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 One: Dawn
Friday, 3 June 1988 -- 10 Weeks, 1 Day
Laura Elizabeth Steele wrinkled her nose as she listened to her husband swear without compunction from
where he had wedged himself above the ceiling tiles in the reception area. Their youngest associate,
Kaleb Carter, perched on a ladder, and only the bottom half of him was visible from where she stood.
“I’ve seen mice pick through wires with more finesse than that bloody rat,” Remington groused as he
repaired the breached security system of Remington Steele Investigations.
Wincing inwardly, Laura began a slow methodical search in the reception area for listening devices. The
aforementioned rat by the name of Tony Roselli--an American spy who’d crossed the Steeles’ path too
many times for their comfort--had tripped their security system deliberately to draw their attention and
force a confrontation.
At the moment, Roselli was working with Interpol to keep tabs on an Irish mob boss by the name of
Johnny Carlisle, a member of the Dublin Six and Remington’s cousin by way of their mothers.
Remington’s cousin--now that came as a surprise to her. And that was putting it mildly. Try a gut punch
to the middle. But the fury she’d seen in Remington’s face when Carlisle had turned up at their office
earlier that day eclipsed her own roiling anger. She knew he had scattered family members around
Ireland, none that he claimed. To have one land on their doorstop earlier that day had unsettled her more
than she cared to admit.
She lifted pictures and looked behind furniture, working through her irritation. She shoved a little harder
than necessary to move the chairs back into place.
Three things made her see red. First, Carlisle had asked them to pull Interpol off his case, which wasn’t
possible as they hadn’t set the police agency on him to begin with. Second, Remington had given the
man a contact. Her husband hadn’t said precisely, but Laura figured that Carlisle was on his way to the
Bahamas to meet his teenage daughter before going into hiding. Third, finding Tony Roselli had stuck his
long nose into their business again had her fingertips flexing into claws.
Remington’s explanation mollified her somewhat. Apparently, Johnny’s mother had taken him in as an
infant and raised him until her own passing when he neared the age of four, after which Carlisle had
passed him to various cousins who had alternately abused and neglected him.
Knowing her husband as she did, she understood that he held Johnny fully accountable--not only for his
own harsh childhood, but for the hundreds of people his cousin had harmed in his quest for power and
money. Only out of respect for his great-aunt, Carlisle’s mother, and sympathy for the daughter had
Remington given over any advice at all.
The Steeles hadn’t given Tony that little piece of information. It would have been far too complicated to
explain why Remington had given Carlisle a head start, even as he had believed it was too late for his
cousin to elude Interpol’s reach.
Their confrontation with Roselli had left the spy with only a sketchy understanding of the relationship
between the two Irishmen and the mistaken belief that Carlisle had only asked Steele’s assistance in
getting Interpol off his tail. Neither Remington nor Laura had mentioned the girl. Thinking about the
way they’d neatly glossed over the whole conversation with Carlisle to Tony had her smirking as she
picked her way through Carter’s office.
While Remington and Kaleb fiddled with the security system, Laura continued to check the office for
bugs the agent might have left behind. Given the situation with Johnny Carlisle, she was sure that Tony
had orders to plant them if possible.
She found two, both of them small and easily overlooked. One was stuck to the rear edge of a picture
frame in her office and the other behind the window shade in Remington’s.
Years ago, late on a Monday night after closing a particularly sensitive case involving a state senator and
a scheme to publicly discredit him, Laura had found Remington in the office sliding his fingers along
every surface imaginable. She still recalled his snarky grin as he discovered the transmitter.
Since that day, they’d made a habit of periodically sweeping for bugs. From time to time, Laura or
Remington hid them in their associates’ offices to see how long it took each person to find them. They
gave out fifty-dollar-bonuses for discoveries made within twenty-four hours of the plant. Even Ian
Connelly, the office secretary and least sneaky of the agency team, now checked the lobby and break
room once a week. Sandra Martinez, the newest detective in the agency, had made a wry observation to
Laura after the first one she’d discovered in a plant she had on her desk that it certainly made one want
to keep the knickknacks in the office to a minimum.
Whatever irritation Laura had tamped down after shoving around furniture fired into a slow burn again
after finding the surveillance devices. Suspecting someone wanted to keep an eye on them was one
thing; it was another to have it confirmed. She just knew Interpol had a hand in having the bugs planted.
After becoming aware of the Steeles' unique talents in Ireland, Interpol had approached them about giving
new agents training in the way the pair solved cases, not to mention figuring out how Remington had
eluded their grasp for nearly a decade. Laura had hammered out a deal with James Buchanan only in the
past two weeks but had yet to put the final touches on it. At the moment, she planned to have a long talk
with Buchanan and rethink this idea of training recruits--if they were honestly recruits and not there
strictly to spy on the Steeles.
She retrieved the hammer from the tool box in the break room and smacked the bugs with satisfying
gusto--splattering the electronic guts all over the table--then winced as she remembered that Mr. Steele
would have wanted to study them before destroying them. Oh, well. Too late now. Perhaps he can
make something of the pieces. She brushed all the parts into an evidence bag and dropped it onto
Remington’s desk.
While waiting for the men to finish, Laura sorted through the files on her own desk and found one that
needed her attention.
*****
As he lay on his back in the ceiling, repairing the security system, Remington became aware of Carter’s
intent gaze. With characteristic patience, he waited, knowing the young man would spit out his words
before long.
“Sir?”
He slanted a glance at his apprentice. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me anything but
‘sir’? I’m not a bloody knight.”
Carter grinned, pearly white teeth standing out in the darkened area. “Sir Steele.”
His retort was pithy and rude, followed by, “What’s your question, mate?” He muttered another curse
as he wedged his hands into the box and replaced a broken wire.
“Have you ever had to shoot anyone? Mrs. Steele held a gun on Roselli from where she was hiding and
had me do it when she walked through the door.”
Remington waited a beat before answering. “Shoot at someone, yes. Actually hit someone, fortunately,
no. Although Laura--no, that was Kate masquerading as Laura--tagged a guy in Malta with a flare gun.
He fell into the water. I think the police fished him out and patched him up. I don’t particularly like guns
… though I understand the need to have them from time to time.”
He turned so that he lay on his back and pulled out another wire. As Kaleb handed him a new one,
Remington casually noted, “You’ve started carrying. Laura rather likes her new Beretta, but she rarely
keeps it with her unless a particular situation calls for it.”
The twenty-year-old shifted uncomfortably at the pointed statement but held still when he answered,
“Things are rough where I live. It seems logical.”
In that way men do when they are discussing serious topics, Steele kept his voice low and nonchalant.
“I’ve spent most of my life avoiding firearms and drugs. I don’t like either one. The former seems to be
a quicker solution to a question that might be better answered with intelligence and patience. The latter is
a fool’s choice. But one can’t think properly while using, which explains why the two are often paired
together. All in all, I prefer my wits to a weapon--but I’ve used both.”
Sensing he’d said enough, Remington changed the subject. “Hand me those wire cutters, will you?” The
two men worked comfortably side-by-side, leaving Kaleb with a great deal of thinking to do.
By three in the morning, the damage had been repaired, and Remington finished sweeping the ceiling area
for bugs. Dust sprinkled all over his black clothing and Kaleb’s skin had Laura chuckling when they
walked into her office.
“You two look as if you’ve been playing in the snow,” she said.
Wearily, he exchanged looks with Kaleb and shot her a dirty one. “Would you prefer to crawl around in
the ceiling next time, Mrs. Steele?”
Biting her lip, the sparkle still danced in her eyes. “No, no. I think you do a perfectly adequate job. I
wouldn’t want to mess up your system, in any case.”
“Perfectly adequate? You’ll pay for that later, love.” He dropped a kiss on her temple while she stacked
files and cleaned off her desk.
Laura reminded Kaleb to mark his time down. “It’s too bad I can’t bill this to anyone but Mr. Steele, but
he’s good for it in any case.”
“Sure thing.” The young man rubbed his bald head and yawned. “No offense 'cause I like late nights
and all, but I’m bushed.”
Remington dug a thumbnail into his finger to keep from doing the same.
Laura ducked down their connecting corridor, returning with a bag of electronic parts to hand to him.
Frowning at her, he asked, “What’s this?”
“It’s what is left of the bugs I found after I smacked them with a hammer.”
He raised his right brow at her before escorting her out the door.
Laura fell asleep in the Lexus on the way home. When Remington parked in their private garage below
the apartments, he used his fingers to stroke one of the locks of her hair that had pulled free of her
ponytail. Pride filled him over the way she’d handled herself with Roselli--not that she needed his
approval, but given that she was nearly three months along in her pregnancy, she’d kept herself safe as
she assessed the situation. He’d been in a nervous twitter about having her partner him while they
determined who had broken into the agency, but he’d promised her he wouldn’t be the one to decide
what she could and could not do in the coming months.
As he watched her sleep, he resisted the urge to carry her upstairs. The few pounds she’d gained already
didn’t matter to him, but he didn’t want her indignant over being treated as an invalid. After injuring her
knee both times, she’d needed help any number of ways--the least of which involved getting from point
A to point B. As her body had healed, she’d refused to lean on him any more than necessary--using the
crutches even when he willingly offered assistance. The simple Neoprene wrap she wore now constantly
reminded him of the recent injury.
But he’d made it clear to her that carrying her to the bedroom for sex was entirely different, and she
would have to live with it. After he’d ably demonstrated why, she’d agreed that making love warranted a
special dispensation.
He indulged himself for several minutes, looking at her in the dim light emanating from the small fixture
overhead in the garage before leaning back against the headrest and closing his eyes--telling himself it
would only be a moment. A memory of sleeping in a car with her early in their association had his lips
twitching as he thought about how much he’d enjoyed ribbing Murphy about that one for weeks.
Other memories of cars--making love in them, hiding in them, living in them because he had no other
place to go--drifted in and out of his thoughts as sleep pulled him under.
*****
She woke in the dark, feeling slightly chilled, and it took her a moment to realize she still sat in the car.
She could hardly see Remington still propped up against the window, dead to the world.
He jumped when she opened the door and then gave her a heavy-eyed smile. “Sorry, love. Shall we go
upstairs?”
Laura laughed as she got out of the car. He made it sound as if they’d been dancing in a hotel ballroom,
and he was inviting her back to his room. “Of course, dear. Anything for you.”
Obviously catching on to her thinking, he gave her a comical half bow and escorted her to the penthouse.
*****
The brief nap revived Remington enough to enable him to duck into the shower and wash away the dirt.
Laura, on the other hand, apparently had enough energy bouncing around that she decided a naked Mr.
Steele shouldn’t be wasted. As he toweled himself dry in the bathroom they shared, she appeared in the
doorway wearing only his black shirt and a sultry smile.
He couldn’t miss what she had in mind, but he teased her all the same. “Now, that is an excellent look
for you, Laura. You should try it at the office sometime.”
“I don’t think so. You have enough trouble concentrating on work as it is.” She stepped inside and
pulled the towel from his grasp, dropping it to the floor.
Attempting to keep a straight face, he scratched the back of his neck. “I was only commenting about the
shirt. Really, Laura--you mustn’t let your imagination run away as you do from time to time.”
“I shouldn’t? But, Mr. Steele, that wouldn’t be any fun at all.” She leaned against the bathroom counter
and began walking her fingers across his chest and then dragging them down through the black curls. Her
brow arched as she noted his body's response.
“Ah … well now … you didn’t tell me you were looking for fun. I’m an expert in that.” He lifted her to
the counter and let his hands play in her hair. He liked that she still wore it long and let the strands slide
through his fingers.
“I seem to have found it all by myself.” She quirked her mouth upward, and he grinned as her hands
found his awakening erection, stroking long enough to get the results she desired before wandering off to
play in his hair again. Raising her arms, she pulled his head to hers and tasted his mouth. Desire rushed
through him, heightening when he dropped his hands to glide down the silk of the shirt, catching the tips
of her breasts in the process.
One of his own arms went around her back as he leaned into the kiss, and the other slid under the shirt.
He dusted a thumb over the nipple, leaving it taut in its wake. With that same hand, he flipped open one
button after another and brushed the silk aside, exposing her to his view. He pulled his mouth away long
enough to ask, “Laura?”
“Yes?”
“Exactly where are we going to trip the light fantastic? Here or the bed?”
Instead of answering, she wrapped her legs around his hips and touched her lips to his chest. He
watched in the mirror as she kissed his collarbone and scraped her nails lightly along his shoulders and
back.
He shivered as need vibrated under his skin. Without prelude, he sank into her body, drowning in the
sensation of her flesh surrounding and welcoming him in. After the harrowing day they’d had, he needed
her more than he’d realized. Her familiar touch, the soft scent of her skin, and the little gasps she uttered
as he found ways to pleasure her more thoroughly soaked into him, pushing his own desire higher.
They’d fought damned hard to find this place where joy saturated their lives. But for ten weeks, he’d
watched the happiness trickle away like sand through the fingers; and no matter how tightly he clenched
them, the pieces of their lives slipped through. He’d struggled in despair until he'd discovered Laura
catching all those fragments and putting them back together again.
To know now beyond a shadow of a doubt that Laura not only loved him, but would fight for and
defend that love was humbling.
Despite all that had happened in the past ten weeks, Laura loved him.
God knew, he loved her.
Remington held her to him with the one arm and used the other hand to stroke her hair and face as he
tilted her head back to plumb the depths of her mouth. Long, slow strokes of his body in hers had him
clenching his jaw to hold back his climax while she found hers. But he didn’t let her come down much
from the peak.
Still connected, he carried her to the bed. With practiced grace, he laid her down and began again.
* * * * *
It was somewhere after noon when Laura took her own shower, and it was there she appreciated how far
she’d come in her therapy for post-traumatic stress disorder. Her first reaction to cold hadn’t been fear
at all, just a touch of confusion. Grateful to Dr. Angelo, Laura leaned against the tile while the water
rained down and realized that she hadn’t had any nightmares last night either despite seeing that awful
video. Although neither of them wanted it in their home, Remington had locked it up in their safe. She
didn’t really believe that copies didn’t exist, knowing Interpol, but there was a certain consolation all the
same.
The water felt good against her breasts and belly. She rubbed the latter where it itched before shutting
off the shower and drying with a towel. She found Remington leaning against the door, watching.
Judging by the look in his eye, she knew he had something on his mind. He had dressed in a loose, short
sleeve burgundy shirt that he’d left unbuttoned and a pair of light gray slacks that clung attractively. She
admired his physique yet again. “You know, some day I’m going to get used to the fact that you are so
damned handsome.”
He cocked a black eyebrow at her and caressed her with his eyes. “I hope not, Miss Holt. I haven’t yet
with you.”
She tilted her head in inquiry as she neatly hung the towel on the bar, not bothering to dress. “That’s the
third or fourth time you’ve called me that in the last two days. Have I missed something? You usually
only call me ‘Miss Holt’ when you’re annoyed with me.”
A touch to her waist brought her to him, and the press of his bare chest against hers warmed her to her
toes. “Do I?” He shook his head. “It was quite inadvertent. Last night, I was thinking of the first time
we slept in a car together. You were ‘Miss Holt’ then, and I had a terrible case of lust.” Fingers at the
small of her back made her shiver.
She touched a finger to his chest and drew it slowly downward until she brushed the front of his slacks.
“And what exactly do you call this?”
“That, Mrs. Steele?” he emphasized. “All yours if you want it.”
She rolled her eyes. “I seem to recall, years and years ago, telling my girlfriends that I didn’t want a man
who acted as if he were a randy adolescent all the time. How did I end up with you?”
“The same way I ended up with a woman that lights up like a torch the moment we touch. It’s your
entire fault anyway. I can be sitting at my desk, minding my own business, and one look from you has
me--" He trailed off with a wiggle of the eyebrows.
“Itchy?” she offered with a grin as she pulled his body to hers.
“Itchy. That’s an apt description, Mrs. Steele.”
“Ah. Didn’t get enough last night?” She raised her eyebrows. Remington had been in rare form when
they’d come home, even for him--taking his time to relearn her body’s secrets again and again. She’d
awakened deliciously refreshed and craving him again, as he apparently was her.
“Never, Laura.” His blue eyes lit from within as she lifted her mouth to his.
*****
Fascinated by the way Laura’s body was changing, Remington took his time making love to Laura again
that Saturday afternoon, grateful that the annoying symptoms of the first few weeks of pregnancy had
subsided.
As her appetite recovered, she’d begun craving all sorts of foods, alternately intriguing and horrifying him
by the combinations she chose. Pickles and ice cream were only the beginning; she had wanted
enchiladas for lunch nearly every single day this week, steak for dinner and gallons of apple cider. Not
apple juice, of course. It had to be apple cider, or she wouldn’t drink it. An hour after dinner for each of
the last three days, he’d found her standing at the refrigerator, tasting a dish, snitching a grape and
dipping a finger into the sour cream--all in an effort to figure out what would satisfy her taste buds.
Remington had stayed on his toes and insisted on making healthy dishes good for both her and the baby,
but he’d caught her sneaking back into the office twice this week after a trip for ice cream, accompanied
by Mildred who cheerfully complained that Laura’s pregnancy was going to increase her waistline.
In the past week, he had also discovered that no matter how responsive to his touch Laura might have
been prior to becoming pregnant, now she was twice as sensitive--which was rather enjoyable as he only
had to work half as hard but unnerving at the same time. Despite the reassurances of the pregnancy
books, the doctor and Laura herself, he was rather uneasy about unleashing his ardor for her. He did his
best to keep their lovemaking to the sweet and tender kind--when she was willing to cooperate.
This afternoon she had, and now they were lazily moving about the penthouse. Laura wandered down
the hallway to the two bedrooms with her cup of tea--decaf as Remington had insisted. The short
hallway led into a decent sized bathroom, the laundry room and two bedrooms--one of which was used
as their workout room and one as a guest bedroom.
She wandered between the bedrooms. Remington saw the puzzled expression on her face as he strolled
toward her. “What’s on your mind, love?”
“Just trying to imagine one of these rooms as a nursery. I don’t know which one to give up.”
“I’d assumed we would convert the guest bedroom.”
Laura ran a tongue along her lips, thoroughly distracting him. It took his brain a second or two to catch
up with her words. “-- like having a place for Kate and Murphy when they come down from Colorado,
and we need a place for your punching bag and my bicycle.”
He stepped behind her so that he could rest his chin against her head and see the rooms from her
perspective. Yes, they definitely needed a place to work out. Frequently overhearing her muttered
insults toward the exercise bike while he boxed told him how much she still resented not being allowed to
run yet. He’d once offered her privacy so she could swear to her heart’s content, but she’d snapped
back in sharp tones that watching him was infinitely preferable to being stuck in a room alone, even with
the television for diversion. They’d had some stellar arguments any number of times while exercising
over the merits of biking versus running.
Damn, he’d lost track of the conversation and forced himself to listen again. “I hadn’t thought about the
fact that children aren’t very suited to living here,” she was saying.
Remington rubbed his neck. He hadn’t either. “Are you … ah … do you … ah … want to buy a
different house? In the suburbs like your sisters?” He cringed at the idea.
But she laughed. “No. I don’t think either of us is suited for suburban life. I prefer living in the heart of
Los Angeles. I just don’t know how to make it work yet.”
Vastly relieved, he started thinking about the possibilities and idly stroked her ponytail. “Make a wish,
Laura. Close your eyes, and tell me what you would like to have.”
Still bewildered, she did. “I suppose … a couple of extra bedrooms so that we have room for the baby
with an option for perhaps another one down the road.” She opened her eyes and slanted him a wicked
smile over her shoulder that he returned with delighted joy. “A play area. Kate has one for the boys and
swears by it. Since Frances is just a wee bit jealous, as you would say, I’ll assume it’s a good idea.
Another bathroom--so we have one for guests and one for the children. I’d like to keep our workout
room. It’s important that both of us keep fit for what we do.” She shrugged. “But that’s all wishful
thinking.”
Remington pulled a toothpick out of his pocket and nibbled on it. “What if … what if we bought the
apartment behind these rooms and expanded?”
Turning so she could see his face, Laura crossed her arms as she did when she was thinking and leaned
against the doorway. “I’m listening.”
Gesturing with his toothpick toward the workout room, he said, “The one next door is nearly the same
size as my old flat--which was something like twelve hundred square feet. With the space we already
have, it could be made to work.”
“Are we talking about completely rebuilding this section of the penthouse?”
“Ah, hmm. Yes. I suppose so.”
Laura flashed him a smile. “Murphy’s going to give you hell. I can hear it now: ‘Your wife is pregnant
and you decide--not to tear out a few tiles--but to rearrange half the house.’ ”
“Yes, but I’m not tearing out our bloody kitchen,” he countered.
She shrugged and laughed. “Won’t matter to Murphy. Go on then. Charm the neighbors into selling,
and we’ll do it.”
“Just like that?”
“It will work. Do you think we can have it done by Thanksgiving so we have time to outfit the nursery?”
Remington did a quick calculation, figuring in time to boot the neighbors out, have an architect draw up
plans, get permits and build out the space. It would be close. Very close. “Five months. Of course,” he
assured her with a grin.
She bit her lip. “Oh, Rei. I’ve seen that look before. What Katy put Murphy through will be nothing if I
still have contractors stomping through the house in December.” She narrowed her eyes and tapped her
fingers on her elbow.
He gave her a little hug and dropped a kiss on her temple. “It will all be fine. You’ll see. And I know
just the crew that can do it.”
“Your security team?” She said it only half in jest.
“Among others. I know some people.”
Laura only shook her head. “You always do.”
28 October 2009
Chapter Two: Interlude
Friday, 3 June 1988 -- 10 Weeks, 1 Day
Laura Elizabeth Steele wrinkled her nose as she listened to her husband swear without compunction from
where he had wedged himself above the ceiling tiles in the reception area. Their youngest associate,
Kaleb Carter, perched on a ladder, and only the bottom half of him was visible from where she stood.
“I’ve seen mice pick through wires with more finesse than that bloody rat,” Remington groused as he
repaired the breached security system of Remington Steele Investigations.
Wincing inwardly, Laura began a slow methodical search in the reception area for listening devices. The
aforementioned rat by the name of Tony Roselli--an American spy who’d crossed the Steeles’ path too
many times for their comfort--had tripped their security system deliberately to draw their attention and
force a confrontation.
At the moment, Roselli was working with Interpol to keep tabs on an Irish mob boss by the name of
Johnny Carlisle, a member of the Dublin Six and Remington’s cousin by way of their mothers.
Remington’s cousin--now that came as a surprise to her. And that was putting it mildly. Try a gut punch
to the middle. But the fury she’d seen in Remington’s face when Carlisle had turned up at their office
earlier that day eclipsed her own roiling anger. She knew he had scattered family members around
Ireland, none that he claimed. To have one land on their doorstop earlier that day had unsettled her more
than she cared to admit.
She lifted pictures and looked behind furniture, working through her irritation. She shoved a little harder
than necessary to move the chairs back into place.
Three things made her see red. First, Carlisle had asked them to pull Interpol off his case, which wasn’t
possible as they hadn’t set the police agency on him to begin with. Second, Remington had given the
man a contact. Her husband hadn’t said precisely, but Laura figured that Carlisle was on his way to the
Bahamas to meet his teenage daughter before going into hiding. Third, finding Tony Roselli had stuck his
long nose into their business again had her fingertips flexing into claws.
Remington’s explanation mollified her somewhat. Apparently, Johnny’s mother had taken him in as an
infant and raised him until her own passing when he neared the age of four, after which Carlisle had
passed him to various cousins who had alternately abused and neglected him.
Knowing her husband as she did, she understood that he held Johnny fully accountable--not only for his
own harsh childhood, but for the hundreds of people his cousin had harmed in his quest for power and
money. Only out of respect for his great-aunt, Carlisle’s mother, and sympathy for the daughter had
Remington given over any advice at all.
The Steeles hadn’t given Tony that little piece of information. It would have been far too complicated to
explain why Remington had given Carlisle a head start, even as he had believed it was too late for his
cousin to elude Interpol’s reach.
Their confrontation with Roselli had left the spy with only a sketchy understanding of the relationship
between the two Irishmen and the mistaken belief that Carlisle had only asked Steele’s assistance in
getting Interpol off his tail. Neither Remington nor Laura had mentioned the girl. Thinking about the
way they’d neatly glossed over the whole conversation with Carlisle to Tony had her smirking as she
picked her way through Carter’s office.
While Remington and Kaleb fiddled with the security system, Laura continued to check the office for
bugs the agent might have left behind. Given the situation with Johnny Carlisle, she was sure that Tony
had orders to plant them if possible.
She found two, both of them small and easily overlooked. One was stuck to the rear edge of a picture
frame in her office and the other behind the window shade in Remington’s.
Years ago, late on a Monday night after closing a particularly sensitive case involving a state senator and
a scheme to publicly discredit him, Laura had found Remington in the office sliding his fingers along
every surface imaginable. She still recalled his snarky grin as he discovered the transmitter.
Since that day, they’d made a habit of periodically sweeping for bugs. From time to time, Laura or
Remington hid them in their associates’ offices to see how long it took each person to find them. They
gave out fifty-dollar-bonuses for discoveries made within twenty-four hours of the plant. Even Ian
Connelly, the office secretary and least sneaky of the agency team, now checked the lobby and break
room once a week. Sandra Martinez, the newest detective in the agency, had made a wry observation to
Laura after the first one she’d discovered in a plant she had on her desk that it certainly made one want
to keep the knickknacks in the office to a minimum.
Whatever irritation Laura had tamped down after shoving around furniture fired into a slow burn again
after finding the surveillance devices. Suspecting someone wanted to keep an eye on them was one
thing; it was another to have it confirmed. She just knew Interpol had a hand in having the bugs planted.
After becoming aware of the Steeles' unique talents in Ireland, Interpol had approached them about giving
new agents training in the way the pair solved cases, not to mention figuring out how Remington had
eluded their grasp for nearly a decade. Laura had hammered out a deal with James Buchanan only in the
past two weeks but had yet to put the final touches on it. At the moment, she planned to have a long talk
with Buchanan and rethink this idea of training recruits--if they were honestly recruits and not there
strictly to spy on the Steeles.
She retrieved the hammer from the tool box in the break room and smacked the bugs with satisfying
gusto--splattering the electronic guts all over the table--then winced as she remembered that Mr. Steele
would have wanted to study them before destroying them. Oh, well. Too late now. Perhaps he can
make something of the pieces. She brushed all the parts into an evidence bag and dropped it onto
Remington’s desk.
While waiting for the men to finish, Laura sorted through the files on her own desk and found one that
needed her attention.
*****
As he lay on his back in the ceiling, repairing the security system, Remington became aware of Carter’s
intent gaze. With characteristic patience, he waited, knowing the young man would spit out his words
before long.
“Sir?”
He slanted a glance at his apprentice. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me anything but
‘sir’? I’m not a bloody knight.”
Carter grinned, pearly white teeth standing out in the darkened area. “Sir Steele.”
His retort was pithy and rude, followed by, “What’s your question, mate?” He muttered another curse
as he wedged his hands into the box and replaced a broken wire.
“Have you ever had to shoot anyone? Mrs. Steele held a gun on Roselli from where she was hiding and
had me do it when she walked through the door.”
Remington waited a beat before answering. “Shoot at someone, yes. Actually hit someone, fortunately,
no. Although Laura--no, that was Kate masquerading as Laura--tagged a guy in Malta with a flare gun.
He fell into the water. I think the police fished him out and patched him up. I don’t particularly like guns
… though I understand the need to have them from time to time.”
He turned so that he lay on his back and pulled out another wire. As Kaleb handed him a new one,
Remington casually noted, “You’ve started carrying. Laura rather likes her new Beretta, but she rarely
keeps it with her unless a particular situation calls for it.”
The twenty-year-old shifted uncomfortably at the pointed statement but held still when he answered,
“Things are rough where I live. It seems logical.”
In that way men do when they are discussing serious topics, Steele kept his voice low and nonchalant.
“I’ve spent most of my life avoiding firearms and drugs. I don’t like either one. The former seems to be
a quicker solution to a question that might be better answered with intelligence and patience. The latter is
a fool’s choice. But one can’t think properly while using, which explains why the two are often paired
together. All in all, I prefer my wits to a weapon--but I’ve used both.”
Sensing he’d said enough, Remington changed the subject. “Hand me those wire cutters, will you?” The
two men worked comfortably side-by-side, leaving Kaleb with a great deal of thinking to do.
By three in the morning, the damage had been repaired, and Remington finished sweeping the ceiling area
for bugs. Dust sprinkled all over his black clothing and Kaleb’s skin had Laura chuckling when they
walked into her office.
“You two look as if you’ve been playing in the snow,” she said.
Wearily, he exchanged looks with Kaleb and shot her a dirty one. “Would you prefer to crawl around in
the ceiling next time, Mrs. Steele?”
Biting her lip, the sparkle still danced in her eyes. “No, no. I think you do a perfectly adequate job. I
wouldn’t want to mess up your system, in any case.”
“Perfectly adequate? You’ll pay for that later, love.” He dropped a kiss on her temple while she stacked
files and cleaned off her desk.
Laura reminded Kaleb to mark his time down. “It’s too bad I can’t bill this to anyone but Mr. Steele, but
he’s good for it in any case.”
“Sure thing.” The young man rubbed his bald head and yawned. “No offense 'cause I like late nights
and all, but I’m bushed.”
Remington dug a thumbnail into his finger to keep from doing the same.
Laura ducked down their connecting corridor, returning with a bag of electronic parts to hand to him.
Frowning at her, he asked, “What’s this?”
“It’s what is left of the bugs I found after I smacked them with a hammer.”
He raised his right brow at her before escorting her out the door.
Laura fell asleep in the Lexus on the way home. When Remington parked in their private garage below
the apartments, he used his fingers to stroke one of the locks of her hair that had pulled free of her
ponytail. Pride filled him over the way she’d handled herself with Roselli--not that she needed his
approval, but given that she was nearly three months along in her pregnancy, she’d kept herself safe as
she assessed the situation. He’d been in a nervous twitter about having her partner him while they
determined who had broken into the agency, but he’d promised her he wouldn’t be the one to decide
what she could and could not do in the coming months.
As he watched her sleep, he resisted the urge to carry her upstairs. The few pounds she’d gained already
didn’t matter to him, but he didn’t want her indignant over being treated as an invalid. After injuring her
knee both times, she’d needed help any number of ways--the least of which involved getting from point
A to point B. As her body had healed, she’d refused to lean on him any more than necessary--using the
crutches even when he willingly offered assistance. The simple Neoprene wrap she wore now constantly
reminded him of the recent injury.
But he’d made it clear to her that carrying her to the bedroom for sex was entirely different, and she
would have to live with it. After he’d ably demonstrated why, she’d agreed that making love warranted a
special dispensation.
He indulged himself for several minutes, looking at her in the dim light emanating from the small fixture
overhead in the garage before leaning back against the headrest and closing his eyes--telling himself it
would only be a moment. A memory of sleeping in a car with her early in their association had his lips
twitching as he thought about how much he’d enjoyed ribbing Murphy about that one for weeks.
Other memories of cars--making love in them, hiding in them, living in them because he had no other
place to go--drifted in and out of his thoughts as sleep pulled him under.
*****
She woke in the dark, feeling slightly chilled, and it took her a moment to realize she still sat in the car.
She could hardly see Remington still propped up against the window, dead to the world.
He jumped when she opened the door and then gave her a heavy-eyed smile. “Sorry, love. Shall we go
upstairs?”
Laura laughed as she got out of the car. He made it sound as if they’d been dancing in a hotel ballroom,
and he was inviting her back to his room. “Of course, dear. Anything for you.”
Obviously catching on to her thinking, he gave her a comical half bow and escorted her to the penthouse.
*****
The brief nap revived Remington enough to enable him to duck into the shower and wash away the dirt.
Laura, on the other hand, apparently had enough energy bouncing around that she decided a naked Mr.
Steele shouldn’t be wasted. As he toweled himself dry in the bathroom they shared, she appeared in the
doorway wearing only his black shirt and a sultry smile.
He couldn’t miss what she had in mind, but he teased her all the same. “Now, that is an excellent look
for you, Laura. You should try it at the office sometime.”
“I don’t think so. You have enough trouble concentrating on work as it is.” She stepped inside and
pulled the towel from his grasp, dropping it to the floor.
Attempting to keep a straight face, he scratched the back of his neck. “I was only commenting about the
shirt. Really, Laura--you mustn’t let your imagination run away as you do from time to time.”
“I shouldn’t? But, Mr. Steele, that wouldn’t be any fun at all.” She leaned against the bathroom counter
and began walking her fingers across his chest and then dragging them down through the black curls. Her
brow arched as she noted his body's response.
“Ah … well now … you didn’t tell me you were looking for fun. I’m an expert in that.” He lifted her to
the counter and let his hands play in her hair. He liked that she still wore it long and let the strands slide
through his fingers.
“I seem to have found it all by myself.” She quirked her mouth upward, and he grinned as her hands
found his awakening erection, stroking long enough to get the results she desired before wandering off to
play in his hair again. Raising her arms, she pulled his head to hers and tasted his mouth. Desire rushed
through him, heightening when he dropped his hands to glide down the silk of the shirt, catching the tips
of her breasts in the process.
One of his own arms went around her back as he leaned into the kiss, and the other slid under the shirt.
He dusted a thumb over the nipple, leaving it taut in its wake. With that same hand, he flipped open one
button after another and brushed the silk aside, exposing her to his view. He pulled his mouth away long
enough to ask, “Laura?”
“Yes?”
“Exactly where are we going to trip the light fantastic? Here or the bed?”
Instead of answering, she wrapped her legs around his hips and touched her lips to his chest. He
watched in the mirror as she kissed his collarbone and scraped her nails lightly along his shoulders and
back.
He shivered as need vibrated under his skin. Without prelude, he sank into her body, drowning in the
sensation of her flesh surrounding and welcoming him in. After the harrowing day they’d had, he needed
her more than he’d realized. Her familiar touch, the soft scent of her skin, and the little gasps she uttered
as he found ways to pleasure her more thoroughly soaked into him, pushing his own desire higher.
They’d fought damned hard to find this place where joy saturated their lives. But for ten weeks, he’d
watched the happiness trickle away like sand through the fingers; and no matter how tightly he clenched
them, the pieces of their lives slipped through. He’d struggled in despair until he'd discovered Laura
catching all those fragments and putting them back together again.
To know now beyond a shadow of a doubt that Laura not only loved him, but would fight for and
defend that love was humbling.
Despite all that had happened in the past ten weeks, Laura loved him.
God knew, he loved her.
Remington held her to him with the one arm and used the other hand to stroke her hair and face as he
tilted her head back to plumb the depths of her mouth. Long, slow strokes of his body in hers had him
clenching his jaw to hold back his climax while she found hers. But he didn’t let her come down much
from the peak.
Still connected, he carried her to the bed. With practiced grace, he laid her down and began again.
* * * * *
It was somewhere after noon when Laura took her own shower, and it was there she appreciated how far
she’d come in her therapy for post-traumatic stress disorder. Her first reaction to cold hadn’t been fear
at all, just a touch of confusion. Grateful to Dr. Angelo, Laura leaned against the tile while the water
rained down and realized that she hadn’t had any nightmares last night either despite seeing that awful
video. Although neither of them wanted it in their home, Remington had locked it up in their safe. She
didn’t really believe that copies didn’t exist, knowing Interpol, but there was a certain consolation all the
same.
The water felt good against her breasts and belly. She rubbed the latter where it itched before shutting
off the shower and drying with a towel. She found Remington leaning against the door, watching.
Judging by the look in his eye, she knew he had something on his mind. He had dressed in a loose, short
sleeve burgundy shirt that he’d left unbuttoned and a pair of light gray slacks that clung attractively. She
admired his physique yet again. “You know, some day I’m going to get used to the fact that you are so
damned handsome.”
He cocked a black eyebrow at her and caressed her with his eyes. “I hope not, Miss Holt. I haven’t yet
with you.”
She tilted her head in inquiry as she neatly hung the towel on the bar, not bothering to dress. “That’s the
third or fourth time you’ve called me that in the last two days. Have I missed something? You usually
only call me ‘Miss Holt’ when you’re annoyed with me.”
A touch to her waist brought her to him, and the press of his bare chest against hers warmed her to her
toes. “Do I?” He shook his head. “It was quite inadvertent. Last night, I was thinking of the first time
we slept in a car together. You were ‘Miss Holt’ then, and I had a terrible case of lust.” Fingers at the
small of her back made her shiver.
She touched a finger to his chest and drew it slowly downward until she brushed the front of his slacks.
“And what exactly do you call this?”
“That, Mrs. Steele?” he emphasized. “All yours if you want it.”
She rolled her eyes. “I seem to recall, years and years ago, telling my girlfriends that I didn’t want a man
who acted as if he were a randy adolescent all the time. How did I end up with you?”
“The same way I ended up with a woman that lights up like a torch the moment we touch. It’s your
entire fault anyway. I can be sitting at my desk, minding my own business, and one look from you has
me--" He trailed off with a wiggle of the eyebrows.
“Itchy?” she offered with a grin as she pulled his body to hers.
“Itchy. That’s an apt description, Mrs. Steele.”
“Ah. Didn’t get enough last night?” She raised her eyebrows. Remington had been in rare form when
they’d come home, even for him--taking his time to relearn her body’s secrets again and again. She’d
awakened deliciously refreshed and craving him again, as he apparently was her.
“Never, Laura.” His blue eyes lit from within as she lifted her mouth to his.
*****
Fascinated by the way Laura’s body was changing, Remington took his time making love to Laura again
that Saturday afternoon, grateful that the annoying symptoms of the first few weeks of pregnancy had
subsided.
As her appetite recovered, she’d begun craving all sorts of foods, alternately intriguing and horrifying him
by the combinations she chose. Pickles and ice cream were only the beginning; she had wanted
enchiladas for lunch nearly every single day this week, steak for dinner and gallons of apple cider. Not
apple juice, of course. It had to be apple cider, or she wouldn’t drink it. An hour after dinner for each of
the last three days, he’d found her standing at the refrigerator, tasting a dish, snitching a grape and
dipping a finger into the sour cream--all in an effort to figure out what would satisfy her taste buds.
Remington had stayed on his toes and insisted on making healthy dishes good for both her and the baby,
but he’d caught her sneaking back into the office twice this week after a trip for ice cream, accompanied
by Mildred who cheerfully complained that Laura’s pregnancy was going to increase her waistline.
In the past week, he had also discovered that no matter how responsive to his touch Laura might have
been prior to becoming pregnant, now she was twice as sensitive--which was rather enjoyable as he only
had to work half as hard but unnerving at the same time. Despite the reassurances of the pregnancy
books, the doctor and Laura herself, he was rather uneasy about unleashing his ardor for her. He did his
best to keep their lovemaking to the sweet and tender kind--when she was willing to cooperate.
This afternoon she had, and now they were lazily moving about the penthouse. Laura wandered down
the hallway to the two bedrooms with her cup of tea--decaf as Remington had insisted. The short
hallway led into a decent sized bathroom, the laundry room and two bedrooms--one of which was used
as their workout room and one as a guest bedroom.
She wandered between the bedrooms. Remington saw the puzzled expression on her face as he strolled
toward her. “What’s on your mind, love?”
“Just trying to imagine one of these rooms as a nursery. I don’t know which one to give up.”
“I’d assumed we would convert the guest bedroom.”
Laura ran a tongue along her lips, thoroughly distracting him. It took his brain a second or two to catch
up with her words. “-- like having a place for Kate and Murphy when they come down from Colorado,
and we need a place for your punching bag and my bicycle.”
He stepped behind her so that he could rest his chin against her head and see the rooms from her
perspective. Yes, they definitely needed a place to work out. Frequently overhearing her muttered
insults toward the exercise bike while he boxed told him how much she still resented not being allowed to
run yet. He’d once offered her privacy so she could swear to her heart’s content, but she’d snapped
back in sharp tones that watching him was infinitely preferable to being stuck in a room alone, even with
the television for diversion. They’d had some stellar arguments any number of times while exercising
over the merits of biking versus running.
Damn, he’d lost track of the conversation and forced himself to listen again. “I hadn’t thought about the
fact that children aren’t very suited to living here,” she was saying.
Remington rubbed his neck. He hadn’t either. “Are you … ah … do you … ah … want to buy a
different house? In the suburbs like your sisters?” He cringed at the idea.
But she laughed. “No. I don’t think either of us is suited for suburban life. I prefer living in the heart of
Los Angeles. I just don’t know how to make it work yet.”
Vastly relieved, he started thinking about the possibilities and idly stroked her ponytail. “Make a wish,
Laura. Close your eyes, and tell me what you would like to have.”
Still bewildered, she did. “I suppose … a couple of extra bedrooms so that we have room for the baby
with an option for perhaps another one down the road.” She opened her eyes and slanted him a wicked
smile over her shoulder that he returned with delighted joy. “A play area. Kate has one for the boys and
swears by it. Since Frances is just a wee bit jealous, as you would say, I’ll assume it’s a good idea.
Another bathroom--so we have one for guests and one for the children. I’d like to keep our workout
room. It’s important that both of us keep fit for what we do.” She shrugged. “But that’s all wishful
thinking.”
Remington pulled a toothpick out of his pocket and nibbled on it. “What if … what if we bought the
apartment behind these rooms and expanded?”
Turning so she could see his face, Laura crossed her arms as she did when she was thinking and leaned
against the doorway. “I’m listening.”
Gesturing with his toothpick toward the workout room, he said, “The one next door is nearly the same
size as my old flat--which was something like twelve hundred square feet. With the space we already
have, it could be made to work.”
“Are we talking about completely rebuilding this section of the penthouse?”
“Ah, hmm. Yes. I suppose so.”
Laura flashed him a smile. “Murphy’s going to give you hell. I can hear it now: ‘Your wife is pregnant
and you decide--not to tear out a few tiles--but to rearrange half the house.’ ”
“Yes, but I’m not tearing out our bloody kitchen,” he countered.
She shrugged and laughed. “Won’t matter to Murphy. Go on then. Charm the neighbors into selling,
and we’ll do it.”
“Just like that?”
“It will work. Do you think we can have it done by Thanksgiving so we have time to outfit the nursery?”
Remington did a quick calculation, figuring in time to boot the neighbors out, have an architect draw up
plans, get permits and build out the space. It would be close. Very close. “Five months. Of course,” he
assured her with a grin.
She bit her lip. “Oh, Rei. I’ve seen that look before. What Katy put Murphy through will be nothing if I
still have contractors stomping through the house in December.” She narrowed her eyes and tapped her
fingers on her elbow.
He gave her a little hug and dropped a kiss on her temple. “It will all be fine. You’ll see. And I know
just the crew that can do it.”
“Your security team?” She said it only half in jest.
“Among others. I know some people.”
Laura only shook her head. “You always do.”
28 October 2009
Chapter Two: Interlude