Laura had to still the shaking in her hands to dial Remington’s phone number.  For ten long hours, she’d waited for the damned cellular phone to charge.  She fumbled it the first time, took a deep breath and wiped the damp from her eyes to hit the numbers in the correct order.  Holding her breath, she listened to the ringing.  On the third, she bit her lip in despair as she waited for the answering machine to come on.  Her head snapped up when the ring cut off in the middle.
 
With static hissing in the background, she heard clearly, “Steele here.”

“You’re home.”  That was stupid, Laura.  But she was so happy to hear his voice it was all she could think to say. 

“Laura?”  She heard rustling as if he were going from a reclining to a sitting position.  “Laura?”  He nearly shouted her name the second time. 

“It’s me.”

“Mildred and I have been worried sick, not to mention your family.  Where in the bloody hell are you?”

His anger, rather than making her wince, told her just how frightened he’d been.  But she couldn’t give him solace.  “Your guess is as good as mine, Mr. Steele,” she said softly.

“What in the blue blazes is that supposed to mean, Miss Holt?”

Now she winced and lashed back.  “It means I’m stuck on a pretty little island in some ocean, and I can’t tell you which one.  There’s exactly one house on this island and one occupant--me.  I’ve been here for nearly a damned week and haven’t seen a soul.  No clocks, no television, no radio, no regular phones.  I’ve picked enough locks to impress even you to find this ridiculous cellular phone.  I can’t tell you what day it is or what the people on the next island over speak.  There are stacks of movies and books in a half dozen languages and a fully stocked freezer.  If I knew how to get home, I’d be on my way.”  

After a long pause, Remington quipped, “Now that’s a bloody shame, having to eat your own cooking.” 

The absurd, although wholly accurate remark, coaxed a smile from her, and she laughed once under her breath. 

“Christ, Laura, tell me what happened.”  The unmistakable relief in his voice told her he’d feared the worst. 

She rose, pacing the length of the library in front of the solid wall of plate glass windows.  The moonlight dipped in and out of the rolling waves barely visible in the darkness.  “It’s stupid, really.  Someone knocked on my door Tuesday evening.  I was expecting pizza and got two goons instead.  One grabbed hold of me, the other injected me with something that knocked me out cold.  I woke up here.  I can’t tell you how I got here, how long I was out or where I am.” 

“Today is Sunday.”

That was something at least.  Consulting the notepad she’d jotted the days on, she sighed and counted backward.  “Then I woke up on Wednesday night.” 

“Plenty of time to get you nearly anywhere.”

“Exactly,” she agreed.  “Now what is this about?  Have you received a ransom note?”

“No.  And I don’t think I will.”  The absolute surety in his voice chilled her.

“Why?”

“Because this has all the hallmarks of a collector.”

“A what?”

“A collector.  Someone who wants to possess the exquisite.  Some do it with paintings or priceless jewels locked in a vault.  Some do it with cars kept in air-conditioned garages and never driven.  A rare few do it with people.  Think about it, Laura.  You’ve been given a gilded cage.  I imagine the sheets are silk, the food heavenly, and the scenery is impossibly beautiful.”

Her jaw dropped.  “Exactly.  How did you know?”

The clipped accent told her what he had feared.  “Because without a ransom note, the only other possibility was that someone had you killed or tortured.  In either case, it makes little sense that you would be targeted except as a message to me.  Since I haven’t received anything of the sort, then I assume you were the intended target for a wholly different reason.” 

She fell silent as she processed his words.  As frightened as she’d been this past week, the whole scenario became more ominous. 
The shiver that went through her body had nothing to do with cold.  At last, she asked, “So what happens now?”

“I’ll find you.”  The words were low and hard.

Her hand clenched around the bulk of the cellular phone.  Laura had heard the term “deadly conviction.”  Now she understood it.  His absolute certainty gave her hope, the kind that shook a handful of tears loose from her eyes before she regained control of herself. 

“Don’t cry, Laura.”

“You heard that?”

“I did.  Come now; dry the tears and tell me what you’ve learned.”  

He spoke to her as if they had a difficult case to work, and the familiarity calmed her.  She gave him a thorough description of the tiny island, the low-slung house that occupied it, the little generator that provided electricity, and the short dock at one end.
“Hold on.  My pen ran out of ink.”  He swore while he dug for another one from somewhere.  “Ah, have it.  Keep going.  I’m writing this all down.”

“I thought Remington Steele didn’t need notes,” she said lightly.

“I don’t.  These are for Mildred,” he retorted.

Again, he stole a laugh from her despite the circumstances.  “Of course they are, Mr. Steele.”

“I like it better when you call me ‘Remington.’”

“So do I.”  The huskiness in her voice surprised both of them. 

“I’d like to explore that in detail … much detail … but it will have to wait.”

“You sound like me now.” 

“When this is done, I’m taking you somewhere where we can be together.”

“I think I’ve heard that promise before.”

“We’ll work on that.  Now … keep going,” he repeated.

Without knowing what element would provide the clue to her location, Laura told him every detail of the house she inhabited, right down to the contents of the kitchen pantry. 

“How is food delivered to you?” he asked.

“It’s pretty well stocked for now.  I’m beginning to run out of a few perishables, but there are enough staples in the pantry and freezer to last for weeks.”

“Keep an eye out.  There’s bound to be some sort of arrangement.  You might be able to make contact with the delivery boy but probably not.  He’s sure to be well-bribed to keep his mouth closed.” 

She started to answer when the line abruptly went silent, and the lights died on the phone.  With icy calm, she set the cell phone back on the charger she’d placed on the kitchen island.  She laid her head down on the counter beside it and tried not to cry.  


  *****


Remington immediately rang the operator in a futile attempt to trace the call.  He dialed Mildred next.  Without the niceties of polite greetings, he launched into a quick recap of the conversation.

“Whoa, hold your horses, Boss.  Laura called you?  She’s safe, unharmed, and stuck on a deserted island somewhere?”

“Yes.”

“This sounds like a bad television show.  So what next?”

“We need a list of flights out of Los Angeles and area airports that Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning.  They couldn’t have gotten her aboard a commercial flight unconscious, so it would have to be a private plane.  Get a list of pilots and whoever might have been on board.” 

“Any ideas where she might be?”

“Mildred, from her description, she could be in the Caribbean, out near Hawaii or somewhere in Indonesia.  Hopefully, she’ll be able to charge that phone and call back.  If I leave the condo, I’ll forward my calls to the office so we won’t miss her.”

“Sure thing, Boss.  I’ll get on it.  I’ll check the registrations of the planes too.”

“Excellent, Mildred.”  He berated himself as he disconnected for not thinking of that.  Laura wouldn’t have missed it.  But he did hope his next contact would prove more enlightening.  “Monroe, Steele here.” 

“Hello, my friend.  I have no news for you yet, but my ear is touching the ground I am listening so closely.”

“I know you are.  But I have something for you.”

“Do tell.”

“Laura is safe.  She called me on a cellular phone tonight.”  With a succinct accounting, he filled Monroe in on the island’s description. 

“It could be anywhere, my friend,” Monroe said with sadness.  “But the house … that leads me to think Caribbean.  Bahamas perhaps, the Keys.  Perhaps even our niche in Barbados.”

“It takes a great deal of money to build a house on an island.  It would be damned difficult if it were in the middle of an ocean.  Plus a helicopter or boat can’t exactly land supplies.  It’s too far for anything but a large plane or a ship.  From her description, the island is simply too small for that,” Remington added thoughtfully.

“Wait, you said she had a cellular phone?” Monroe asked in surprise.

“Yes.”

“I deal in electronics, mate.  There has to be a broadcast tower nearby--at most it can't be more than ten miles away on a good day with no interference.  There aren’t all that many towers in the world either.”

“So she’s somewhere near a major population area.”

“Most assuredly.”

Remington rubbed his temples.  “I think I need a map.”

“You do.  One with coverage areas marked.”

“Can a call be traced from a cellular phone?”  Remington wanted to know.

“No, I think not.  They are becoming popular with some of our less illustrious friends, if you catch my meaning, for exactly that reason.” 

“That’s rather inconvenient at the moment.”

“Yes, mate, I agree.  But we have a good start anyway.”  Monroe’s confident voice steadied him. 

“Can you think of any ‘collectors’ who might have taken an interest in Laura?” 

The line was quiet.  “I will give this some thought and call you in the morning.” 

“Thank you, Monroe.  I owe you a drink.”

“I’ll hold you to that, my friend.” 

With a jaunty, “Au revoir, mate,” Remington set the phone down on the cradle. 

In the next moment, he stood, as if he had something to do.  Glancing at the clock--one that he knew Laura didn’t have--he realized it was nearly midnight.  The map would have to wait until morning.  He mechanically undressed and readied for bed. 
But when he crawled between the sheets, he could only lie there.  Laura’s alive, Laura’s alive she’s alive Laura’salivealivealivealive .…  His mind was stuck on the refrain, and the nausea that rose from his stomach forced him up from the pillow.  Only now could he admit that he’d been terrified that she might be dead.  A rare tear dampened his cheek.  He ignored it. 

He picked up the phone and carried it into his bedroom, arranging it so that it lay on the opposite pillow.  Only with one hand resting on it could he get a sketchy kind of sleep.


To Part 3



10 January 2010