shaking his head, he
remembered how disappointed Mildred had been to discover the deception he and Laura had run on her
the first two years she’d worked for the agency. Initially, her irritation had been solely directed at him,
but later Laura had borne her share of Mildred’s ire; the incident had gone a long way to making the
three of them close friends.
Having had Mildred’s adoration for two years, her abrupt disapproval had pulled him up short. Since
then, he’d done his best to stay in her good graces. Ah, there’s the key. He realized now that--unable to
lie to the older woman and unwilling to dissemble either--he’d stayed on the straight and narrow by
allowing her to see him in a way that probably only Laura understood.
Upon hearing voices in the outer office which undoubtedly belonged to a gaggle of reporters, he
straightened his tie, consciously assuming Fabrini’s mannerisms and shutting down his worries.
The meet with the press went beautifully, especially when Laura dangled the carrot of baby pictures
under the reporters’ noses for behaving well.
The six reporters chosen by Ian and Remington arrived along with their camera operators. All were more
than disappointed to discover they didn’t have an exclusive--yet.
“We, of course, want to provide our clients with the assurance that our operations will continue despite
my leave of absence. In return for helping us with that, one of you will get an inside look at our agency
operations and how working parents fit into the picture. With Siobhán in our lives and a baby on the
way, we’ve had to make a number of changes,” Laura said. “I think there is enough of a story for you
to feed to the public, and it will keep our clients happy in the meantime. Does anyone disagree?”
Headshakes and murmured ‘noes’ reached her.
“How will you choose a team? I’m sure you don’t want a gaggle of people following you?” Janet
Hawkins, a field reporter from Channel 3’s morning talk show, asked.
“That’s up to you. We’d like a proposal for a story line by tomorrow morning. Mr. Steele and I will
select one based on your submission. We’ll call you by tomorrow afternoon. We’d like to get started on
Monday, right after the holiday weekend.
Matt Maynor of Channel 8 queried, “What’s the rush?”
Instead of answering right away, Laura made a show of glancing down on her belly. “I suppose we
could wait. But Mr. Steele would insist on having an ambulance follow us everywhere we go.” A
rumble of laughter followed.
“Will we get pictures of you and your daughter?” Tina Curtis, the frizzy-haired blonde from the Los
Angeles Tribune, wanted to know.
Laura nodded. “I think a few tasteful pictures in our penthouse will be acceptable.” She hadn’t
discussed that aspect with Remington, but he nodded in agreement from his vantage point behind the
crews. “After the baby is born, we’ll bring in the same team for exclusive photographs. In return, we
want to do a follow-up once I return to the office--probably somewhere around mid-February--but I’ll
expect you to be flexible on that one. Again, we want the publicity so we can demonstrate our
commitment to excellence to our clients. Any questions?”
The spattering of questions had more to do with staging, locations, and possible story lines than real
concern about content. The six teams shook hands with the Steeles, stole surreptitious glances around
the agency for possible ideas, and departed to write them down.
Remington closed Laura’s door behind the last reporter. “That went well.”
She crossed to sit on the divan and kicked her heels off before setting her feet on the fabric. “Better than
I anticipated. I hope you don’t mind the last about a follow-up news item. It makes sense to bring them
back in the spring.”
“Yes, that was rather clever of you. Do you have any preferences for a news team?” he asked.
“Janet Hawkins. If I recall from earlier this year, she treated you with the utmost of professionalism--
asking good questions without being outright gossipy,” Laura replied.
“Excellent. That’s my pick as well, but I would like to see what Christian Carstairs can come up with.
He sat in the back and took notes. From what I could read, he might have an interesting angle.”
Over lunch, as the Steeles bantered about various ideas for both media coverage and flushing out their
perpetrator, Laura fired a warning shot across the bow of Remington’s plate. “I promised family pictures
in the penthouse. When will Juan and his crew be done?”
Proud of himself for having anticipated the question, Remington took another bite before asking, “What
if I told you that he and his crew are planning to be done next Monday?”
She rubbed her forehead. “I’d hoped they would be done before Murphy and Kate come in tomorrow
afternoon.” A pained expression crossed her face.
“Then I suppose it’s a good thing that we have our walk-through in an hour. That gives Juan and his
crew this afternoon to make any last minute fixes. The housekeeper comes in the morning for a final
sweep, right?” He said it all quite seriously, but the smug grin he wore as he finished gave the game
away.
“Today? They’ll be done today?”
He picked up her hand and brushed a kiss across the palm. “I must keep my wife happy. If I don’t, my
whole security team would resign by Monday.” Three-two-one, he mentally recited.
“Remington Daniel Harrison Steele. You are the most infuriating, annoying, arrogant man in the world.”
He arched a brow, pretending to be affronted. Laura reached across and brushed a thumb on his
knuckles. “But you keep your promises.”
“That I do, love.”
The walk-through came off without a hitch. Juan’s team, more than half of which worked as Mr. Steele’
s security crew, had more than a passing familiarity with their employer’s exacting standards. The rest of
them had witnessed Mrs. Steele’s previous meltdown. None wished to stretch out this job any farther
than necessary, and only minor details had to be corrected that afternoon while Remington and Laura
retrieved Siobhán from school.
The Steele family slept late on Wednesday in honor of Siobhán's having a holiday from school. The trio
managed to make it into the office just before lunch to review the proposals from the reporters.
Ian handed the stack to Laura as they walked through the door. “Which one is the best?” she asked him.
“Hawkins is professional, newsworthy and will treat you as a woman and a mother without making you
look as if you’re shirking your duties to either. Carstairs has an artsy slant that might be intriguing. He’s
taken Mr. Steele’s love of movies and drawn comparisons to women detectives throughout the decades.”
“Which one is best for our agency?”
“Hawkins.”
“But you’d rather see Carstairs’ version,” Laura shrewdly asked.
“Of course.”
“All right.” She handed the stack of proposals to Remington, who had a pile of mail he idly sorted
through while he waited. “Your call. You and Ian deal with the media far more than I do, so I’ll defer to
your expertise.”
“Of course,” he replied with a quirk to his brow.
“Is there anything I need to address before we close the office for the week?” she asked Ian.
The secretary flipped through the calendar and picked up a message. “Just the Culvers case. He’s got a
lead for you.”
“Oh, excellent. I’ll call him while you and Mr. Steele decide which team we will use; then we can set up
our schedule for next week.” She turned to her daughter. “Siobhán? We’ll be probably an hour
working out the details. Do you have any homework? I saw you brought your backpack.”
Siobhán shrugged. “Just a chapter of history to read and some physics problems.”
“If you’ll do that, then we’ll go to lunch when we’re finished. Does that sound all right?”
Siobhán nodded. “Can I watch TV in your office when I’m done?”
Laura drew her brows together. “You don’t even need to ask, sweetheart.” She squeezed Siobhán
around the shoulders and smiled.
The call to Brian Culvers netted a possible link to a missing painting. Culvers headed up an African-
American museum in San Diego where four paintings had been stolen a year ago. The police had been
unable to recover any of them. In frustration, the museum and insurance company split the fee to hire
Laura to find them. Kaleb had been dropping hints and paying off snitches in exchange for leads. One
of those had panned out, and two of the paintings had been found already, along with a pair of suspects.
“As it turns out, Mrs. Steele, one of the culprits has a link to an employee, Casey Snyder. She’s passed
our background check, but I think it’s worth looking further into her connection,” Culvers said.
“Of course it is. Thank you for the information. I’ll follow up on it immediately.”
There was a moment of silence, then, “Excellent, Mrs. Steele.”
Laura shook her head as she hung up. Another client worrying about her “condition.” At least this one
managed to keep his concerns to himself. She gathered up his file and crossed to Remington’s office,
where he and Ian still debated between the two reporters.
In the end, Remington had to overrule Ian. “As much as I’d prefer Carstairs’ version, I think what Janet
Hawkins will do is better for flushing out our problem.”
“How so?” asked Laura.
“We need you in the field, Laura. Out on the streets talking to people, not holed up in an office.”
“I would think that Carstairs would do a better job, then. He wants to do a photo montage of Laura
posing like the classic detectives, and afterward he’ll do a news article,” Ian argued.
“I know, Connelly, but we need Laura moving about so I have a chance to see who is following her. A
photo shoot gives our mystery man too much opportunity to get what he needs and move on.”
Remington handed both proposals to Laura. “What do you think?”
She sat at his desk, perusing them with care. At last, she had to agree with her husband. “I absolutely
love Carstairs’ proposal. If we weren’t trying to flush out a perp, I’d take it in a moment. But for now,
we need Janet’s abilities.” Laura tapped her pen on the paper. “Maybe we can ask Carstairs to do it
next year at some point.”
Ian sighed. “Yeah. Think I can slide a pair of tickets to the LA Rams' next game to him? I’d like to
keep him on our good side.”
Mr. Steele gave him a wry look. “We certainly won’t be using them for the rest of the season. Take
your pick, and keep a pair for yourself since you get to call all the other reporters too and give them the
bad news.”
“Yes, sir.” Ian nodded happily and took off to his desk.
Remington perched on the edge of his own and dialed Janet’s number. As he did, Laura set her feet on
his desk and propped her hands on her swollen belly while he made his call.
“Ms. Hawkins, Steele here. … Yes, we’ve taken a look at your proposal. Mrs. Steele and I are quite
taken with it. Think we can get started on Monday morning? … Of course. Tuesday then. Can you be
here by ten? … Excellent. We’ll see you then.”
While he talked, she let her eyes trail across his physique, taking in the elegant lines of his suit, the line of
his jaw, the inevitable lock of hair dropping over his brow. When he used only his first two fingers to set
the phone on its cradle, she admired that graceful gesture too.
“Don’t look at me that way, Laura, unless I can take you up on the offer.”
“What way?”
“As if I’m your mid-afternoon snack.”
“For you, wouldn’t it be high tea?”
“So, now I’m tea and crumpets?”
Laura snickered at his pretended outrage. “I was thinking more along the lines of those little iced cakes--
impossibly rich, tempting as sin, and tasting absolutely sumptuous.”
“Oh, well now.” He leaned across the desk and brushed a hand along her cheek. “In that case, I’m
quite available to the lady of the house.”
Their lips met in a kiss, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Laura, do we or do we not own our own business?”
“We do.”
“Then why is it that I cannot seem to have a moment of romance with you without interruption?”
“That, Mr. Steele, is the ultimate mystery.”
Shaking his head, he stood. “Come in.”
Siobhán appeared in the doorway. “I’m hungry.”
Laura propped her chin on her elbow. “Me too. I’m done with my work. Think we can go over the
schedule this evening, Mr. Steele?”
He speared a lascivious glance in her direction. “Certainly, Mrs. Steele. We can do … that.”
7 November 2009
Chapter Fifteen: Interlude
Tuesday, 23 November 1988 -- 34 weeks, 5 days
Mildred waited as a mom does when her errant child is due home. Only in this case, she patiently cooled
her heels until Mr. Steele arrived at the office. This morning, she had arrived early enough to clear a few
key items from her desk before the press conference … and to have a little talk with Mr. Steele.
Last night, Siobhán had turned in nearly a half hour before her parents arrived home from birthing
classes, leaving Mildred alone in the living room with reruns of The Honeymooners. Thus, she’d been
well-situated to see the distress on Mr. Steele’s face when the foyer door opened. Oh, the pair was
laughing over names again--pulling random ones out of a hat and trying them on before one or the other
nixed the suggestion. But Mildred had noted the usual concern in his eyes as they looked after Laura and
picked up on the touch of fear adding faint stress lines at the corners.
At a quarter to nine the Steeles arrived, followed by Ian and Sandra moments later. Kaleb wandered in
at five after with a box of donuts. Mildred hopped up and absconded with a cream-filled one before the
smells wafted into Mr. Steele’s office and brought him out to pick through the rapidly depleting box. She
made a face at the chocolate-covered chocolate cake donut, and Ian guffawed as Mr. Steele grimaced
before wrapping it in a napkin to drop on Mrs. Steele’s desk. Sandra used her long, hot-pink-tipped
fingernails to select a jelly-filled donut that sprinkled sugar in its trail when she lifted it from the container.
At this time of day, most of the co-workers had open doors as calendars were reviewed, appointments
shifted, questions asked and resources gathered. Mildred occupied herself by going over research with
Ian at his desk where she kept an eye on Mr. Steele eating his donut from his perch on Mrs. Steele’s
desk. When he brushed the last of the sugar from his fingers and leaned down to kiss his wife, Mildred
began wrapping up her questions. By the time he'd closed Mrs. Steele’s door and reappeared in his own
office, Mildred had timed her entrance with his and shut his door behind her.
“Ah, good morning, Ms. Krebs.” His cheerful voice still didn’t completely cover the worry in his eyes.
“Good morning, Boss.” She crossed the floor to quietly close the connecting door to Laura’s office.
Raising his eyebrows, he asked, “What can I do for you?”
“You can start by telling me what happened at class last night that is making you cluck around her like a
mother hen. If you aren’t careful, she’s going to notice and call you on it.”
He peered at her. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to me. She’s fairly preoccupied at the moment or she would have caught on last night.” The
quizzical expression on his face gave way to worry again. He turned to face the window and stuffed his
hands in his pockets as she walked up beside him. “Come on, Chief, spill it.”
“My mother died having me, Mildred. Until last night, I hadn’t let myself think about Laura in that light.”
Mildred nodded to herself. Laura had spoken to her about this very subject weeks ago while on one of
their mid-afternoon ice cream missions. Laura didn’t want to bring it up with him, in case he’d either
come to grips with it or in the event he hadn’t thought about the parallels. She didn’t really believe the
latter was a possibility, but the former was likely.
Unless, of course, all those doubts and fears bubbled up again to occupy one’s mind when faced with the
reality of a pregnant wife.
Mildred infused as much compassion into her voice as she could manage. “Mr. Steele, your mother was
alone, in Ireland, with few resources, nearly thirty-six years ago. On top of that, from what Mrs. Steele
tells me, she was ill prior to having you.” She paused before continuing, “Laura will be in Cedars-Sinai,
one of the best hospitals in the country. She’s ridiculously healthy and physically stronger than most
women. I suspect she could deliver this baby all by herself if we gave her a chance, but we’re not going
to do that, are we?”
The snort he let out was half in humor, half in relief at her jibe. “Is it all right if I worry from time to
time?” He slanted a wry glance her way.
“Of course. I wouldn’t expect any less of you, Mr. Steele.” She put her hands on her hips. “That class
must have been a real doozy.”
He brought the back of his fingernail up to nibble on it. “Mildred, if I’d gone there first, Laura wouldn’t
be pregnant.”
Waggling her brows at him, she retorted, “Then it’s a good thing you didn’t. I, for one, am ready to
have another kiddo to spoil.”
“How do you do it?”
“Do what, Chief?”
“Read me like a damned book. Once upon a time, there wasn’t a soul who could see through me.”
Huffing a little, she spoke frankly. ”I started reading you when you quit hiding from me. If I remember
it right, it was in a London hotel in 1985.” Patting him on the cheek, she turned back to her own office,
already considering the day an accomplishment.
Remington sat on the corner of his own desk and watched her go, astounded by the short conversation.
He knew she was right about Laura. Just as somehow she knew he needed reassurance that Laura
would be all right.
Had he really let down his guard with Mildred that much? He supposed so. Shaking his head, he
remembered how disappointed Mildred had been to discover the deception he and Laura had run on her
the first two years she’d worked for the agency. Initially, her irritation had been solely directed at him,
but later Laura had borne her share of Mildred’s ire; the incident had gone a long way to making the
three of them close friends.
Having had Mildred’s adoration for two years, her abrupt disapproval had pulled him up short. Since
then, he’d done his best to stay in her good graces. Ah, there’s the key. He realized now that--unable to
lie to the older woman and unwilling to dissemble either--he’d stayed on the straight and narrow by
allowing her to see him in a way that probably only Laura understood.
Upon hearing voices in the outer office which undoubtedly belonged to a gaggle of reporters, he
straightened his tie, consciously assuming Fabrini’s mannerisms and shutting down his worries.
The meet with the press went beautifully, especially when Laura dangled the carrot of baby pictures
under the reporters’ noses for behaving well.
The six reporters chosen by Ian and Remington arrived along with their camera operators. All were more
than disappointed to discover they didn’t have an exclusive--yet.
“We, of course, want to provide our clients with the assurance that our operations will continue despite
my leave of absence. In return for helping us with that, one of you will get an inside look at our agency
operations and how working parents fit into the picture. With Siobhán in our lives and a baby on the
way, we’ve had to make a number of changes,” Laura said. “I think there is enough of a story for you
to feed to the public, and it will keep our clients happy in the meantime. Does anyone disagree?”
Headshakes and murmured ‘noes’ reached her.
“How will you choose a team? I’m sure you don’t want a gaggle of people following you?” Janet
Hawkins, a field reporter from Channel 3’s morning talk show, asked.
“That’s up to you. We’d like a proposal for a story line by tomorrow morning. Mr. Steele and I will
select one based on your submission. We’ll call you by tomorrow afternoon. We’d like to get started on
Monday, right after the holiday weekend.
Matt Maynor of Channel 8 queried, “What’s the rush?”
Instead of answering right away, Laura made a show of glancing down on her belly. “I suppose we
could wait. But Mr. Steele would insist on having an ambulance follow us everywhere we go.” A
rumble of laughter followed.
“Will we get pictures of you and your daughter?” Tina Curtis, the frizzy-haired blonde from the Los
Angeles Tribune, wanted to know.
Laura nodded. “I think a few tasteful pictures in our penthouse will be acceptable.” She hadn’t
discussed that aspect with Remington, but he nodded in agreement from his vantage point behind the
crews. “After the baby is born, we’ll bring in the same team for exclusive photographs. In return, we
want to do a follow-up once I return to the office--probably somewhere around mid-February--but I’ll
expect you to be flexible on that one. Again, we want the publicity so we can demonstrate our
commitment to excellence to our clients. Any questions?”
The spattering of questions had more to do with staging, locations, and possible story lines than real
concern about content. The six teams shook hands with the Steeles, stole surreptitious glances around
the agency for possible ideas, and departed to write them down.
Remington closed Laura’s door behind the last reporter. “That went well.”
She crossed to sit on the divan and kicked her heels off before setting her feet on the fabric. “Better than
I anticipated. I hope you don’t mind the last about a follow-up news item. It makes sense to bring them
back in the spring.”
“Yes, that was rather clever of you. Do you have any preferences for a news team?” he asked.
“Janet Hawkins. If I recall from earlier this year, she treated you with the utmost of professionalism--
asking good questions without being outright gossipy,” Laura replied.
“Excellent. That’s my pick as well, but I would like to see what Christian Carstairs can come up with.
He sat in the back and took notes. From what I could read, he might have an interesting angle.”
Over lunch, as the Steeles bantered about various ideas for both media coverage and flushing out their
perpetrator, Laura fired a warning shot across the bow of Remington’s plate. “I promised family pictures
in the penthouse. When will Juan and his crew be done?”
Proud of himself for having anticipated the question, Remington took another bite before asking, “What
if I told you that he and his crew are planning to be done next Monday?”
She rubbed her forehead. “I’d hoped they would be done before Murphy and Kate come in tomorrow
afternoon.” A pained expression crossed her face.
“Then I suppose it’s a good thing that we have our walk-through in an hour. That gives Juan and his
crew this afternoon to make any last minute fixes. The housekeeper comes in the morning for a final
sweep, right?” He said it all quite seriously, but the smug grin he wore as he finished gave the game
away.
“Today? They’ll be done today?”
He picked up her hand and brushed a kiss across the palm. “I must keep my wife happy. If I don’t, my
whole security team would resign by Monday.” Three-two-one, he mentally recited.
“Remington Daniel Harrison Steele. You are the most infuriating, annoying, arrogant man in the world.”
He arched a brow, pretending to be affronted. Laura reached across and brushed a thumb on his
knuckles. “But you keep your promises.”
“That I do, love.”
The walk-through came off without a hitch. Juan’s team, more than half of which worked as Mr. Steele’
s security crew, had more than a passing familiarity with their employer’s exacting standards. The rest of
them had witnessed Mrs. Steele’s previous meltdown. None wished to stretch out this job any farther
than necessary, and only minor details had to be corrected that afternoon while Remington and Laura
retrieved Siobhán from school.
The Steele family slept late on Wednesday in honor of Siobhán's having a holiday from school. The trio
managed to make it into the office just before lunch to review the proposals from the reporters.
Ian handed the stack to Laura as they walked through the door. “Which one is the best?” she asked him.
“Hawkins is professional, newsworthy and will treat you as a woman and a mother without making you
look as if you’re shirking your duties to either. Carstairs has an artsy slant that might be intriguing. He’s
taken Mr. Steele’s love of movies and drawn comparisons to women detectives throughout the decades.”
“Which one is best for our agency?”
“Hawkins.”
“But you’d rather see Carstairs’ version,” Laura shrewdly asked.
“Of course.”
“All right.” She handed the stack of proposals to Remington, who had a pile of mail he idly sorted
through while he waited. “Your call. You and Ian deal with the media far more than I do, so I’ll defer to
your expertise.”
“Of course,” he replied with a quirk to his brow.
“Is there anything I need to address before we close the office for the week?” she asked Ian.
The secretary flipped through the calendar and picked up a message. “Just the Culvers case. He’s got a
lead for you.”
“Oh, excellent. I’ll call him while you and Mr. Steele decide which team we will use; then we can set up
our schedule for next week.” She turned to her daughter. “Siobhán? We’ll be probably an hour
working out the details. Do you have any homework? I saw you brought your backpack.”
Siobhán shrugged. “Just a chapter of history to read and some physics problems.”
“If you’ll do that, then we’ll go to lunch when we’re finished. Does that sound all right?”
Siobhán nodded. “Can I watch TV in your office when I’m done?”
Laura drew her brows together. “You don’t even need to ask, sweetheart.” She squeezed Siobhán
around the shoulders and smiled.
The call to Brian Culvers netted a possible link to a missing painting. Culvers headed up an African-
American museum in San Diego where four paintings had been stolen a year ago. The police had been
unable to recover any of them. In frustration, the museum and insurance company split the fee to hire
Laura to find them. Kaleb had been dropping hints and paying off snitches in exchange for leads. One
of those had panned out, and two of the paintings had been found already, along with a pair of suspects.
“As it turns out, Mrs. Steele, one of the culprits has a link to an employee, Casey Snyder. She’s passed
our background check, but I think it’s worth looking further into her connection,” Culvers said.
“Of course it is. Thank you for the information. I’ll follow up on it immediately.”
There was a moment of silence, then, “Excellent, Mrs. Steele.”
Laura shook her head as she hung up. Another client worrying about her “condition.” At least this one
managed to keep his concerns to himself. She gathered up his file and crossed to Remington’s office,
where he and Ian still debated between the two reporters.
In the end, Remington had to overrule Ian. “As much as I’d prefer Carstairs’ version, I think what Janet
Hawkins will do is better for flushing out our problem.”
“How so?” asked Laura.
“We need you in the field, Laura. Out on the streets talking to people, not holed up in an office.”
“I would think that Carstairs would do a better job, then. He wants to do a photo montage of Laura
posing like the classic detectives, and afterward he’ll do a news article,” Ian argued.
“I know, Connelly, but we need Laura moving about so I have a chance to see who is following her. A
photo shoot gives our mystery man too much opportunity to get what he needs and move on.”
Remington handed both proposals to Laura. “What do you think?”
She sat at his desk, perusing them with care. At last, she had to agree with her husband. “I absolutely
love Carstairs’ proposal. If we weren’t trying to flush out a perp, I’d take it in a moment. But for now,
we need Janet’s abilities.” Laura tapped her pen on the paper. “Maybe we can ask Carstairs to do it
next year at some point.”
Ian sighed. “Yeah. Think I can slide a pair of tickets to the LA Rams' next game to him? I’d like to
keep him on our good side.”
Mr. Steele gave him a wry look. “We certainly won’t be using them for the rest of the season. Take
your pick, and keep a pair for yourself since you get to call all the other reporters too and give them the
bad news.”
“Yes, sir.” Ian nodded happily and took off to his desk.
Remington perched on the edge of his own and dialed Janet’s number. As he did, Laura set her feet on
his desk and propped her hands on her swollen belly while he made his call.
“Ms. Hawkins, Steele here. … Yes, we’ve taken a look at your proposal. Mrs. Steele and I are quite
taken with it. Think we can get started on Monday morning? … Of course. Tuesday then. Can you be
here by ten? … Excellent. We’ll see you then.”
While he talked, she let her eyes trail across his physique, taking in the elegant lines of his suit, the line of
his jaw, the inevitable lock of hair dropping over his brow. When he used only his first two fingers to set
the phone on its cradle, she admired that graceful gesture too.
“Don’t look at me that way, Laura, unless I can take you up on the offer.”
“What way?”
“As if I’m your mid-afternoon snack.”
“For you, wouldn’t it be high tea?”
“So, now I’m tea and crumpets?”
Laura snickered at his pretended outrage. “I was thinking more along the lines of those little iced cakes--
impossibly rich, tempting as sin, and tasting absolutely sumptuous.”
“Oh, well now.” He leaned across the desk and brushed a hand along her cheek. “In that case, I’m
quite available to the lady of the house.”
Their lips met in a kiss, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Laura, do we or do we not own our own business?”
“We do.”
“Then why is it that I cannot seem to have a moment of romance with you without interruption?”
“That, Mr. Steele, is the ultimate mystery.”
Shaking his head, he stood. “Come in.”
Siobhán appeared in the doorway. “I’m hungry.”
Laura propped her chin on her elbow. “Me too. I’m done with my work. Think we can go over the
schedule this evening, Mr. Steele?”
He speared a lascivious glance in her direction. “Certainly, Mrs. Steele. We can do … that.”
7 November 2009
Chapter Fifteen: Interlude