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 Three: Siobhán (Shi-VAHN)
Siobhán, me darling, I cannot do right by you now. But I can make sure you have the best life anyway--
maybe a better one than I could give you. Go live with Steele. Ciarán’s a good man, and you can trust in
him. Erin would want this. I’ve told him to adopt you. You need parents, me darling.
What if he doesn’t want me, Johnny?
He will. He won’t be able to deny you.
*****
Wednesday, 8 June 1988 -- 11 weeks, 6 days
Laura dropped her fedora on her desk and ran her hand through her hair, enjoying her fantastic mood. The
beautiful weather that day, sunny and in the seventies, called for singing a little ditty as she cruised into the
agency. She’d been successful in tracking down a stolen pair of candlesticks. It seemed that two elderly sisters
had been fighting over who inherited them from their mother. A crooked appraiser had made off with them in
the meantime.
A visit from her and Kaleb had the man shaking in his shoes as he handed over the stolen property. The tip
she’d left LAPD had made both detective agencies happy. She’d refused to take a bet from her associate as to
whether other stolen items were in the crook’s possession, but she did advise the police to move quickly. They
did. They loved “anonymous tips” that gave them all kinds of leeway in their own investigations.
The fact that Remington Steele Investigations cooperated and assisted the LAPD whenever possible gave them
an excellent reputation within the department. Any number of times in the past few years they’d been able to
ask for assistance and receive it with alacrity. In return, the private investigators cheerily turned over
perpetrators with a regularity that made the police commissioner a happy man.
*****
Remington heard her moving about in her office while he spoke with the architect via telephone. Pleased with
the progress he had made that morning with the residents of the bordering apartment, he had contacted the
same man who had designed their office two years ago.
They met in the short corridor, both beaming with good news. Remington raised a brow. “You must have
closed a case. It’s the only thing that puts that predatory gleam in your eye.”
Laura laughed. “Closed it and then shot a nail in his coffin when the police raided his house an hour later.
Everybody except the perp went home happy. How about you?”
“Well … it seems that the couple living on the other side of our bedrooms were thinking of retiring to Carmel-
by-the-Sea and are quite pleased with the offer I made on their place this morning. I did a good bit of research
and gave them a few quid over the going rate as an enticement. Plus, I threw in a bonus if they would be out in
thirty days.” He was rather pleased with himself and wiggled his brows.
“And they agreed?”
He nodded. “They’re going shopping for a house near the beach this weekend. The architect will have some
preliminary plans for us in a few days. By mid-July, we can close on the apartment and begin construction.”
“You work fast, Mr. Steele.” She drew a finger down his tie and tapped twice over his heart.
He lifted her hand and dropped a kiss onto the palm. “Only when I’m properly motivated.” His breath on her
hand made her toes curl.
Laura laughed again in delight. In the quiet hallway between their offices, she closed her fingers over
Remington’s hand. “How is this possible?”
“How is what possible?” The light in her eyes had his heart thumping.
“No one deserves to be as happy as I am, Mr. Steele.” Her face had a smile dancing across it, and her self-
possession radiated much as it had the first time he’d walked into her office. Only now it was … more. So
much more.
Before Remington’s glib tongue could frame a reply, Ian called her name, “Mrs. Steele?”
“Yes?”
Ian stepped into her office before finding her in the hallway with Remington, his expression contrite. “Ah,
sorry to interrupt. There are, uh, gentleman, uh, from Interpol, uh, to see you.” The normally unflappable
young man still had jangled nerves after the unexpected visit they’d had last week. Laura exchanged a long
look with Remington before they followed Ian to the reception area.
James Buchanan and Tony Roselli waited in the outer office.
Buchanan immediately noted the resemblance between Carlisle and Steele that had escaped him before. He
smiled grimly. “Steele. Mrs. Steele. May we have a moment of your time? In private, please?”
He didn’t miss Ms. Krebs popping into the room. With her hands on her hips, she arched brows at him and
glared at Roselli before disappearing into Mrs. Steele’s office.
The agents took the seats Steele indicated, across from Mrs. Steele, who had taken the executive chair behind
the desk. Steele sat on the corner facing both men. “Can’t say I’m pleased to see either of you, but in any
case, what can we do for you?” Steele offered while pleasantly glaring at Roselli.
Buchanan idly wondered what his American compatriot had done to irritate the detectives. Aiming to express
sincerity and concern, he hunched forward and clasped his hands. He’d rather not have this conversation. In
the short time he’d worked with the Steeles overseas, he’d developed respect for them--not only as professional
private investigators--but as a couple who cared for each other. The Ireland incident had demanded a great
deal from both of them; he wondered how well they had their bearings.
However, the conversation with Roselli on the way to the agency seemed to indicate the couple had recovered
admirably--just in time for him to drop yet another bombshell into their laps.
Beyond that, he had to know more about their association with Carlisle. Roselli had given him his report last
night. Buchanan had skimmed it, noting that it seemed to correspond with Carlisle’s own statements, but the
interview would have to be done. Sometimes he hated his job.
Looking Steele straight in the eye, he said, “We caught up with Carlisle a couple of days ago in Nassau. Agent
Roselli has briefed me on the conversation you three had.” Leaning back in the chair, he commented, “Steele,
I don’t like your connections. You’ve got one or two that seem to be rather convenient, and I can’t help being
suspicious of it all. But all of that is neither here nor there at the moment. We’ve come to deliver a request. A
rather hefty one.”
“And what might that be?” Laura asked.
“Agent Roselli told me about your conversation with Johnny Carlisle. And Carlisle himself confirmed that you,
Mr. Steele, are a relative of his. He also corroborated your statement that he only asked your assistance in
getting Interpol to drop the investigation--to which you declined. On a personal note, I have to state that I’m
impressed. Not many men have the courage to deny Carlisle.”
“Perhaps that is the distant relation part,” Steele admitted, breathing an inward sigh of relief that Carlisle hadn’t
rolled over on him. “Go on.”
“Carlisle has a fifteen-year-old daughter. She wasn’t kidnapped as you originally speculated. As much as we
can determine by blood tests at this point, we have ruled out the possibility that Denis O’Callaghan is Siobhán’s
father, and it appears--from documentation that Siobhán carried with her in the form of a letter her mother had
written before she died--that she is, in fact, Carlisle’s. He freely admits to having an affair with Erin--one that
eventually led to her death and set into motion the events of the recent past.”
Steele crossed his arms and Buchanan stifled his desire to swallow hard. Knowing none of this would be easy
for the couple, he still had to make the formal request. “Carlisle knows he’ll be locked up for the rest of his
life. No attorney in the world can evade all the charges we’ve got him on. As Siobhán’s only living parent, he
can request guardianship for his daughter--provided that the courts approve.”
Glancing from Steele to Laura and back again, he finished. “Carlisle wants you two to be Siobhán’s guardians.
He doesn’t want her going back to Ireland. Not only does he have reservations about his remaining relatives in
Ireland, he fears that someone may use her for retaliation if she stays there.” Buchanan leaned back in his
chair. “On that I have to agree with him, and there’s more. Carlisle has signed paperwork allowing you to
formally adopt Siobhán if that is what you would prefer. He knows the chances of seeing her are practically nil
anyway. Any contact she might have would be up to you until she comes of age.”
Laura blinked but didn’t change her expression. From beside her, Remington only glowered at Buchanan.
“What happens if we don’t take her?”
“If we don’t place her with another relative--which is probable given the background checks we’ve done so far--
she becomes a ward of Ireland. At her age, she won’t be adopted. She’ll likely be placed in a group home until
she’s eighteen. What happens after that will depend on her. I will tell you that all of Carlisle’s assets have been
confiscated until the courts determine which ones, if any, were legitimately obtained.”
Steele ran his fingers through his hair. “So she’s left without a home, without money--and her fate lies with a
pair of strangers.”
“Essentially, yes,” Buchanan admitted. “Carlisle has engaged a solicitor and paid him a great deal of money
already to look after her interests, but it will be a while before any decisions will be made.” He watched the
Steeles take in his request. Laura’s face seemed a shade paler, but it might have been the light. Otherwise, she
only kept a steady gaze on his face. Damn, he would have liked to have had her as an operative. She never
flinched or gave away the game.
Steele, on the other hand, might have been carved from ice. Buchanan wasn’t sure if the lack of emotion was
fury or insult and didn’t know what to make of it. Quite frankly, he couldn’t blame them if they flat out
refused. Married, no children, a thriving business that they both enjoyed and a penthouse in the city--they
weren’t set up for this.
When the silence stretched too long, Laura asked, “What kind of life is she used to having?”
Buchanan felt hope rise from somewhere in his shoes. He’d forgotten that the Steeles could be
compassionate. It wasn’t an emotion he encountered often in his line of work. “She’s lived on Carlisle’s
compound outside of Dublin since she was five. From what I understand, she’s been tutored at home and is
rarely allowed off the property in spite of the fact that Carlisle spent a great deal of time in London.”
Steele shot Roselli another dirty look. “So why are you here?”
Tony kept his voice level and low as if not to antagonize the detective further. “You’ll need my help to
expedite either guardianship or adoption since this is an international situation. Because of your reputation and
the fact that you are technically still an Irish citizen, the Irish government is willing to make some concessions
to the process if we assist.”
Remington shifted his gaze to James. “You ask a great deal, Buchanan. More than you know at this moment.”
“I’m only the messenger on this one. I understand there’s not been much contact between you and Carlisle, so
this is rather out of the blue.”
He turned to the other agent. “Roselli, let’s give the Steeles a chance to talk. We’ll be out there.” He waved
to the reception area as he and Tony stood. “Take your time.”
Laura rose. Buchanan noted this time that she’d gained weight since he’d seen her last. She was still slender,
but there was a subtle fullness to her now.
“Hold on--where is Siobhán now?” she asked.
“We have her in a safe house in the city,” Buchanan answered.
“Does she understand what is happening?”
James nodded. “She keeps her mouth shut, watches everything and asks for nothing. I’d say she understands
exactly what is going on and has no idea what to do or whom to trust. Given the time I’ve been around her, I’d
say she's a good kid and scared out of her wits.”
He and Tony walked out of the office, leaving the Steeles to digest this new turn of events. Ian offered them
coffee and a place to sit in the break room, well away from Mildred’s glower. Buchanan chose to pace while
Roselli crossed his arms and sprawled in one of the chairs scattered around the table.
“Did you read the report I gave you?” Tony asked.
“Skimmed it. Focused on the part about Carlisle,” Buchanan admitted.
“Then you didn’t read the end of it.”
“No, not yet.”
“She’s pregnant,” Tony said.
Surprised, James turned around. “Laura? She can’t be very far along. She’s not showing--or not much
anyway.”
Roselli shrugged. “Don’t know about that. But they told me in our meeting. Steele was rather smug about it.”
“You don’t like him.”
“No. He’s too slick for my taste. Guys like him make me nervous.”
Buchanan nodded. “He does that. I haven’t had an agent on him yet that he couldn’t shake. One of our best
agents tracked him for years and never busted him. We can’t touch him now, but it seems to be for a good
cause. I’d rather have a thief on the loose than the Dublin Six any day of the week. Wonder what they’re
going to do.”
“I don’t know. Laura’s not exactly a pushover. She’s gonna have a fair amount to say about this.”
Buchanan stroked his chin thoughtfully before drinking his coffee again.
Laura rose from the chair to perch on the desk beside Remington, taking care to conceal her own
apprehensions as she laced her fingers to rest on her belly that only recently had started to curve. She wasn’t
even a mother yet. A teen? How was she supposed to manage a newborn and a fifteen-year-old girl?
She didn’t verbalize any of those thoughts though. Instead, she asked, “What do you want to do?”
He chewed on his thumbnail. “I want to pretend this conversation never happened. Damned buggering
bastard. He asked me, Laura. He asked me here in this office to protect Siobhán and I told him ‘no.’ I told
him I wouldn’t risk my family for his. Now I don’t have a choice,” he said bitterly.
“No, we don’t,” she agreed. No matter what misgivings she had, and at the moment she had plenty, Laura had
no doubt that turning away this child, this young cousin of his, would devastate her husband.
“I can’t ask you to do this, Laura,” he pleaded, hoping she would use her brilliant mind to find them a way out
of this enormous responsibility.
But she didn’t offer one. “If she were any of my sisters’ children, I would ask you without a second thought.
And you would agree without hesitation.”
“Bloody hell, Laura. What do we know about raising a teenager?” He rubbed his neck, stepping close so that
he could enfold her in his arms, needing the comfort of her touch.
“I don’t know. But it looks as if we’re going to have to learn.” Laura rested her forehead on his shoulder.
Mildred pushed the connecting door open. “I’ll help.”
They turned to look at her, not realizing she’d overheard the conversation. “How?” asked Laura.
She shrugged. “Don’t know. Might be nothing more than a ride home from school. But consider me an
honorary grandma, and you can ask for whatever you need.”
“School?” Remington echoed before looking down at Laura again. “Just what are we getting ourselves into?”
“Apparently a great deal, Mr. Steele.”
He stalked away muttering curses under his breath before sitting hard on the couch and placing his face in his
hands. “No. I can’t do this. Laura--we’re not even ready for our own child. She needs parents who know
how to handle children.”
Mildred spoke up, “You heard Buchanan. She’s not going to get them. It’s either you two or a group home.
And it’s pretty certain she won’t have a family to turn to. Is that what you want, Boss?”
Laura kept still as she accepted that their lives were about to be turned upside down. Again. She
unconsciously fiddled with her nails, betraying her nerves, and wondered exactly how they would make this
work with the baby on the way. Remington looked at her hands and then found his own fears reflected in her
face.
But before he could say anything, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before meeting his eyes.
“What did you want when you were fifteen, Remington?”
“Some place safe,” he automatically answered. “All I wanted was a place to call home. Even Daniel couldn’t
give me that.”
“Then we owe her that much at least.”
Remington slowly nodded. “Laura, if she stays, if she’ll let us, I want to adopt. She’ll know who her parents
are.”
Mildred cocked her head at her “son.” 3“You haven’t even met her, Boss.”
“I haven’t met my son or daughter either, but it doesn’t change the fact that I already care a great deal. She’s
my cousin. We apparently are all she has.”
Laura realized that Remington was too emotional to make any sort of logical judgment here. It was possible
Siobhán would despise all of them and prefer to go home, whatever home might be for her now. But she
didn’t say that--and hoped she was wrong.
Steele pushed open the door to the break room, allowing Laura to enter before him. Roselli stood and James
set down his coffee, narrowing his eyes as he tried to read the couple’s intentions. But Laura simply clasped
her hands in front of her body, and Steele rested his hand lightly on her back. The tension grew thick as the
couple assessed the two agents with icy composure.
At last Steele offered, “Bring her to our house this evening. I’m sure you can figure out where we live.”
After they left the room, Buchanan let out a relieved breath and knocked back the rest of his coffee, wishing it
was laced with something a great deal stronger than cream.
29 October 2009
Chapter Four: Decisions
Siobhán, me darling, I cannot do right by you now. But I can make sure you have the best life anyway--
maybe a better one than I could give you. Go live with Steele. Ciarán’s a good man, and you can trust in
him. Erin would want this. I’ve told him to adopt you. You need parents, me darling.
What if he doesn’t want me, Johnny?
He will. He won’t be able to deny you.
*****
Wednesday, 8 June 1988 -- 11 weeks, 6 days
Laura dropped her fedora on her desk and ran her hand through her hair, enjoying her fantastic mood. The
beautiful weather that day, sunny and in the seventies, called for singing a little ditty as she cruised into the
agency. She’d been successful in tracking down a stolen pair of candlesticks. It seemed that two elderly sisters
had been fighting over who inherited them from their mother. A crooked appraiser had made off with them in
the meantime.
A visit from her and Kaleb had the man shaking in his shoes as he handed over the stolen property. The tip
she’d left LAPD had made both detective agencies happy. She’d refused to take a bet from her associate as to
whether other stolen items were in the crook’s possession, but she did advise the police to move quickly. They
did. They loved “anonymous tips” that gave them all kinds of leeway in their own investigations.
The fact that Remington Steele Investigations cooperated and assisted the LAPD whenever possible gave them
an excellent reputation within the department. Any number of times in the past few years they’d been able to
ask for assistance and receive it with alacrity. In return, the private investigators cheerily turned over
perpetrators with a regularity that made the police commissioner a happy man.
*****
Remington heard her moving about in her office while he spoke with the architect via telephone. Pleased with
the progress he had made that morning with the residents of the bordering apartment, he had contacted the
same man who had designed their office two years ago.
They met in the short corridor, both beaming with good news. Remington raised a brow. “You must have
closed a case. It’s the only thing that puts that predatory gleam in your eye.”
Laura laughed. “Closed it and then shot a nail in his coffin when the police raided his house an hour later.
Everybody except the perp went home happy. How about you?”
“Well … it seems that the couple living on the other side of our bedrooms were thinking of retiring to Carmel-
by-the-Sea and are quite pleased with the offer I made on their place this morning. I did a good bit of research
and gave them a few quid over the going rate as an enticement. Plus, I threw in a bonus if they would be out in
thirty days.” He was rather pleased with himself and wiggled his brows.
“And they agreed?”
He nodded. “They’re going shopping for a house near the beach this weekend. The architect will have some
preliminary plans for us in a few days. By mid-July, we can close on the apartment and begin construction.”
“You work fast, Mr. Steele.” She drew a finger down his tie and tapped twice over his heart.
He lifted her hand and dropped a kiss onto the palm. “Only when I’m properly motivated.” His breath on her
hand made her toes curl.
Laura laughed again in delight. In the quiet hallway between their offices, she closed her fingers over
Remington’s hand. “How is this possible?”
“How is what possible?” The light in her eyes had his heart thumping.
“No one deserves to be as happy as I am, Mr. Steele.” Her face had a smile dancing across it, and her self-
possession radiated much as it had the first time he’d walked into her office. Only now it was … more. So
much more.
Before Remington’s glib tongue could frame a reply, Ian called her name, “Mrs. Steele?”
“Yes?”
Ian stepped into her office before finding her in the hallway with Remington, his expression contrite. “Ah,
sorry to interrupt. There are, uh, gentleman, uh, from Interpol, uh, to see you.” The normally unflappable
young man still had jangled nerves after the unexpected visit they’d had last week. Laura exchanged a long
look with Remington before they followed Ian to the reception area.
James Buchanan and Tony Roselli waited in the outer office.
Buchanan immediately noted the resemblance between Carlisle and Steele that had escaped him before. He
smiled grimly. “Steele. Mrs. Steele. May we have a moment of your time? In private, please?”
He didn’t miss Ms. Krebs popping into the room. With her hands on her hips, she arched brows at him and
glared at Roselli before disappearing into Mrs. Steele’s office.
The agents took the seats Steele indicated, across from Mrs. Steele, who had taken the executive chair behind
the desk. Steele sat on the corner facing both men. “Can’t say I’m pleased to see either of you, but in any
case, what can we do for you?” Steele offered while pleasantly glaring at Roselli.
Buchanan idly wondered what his American compatriot had done to irritate the detectives. Aiming to express
sincerity and concern, he hunched forward and clasped his hands. He’d rather not have this conversation. In
the short time he’d worked with the Steeles overseas, he’d developed respect for them--not only as professional
private investigators--but as a couple who cared for each other. The Ireland incident had demanded a great
deal from both of them; he wondered how well they had their bearings.
However, the conversation with Roselli on the way to the agency seemed to indicate the couple had recovered
admirably--just in time for him to drop yet another bombshell into their laps.
Beyond that, he had to know more about their association with Carlisle. Roselli had given him his report last
night. Buchanan had skimmed it, noting that it seemed to correspond with Carlisle’s own statements, but the
interview would have to be done. Sometimes he hated his job.
Looking Steele straight in the eye, he said, “We caught up with Carlisle a couple of days ago in Nassau. Agent
Roselli has briefed me on the conversation you three had.” Leaning back in the chair, he commented, “Steele,
I don’t like your connections. You’ve got one or two that seem to be rather convenient, and I can’t help being
suspicious of it all. But all of that is neither here nor there at the moment. We’ve come to deliver a request. A
rather hefty one.”
“And what might that be?” Laura asked.
“Agent Roselli told me about your conversation with Johnny Carlisle. And Carlisle himself confirmed that you,
Mr. Steele, are a relative of his. He also corroborated your statement that he only asked your assistance in
getting Interpol to drop the investigation--to which you declined. On a personal note, I have to state that I’m
impressed. Not many men have the courage to deny Carlisle.”
“Perhaps that is the distant relation part,” Steele admitted, breathing an inward sigh of relief that Carlisle hadn’t
rolled over on him. “Go on.”
“Carlisle has a fifteen-year-old daughter. She wasn’t kidnapped as you originally speculated. As much as we
can determine by blood tests at this point, we have ruled out the possibility that Denis O’Callaghan is Siobhán’s
father, and it appears--from documentation that Siobhán carried with her in the form of a letter her mother had
written before she died--that she is, in fact, Carlisle’s. He freely admits to having an affair with Erin--one that
eventually led to her death and set into motion the events of the recent past.”
Steele crossed his arms and Buchanan stifled his desire to swallow hard. Knowing none of this would be easy
for the couple, he still had to make the formal request. “Carlisle knows he’ll be locked up for the rest of his
life. No attorney in the world can evade all the charges we’ve got him on. As Siobhán’s only living parent, he
can request guardianship for his daughter--provided that the courts approve.”
Glancing from Steele to Laura and back again, he finished. “Carlisle wants you two to be Siobhán’s guardians.
He doesn’t want her going back to Ireland. Not only does he have reservations about his remaining relatives in
Ireland, he fears that someone may use her for retaliation if she stays there.” Buchanan leaned back in his
chair. “On that I have to agree with him, and there’s more. Carlisle has signed paperwork allowing you to
formally adopt Siobhán if that is what you would prefer. He knows the chances of seeing her are practically nil
anyway. Any contact she might have would be up to you until she comes of age.”
Laura blinked but didn’t change her expression. From beside her, Remington only glowered at Buchanan.
“What happens if we don’t take her?”
“If we don’t place her with another relative--which is probable given the background checks we’ve done so far--
she becomes a ward of Ireland. At her age, she won’t be adopted. She’ll likely be placed in a group home until
she’s eighteen. What happens after that will depend on her. I will tell you that all of Carlisle’s assets have been
confiscated until the courts determine which ones, if any, were legitimately obtained.”
Steele ran his fingers through his hair. “So she’s left without a home, without money--and her fate lies with a
pair of strangers.”
“Essentially, yes,” Buchanan admitted. “Carlisle has engaged a solicitor and paid him a great deal of money
already to look after her interests, but it will be a while before any decisions will be made.” He watched the
Steeles take in his request. Laura’s face seemed a shade paler, but it might have been the light. Otherwise, she
only kept a steady gaze on his face. Damn, he would have liked to have had her as an operative. She never
flinched or gave away the game.
Steele, on the other hand, might have been carved from ice. Buchanan wasn’t sure if the lack of emotion was
fury or insult and didn’t know what to make of it. Quite frankly, he couldn’t blame them if they flat out
refused. Married, no children, a thriving business that they both enjoyed and a penthouse in the city--they
weren’t set up for this.
When the silence stretched too long, Laura asked, “What kind of life is she used to having?”
Buchanan felt hope rise from somewhere in his shoes. He’d forgotten that the Steeles could be
compassionate. It wasn’t an emotion he encountered often in his line of work. “She’s lived on Carlisle’s
compound outside of Dublin since she was five. From what I understand, she’s been tutored at home and is
rarely allowed off the property in spite of the fact that Carlisle spent a great deal of time in London.”
Steele shot Roselli another dirty look. “So why are you here?”
Tony kept his voice level and low as if not to antagonize the detective further. “You’ll need my help to
expedite either guardianship or adoption since this is an international situation. Because of your reputation and
the fact that you are technically still an Irish citizen, the Irish government is willing to make some concessions
to the process if we assist.”
Remington shifted his gaze to James. “You ask a great deal, Buchanan. More than you know at this moment.”
“I’m only the messenger on this one. I understand there’s not been much contact between you and Carlisle, so
this is rather out of the blue.”
He turned to the other agent. “Roselli, let’s give the Steeles a chance to talk. We’ll be out there.” He waved
to the reception area as he and Tony stood. “Take your time.”
Laura rose. Buchanan noted this time that she’d gained weight since he’d seen her last. She was still slender,
but there was a subtle fullness to her now.
“Hold on--where is Siobhán now?” she asked.
“We have her in a safe house in the city,” Buchanan answered.
“Does she understand what is happening?”
James nodded. “She keeps her mouth shut, watches everything and asks for nothing. I’d say she understands
exactly what is going on and has no idea what to do or whom to trust. Given the time I’ve been around her, I’d
say she's a good kid and scared out of her wits.”
He and Tony walked out of the office, leaving the Steeles to digest this new turn of events. Ian offered them
coffee and a place to sit in the break room, well away from Mildred’s glower. Buchanan chose to pace while
Roselli crossed his arms and sprawled in one of the chairs scattered around the table.
“Did you read the report I gave you?” Tony asked.
“Skimmed it. Focused on the part about Carlisle,” Buchanan admitted.
“Then you didn’t read the end of it.”
“No, not yet.”
“She’s pregnant,” Tony said.
Surprised, James turned around. “Laura? She can’t be very far along. She’s not showing--or not much
anyway.”
Roselli shrugged. “Don’t know about that. But they told me in our meeting. Steele was rather smug about it.”
“You don’t like him.”
“No. He’s too slick for my taste. Guys like him make me nervous.”
Buchanan nodded. “He does that. I haven’t had an agent on him yet that he couldn’t shake. One of our best
agents tracked him for years and never busted him. We can’t touch him now, but it seems to be for a good
cause. I’d rather have a thief on the loose than the Dublin Six any day of the week. Wonder what they’re
going to do.”
“I don’t know. Laura’s not exactly a pushover. She’s gonna have a fair amount to say about this.”
Buchanan stroked his chin thoughtfully before drinking his coffee again.
Laura rose from the chair to perch on the desk beside Remington, taking care to conceal her own
apprehensions as she laced her fingers to rest on her belly that only recently had started to curve. She wasn’t
even a mother yet. A teen? How was she supposed to manage a newborn and a fifteen-year-old girl?
She didn’t verbalize any of those thoughts though. Instead, she asked, “What do you want to do?”
He chewed on his thumbnail. “I want to pretend this conversation never happened. Damned buggering
bastard. He asked me, Laura. He asked me here in this office to protect Siobhán and I told him ‘no.’ I told
him I wouldn’t risk my family for his. Now I don’t have a choice,” he said bitterly.
“No, we don’t,” she agreed. No matter what misgivings she had, and at the moment she had plenty, Laura had
no doubt that turning away this child, this young cousin of his, would devastate her husband.
“I can’t ask you to do this, Laura,” he pleaded, hoping she would use her brilliant mind to find them a way out
of this enormous responsibility.
But she didn’t offer one. “If she were any of my sisters’ children, I would ask you without a second thought.
And you would agree without hesitation.”
“Bloody hell, Laura. What do we know about raising a teenager?” He rubbed his neck, stepping close so that
he could enfold her in his arms, needing the comfort of her touch.
“I don’t know. But it looks as if we’re going to have to learn.” Laura rested her forehead on his shoulder.
Mildred pushed the connecting door open. “I’ll help.”
They turned to look at her, not realizing she’d overheard the conversation. “How?” asked Laura.
She shrugged. “Don’t know. Might be nothing more than a ride home from school. But consider me an
honorary grandma, and you can ask for whatever you need.”
“School?” Remington echoed before looking down at Laura again. “Just what are we getting ourselves into?”
“Apparently a great deal, Mr. Steele.”
He stalked away muttering curses under his breath before sitting hard on the couch and placing his face in his
hands. “No. I can’t do this. Laura--we’re not even ready for our own child. She needs parents who know
how to handle children.”
Mildred spoke up, “You heard Buchanan. She’s not going to get them. It’s either you two or a group home.
And it’s pretty certain she won’t have a family to turn to. Is that what you want, Boss?”
Laura kept still as she accepted that their lives were about to be turned upside down. Again. She
unconsciously fiddled with her nails, betraying her nerves, and wondered exactly how they would make this
work with the baby on the way. Remington looked at her hands and then found his own fears reflected in her
face.
But before he could say anything, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before meeting his eyes.
“What did you want when you were fifteen, Remington?”
“Some place safe,” he automatically answered. “All I wanted was a place to call home. Even Daniel couldn’t
give me that.”
“Then we owe her that much at least.”
Remington slowly nodded. “Laura, if she stays, if she’ll let us, I want to adopt. She’ll know who her parents
are.”
Mildred cocked her head at her “son.” 3“You haven’t even met her, Boss.”
“I haven’t met my son or daughter either, but it doesn’t change the fact that I already care a great deal. She’s
my cousin. We apparently are all she has.”
Laura realized that Remington was too emotional to make any sort of logical judgment here. It was possible
Siobhán would despise all of them and prefer to go home, whatever home might be for her now. But she
didn’t say that--and hoped she was wrong.
Steele pushed open the door to the break room, allowing Laura to enter before him. Roselli stood and James
set down his coffee, narrowing his eyes as he tried to read the couple’s intentions. But Laura simply clasped
her hands in front of her body, and Steele rested his hand lightly on her back. The tension grew thick as the
couple assessed the two agents with icy composure.
At last Steele offered, “Bring her to our house this evening. I’m sure you can figure out where we live.”
After they left the room, Buchanan let out a relieved breath and knocked back the rest of his coffee, wishing it
was laced with something a great deal stronger than cream.
29 October 2009
Chapter Four: Decisions