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 Twenty-Two: Revelations
Tuesday, 6 December 1988 -- 36 weeks, 5 days
Somewhere in the night, Laura’s brain put together all the clues: the warm hand on her belly, the dark
scent of man and cologne and the soft, familiar breathing in her ear. The former thief had stolen his way
into their bed and captured her for his prize.
By morning, she found herself on the edge of the bed and unable to move. Remington had snuggled in
so tightly behind her that she’d unconsciously scooted away--but the moment she moved, so did he.
Between the baby and him, she’d felt as if she had two hot water bottles strapped to her body--not to
mention the rather firm part of him making spooning uncomfortable. Sweat beaded on her skin, and she
shoved the covers off in desperation to find a modicum of cool air.
A muttered rumble behind her must have been a protest because he gathered the comforter with one
hand and pulled it across her before settling in again to snore lightly behind her. Fully awake now, Laura
turned onto her back--ignoring the fact she couldn’t breathe for a moment--and resorted to an elbow to
wake him up.
Grunting irritably, he cracked open his eyes. With recognition came a gorgeous smile, and Laura felt her
own lips stretch wide in response.
“Rei, do you consider yourself a detective.”
He arched a brow quizzically. “Yes, of course.”
“A good one?”
“Naturally.”
“Then explain why we have a queen-sized bed and I have only ten inches of space. If it wasn’t for your
arm, I’d be on the floor.”
Remington leaned up on his elbow and peered over her to check the distance to the floor. When he did,
a lock of his hair fell over his right eye, giving him a roguish look she adored.
“I missed you?”
“Good answer. Now would you give me some room so I can breathe?”
Happily grunting assent, he gave her a measly few inches, and she rolled to face him. She laid her hand
on his chest, threading her fingers through the crisp curls while he used his own fingers to stroke her hair,
her cheek, her throat. She captured his hand to kiss his palm.
“Oh now, love, that’s surely the wrong thing to do if you want me to leave you be this pretty morn.”
She gave him a sly look. “Whoever said anything about leaving me be?” Wrapping her arms around
him, she said, “I missed you too.”
Pulling the covers back, he tugged her nightshirt upward and laid his hand on her bare belly. After a
moment, the baby began kicking in response. “Yes, a stór, I’ve missed you as well. But you’ll have to
let me command your mother’s attention for a bit. I’m certain in a few weeks you’ll not give me the
opportunity.”
Laura--for want of a better word--giggled. She clapped a hand over her mouth as Remington’s head
snapped up with a shocked grin. “You sound like a school girl.” She shook her head in denial, but he
crawled over her with his own wide smile to land a sizzling kiss. He ran a single finger along the outer
curve of her breast, and she laughed as it tickled.
“Not fair. I can’t possibly defend myself in this state.”
“True. Perhaps I can change the rules.” He rolled to his back, taking her with him so that she straddled
his very naked, lean form. He tugged on her nightshirt so that she would take it off.
She did, feeling ungainly and self-conscious about her body in this state, but Remington’s eyes lit up.
“ ’Tis not fair for you to be so lovely this way, Mrs. Steele.” His hands came up to cup her breasts with
thumbs stroking the sensitive nipples.
She closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensation as he leaned up to take one full globe into his mouth.
His arousal pressed hard against her, but Remington planted one hand firmly on her hip to keep her still
until she writhed from his dancing tongue on her breast. He switched to the other side, suckling lightly at
first, then drawing hard and deep until she panted his name and rocked against his erection.
When she opened her eyes, there was nothing cool about his expression. Blue eyes glowed with
something more than just lust, and his ever-roaming hands drifted from her face to her breasts to her hips
and back again.
She rose enough to release his trapped arousal and sank down to take him in, frustrated that she couldn’t
have him as deeply as she’d like without causing herself some discomfort.
But he winked at her and eased her back with caressing hands until she sat up straight. One of his hands
found its way to the juncture of her thighs. His thumb stroked her knot as she moved in time with the
flicking. Patiently, he teased and circled until her inner muscles clamped down hard and she lost herself
to his touch with a soft gasp. She dragged her eyes open in time to see his blue ones glaze over and his
hands slip down to clutch at her hips while he called her name.
Ever mindful of her condition, he assisted her as she pulled away but snuggled up to her backside once
more.
Laura lay in a daze for nearly thirty whole seconds until her brain kicked in. “Frances knew you were
going to be home last night. That’s why she didn’t put up more of a fuss when I wanted to leave.”
“Mm-hmm,” he agreed, sounding only half awake. “I talked to Donald before we boarded the plane. He
told Frances.”
Laura tried to calculate the time difference in her head. “But I didn’t talk to her until Sunday afternoon
about coming home.”
“And I called Donald’s answering service at the office. They contacted him and he returned my call.”
Her eyes narrowed as she remembered Donald’s muttering something about Sunday emergencies. “Very
devious, Mr. Steele. I’d wondered why you didn’t call yesterday afternoon.”
“You weren’t worried?”
“I assumed you were on your way home.”
“Correct assumption. But I’d planned to be here by dinner. Unfortunately, a mechanical problem forced
us to land in New York for nearly six hours. Siobhán couldn’t keep her eyes open on the ride home.”
Peering over her shoulder, he noted, “You really aren’t going back to sleep, are you?”
“No. Somebody woke me up.”
“Well, whoever it was, I’ll be sure to berate him soundly later.”
“You do that. I’m going to take a shower.” Laura stifled a grunt as she sat up.
Remington leaned up on an elbow again and scrubbed his beard. “Want company?”
“I’d love some.”
She thought the shower would turn into round two, but Remington had other ideas. With exquisite
tenderness, he washed her hair--taking his time about it. After the first few minutes, she shifted
restlessly. Her brain had already settled in at her desk to work the case, and Remington’s ministrations
served only to distract her.
He knew her all too well and paused as he rinsed out her tresses. “Love, we’ll look through the photos in
a bit. At this moment, I need you.”
All thoughts of detective work came to a screeching halt as she caught the traces of strain left on his
face. “Rei, what else happened?”
Shaking his head, he told her, “Nothing more, I promise. I’ve told you every last bit of it. It’s--” He
pulled her to him, skin to skin, with only water dripping between them. “It’s that everything about you is
good and clean and right, Laura.”
She brought her arms up around his shoulders, using one hand to clasp the back of his neck. Without a
word, she returned his touch--washing his hair, laving his body with soap and rinsing every last bubble
away.
Afterward, he caught her in a tender kiss. “That’s still hard for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Shutting down your brain to focus on me … and on emotions.”
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “It’s easier now.”
He took her favorite soap and lathered his hands before smoothing them over her shoulders. “It’s an
even trade, I suppose.”
“What’s that?” she asked again.
“You’ve learned to turn off your thinking on occasion, and I’ve had to learn to hold an intelligent
conversation while delirious with sleep or lust. I’ll use this morning as an excellent example of both.”
His slick hands glided down her belly and back to finish washing her body.
Remington’s ability to make her laugh at herself undoubtedly ranked as one of the major reasons she’d
fallen for him. She raised her eyebrows. “If I recall, the lust had been satiated before my brain kicked
in.”
“Yes, but I would have been perfectly happy sleeping for another four or five hours.” He reached across
the shower and shut off the water and then deftly snatched a pair of towels from the heated rack.
Laura dried off and wound it about her breasts as Remington did the same around his hips. She ran her
hand through the dark mat on his chest, just because she could. “Yes, but I have another appointment
with my doctor in two hours. I thought you might like to go.”
“Didn’t you have an appointment on Friday?”
“The doctor wants to see how I’m doing with the bed rest.”
“Ah. Speaking of which--” He lifted her into his arms, carried her to the bed, then disappeared into the
bathroom only to come out with an armful of her cosmetics.
“Rei. I’m not an invalid. I’m allowed to at least have a little time in the bathroom.”
“You’ve had it. Now you can dry your hair and whatnot from the bed while I make breakfast.”
She threw up her hands in frustration. She might have been better off at Frances’ house.
As Remington pulled a soft navy shirt over his head, he could see by the annoyance on Laura’s face that
the moment he left the room, she would be up and about to finish her own toilette. Manfully concealing
a grin at the irritation flashing in her maple-brown eyes, he dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Yell when
you’re done, and I’ll carry you to the sofa.”
He ducked out of the room and closed the door in time for something solid, her hairbrush probably, to
thunk against the door. Sometimes Laura could be terribly predictable. But the end result would mean
that she would at least make an effort to follow the doctor’s orders when he was around rather than
ignoring them entirely.
A quick peek into Siobhán’s room proved the girl slept soundly. When he turned around, he stopped to
look into the baby’s nursery. The circus theme had turned out beautifully. He ran one finger along the
crib and touched the blanket Laura had put there. Suddenly, he was glad Siobhán insisted on packing the
few things he’d had as a child. Laura would be thrilled to open those boxes. Then he snorted and
touched his middle finger to the bridge of his nose. Boxes again.
Closing the door behind him, he headed for the kitchen to whip up a gourmet breakfast for three. As the
scent of fresh crepes wafted down the hallway, Siobhán appeared.
“Do those come with strawberries?”
“Of course, a stór.”
Laura walked out of the bedroom. “Probably fresh whipped cream too.”
“Mom!” Siobhán dashed across the room to give her a long, hard hug, then laughed and placed her hand
on Laura’s belly. “She kicked me!”
“It’s nice that the baby is doing it to someone else for a change,” Laura said. “Are you all right,
sweetie?” She walked with Siobhán into the kitchen where each of them took a chair at the island.
Remington passed out glasses of orange juice and turned to flip a crepe onto the stack he’d built.
The teen shrugged and worried a curl. “I wish you’d been there. I didn’t realize it would be so hard on
Da.”
Remington lifted his brows and shared a quick glance with Laura. Reluctantly, he admitted, “Very
perceptive, a stór. But I think we managed all right. We’re home now where we all belong.”
Over breakfast, Laura asked Siobhán, “Do you want to stay here while we go to my appointment? We
won’t be long.”
The teen grinned. “You mean I can go back to sleep?”
“Do it now. You’ll have school tomorrow.”
Siobhán groaned. “I know. I think I have some homework to do too.”
“Then rest and we’ll get back on schedule today. We’ll be home by lunchtime.
On the drive to Cedars-Sinai, Laura told Remington about the clues she’d put together the previous
evening. “I think when I have an hour or so later today, I’ll be able to identify someone, even in
disguise. If we need to blow up some pictures, do you think you’ll have time later today for that?”
“If you don’t mind my turning the bathroom into a darkroom again.”
“After the picture you took of Siobhán and me at the beach, you can turn the bathroom into a darkroom
anytime you like.”
Remington grinned at her. “Like that one, do you?”
“Nearly as much as you do,” she shot back.
Dr. Berger personally tested Laura’s blood pressure and came away cautiously optimistic. “Better. But I
don’t think we’re out of the woods yet. Let’s do a pelvic exam and see how you’re cooking.” Several
minutes later, Dr. Berger finished and stripped off her gloves before giving Laura a hand to sit up. “Well,
your blood pressure is down, but you’ve begun dilating.”
“Isn’t that too early?” Laura asked worriedly.
“Not really. You’ve got four weeks to go, and you’re only at a centimeter, with no effacing yet, so it’s
not unusual. But I don’t want you traveling out of town for the holidays.”
Laura shook her head. “We’re at my sister’s house in Tarzana this year.”
“Excellent. Now let’s talk about your work schedule.” Remington crossed over to stand behind Laura
and listen as Dr. Berger continued. “The rest did you a world of good. Stay off your feet for the
remainder of the week. I won’t insist on bed rest for now, just a lot of common sense. Let’s try only
two or three days at the office instead of five. I’ll let you pick the days, but work in a three-day
weekend somewhere. Come see me on Monday. If it stays level, we can stick to your new schedule.”
Remington laid a hand on Laura’s shoulder. “If she’s dilating, doesn’t that mean we’re getting close?”
Dr. Berger smiled. “Yes and no. Moms take a long time to dilate and efface with their first babies.
You’ll probably start noticing Braxton-Hicks contractions. Generally, those are short, far apart and don’t
hurt much. When the contractions are long, close together and uncomfortable, then you’ll know we’re
getting somewhere. But we’ll be checking weekly from now on until the baby comes.”
His hand squeezed down on her shoulder. Laura looked up to see him nervously biting his thumb. But
he caught her glance and held up a hand to ward off questions.
Laura relaxed into the leather of the Auburn, enjoying the cool December breeze as they drove home
with the top down. Idly, she commented, “I’m glad you were home to hear what Dr. Berger had to say.”
“So am I. What are your thoughts about working the rest of the week?”
Laura tilted her head against the seat as she thought about it. “I don’t know. I’m used to being in and
out of the office, but we rarely stay home and do nothing. Or at least, we can’t skip work and do the
kind of nothing that involves you, me and a lack of clothing.”
Remington chuckled. “No. I don’t suppose that’s on the approved list of things to do all afternoon.” He
started to speak again, then subsided.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Ah … at what point are we ‘cut off’ so to speak?”
Nonchalantly, she replied, “I haven’t asked. I’m sure one of those books has the answer.”
“Ah … well, perhaps.”
“What do they say?”
“That it’s up to you.” He scratched his nose before making the turn up Rossmore Avenue.
“Then I can’t imagine why you should have any concerns in that department, Mr. Steele. I wasn’t
exactly fending you off this morning.”
“But you’ll tell me?” he urged.
Reaching for his hand, she pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I’ll tell you. But don’t plan on anytime
soon. Pregnancy hasn’t changed anything about how attractive I find you--and if you have a problem
with it, close your eyes.”
He looked away to hide his grin, failing entirely, for it still lit up his face when he looked at her. “Good
Lord, Laura, I never imagined you would be so … uninhibited at this point.”
“I don’t know why. I’ve certainly not shown much restraint in the bedroom so far,” she said with a sly
gleam.
“To my absolute, utter delight.”
Laura looked down at their hands. “Does it bother you?”
“Love, if this morning didn’t make things perfectly clear, I’m not quite sure how else I should express my
satisfaction with our frolics in the bedroom, even at this late date.” He laced his fingers with hers and
returned the kiss to her hand.
After lunch, Siobhán noodled around on the piano keys, trying to copy some bluesy riffs Kate had been
teaching her to play. Laura listened for a few minutes before retrieving the files she’d left in the bedroom
and taking them into the office. She laid out the photographs and used a marking pencil to circle the
individual she wanted to compare to the other photos.
Remington lifted one and frowned at the person she’d indicated. “Why does this one look familiar?”
She handed him another picture. “Because she’s in this one too?”
He compared the two, laying them side by side on the desk as he sat across from her. Seeing the way
she’d narrowed down the photos to only those with any possibility of containing the suspect filled him
with admiration. This kind of dogged determination proved exactly why Laura excelled as a private
investigator.
While they filtered through the pictures, Remington listened with half an ear as Siobhán experimented on
the piano. Laura absentmindedly tapped her foot in time to the music.
But when Siobhan tried a particular bluesy riff and missed the key change several times in a row, Laura
called out, “Drop from a major key to a minor key halfway through the second series of notes.”
As Siobhán made another attempt, Remington’s head snapped up. “Minor key. Oh, bloody hell, tell me
it’s not that easy.” Laura looked at him curiously as he began digging through a stack of files on the shelf
above the desk. “Love, what was Major Descoine’s first name?”
“Percy. Why?”
“Penny Key. The client of Sandra’s that never quite sat right with her. I’ve looked at it a dozen times
and didn’t make the correlation.”
“What are you talking about?”
His head spun with connections. “High Road to China, Tom Selleck, Bess Armtrong, 1983. Doesn’t
really apply to our case, only to hers. A daughter looking for her missing father. He’s been gone … oh,
five years? Or that’s what she told Sandra.”
Laura tapped the desk in frustration. “Do you mind translating on this one?”
Remington jumped up and began pacing in the tiny room, punctuating his thoughts with a jab of his finger
in the air. “Penny Key came to us looking for her father Percy Key. Penny is another name for coin.
We never found out the name of Percy Descoine's daughter, but he left the coin in the safe deposit box
all those years ago as a clue. What do you want to bet that his daughter’s name is a play on words?
Penny Descoine. She wasn’t looking for her father … she was scoping us out.”
“For what?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. But this,” he picked up a picture, “is Descoine’s daughter.”
Laura looked hard at the photograph, then compared it to a second and a third. “I think you’re right, but
how can we be sure?”
Remington had a flash of inspiration. "Hand me a sheet of paper, please, love.” Laura passed one over,
and he sketched a fast portrait of “Minor” Descoine from memory. “Fax that to the office. We’ll call
Sandra and see if she recognizes her.”
“Excellent idea, Mr. Steele,” Laura said with admiration. She turned in her chair to send the fax through.
Remington dialed the office number. “Ian, mate, pass me over to Sandra. There’s a good man.”
“Hello, Mr. Steele.”
“Sandra, good afternoon. Ah, there’s a drawing coming across the fax machine. Would you take a look
at it?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Steele. Let me go get it.” He drummed his fingers for a moment. “I have it. Why are
you faxing a picture of Penny Key to me?”
“Thank you, Ms. Martinez. You’ve confirmed my suspicions. I believe we’ve discovered the identity of
our problem child. Ah, one moment--Laura’s waving at me.” He handed the telephone to her.
“Sandra, patch me through to Mildred, will you? … Mildred, yes, I’m feeling fine. No … no bed rest, I
just have to take it easy. May I ask a favor? … I know skip traces aren’t your game anymore, but I
think we’ve found our culprit. Will you find out everything you can on a Penny Descoine or a Penny
Key and double-check that Percy Descoine hasn’t escaped from the pen? Ask Sandra to help since this
was her client.” She chuckled at something Mildred said. “Yes, Mr. Steele knows I’m working. He’s
babysitting me. … Yes, they came home last night.” Stopping her from asking any more questions,
Laura interrupted her. “Mildred, can you call me as soon as you have the information? … That will be
great.”
After she wrapped up the conversation, she handed him two more pictures where she’d identified Miss
Descoine in yet another cover. “Rei, I think she’s got a camera in that one.”
Remington peered at the photo. “Good eye. I’ll enlarge it later if necessary. Can we place her at all the
locations now?”
Laura sorted through the nine file folders, clipping the revealing photo to the front cover whenever they
had one. “Five of the nine. Let’s try to find her in the last four.”
The detectives each took two of the remaining files. Remington again appreciated Laura’s methodical
thoroughness. She’d stapled the map inside the file folder. On it, she’d marked his location, her location
and the probable angle of the photograph of him the perpetrator had snapped. The photo was clipped to
the folder as well.
On the left side, she had two envelopes of pictures--one each for the photos Remington and Carter had
taken. From those, she carefully selected those that captured the area where the suspect must have been
standing and attached them to the outside of each envelope. All were carefully labeled.
With all the preliminary work done, it took Remington only a few minutes to stare at the pictures and find
Miss Descoine in two of them. He reached for the marking pencil and circled her face in both. She had
dressed as a young man with a beard, but her rounded eyes were unmistakable.
Laura stole the pencil away from him and marked her own photo. “That’s it, then,” she said. “We’ve
got her at every single location. If that’s not stalking, I don’t know what else qualifies.”
Remington leaned an elbow on the desk. “So what are you going to do now?”
“I think we need to go to the police on this one. We can slap a restraining order on her, but that’s all.
She hasn’t made any actual threats. Beyond that, the only thing we can do is confront her.”
Remington scratched his cheek. “Think LAPD will pull her in for questioning?”
Laura nodded. “They might if we ask nicely. Got any ideas on motive? Besides the obvious that we
put her father in prison for the second time in a row?”
9 November 2009
Chapter Twenty-Three: Questions
Tuesday, 6 December 1988 -- 36 weeks, 5 days
Somewhere in the night, Laura’s brain put together all the clues: the warm hand on her belly, the dark
scent of man and cologne and the soft, familiar breathing in her ear. The former thief had stolen his way
into their bed and captured her for his prize.
By morning, she found herself on the edge of the bed and unable to move. Remington had snuggled in
so tightly behind her that she’d unconsciously scooted away--but the moment she moved, so did he.
Between the baby and him, she’d felt as if she had two hot water bottles strapped to her body--not to
mention the rather firm part of him making spooning uncomfortable. Sweat beaded on her skin, and she
shoved the covers off in desperation to find a modicum of cool air.
A muttered rumble behind her must have been a protest because he gathered the comforter with one
hand and pulled it across her before settling in again to snore lightly behind her. Fully awake now, Laura
turned onto her back--ignoring the fact she couldn’t breathe for a moment--and resorted to an elbow to
wake him up.
Grunting irritably, he cracked open his eyes. With recognition came a gorgeous smile, and Laura felt her
own lips stretch wide in response.
“Rei, do you consider yourself a detective.”
He arched a brow quizzically. “Yes, of course.”
“A good one?”
“Naturally.”
“Then explain why we have a queen-sized bed and I have only ten inches of space. If it wasn’t for your
arm, I’d be on the floor.”
Remington leaned up on his elbow and peered over her to check the distance to the floor. When he did,
a lock of his hair fell over his right eye, giving him a roguish look she adored.
“I missed you?”
“Good answer. Now would you give me some room so I can breathe?”
Happily grunting assent, he gave her a measly few inches, and she rolled to face him. She laid her hand
on his chest, threading her fingers through the crisp curls while he used his own fingers to stroke her hair,
her cheek, her throat. She captured his hand to kiss his palm.
“Oh now, love, that’s surely the wrong thing to do if you want me to leave you be this pretty morn.”
She gave him a sly look. “Whoever said anything about leaving me be?” Wrapping her arms around
him, she said, “I missed you too.”
Pulling the covers back, he tugged her nightshirt upward and laid his hand on her bare belly. After a
moment, the baby began kicking in response. “Yes, a stór, I’ve missed you as well. But you’ll have to
let me command your mother’s attention for a bit. I’m certain in a few weeks you’ll not give me the
opportunity.”
Laura--for want of a better word--giggled. She clapped a hand over her mouth as Remington’s head
snapped up with a shocked grin. “You sound like a school girl.” She shook her head in denial, but he
crawled over her with his own wide smile to land a sizzling kiss. He ran a single finger along the outer
curve of her breast, and she laughed as it tickled.
“Not fair. I can’t possibly defend myself in this state.”
“True. Perhaps I can change the rules.” He rolled to his back, taking her with him so that she straddled
his very naked, lean form. He tugged on her nightshirt so that she would take it off.
She did, feeling ungainly and self-conscious about her body in this state, but Remington’s eyes lit up.
“ ’Tis not fair for you to be so lovely this way, Mrs. Steele.” His hands came up to cup her breasts with
thumbs stroking the sensitive nipples.
She closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensation as he leaned up to take one full globe into his mouth.
His arousal pressed hard against her, but Remington planted one hand firmly on her hip to keep her still
until she writhed from his dancing tongue on her breast. He switched to the other side, suckling lightly at
first, then drawing hard and deep until she panted his name and rocked against his erection.
When she opened her eyes, there was nothing cool about his expression. Blue eyes glowed with
something more than just lust, and his ever-roaming hands drifted from her face to her breasts to her hips
and back again.
She rose enough to release his trapped arousal and sank down to take him in, frustrated that she couldn’t
have him as deeply as she’d like without causing herself some discomfort.
But he winked at her and eased her back with caressing hands until she sat up straight. One of his hands
found its way to the juncture of her thighs. His thumb stroked her knot as she moved in time with the
flicking. Patiently, he teased and circled until her inner muscles clamped down hard and she lost herself
to his touch with a soft gasp. She dragged her eyes open in time to see his blue ones glaze over and his
hands slip down to clutch at her hips while he called her name.
Ever mindful of her condition, he assisted her as she pulled away but snuggled up to her backside once
more.
Laura lay in a daze for nearly thirty whole seconds until her brain kicked in. “Frances knew you were
going to be home last night. That’s why she didn’t put up more of a fuss when I wanted to leave.”
“Mm-hmm,” he agreed, sounding only half awake. “I talked to Donald before we boarded the plane. He
told Frances.”
Laura tried to calculate the time difference in her head. “But I didn’t talk to her until Sunday afternoon
about coming home.”
“And I called Donald’s answering service at the office. They contacted him and he returned my call.”
Her eyes narrowed as she remembered Donald’s muttering something about Sunday emergencies. “Very
devious, Mr. Steele. I’d wondered why you didn’t call yesterday afternoon.”
“You weren’t worried?”
“I assumed you were on your way home.”
“Correct assumption. But I’d planned to be here by dinner. Unfortunately, a mechanical problem forced
us to land in New York for nearly six hours. Siobhán couldn’t keep her eyes open on the ride home.”
Peering over her shoulder, he noted, “You really aren’t going back to sleep, are you?”
“No. Somebody woke me up.”
“Well, whoever it was, I’ll be sure to berate him soundly later.”
“You do that. I’m going to take a shower.” Laura stifled a grunt as she sat up.
Remington leaned up on an elbow again and scrubbed his beard. “Want company?”
“I’d love some.”
She thought the shower would turn into round two, but Remington had other ideas. With exquisite
tenderness, he washed her hair--taking his time about it. After the first few minutes, she shifted
restlessly. Her brain had already settled in at her desk to work the case, and Remington’s ministrations
served only to distract her.
He knew her all too well and paused as he rinsed out her tresses. “Love, we’ll look through the photos in
a bit. At this moment, I need you.”
All thoughts of detective work came to a screeching halt as she caught the traces of strain left on his
face. “Rei, what else happened?”
Shaking his head, he told her, “Nothing more, I promise. I’ve told you every last bit of it. It’s--” He
pulled her to him, skin to skin, with only water dripping between them. “It’s that everything about you is
good and clean and right, Laura.”
She brought her arms up around his shoulders, using one hand to clasp the back of his neck. Without a
word, she returned his touch--washing his hair, laving his body with soap and rinsing every last bubble
away.
Afterward, he caught her in a tender kiss. “That’s still hard for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Shutting down your brain to focus on me … and on emotions.”
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “It’s easier now.”
He took her favorite soap and lathered his hands before smoothing them over her shoulders. “It’s an
even trade, I suppose.”
“What’s that?” she asked again.
“You’ve learned to turn off your thinking on occasion, and I’ve had to learn to hold an intelligent
conversation while delirious with sleep or lust. I’ll use this morning as an excellent example of both.”
His slick hands glided down her belly and back to finish washing her body.
Remington’s ability to make her laugh at herself undoubtedly ranked as one of the major reasons she’d
fallen for him. She raised her eyebrows. “If I recall, the lust had been satiated before my brain kicked
in.”
“Yes, but I would have been perfectly happy sleeping for another four or five hours.” He reached across
the shower and shut off the water and then deftly snatched a pair of towels from the heated rack.
Laura dried off and wound it about her breasts as Remington did the same around his hips. She ran her
hand through the dark mat on his chest, just because she could. “Yes, but I have another appointment
with my doctor in two hours. I thought you might like to go.”
“Didn’t you have an appointment on Friday?”
“The doctor wants to see how I’m doing with the bed rest.”
“Ah. Speaking of which--” He lifted her into his arms, carried her to the bed, then disappeared into the
bathroom only to come out with an armful of her cosmetics.
“Rei. I’m not an invalid. I’m allowed to at least have a little time in the bathroom.”
“You’ve had it. Now you can dry your hair and whatnot from the bed while I make breakfast.”
She threw up her hands in frustration. She might have been better off at Frances’ house.
As Remington pulled a soft navy shirt over his head, he could see by the annoyance on Laura’s face that
the moment he left the room, she would be up and about to finish her own toilette. Manfully concealing
a grin at the irritation flashing in her maple-brown eyes, he dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Yell when
you’re done, and I’ll carry you to the sofa.”
He ducked out of the room and closed the door in time for something solid, her hairbrush probably, to
thunk against the door. Sometimes Laura could be terribly predictable. But the end result would mean
that she would at least make an effort to follow the doctor’s orders when he was around rather than
ignoring them entirely.
A quick peek into Siobhán’s room proved the girl slept soundly. When he turned around, he stopped to
look into the baby’s nursery. The circus theme had turned out beautifully. He ran one finger along the
crib and touched the blanket Laura had put there. Suddenly, he was glad Siobhán insisted on packing the
few things he’d had as a child. Laura would be thrilled to open those boxes. Then he snorted and
touched his middle finger to the bridge of his nose. Boxes again.
Closing the door behind him, he headed for the kitchen to whip up a gourmet breakfast for three. As the
scent of fresh crepes wafted down the hallway, Siobhán appeared.
“Do those come with strawberries?”
“Of course, a stór.”
Laura walked out of the bedroom. “Probably fresh whipped cream too.”
“Mom!” Siobhán dashed across the room to give her a long, hard hug, then laughed and placed her hand
on Laura’s belly. “She kicked me!”
“It’s nice that the baby is doing it to someone else for a change,” Laura said. “Are you all right,
sweetie?” She walked with Siobhán into the kitchen where each of them took a chair at the island.
Remington passed out glasses of orange juice and turned to flip a crepe onto the stack he’d built.
The teen shrugged and worried a curl. “I wish you’d been there. I didn’t realize it would be so hard on
Da.”
Remington lifted his brows and shared a quick glance with Laura. Reluctantly, he admitted, “Very
perceptive, a stór. But I think we managed all right. We’re home now where we all belong.”
Over breakfast, Laura asked Siobhán, “Do you want to stay here while we go to my appointment? We
won’t be long.”
The teen grinned. “You mean I can go back to sleep?”
“Do it now. You’ll have school tomorrow.”
Siobhán groaned. “I know. I think I have some homework to do too.”
“Then rest and we’ll get back on schedule today. We’ll be home by lunchtime.
On the drive to Cedars-Sinai, Laura told Remington about the clues she’d put together the previous
evening. “I think when I have an hour or so later today, I’ll be able to identify someone, even in
disguise. If we need to blow up some pictures, do you think you’ll have time later today for that?”
“If you don’t mind my turning the bathroom into a darkroom again.”
“After the picture you took of Siobhán and me at the beach, you can turn the bathroom into a darkroom
anytime you like.”
Remington grinned at her. “Like that one, do you?”
“Nearly as much as you do,” she shot back.
Dr. Berger personally tested Laura’s blood pressure and came away cautiously optimistic. “Better. But I
don’t think we’re out of the woods yet. Let’s do a pelvic exam and see how you’re cooking.” Several
minutes later, Dr. Berger finished and stripped off her gloves before giving Laura a hand to sit up. “Well,
your blood pressure is down, but you’ve begun dilating.”
“Isn’t that too early?” Laura asked worriedly.
“Not really. You’ve got four weeks to go, and you’re only at a centimeter, with no effacing yet, so it’s
not unusual. But I don’t want you traveling out of town for the holidays.”
Laura shook her head. “We’re at my sister’s house in Tarzana this year.”
“Excellent. Now let’s talk about your work schedule.” Remington crossed over to stand behind Laura
and listen as Dr. Berger continued. “The rest did you a world of good. Stay off your feet for the
remainder of the week. I won’t insist on bed rest for now, just a lot of common sense. Let’s try only
two or three days at the office instead of five. I’ll let you pick the days, but work in a three-day
weekend somewhere. Come see me on Monday. If it stays level, we can stick to your new schedule.”
Remington laid a hand on Laura’s shoulder. “If she’s dilating, doesn’t that mean we’re getting close?”
Dr. Berger smiled. “Yes and no. Moms take a long time to dilate and efface with their first babies.
You’ll probably start noticing Braxton-Hicks contractions. Generally, those are short, far apart and don’t
hurt much. When the contractions are long, close together and uncomfortable, then you’ll know we’re
getting somewhere. But we’ll be checking weekly from now on until the baby comes.”
His hand squeezed down on her shoulder. Laura looked up to see him nervously biting his thumb. But
he caught her glance and held up a hand to ward off questions.
Laura relaxed into the leather of the Auburn, enjoying the cool December breeze as they drove home
with the top down. Idly, she commented, “I’m glad you were home to hear what Dr. Berger had to say.”
“So am I. What are your thoughts about working the rest of the week?”
Laura tilted her head against the seat as she thought about it. “I don’t know. I’m used to being in and
out of the office, but we rarely stay home and do nothing. Or at least, we can’t skip work and do the
kind of nothing that involves you, me and a lack of clothing.”
Remington chuckled. “No. I don’t suppose that’s on the approved list of things to do all afternoon.” He
started to speak again, then subsided.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Ah … at what point are we ‘cut off’ so to speak?”
Nonchalantly, she replied, “I haven’t asked. I’m sure one of those books has the answer.”
“Ah … well, perhaps.”
“What do they say?”
“That it’s up to you.” He scratched his nose before making the turn up Rossmore Avenue.
“Then I can’t imagine why you should have any concerns in that department, Mr. Steele. I wasn’t
exactly fending you off this morning.”
“But you’ll tell me?” he urged.
Reaching for his hand, she pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I’ll tell you. But don’t plan on anytime
soon. Pregnancy hasn’t changed anything about how attractive I find you--and if you have a problem
with it, close your eyes.”
He looked away to hide his grin, failing entirely, for it still lit up his face when he looked at her. “Good
Lord, Laura, I never imagined you would be so … uninhibited at this point.”
“I don’t know why. I’ve certainly not shown much restraint in the bedroom so far,” she said with a sly
gleam.
“To my absolute, utter delight.”
Laura looked down at their hands. “Does it bother you?”
“Love, if this morning didn’t make things perfectly clear, I’m not quite sure how else I should express my
satisfaction with our frolics in the bedroom, even at this late date.” He laced his fingers with hers and
returned the kiss to her hand.
After lunch, Siobhán noodled around on the piano keys, trying to copy some bluesy riffs Kate had been
teaching her to play. Laura listened for a few minutes before retrieving the files she’d left in the bedroom
and taking them into the office. She laid out the photographs and used a marking pencil to circle the
individual she wanted to compare to the other photos.
Remington lifted one and frowned at the person she’d indicated. “Why does this one look familiar?”
She handed him another picture. “Because she’s in this one too?”
He compared the two, laying them side by side on the desk as he sat across from her. Seeing the way
she’d narrowed down the photos to only those with any possibility of containing the suspect filled him
with admiration. This kind of dogged determination proved exactly why Laura excelled as a private
investigator.
While they filtered through the pictures, Remington listened with half an ear as Siobhán experimented on
the piano. Laura absentmindedly tapped her foot in time to the music.
But when Siobhan tried a particular bluesy riff and missed the key change several times in a row, Laura
called out, “Drop from a major key to a minor key halfway through the second series of notes.”
As Siobhán made another attempt, Remington’s head snapped up. “Minor key. Oh, bloody hell, tell me
it’s not that easy.” Laura looked at him curiously as he began digging through a stack of files on the shelf
above the desk. “Love, what was Major Descoine’s first name?”
“Percy. Why?”
“Penny Key. The client of Sandra’s that never quite sat right with her. I’ve looked at it a dozen times
and didn’t make the correlation.”
“What are you talking about?”
His head spun with connections. “High Road to China, Tom Selleck, Bess Armtrong, 1983. Doesn’t
really apply to our case, only to hers. A daughter looking for her missing father. He’s been gone … oh,
five years? Or that’s what she told Sandra.”
Laura tapped the desk in frustration. “Do you mind translating on this one?”
Remington jumped up and began pacing in the tiny room, punctuating his thoughts with a jab of his finger
in the air. “Penny Key came to us looking for her father Percy Key. Penny is another name for coin.
We never found out the name of Percy Descoine's daughter, but he left the coin in the safe deposit box
all those years ago as a clue. What do you want to bet that his daughter’s name is a play on words?
Penny Descoine. She wasn’t looking for her father … she was scoping us out.”
“For what?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. But this,” he picked up a picture, “is Descoine’s daughter.”
Laura looked hard at the photograph, then compared it to a second and a third. “I think you’re right, but
how can we be sure?”
Remington had a flash of inspiration. "Hand me a sheet of paper, please, love.” Laura passed one over,
and he sketched a fast portrait of “Minor” Descoine from memory. “Fax that to the office. We’ll call
Sandra and see if she recognizes her.”
“Excellent idea, Mr. Steele,” Laura said with admiration. She turned in her chair to send the fax through.
Remington dialed the office number. “Ian, mate, pass me over to Sandra. There’s a good man.”
“Hello, Mr. Steele.”
“Sandra, good afternoon. Ah, there’s a drawing coming across the fax machine. Would you take a look
at it?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Steele. Let me go get it.” He drummed his fingers for a moment. “I have it. Why are
you faxing a picture of Penny Key to me?”
“Thank you, Ms. Martinez. You’ve confirmed my suspicions. I believe we’ve discovered the identity of
our problem child. Ah, one moment--Laura’s waving at me.” He handed the telephone to her.
“Sandra, patch me through to Mildred, will you? … Mildred, yes, I’m feeling fine. No … no bed rest, I
just have to take it easy. May I ask a favor? … I know skip traces aren’t your game anymore, but I
think we’ve found our culprit. Will you find out everything you can on a Penny Descoine or a Penny
Key and double-check that Percy Descoine hasn’t escaped from the pen? Ask Sandra to help since this
was her client.” She chuckled at something Mildred said. “Yes, Mr. Steele knows I’m working. He’s
babysitting me. … Yes, they came home last night.” Stopping her from asking any more questions,
Laura interrupted her. “Mildred, can you call me as soon as you have the information? … That will be
great.”
After she wrapped up the conversation, she handed him two more pictures where she’d identified Miss
Descoine in yet another cover. “Rei, I think she’s got a camera in that one.”
Remington peered at the photo. “Good eye. I’ll enlarge it later if necessary. Can we place her at all the
locations now?”
Laura sorted through the nine file folders, clipping the revealing photo to the front cover whenever they
had one. “Five of the nine. Let’s try to find her in the last four.”
The detectives each took two of the remaining files. Remington again appreciated Laura’s methodical
thoroughness. She’d stapled the map inside the file folder. On it, she’d marked his location, her location
and the probable angle of the photograph of him the perpetrator had snapped. The photo was clipped to
the folder as well.
On the left side, she had two envelopes of pictures--one each for the photos Remington and Carter had
taken. From those, she carefully selected those that captured the area where the suspect must have been
standing and attached them to the outside of each envelope. All were carefully labeled.
With all the preliminary work done, it took Remington only a few minutes to stare at the pictures and find
Miss Descoine in two of them. He reached for the marking pencil and circled her face in both. She had
dressed as a young man with a beard, but her rounded eyes were unmistakable.
Laura stole the pencil away from him and marked her own photo. “That’s it, then,” she said. “We’ve
got her at every single location. If that’s not stalking, I don’t know what else qualifies.”
Remington leaned an elbow on the desk. “So what are you going to do now?”
“I think we need to go to the police on this one. We can slap a restraining order on her, but that’s all.
She hasn’t made any actual threats. Beyond that, the only thing we can do is confront her.”
Remington scratched his cheek. “Think LAPD will pull her in for questioning?”
Laura nodded. “They might if we ask nicely. Got any ideas on motive? Besides the obvious that we
put her father in prison for the second time in a row?”
9 November 2009
Chapter Twenty-Three: Questions