Two Holts: Steele Treading Water
Remington stirred the sauce once more and listened to Laura work out a particular phrase in the
piano piece she was studying. He thought it was a difficult one because she’d been playing it again
and again for the last twenty minutes. This last time had gone rather smoothly, but she flipped the
page back to the beginning of the section and started over anyway.
He hoped the process would help ease whatever was eating at her. He’d endured her snippy little
comments at the office and put up with her outright ignoring him at home. Yesterday she’d bolted
from the office at five and had not come home for nearly two hours. Since she was covered in
sweat and wearing workout clothes, it was dead obvious where she’d been, but her mood hadn’t
changed in the slightest.
Surprisingly, she hadn’t frozen him out in bed. As Remington reached to douse the light last night,
Laura had fastened her lips to his shoulder and worked her way down. She’d evoked exquisite
pleasure in his body before taking her own and then had fallen asleep sprawled across his chest
before he’d even quit shuddering. Such a complicated woman, he thought, not for the first time.
Laura closed the keyboard and turned to watch her new husband set plates on the island, along with
silverware, napkins and goblets. She admired the way he moved about with an efficiency of motion
and grace that belied his wiry strength. Regretfully, she realized that she had apologies to make.
Why is this so hard sometimes? Gathering her courage, she rose and crossed the living room to the
island. Remington had pulled a chilled bottle of pinot grigio from the wine safe. Laura opened it
and filled the goblets while he looked on with an arched brow.
“Salad?” she ventured.
“Ah, I haven’t gotten to it yet.”
“I’ll do it.” Laura made herself busy retrieving lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers from the
refrigerator. Side-by-side they worked. He plated the fettuccini as she used tongs to toss the salad
and dish it up into wooden bowls. They sat at the island and ate dinner in awkward silence.
When they were done, out of sheer frustration, Remington shoved everything into the sink and
grabbed his keys off the counter.
“Where are you going?” Laura asked in surprise.
“Out.”
“But--“
“But what, Laura? When I get back, I need you to have figured out whatever is rattling around in
your head and share it with me.” Open-mouthed, she watched from her barstool as he firmly shut
the foyer door in annoyance and jabbed at the elevator buttons. The doors slid open and he shot
her one last irritated look before they closed again.
It took only a few minutes to clean up the kitchen. Remington wasn’t a messy cook. He preferred
to wash his prep tools as he went and it rarely took Laura more than ten or fifteen minutes to finish
the dishes and wipe down the countertops. She wasn’t much of a chef, but she could scrub with the
best of them and at least it made her feel better about splitting chores with him.
She took her glass of wine out to the terrace and gazed into the darkness. Why does he have to be
so damned competent? There didn’t seem to be anything he couldn’t do. Oh, there were dozens of
things he didn’t like to do and he was rather vocal about all of them--paperwork and dusting seemed
to be at the top of the list. But he dealt with the former and had hired a maid service for the latter.
At the office, Mildred was in Europe checking out the properties and investments that Remington
inherited from Daniel, leaving the new secretary--a young man by the name of Ian Connelly--to
cope in her absence. Ian seemed to have a firm understanding that Laura was the owner and
manager of the agency. He came to her first whenever he had a question. But several times this
week, she had been on the phone or with a client and Ian had gone to Mr. Steele with his inquiries.
What irritated her was that Remington had given all the right answers.
That’s not fair, Laura. You’d be annoyed if he gave the wrong ones too. Smug and superior, but
annoyed. Frustrated, she drank from her glass and stared into the night. It wasn’t long after that
when she noticed the Auburn turning into the parking garage down below.
She walked back into the kitchen and washed out her goblet before taking a careful seat on the edge
of the sofa. The elevator doors slid open and Remington had his eyes on her as he walked through
the entry way. She noted that he didn’t sit beside her, but he didn’t sit across from her either. The
first would have been submissive, the second, confrontational. Rather, he took the chair to her right
and copied her posture.
For a minute she opened her mouth, but no words came out. Then, “I’m not used to thinking of
you as an equal partner.” She saw a myriad of expressions cross his face, from quizzical to
annoyed to carefully neutral. “You’re more confident than you were before … all the mess prior to
our wedding.”
Remington had noted already that the only wedding she counted was the one in Ireland. It was
completely irrelevant to her whether or not the tuna boat fiasco was legal. “In what way?” He was
curious about her perception of him.
She leaned back against the sofa and stared at the coffee table as she tried to put it into words.
“Please don’t take this wrong, but you’re not arrogant anymore. You’re just … you. I’m used to
that when it’s just the two of us, but not at the office. Oh, what am I saying-- I’m not even used to
it here.” She jumped up and started pacing. “When we were alone before, there was always a line
we wouldn’t cross, and I’m not just talking physically. You wouldn’t talk about anything before
we met and I didn’t talk about much other than work. Now, I ask a question and I get an answer--
or at least some sort of answer. I don’t feel as if you’re hiding from me.” She crossed her arms
and kept walking.
“I go to the office and I keep expecting to have to head you off from some hare-brained scheme.
Instead, I get intelligent, well-thought-out ideas. And I have to confess--I thought I’d spend all day
fending you off from wanting to have sex in the office.” She blushed. “I find I’m the one enticing
you behind closed doors more than half the time.”
“Thank God,” rumbled her husband.
She threw her hands up in the air and then leaned on the back of the sofa. “If I thought I was
confused before, you’ve got me tied up in knots now.”
He propped his foot on the table and leaned back in his own chair. “So let me get this straight.
You’ve been snippety with me because I haven’t been acting like a conceited, foolish ass who can’t
keep his hands off you?”
Laura looked at him in astonishment and began to laugh. “Apparently--yes.”
In response, Remington laid his head on the back of the sofa, closed his eyes and rubbed his
temples. “I have a headache.”
She rounded the sofa and skirted the table so she could sit on it in front of him. “Suddenly, I’m
living with the man every single day that I’ve only seen during our occasional nighttime excursions--
the jewel and art thief who is confident, intelligent, infinitely patient and aware of every single detail
of his environment. It’s a little intimidating.”
“Intimidating?” he repeated. “To you?”
“I’m used to having the upper hand with you--at least sometimes, Mr. Steele. But I think I lost it
somewhere around Ashford Castle.”
He reflected for a moment before tracing a finger down the side of her face. “Perhaps, I didn’t
realize that I was using different personas with you. Habit, I suppose. One Remington Steele at the
office, another in private with you, and still another on those little escapades. And now I find I
don’t need them at all.”
“And the art thief is the real you?”
“I think so. With a healthy dash of the man you knew in private.”
“No wonder you’re so good at everything.”
“You flatter me, Laura. Unfairly.”
“No, I don’t think so at all. But it is disconcerting to find I’m still discovering the real you. And the
more I know, the more I like. You’re eminently capable of a great many things.”
“That bothers you?”
“Only in that I don’t like feeling second rate.”
Remington stared at Laura in disbelief. “You’re joking with me, right?” When she looked down at
her hands, he frowned. “I’ve never known anyone so terrifically successful who has a streak of
insecurity as wide and as long as yours, Laura.” He tangled his hands in her hair and played with
the strands. “I’ve always known the value of nearly everything--including people. You are
infinitely precious to me, love. I knew when I met you that I had met my match. No one else has
kept up with me, loved me, or had as much faith in me as you do. Now if you could only have as
much faith in yourself.”
“I’ll work on it.”
“Do that.” He pulled her into his lap. “So what are you going to do to make up for all the snippy
little comments I’ve had to ignore these last two days?”
“Besides the obvious?”
“Besides the obvious.”
“Hmm. What do you want?”
He nuzzled her throat. “No more blocking me out--especially for days on end.” She pulled back to
look at him. “I’m quite serious, Laura. I don’t know much about marriage, but I do know that we
can’t hide things from each other.”
“Agreed.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps we can work on the obvious.” Laura smiled as he touched his lips to her throat
again.
He had to eat his own words days later.
While Laura was at the courthouse providing testimony for a case, he’d received a phone call at the
office. Ian had buzzed his line. “A Mr. Sandoval on the line for you, sir. Says he’s an old friend
from Monaco.”
What’s he calling me here for? “Sure, put him through.” Ian competently transferred the call and
seconds later Steele’s line lit up. “Carlos, amigo, how are you?” He rocked back in his chair and
propped his feet on his desk.
“Very well, gracias, Mr. Steele. I’m delighted to speak with you again after all these years.”
“Hmm, particularly since you didn’t know me as ‘Steele.’ How did you track me down?”
“Ahh, amigo, I only had to open the paper to see my very good acquaintance is now a famous
detective in Los Angeles. Must be very good pickings, no?”
Steele frowned. “Carlos, I’m a legitimate businessman now and I don’t dabble in the past.”
“Si, si, that’s good. I’m in need of a legitimate businessman. I have an idea for you. May I buy
you lunch? Casa Sanchez on Centinela at noon.”
He looked at his watch. Laura was due back at one for their next client. He had time. “Of course.
I’ll meet you there.”
“Gracias, amigo, I look forward to our discussion.”
“Yes, of course, Carlos. I do as well.” Steele hung up the phone. The last time he had done
business with Sandoval, the man had wanted him to steal a small painting from a well-protected
museum in Portugal. They had both come away pleased with the transaction and their paths had
never crossed again although Sandoval had referred others to him for similar operations. If it wasn’t
for that, Remington would have passed on the lunch. But conscious of the fact that he owed it to
the man to at least listen to his proposition, he agreed.
He buttoned his coat and stopped at Mildred’s old desk on the way out the door. “Ian, I’ll be out to
lunch with Mr. Sandoval. I shouldn’t be long.”
“Okay.” The young man made a note on the calendar. “Is there a place I can reach you?” Both
Mr. and Mrs. Steele had made it clear to him that he was in charge of keeping track of who was
where. It was a handy way of keeping tabs on each other without actually having to check in with
the other spouse.
“Casa Sanchez. I’ll be back around two.”
“Sounds good. Bring me leftovers.” Steele chuckled as he walked out. Connelly had a good sense
of humor.
Laura returned to the agency just before her one o’clock appointment. “Hi, Ian. Any messages?”
“Three. Two new prospects and your mom.”
Laura wrinkled her nose. “Is Mr. Steele in his office?”
“No. He’s out to lunch with a Carlos Sandoval. He called here this morning and said he was an old
friend from Monaco. Mr. Steele said he’d be back by two.”
An old friend from Monaco? That could be … interesting. Laura flipped over her wrist to glance at
her watch. “Thanks, Ian. Send Mr. Dial into my office when he comes in. I’m ready for him.”
“Will do.” The blonde wrote neat notes in his book and resumed work on the skip-traces Laura had
assigned to him earlier.
Steele leaned against his chair and looked across his enchiladas at Carlos. The years had been good
to the man. Swarthy, with a broad face and brown eyes that lit up at the pretty waitress, Sandoval
hadn’t lost an ounce of the charm that helped him to build his construction business from a one-man
operation into a multi-million-dollar affair in Monaco. He spoke of retiring and passing the reins to
his sons.
“I must say, my friend, that ‘Remington Steele’ appears to fit you much better than ‘Michael
O’Leary.’ “ Remington flashed him a smile and sipped his water. “I understand you are a
detective now, a private investigator.” Steele met his gaze steadily. “And newly married.” The
smile appeared again, this time less charming and more genuine. “Ah, she is lovely, no?”
“Quite so.”
“Hopefully you have found a good match--passionate, intelligent, lovely?”
“All that with a healthy dose of stubbornness that I can’t seem to resist,” Remington said wryly.
Carlos threw his head back and laughed. “Those are the ones that steal our hearts and leave our
brains lying on the sidewalk wondering where we went wrong.”
“Yes, yes. I see you have one too.”
“For nearly forty years my Maria has led me a wonderful dance. Without her? I would be less of a
man.” Carlos leaned forward and put his hands on the table. “Which leads me to this. I have a
small problem and I think you might be able to help.”
“What kind of problem?”
“It seems that, over the years, I’ve acquired any number of small but valuable objects--one in
particular you might even remember.” Sandoval drank deeply from his glass of cool Mexican beer.
“It’s time I let some of my pretties go. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not planning to move on to the
next life anytime soon, but I’d rather not have my wife and children dealing with questionable
possessions after I’m gone. That’s a part of my life I don’t mind their knowing, but I’m not
interesting in leaving them ‘problems’ they’ll have a hard time clearing up.”
“Mr. Sandoval, I’m not in the fencing business.”
“I understand that. We all grow older, find a good woman, have a family and leave those foibles of
our younger years in the past. But I think you might be just the man. I think, perhaps, that we can
arrange for you to ‘find’ any number of these little problems. You can legitimately turn them in to
the correct authorities. Conceivably, there will even be rewards for some of them.”
Steele quirked up a corner of his mouth. “Ah, the finder’s fees. Yes, I’ve had my obsession with
those from time to time. I get it now. You’ve discovered that these little darlings are wasted sitting
in your house or a lockbox somewhere. But if you could find a way to get them back to the proper
authorities without suspicion, you could collect quite nicely on your largesse--and keep yourself out
of the black market business in the process.”
“I’ve always thought you were an intelligent man, Steele.”
Remington shifted in his chair and crossed his arms. “But you don’t have a method of passing them
on without drawing suspicion to yourself.”
“Precisely, amigo.”
“But if I ‘found’ them during a case, I could turn them over without undue regard. I assume I’m to
split any finder’s fees with you?”
“If you would be so kind.”
He mused. “There’s going to be difficulty with that. I can’t be caught kicking back part of the fees
to another party or the whole charade will be over. How many pieces are we talking about?”
“Not too many. Four of the most valuable ones. The rest I can move on my own through other
contacts. I know some art dealers that aren’t too picky about where their merchandise comes from.”
“Don’t we all?” Both men chuckled. “Let me ponder this one for a few days, Carlos. Where can I
reach you?”
Sandoval pulled out a business card and wrote a number on the back. “I’ll be here through the
week, wrapping up a deal with a new supplier. I’d like your answer by Friday.”
Remington nodded and stood. “That I can do. You have an interesting proposition, Mr. Sandoval.
You always do.”
Carlos rose as well and held out a hand. “Bah--I’m just doing what is best for my familia. My
sons and daughters deserve the best.”
Steele shook it and nodded once. “I’ll be in touch.”
As Remington drove back to the office, dodging traffic and the LA freeway system, he reflected on
Sandoval’s proposition. It was an interesting one and if he took it, he had no doubts that Carlos
would refer other like-minded associates with similar merchandise to “return.”
He wondered how Laura would take this. Without a doubt, if she wasn’t involved, he would leap
on the prospect. He already knew how he could shift the cash to avoid even Mildred’s discerning
eye. It was an easy source of legitimate income with minimal risk--and it would only enhance the
“Remington Steele” reputation.
But Laura’s ethics might get in the way. Oh, he thought he could work around the initial part with
her--returning the objects and even collecting the finder’s fees. But he didn’t think she would
extend her moral principles enough to reward those who stole them in the first place--or contracted
to have them stolen. He frowned. Would she even have to know? If he could hide the transaction
from Mildred, concealing it from Laura would be even easier. All she would ever see is the
income. He’d never disclosed to anyone that he had an account in the Bahamas. Not too many
places in this world would take gold bullion without asking questions--especially not after the heist
made the news all over the globe.
He was still thoughtful as he walked into the office and dropped a bag of tacos on Ian’s desk. The
secretary handed him two messages and mentioned that Laura was behind closed doors with a
client. The phone calls were easy--one to reassure a nervous museum director over the security
features attached to a certain exhibit and the other to transfer information to the LAPD regarding a
case they had closed last week.
He also made a mental note to check in with the construction upstairs. Mildred was due back in two
weeks, and he knew Laura wanted to move in to the new offices shortly thereafter. With Ian at her
desk, Mildred would be stuck in Murphy’s old space with the coffee pot and supplies until the move.
Laura knocked on their connecting door and popped her head in. “Hey, you’re back.”
“For a while now. How was your meeting?” He hoped to distract her with another question.
She sauntered to his desk and perched on the edge. “Oh, that. It’s a new attorney wanting to put
us on retainer for skip-traces. He’s already got a situation where the beneficiary of an estate can’t
be found.”
“Excellent. Just the kind of easy work we like.”
“Boring though. I’m ready for something nice and juicy. Give me a murder any day. Seems as if
we have our hands full of security contracts, tracing money and tracking down relatives.”
“True. But at the moment it’s probably for the best with the new office and Mildred out of the
country.”
“Oh, you’re probably right. So what are you going to do to keep me entertained in the meantime?”
Her voice dropped, becoming low and husky. He quirked an eyebrow at her.
“Perhaps we should go home early?”
“I wish. But I’ve got a four o’clock to give Mrs. Jones the bad news about her philandering
husband. He’ll get what’s coming. She’s already got Josie Alvarez for a divorce attorney. He
won’t know what hit him.”
“Remind me to never be a philandering husband.”
“Do I need to?” She lightly drew her finger across the soft skin just under his ear.
Closing his eyes at the desire she immediately evoked, he took her hand and kissed her fingertips.
“Not if you keep that up.” His blue eyes deepened as he opened them again.
Thirty minutes later, Remington stood behind Laura in the bathroom off his office, refastening his
cuff links and straightening his tie. He zipped her skirt and tried not to think about the thigh-high
stockings she now exclusively wore. Not a single pair of pantyhose remained in her lingerie drawer.
He knew-- he’d checked. Laura smiled at him in the mirror and pinned up her hair again.
“Keep that look on your face, love, and everyone will know what we’ve been doing for the last half-
hour,” he chastised her with a grin.
“Maybe they’ll be jealous,” she quipped. He dropped a kiss on her neck, deliberately lingering long
enough that she swayed against him. “Not fair. That’s not helping at all.”
“Good. Now have fun at your four o’clock. I’m going upstairs to check on the new office. If you’
ll remember, I’m to be at the fencing academy for a while. Andreas is in town and I’d like the
practice. I should be home around seven. Do you want me to pick up dinner, pick you up for
dinner or meet you somewhere?”
“None of the above, I’ll take care of it. If you’re going to the academy, I’m going to the gym, and I
can pick up Chinese on my way home.”
“Perfect, then. I’ll see you tonight.” He kissed her on the cheek and left.
Remington’s fencing sessions were one thing that had come as a surprise after they married. She
hadn’t known that he kept fit by fencing in one of the elite academies in LA and boxing in a dingy
dive belonging to an old friend. The unusual combination explained his lightning quick reactions,
excellent balance and wiry strength.
Now if she could drag him out of bed in the mornings for a run, it would be nice, but he much
preferred waiting until she returned so he could ambush her in the shower. She smiled. It’s a trade-
off; he has me in the mornings, and I get him in the office nearly an hour earlier in the day. With
a last tug of her skirt, Laura reentered her office and organized the paperwork for her appointment.
Laura beat him home by only twenty minutes. Her workout felt good, and she had sweat drying on
her forehead as she drove the Rabbit home. After Mexico, London and Ireland, followed by
moving into their new home, she had missed working out on a regular basis for nearly three solid
months. Only in the past week or so had she been able to resume any kind of routine, and it
seemed that Remington had been just as eager. He had dropped by the boxing gym nearly every
other day for an hour or so after work.
She barely had time to shower and change clothes before Remington came through the door and
took his turn getting clean. Over dinner he seemed distracted, but congenial, and talked her into
watching one of his favorite films on television afterwards.
As she fell asleep that night, she realized he hadn’t mentioned his lunch with his friend.
The next day was jammed solid as the pair covered for Mildred and continued to play catch up after
their lengthy absence. Remington had an early morning meeting with the Chamber of Commerce,
followed by a spot check at the museum exhibit and another luncheon with the LAPD brass. He
then spent the afternoon conducting surveillance for a client. Laura used her morning pulling up
information from the computer about the current assets for an attorney’s divorce case and the
afternoon in wall-to-wall client meetings.
At the end of the day, she smiled when she saw their case load. Another week like this and they
would be back on track. It was a testament to the agency and to Mildred that it had survived
despite the Steele’s lengthy absences.
She had her things packed up when her husband popped his head in and reminded her of the
meeting with the builder. Oh, darn it! She had completely forgotten about it. They headed
upstairs to take a good look at the new office.
The framing was completed and the security system was being installed along with the electrical and
plumbing lines. Remington looked it over with a critical eye. The safe room was coming along and
the other features he’d added appeared to be on track. Tomorrow he would come in and personally
make a few adjustments known only to Laura and him. When he was done, the office would be as
secure as their home.
It took nearly an hour before they finished with the builder, and it was seven-thirty before the
Steeles headed for home in separate cars.
She collapsed on the sofa and kicked off her heels. She had forgotten what it was to work an
eleven-hour day, and she had another one coming up tomorrow. Remington sat beside her,
mimicking her pose. “Laura, remind me again why we are working this hard?”
“Because Mildred is gone and we are making up for having a honeymoon.”
“When she gets back, remind me to book a weekend in Catalina.”
“You’ve got a deal, Mr. Steele.”
Remington rose and lit the fireplace before pouring a brandy for each of them. He tugged her to the
floor and rolled to face her. “Now that, love, is wonderfully different. No hesitation, no questions,
no snide remarks about my getting you into bed--just a simple agreement about going away with me
for a weekend.” He gave her a delighted grin before sipping his drink.
Laura rolled her eyes. “How long am I going to have to pay for that?” She took a small drink as
well.
“Oh, at least four years--with interest.” He kissed her with relish and then rolled to his back, rested
his glass on his chest and pillowed his head on a hand. “Laura, what are your plans for the agency?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’ve promoted Mildred and hired a secretary, but the new office will have room for at
least three more people.
“Well, once we get settled again, I’d like to hire an intern and start training him or her on some of
the basics. Whomever we get can shadow us for a while, and then we can turn over surveillance
and the skip-traces to that person. Eventually, I would like to have three or four detectives in the
agency so that you and I can cherry-pick when and how we want to work.”
She didn’t mention the idea of starting a family one day--not now, but somewhere down the road.
They were still adjusting to marriage, and she didn’t think this was the time to bring it up, but she
did have hopes that the safe room Remington was adamant about having in the new office suite
meant that he was open to the idea of turning it into a temporary nursery eventually. It was ideally
situated between their offices and big enough to house a crib, a changing table and a rocking chair--
all things Frances insisted were dire necessities for babies.
“Hmm. Do you mind if I talk to Monroe? I think he has someone who would be an excellent fit for
that role.”
“Sure.” That was a surprise to Laura. She had no idea he was thinking in those terms as well. But
then again she’d discovered over time that he had a tendency to give others a hand up when he
could.
“Good Lord, it feels good to lie here and do nothing.” Remington closed his eyes.
Laura moved his glass off his chest to the table and put hers beside it. He opened his eyes and
watched as she put her head on his shoulder and draped her arm across his waist. They dozed for a
while that way until the intercom buzzed.
She jerked in surprise and he tightened his arm around her. “Dinner, darling. It’s just dinner. I
called it in late this afternoon.”
“Next time warn me or something so I don’t have a heart attack.” She was laughing as she rolled
away from him.
“Can’t surprise you that way if I do.” He got to his feet and slipped through the foyer into the
elevator. Laura took advantage of his absence and disappeared into her closet to change into a pair
of jeans and a sleeveless sweater. Moments later he returned with the aroma of something Italian
wafting through the air.
He did a double-take at her attire. “Jeans, Laura?” He put the sack containing lasagna, garlic bread
and salad on the counter before taking a slow stroll around his wife. She had a small half-smile on
her face while he perused her figure. “Gorgeous. Just begs to have my hands on your … pockets.”
“Later. You can feel my pockets all you want after I’ve eaten.” She ducked away from him and
rounded the island to retrieve dishes from the cabinet. “Go change. I’ll put this on the table.”
“Of course, Mrs. Steele.”
He returned to find Laura placing two plates on the dining room table amid the candles she had lit.
Looking up, she smiled at the well-fitting jeans he wore and the button-down shirt that picked up the
darker tones of the top she had on. “Do you do that on purpose?”
“What’s that?”
“Dress so that we match.”
He looked down at himself and grinned as he pulled out her chair. “Not anymore. I think it’s a
habit by now. Does it bother you?”
“Not at all. Why did you start in the first place?”
He tried to say it with a straight face, but he couldn’t. “Because it made us look like a couple, even
when we weren’t, officially. Nice, subtle way to warn the other blokes off.” He sat as well.
“I thought so.” Each of them took a few bites before Laura carefully asked in a neutral voice,
“How was your lunch yesterday with Mr. Sandoval?”
“Hmm?”
“Carlos? Your friend from Monaco? Ian told me.”
“Ahh, yes. Good, good. Haven’t seen him in a while. Good man, has a fine construction
business. Thinking of retiring and handing it off to his sons.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Remington, didn’t we have a conversation just two days ago about not hiding things from each
other?”
“Ah, yes, we did,” he replied with chagrin.
“So--what kind of proposition did he have for you? I’m quite certain it’s something to do with your
past and is at least somewhat irregular.”
“Didn’t I say something about your being the only woman able to keep up with me?”
“You did. Now what’s going on?” With a rueful expression, Remington laid out Sandoval’s
proposal. Laura leaned back in her chair and contemplated it. “You know, I don’t actually have a
problem returning the items.”
“It’s the finder’s fees.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” He was curious to see how closely he had assessed her reaction.
“Because we aren’t really earning them, Remington. Oh, I imagine we could justify a certain profit
and covering our expenses, but we both know rewards can be generous.” She laughed. “I do find it
rather ironic that Carlos paid you for stealing the painting and now you would be paid essentially for
putting it back.”
He shrugged. “If you look at it in a certain light, I was only a very expensive courier service.”
Laura tossed her hair over her shoulder and laughed again. He smiled at her response. “What about
the second part? Carlos wants a split of the rewards, if there are any.”
Laura took a deep breath. “Remington, you know we can’t kick back that much money without
bringing an investigation down on us. All it would take is a smart cop or even Interpol to trace the
money. Besides, we don’t want to become a funnel for purloined items.”
Remington leaned on the table and played with the stem of his wine glass. “What if I told you I
could do it? That I have a way of getting Carlos his money without its having any connection with
the agency?”
She crossed her arms and eyeballed him while thinking about the portfolio she saw not too many
days ago. “You have an account somewhere. Not here and not under your name.” She held up a
hand. “Don’t confirm or deny it. I don’t want to know.” He quirked a brow at her but didn’t say
anything.
Looking at her nails, she thought out loud while he continued to eat his lasagna. “The money is
tempting, I’ll admit. But I don’t like the idea of taking money for handing over stolen goods that
someone is suddenly uncomfortable having around--especially since he stole or contracted to have
them stolen in the first place. Nor can I see giving him part of the reward for it. But--what if we
gave the money to charity?”
Remington quipped, “You seem to like giving our reward money away, Laura.”
“It’s not our money, is it? Not really. Look at it this way: your clients avoid embarrassing questions
or possible prosecution, the museum gets its prize back and some charity gets the spoils. We gain
by improving our reputation as an agency and for our philanthropy.” She ate another bite while she
thought a little more. “Three or four good 'finds' of this nature and we might get real contracts to
find other pieces--and that is legitimate money that we would earn.”
Now she gave him a challenge. “This will be entirely in your hands. It will be your job to keep me
from figuring out which cases, beyond the first one, are legitimate. You’ll have to document every
detail so that it will pass muster with me. If I catch you, I’ll help you close it and that will be last
time. I don’t want to know how, if, or when money gets kicked back, and you have to promise me
that you won’t allow us to become a conduit for turning over recently stolen merchandise. But if
you discretely and occasionally help a businessman disperse his ‘problems’ back to the proper
authorities, I’m good with that.”
His jaw dropped in astonishment. “Are you compromising your principles for me?”
“We walk the edge of the law most of the time as private investigators. How is this any different
from breaking into the Federal Reserve and putting back millions of dollars so that a client won’t get
prosecuted for theft? Our job is to help the client that hires us.”
“However,” she paused and jabbed the air with her fork for emphasis, “we don’t have the attorney-
client privilege that keeps us from having to turn our files over to the police--unless we’ve been
contracted by an attorney to investigate on his or her behalf. So that’s why the case files have to
pass muster. You have to automatically assume that every single 'find' will be thoroughly
investigated to determine if we had any involvement beyond the actual recovery. The interesting
part for you will be to manufacture a reason why we recovered a particular item when we haven’t
been contracted for it.” She leaned back, daring him with her posture. “Think you can do it?”
He grinned, realizing she’d given him a clue where to start. “Now you’ve thrown down the
gauntlet.” Raising his glass in a toast, he offered, “Let the games begin.” She tapped her goblet to
his and smiled.
* * * * *
Over the ensuing years, any number of orphanages, boys’ and girls’ homes, homeless shelters and
programs for at-risk kids were the recipients of donations from Remington Steele Investigations.
They also received money from an unknown benefactor from time to time.
The only comment Laura ever made to Remington was the observation that there must be an
account with a very healthy balance somewhere in the world.
17 March 2009
Remington stirred the sauce once more and listened to Laura work out a particular phrase in the
piano piece she was studying. He thought it was a difficult one because she’d been playing it again
and again for the last twenty minutes. This last time had gone rather smoothly, but she flipped the
page back to the beginning of the section and started over anyway.
He hoped the process would help ease whatever was eating at her. He’d endured her snippy little
comments at the office and put up with her outright ignoring him at home. Yesterday she’d bolted
from the office at five and had not come home for nearly two hours. Since she was covered in
sweat and wearing workout clothes, it was dead obvious where she’d been, but her mood hadn’t
changed in the slightest.
Surprisingly, she hadn’t frozen him out in bed. As Remington reached to douse the light last night,
Laura had fastened her lips to his shoulder and worked her way down. She’d evoked exquisite
pleasure in his body before taking her own and then had fallen asleep sprawled across his chest
before he’d even quit shuddering. Such a complicated woman, he thought, not for the first time.
Laura closed the keyboard and turned to watch her new husband set plates on the island, along with
silverware, napkins and goblets. She admired the way he moved about with an efficiency of motion
and grace that belied his wiry strength. Regretfully, she realized that she had apologies to make.
Why is this so hard sometimes? Gathering her courage, she rose and crossed the living room to the
island. Remington had pulled a chilled bottle of pinot grigio from the wine safe. Laura opened it
and filled the goblets while he looked on with an arched brow.
“Salad?” she ventured.
“Ah, I haven’t gotten to it yet.”
“I’ll do it.” Laura made herself busy retrieving lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers from the
refrigerator. Side-by-side they worked. He plated the fettuccini as she used tongs to toss the salad
and dish it up into wooden bowls. They sat at the island and ate dinner in awkward silence.
When they were done, out of sheer frustration, Remington shoved everything into the sink and
grabbed his keys off the counter.
“Where are you going?” Laura asked in surprise.
“Out.”
“But--“
“But what, Laura? When I get back, I need you to have figured out whatever is rattling around in
your head and share it with me.” Open-mouthed, she watched from her barstool as he firmly shut
the foyer door in annoyance and jabbed at the elevator buttons. The doors slid open and he shot
her one last irritated look before they closed again.
It took only a few minutes to clean up the kitchen. Remington wasn’t a messy cook. He preferred
to wash his prep tools as he went and it rarely took Laura more than ten or fifteen minutes to finish
the dishes and wipe down the countertops. She wasn’t much of a chef, but she could scrub with the
best of them and at least it made her feel better about splitting chores with him.
She took her glass of wine out to the terrace and gazed into the darkness. Why does he have to be
so damned competent? There didn’t seem to be anything he couldn’t do. Oh, there were dozens of
things he didn’t like to do and he was rather vocal about all of them--paperwork and dusting seemed
to be at the top of the list. But he dealt with the former and had hired a maid service for the latter.
At the office, Mildred was in Europe checking out the properties and investments that Remington
inherited from Daniel, leaving the new secretary--a young man by the name of Ian Connelly--to
cope in her absence. Ian seemed to have a firm understanding that Laura was the owner and
manager of the agency. He came to her first whenever he had a question. But several times this
week, she had been on the phone or with a client and Ian had gone to Mr. Steele with his inquiries.
What irritated her was that Remington had given all the right answers.
That’s not fair, Laura. You’d be annoyed if he gave the wrong ones too. Smug and superior, but
annoyed. Frustrated, she drank from her glass and stared into the night. It wasn’t long after that
when she noticed the Auburn turning into the parking garage down below.
She walked back into the kitchen and washed out her goblet before taking a careful seat on the edge
of the sofa. The elevator doors slid open and Remington had his eyes on her as he walked through
the entry way. She noted that he didn’t sit beside her, but he didn’t sit across from her either. The
first would have been submissive, the second, confrontational. Rather, he took the chair to her right
and copied her posture.
For a minute she opened her mouth, but no words came out. Then, “I’m not used to thinking of
you as an equal partner.” She saw a myriad of expressions cross his face, from quizzical to
annoyed to carefully neutral. “You’re more confident than you were before … all the mess prior to
our wedding.”
Remington had noted already that the only wedding she counted was the one in Ireland. It was
completely irrelevant to her whether or not the tuna boat fiasco was legal. “In what way?” He was
curious about her perception of him.
She leaned back against the sofa and stared at the coffee table as she tried to put it into words.
“Please don’t take this wrong, but you’re not arrogant anymore. You’re just … you. I’m used to
that when it’s just the two of us, but not at the office. Oh, what am I saying-- I’m not even used to
it here.” She jumped up and started pacing. “When we were alone before, there was always a line
we wouldn’t cross, and I’m not just talking physically. You wouldn’t talk about anything before
we met and I didn’t talk about much other than work. Now, I ask a question and I get an answer--
or at least some sort of answer. I don’t feel as if you’re hiding from me.” She crossed her arms
and kept walking.
“I go to the office and I keep expecting to have to head you off from some hare-brained scheme.
Instead, I get intelligent, well-thought-out ideas. And I have to confess--I thought I’d spend all day
fending you off from wanting to have sex in the office.” She blushed. “I find I’m the one enticing
you behind closed doors more than half the time.”
“Thank God,” rumbled her husband.
She threw her hands up in the air and then leaned on the back of the sofa. “If I thought I was
confused before, you’ve got me tied up in knots now.”
He propped his foot on the table and leaned back in his own chair. “So let me get this straight.
You’ve been snippety with me because I haven’t been acting like a conceited, foolish ass who can’t
keep his hands off you?”
Laura looked at him in astonishment and began to laugh. “Apparently--yes.”
In response, Remington laid his head on the back of the sofa, closed his eyes and rubbed his
temples. “I have a headache.”
She rounded the sofa and skirted the table so she could sit on it in front of him. “Suddenly, I’m
living with the man every single day that I’ve only seen during our occasional nighttime excursions--
the jewel and art thief who is confident, intelligent, infinitely patient and aware of every single detail
of his environment. It’s a little intimidating.”
“Intimidating?” he repeated. “To you?”
“I’m used to having the upper hand with you--at least sometimes, Mr. Steele. But I think I lost it
somewhere around Ashford Castle.”
He reflected for a moment before tracing a finger down the side of her face. “Perhaps, I didn’t
realize that I was using different personas with you. Habit, I suppose. One Remington Steele at the
office, another in private with you, and still another on those little escapades. And now I find I
don’t need them at all.”
“And the art thief is the real you?”
“I think so. With a healthy dash of the man you knew in private.”
“No wonder you’re so good at everything.”
“You flatter me, Laura. Unfairly.”
“No, I don’t think so at all. But it is disconcerting to find I’m still discovering the real you. And the
more I know, the more I like. You’re eminently capable of a great many things.”
“That bothers you?”
“Only in that I don’t like feeling second rate.”
Remington stared at Laura in disbelief. “You’re joking with me, right?” When she looked down at
her hands, he frowned. “I’ve never known anyone so terrifically successful who has a streak of
insecurity as wide and as long as yours, Laura.” He tangled his hands in her hair and played with
the strands. “I’ve always known the value of nearly everything--including people. You are
infinitely precious to me, love. I knew when I met you that I had met my match. No one else has
kept up with me, loved me, or had as much faith in me as you do. Now if you could only have as
much faith in yourself.”
“I’ll work on it.”
“Do that.” He pulled her into his lap. “So what are you going to do to make up for all the snippy
little comments I’ve had to ignore these last two days?”
“Besides the obvious?”
“Besides the obvious.”
“Hmm. What do you want?”
He nuzzled her throat. “No more blocking me out--especially for days on end.” She pulled back to
look at him. “I’m quite serious, Laura. I don’t know much about marriage, but I do know that we
can’t hide things from each other.”
“Agreed.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps we can work on the obvious.” Laura smiled as he touched his lips to her throat
again.
He had to eat his own words days later.
While Laura was at the courthouse providing testimony for a case, he’d received a phone call at the
office. Ian had buzzed his line. “A Mr. Sandoval on the line for you, sir. Says he’s an old friend
from Monaco.”
What’s he calling me here for? “Sure, put him through.” Ian competently transferred the call and
seconds later Steele’s line lit up. “Carlos, amigo, how are you?” He rocked back in his chair and
propped his feet on his desk.
“Very well, gracias, Mr. Steele. I’m delighted to speak with you again after all these years.”
“Hmm, particularly since you didn’t know me as ‘Steele.’ How did you track me down?”
“Ahh, amigo, I only had to open the paper to see my very good acquaintance is now a famous
detective in Los Angeles. Must be very good pickings, no?”
Steele frowned. “Carlos, I’m a legitimate businessman now and I don’t dabble in the past.”
“Si, si, that’s good. I’m in need of a legitimate businessman. I have an idea for you. May I buy
you lunch? Casa Sanchez on Centinela at noon.”
He looked at his watch. Laura was due back at one for their next client. He had time. “Of course.
I’ll meet you there.”
“Gracias, amigo, I look forward to our discussion.”
“Yes, of course, Carlos. I do as well.” Steele hung up the phone. The last time he had done
business with Sandoval, the man had wanted him to steal a small painting from a well-protected
museum in Portugal. They had both come away pleased with the transaction and their paths had
never crossed again although Sandoval had referred others to him for similar operations. If it wasn’t
for that, Remington would have passed on the lunch. But conscious of the fact that he owed it to
the man to at least listen to his proposition, he agreed.
He buttoned his coat and stopped at Mildred’s old desk on the way out the door. “Ian, I’ll be out to
lunch with Mr. Sandoval. I shouldn’t be long.”
“Okay.” The young man made a note on the calendar. “Is there a place I can reach you?” Both
Mr. and Mrs. Steele had made it clear to him that he was in charge of keeping track of who was
where. It was a handy way of keeping tabs on each other without actually having to check in with
the other spouse.
“Casa Sanchez. I’ll be back around two.”
“Sounds good. Bring me leftovers.” Steele chuckled as he walked out. Connelly had a good sense
of humor.
Laura returned to the agency just before her one o’clock appointment. “Hi, Ian. Any messages?”
“Three. Two new prospects and your mom.”
Laura wrinkled her nose. “Is Mr. Steele in his office?”
“No. He’s out to lunch with a Carlos Sandoval. He called here this morning and said he was an old
friend from Monaco. Mr. Steele said he’d be back by two.”
An old friend from Monaco? That could be … interesting. Laura flipped over her wrist to glance at
her watch. “Thanks, Ian. Send Mr. Dial into my office when he comes in. I’m ready for him.”
“Will do.” The blonde wrote neat notes in his book and resumed work on the skip-traces Laura had
assigned to him earlier.
Steele leaned against his chair and looked across his enchiladas at Carlos. The years had been good
to the man. Swarthy, with a broad face and brown eyes that lit up at the pretty waitress, Sandoval
hadn’t lost an ounce of the charm that helped him to build his construction business from a one-man
operation into a multi-million-dollar affair in Monaco. He spoke of retiring and passing the reins to
his sons.
“I must say, my friend, that ‘Remington Steele’ appears to fit you much better than ‘Michael
O’Leary.’ “ Remington flashed him a smile and sipped his water. “I understand you are a
detective now, a private investigator.” Steele met his gaze steadily. “And newly married.” The
smile appeared again, this time less charming and more genuine. “Ah, she is lovely, no?”
“Quite so.”
“Hopefully you have found a good match--passionate, intelligent, lovely?”
“All that with a healthy dose of stubbornness that I can’t seem to resist,” Remington said wryly.
Carlos threw his head back and laughed. “Those are the ones that steal our hearts and leave our
brains lying on the sidewalk wondering where we went wrong.”
“Yes, yes. I see you have one too.”
“For nearly forty years my Maria has led me a wonderful dance. Without her? I would be less of a
man.” Carlos leaned forward and put his hands on the table. “Which leads me to this. I have a
small problem and I think you might be able to help.”
“What kind of problem?”
“It seems that, over the years, I’ve acquired any number of small but valuable objects--one in
particular you might even remember.” Sandoval drank deeply from his glass of cool Mexican beer.
“It’s time I let some of my pretties go. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not planning to move on to the
next life anytime soon, but I’d rather not have my wife and children dealing with questionable
possessions after I’m gone. That’s a part of my life I don’t mind their knowing, but I’m not
interesting in leaving them ‘problems’ they’ll have a hard time clearing up.”
“Mr. Sandoval, I’m not in the fencing business.”
“I understand that. We all grow older, find a good woman, have a family and leave those foibles of
our younger years in the past. But I think you might be just the man. I think, perhaps, that we can
arrange for you to ‘find’ any number of these little problems. You can legitimately turn them in to
the correct authorities. Conceivably, there will even be rewards for some of them.”
Steele quirked up a corner of his mouth. “Ah, the finder’s fees. Yes, I’ve had my obsession with
those from time to time. I get it now. You’ve discovered that these little darlings are wasted sitting
in your house or a lockbox somewhere. But if you could find a way to get them back to the proper
authorities without suspicion, you could collect quite nicely on your largesse--and keep yourself out
of the black market business in the process.”
“I’ve always thought you were an intelligent man, Steele.”
Remington shifted in his chair and crossed his arms. “But you don’t have a method of passing them
on without drawing suspicion to yourself.”
“Precisely, amigo.”
“But if I ‘found’ them during a case, I could turn them over without undue regard. I assume I’m to
split any finder’s fees with you?”
“If you would be so kind.”
He mused. “There’s going to be difficulty with that. I can’t be caught kicking back part of the fees
to another party or the whole charade will be over. How many pieces are we talking about?”
“Not too many. Four of the most valuable ones. The rest I can move on my own through other
contacts. I know some art dealers that aren’t too picky about where their merchandise comes from.”
“Don’t we all?” Both men chuckled. “Let me ponder this one for a few days, Carlos. Where can I
reach you?”
Sandoval pulled out a business card and wrote a number on the back. “I’ll be here through the
week, wrapping up a deal with a new supplier. I’d like your answer by Friday.”
Remington nodded and stood. “That I can do. You have an interesting proposition, Mr. Sandoval.
You always do.”
Carlos rose as well and held out a hand. “Bah--I’m just doing what is best for my familia. My
sons and daughters deserve the best.”
Steele shook it and nodded once. “I’ll be in touch.”
As Remington drove back to the office, dodging traffic and the LA freeway system, he reflected on
Sandoval’s proposition. It was an interesting one and if he took it, he had no doubts that Carlos
would refer other like-minded associates with similar merchandise to “return.”
He wondered how Laura would take this. Without a doubt, if she wasn’t involved, he would leap
on the prospect. He already knew how he could shift the cash to avoid even Mildred’s discerning
eye. It was an easy source of legitimate income with minimal risk--and it would only enhance the
“Remington Steele” reputation.
But Laura’s ethics might get in the way. Oh, he thought he could work around the initial part with
her--returning the objects and even collecting the finder’s fees. But he didn’t think she would
extend her moral principles enough to reward those who stole them in the first place--or contracted
to have them stolen. He frowned. Would she even have to know? If he could hide the transaction
from Mildred, concealing it from Laura would be even easier. All she would ever see is the
income. He’d never disclosed to anyone that he had an account in the Bahamas. Not too many
places in this world would take gold bullion without asking questions--especially not after the heist
made the news all over the globe.
He was still thoughtful as he walked into the office and dropped a bag of tacos on Ian’s desk. The
secretary handed him two messages and mentioned that Laura was behind closed doors with a
client. The phone calls were easy--one to reassure a nervous museum director over the security
features attached to a certain exhibit and the other to transfer information to the LAPD regarding a
case they had closed last week.
He also made a mental note to check in with the construction upstairs. Mildred was due back in two
weeks, and he knew Laura wanted to move in to the new offices shortly thereafter. With Ian at her
desk, Mildred would be stuck in Murphy’s old space with the coffee pot and supplies until the move.
Laura knocked on their connecting door and popped her head in. “Hey, you’re back.”
“For a while now. How was your meeting?” He hoped to distract her with another question.
She sauntered to his desk and perched on the edge. “Oh, that. It’s a new attorney wanting to put
us on retainer for skip-traces. He’s already got a situation where the beneficiary of an estate can’t
be found.”
“Excellent. Just the kind of easy work we like.”
“Boring though. I’m ready for something nice and juicy. Give me a murder any day. Seems as if
we have our hands full of security contracts, tracing money and tracking down relatives.”
“True. But at the moment it’s probably for the best with the new office and Mildred out of the
country.”
“Oh, you’re probably right. So what are you going to do to keep me entertained in the meantime?”
Her voice dropped, becoming low and husky. He quirked an eyebrow at her.
“Perhaps we should go home early?”
“I wish. But I’ve got a four o’clock to give Mrs. Jones the bad news about her philandering
husband. He’ll get what’s coming. She’s already got Josie Alvarez for a divorce attorney. He
won’t know what hit him.”
“Remind me to never be a philandering husband.”
“Do I need to?” She lightly drew her finger across the soft skin just under his ear.
Closing his eyes at the desire she immediately evoked, he took her hand and kissed her fingertips.
“Not if you keep that up.” His blue eyes deepened as he opened them again.
Thirty minutes later, Remington stood behind Laura in the bathroom off his office, refastening his
cuff links and straightening his tie. He zipped her skirt and tried not to think about the thigh-high
stockings she now exclusively wore. Not a single pair of pantyhose remained in her lingerie drawer.
He knew-- he’d checked. Laura smiled at him in the mirror and pinned up her hair again.
“Keep that look on your face, love, and everyone will know what we’ve been doing for the last half-
hour,” he chastised her with a grin.
“Maybe they’ll be jealous,” she quipped. He dropped a kiss on her neck, deliberately lingering long
enough that she swayed against him. “Not fair. That’s not helping at all.”
“Good. Now have fun at your four o’clock. I’m going upstairs to check on the new office. If you’
ll remember, I’m to be at the fencing academy for a while. Andreas is in town and I’d like the
practice. I should be home around seven. Do you want me to pick up dinner, pick you up for
dinner or meet you somewhere?”
“None of the above, I’ll take care of it. If you’re going to the academy, I’m going to the gym, and I
can pick up Chinese on my way home.”
“Perfect, then. I’ll see you tonight.” He kissed her on the cheek and left.
Remington’s fencing sessions were one thing that had come as a surprise after they married. She
hadn’t known that he kept fit by fencing in one of the elite academies in LA and boxing in a dingy
dive belonging to an old friend. The unusual combination explained his lightning quick reactions,
excellent balance and wiry strength.
Now if she could drag him out of bed in the mornings for a run, it would be nice, but he much
preferred waiting until she returned so he could ambush her in the shower. She smiled. It’s a trade-
off; he has me in the mornings, and I get him in the office nearly an hour earlier in the day. With
a last tug of her skirt, Laura reentered her office and organized the paperwork for her appointment.
Laura beat him home by only twenty minutes. Her workout felt good, and she had sweat drying on
her forehead as she drove the Rabbit home. After Mexico, London and Ireland, followed by
moving into their new home, she had missed working out on a regular basis for nearly three solid
months. Only in the past week or so had she been able to resume any kind of routine, and it
seemed that Remington had been just as eager. He had dropped by the boxing gym nearly every
other day for an hour or so after work.
She barely had time to shower and change clothes before Remington came through the door and
took his turn getting clean. Over dinner he seemed distracted, but congenial, and talked her into
watching one of his favorite films on television afterwards.
As she fell asleep that night, she realized he hadn’t mentioned his lunch with his friend.
The next day was jammed solid as the pair covered for Mildred and continued to play catch up after
their lengthy absence. Remington had an early morning meeting with the Chamber of Commerce,
followed by a spot check at the museum exhibit and another luncheon with the LAPD brass. He
then spent the afternoon conducting surveillance for a client. Laura used her morning pulling up
information from the computer about the current assets for an attorney’s divorce case and the
afternoon in wall-to-wall client meetings.
At the end of the day, she smiled when she saw their case load. Another week like this and they
would be back on track. It was a testament to the agency and to Mildred that it had survived
despite the Steele’s lengthy absences.
She had her things packed up when her husband popped his head in and reminded her of the
meeting with the builder. Oh, darn it! She had completely forgotten about it. They headed
upstairs to take a good look at the new office.
The framing was completed and the security system was being installed along with the electrical and
plumbing lines. Remington looked it over with a critical eye. The safe room was coming along and
the other features he’d added appeared to be on track. Tomorrow he would come in and personally
make a few adjustments known only to Laura and him. When he was done, the office would be as
secure as their home.
It took nearly an hour before they finished with the builder, and it was seven-thirty before the
Steeles headed for home in separate cars.
She collapsed on the sofa and kicked off her heels. She had forgotten what it was to work an
eleven-hour day, and she had another one coming up tomorrow. Remington sat beside her,
mimicking her pose. “Laura, remind me again why we are working this hard?”
“Because Mildred is gone and we are making up for having a honeymoon.”
“When she gets back, remind me to book a weekend in Catalina.”
“You’ve got a deal, Mr. Steele.”
Remington rose and lit the fireplace before pouring a brandy for each of them. He tugged her to the
floor and rolled to face her. “Now that, love, is wonderfully different. No hesitation, no questions,
no snide remarks about my getting you into bed--just a simple agreement about going away with me
for a weekend.” He gave her a delighted grin before sipping his drink.
Laura rolled her eyes. “How long am I going to have to pay for that?” She took a small drink as
well.
“Oh, at least four years--with interest.” He kissed her with relish and then rolled to his back, rested
his glass on his chest and pillowed his head on a hand. “Laura, what are your plans for the agency?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’ve promoted Mildred and hired a secretary, but the new office will have room for at
least three more people.
“Well, once we get settled again, I’d like to hire an intern and start training him or her on some of
the basics. Whomever we get can shadow us for a while, and then we can turn over surveillance
and the skip-traces to that person. Eventually, I would like to have three or four detectives in the
agency so that you and I can cherry-pick when and how we want to work.”
She didn’t mention the idea of starting a family one day--not now, but somewhere down the road.
They were still adjusting to marriage, and she didn’t think this was the time to bring it up, but she
did have hopes that the safe room Remington was adamant about having in the new office suite
meant that he was open to the idea of turning it into a temporary nursery eventually. It was ideally
situated between their offices and big enough to house a crib, a changing table and a rocking chair--
all things Frances insisted were dire necessities for babies.
“Hmm. Do you mind if I talk to Monroe? I think he has someone who would be an excellent fit for
that role.”
“Sure.” That was a surprise to Laura. She had no idea he was thinking in those terms as well. But
then again she’d discovered over time that he had a tendency to give others a hand up when he
could.
“Good Lord, it feels good to lie here and do nothing.” Remington closed his eyes.
Laura moved his glass off his chest to the table and put hers beside it. He opened his eyes and
watched as she put her head on his shoulder and draped her arm across his waist. They dozed for a
while that way until the intercom buzzed.
She jerked in surprise and he tightened his arm around her. “Dinner, darling. It’s just dinner. I
called it in late this afternoon.”
“Next time warn me or something so I don’t have a heart attack.” She was laughing as she rolled
away from him.
“Can’t surprise you that way if I do.” He got to his feet and slipped through the foyer into the
elevator. Laura took advantage of his absence and disappeared into her closet to change into a pair
of jeans and a sleeveless sweater. Moments later he returned with the aroma of something Italian
wafting through the air.
He did a double-take at her attire. “Jeans, Laura?” He put the sack containing lasagna, garlic bread
and salad on the counter before taking a slow stroll around his wife. She had a small half-smile on
her face while he perused her figure. “Gorgeous. Just begs to have my hands on your … pockets.”
“Later. You can feel my pockets all you want after I’ve eaten.” She ducked away from him and
rounded the island to retrieve dishes from the cabinet. “Go change. I’ll put this on the table.”
“Of course, Mrs. Steele.”
He returned to find Laura placing two plates on the dining room table amid the candles she had lit.
Looking up, she smiled at the well-fitting jeans he wore and the button-down shirt that picked up the
darker tones of the top she had on. “Do you do that on purpose?”
“What’s that?”
“Dress so that we match.”
He looked down at himself and grinned as he pulled out her chair. “Not anymore. I think it’s a
habit by now. Does it bother you?”
“Not at all. Why did you start in the first place?”
He tried to say it with a straight face, but he couldn’t. “Because it made us look like a couple, even
when we weren’t, officially. Nice, subtle way to warn the other blokes off.” He sat as well.
“I thought so.” Each of them took a few bites before Laura carefully asked in a neutral voice,
“How was your lunch yesterday with Mr. Sandoval?”
“Hmm?”
“Carlos? Your friend from Monaco? Ian told me.”
“Ahh, yes. Good, good. Haven’t seen him in a while. Good man, has a fine construction
business. Thinking of retiring and handing it off to his sons.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Remington, didn’t we have a conversation just two days ago about not hiding things from each
other?”
“Ah, yes, we did,” he replied with chagrin.
“So--what kind of proposition did he have for you? I’m quite certain it’s something to do with your
past and is at least somewhat irregular.”
“Didn’t I say something about your being the only woman able to keep up with me?”
“You did. Now what’s going on?” With a rueful expression, Remington laid out Sandoval’s
proposal. Laura leaned back in her chair and contemplated it. “You know, I don’t actually have a
problem returning the items.”
“It’s the finder’s fees.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” He was curious to see how closely he had assessed her reaction.
“Because we aren’t really earning them, Remington. Oh, I imagine we could justify a certain profit
and covering our expenses, but we both know rewards can be generous.” She laughed. “I do find it
rather ironic that Carlos paid you for stealing the painting and now you would be paid essentially for
putting it back.”
He shrugged. “If you look at it in a certain light, I was only a very expensive courier service.”
Laura tossed her hair over her shoulder and laughed again. He smiled at her response. “What about
the second part? Carlos wants a split of the rewards, if there are any.”
Laura took a deep breath. “Remington, you know we can’t kick back that much money without
bringing an investigation down on us. All it would take is a smart cop or even Interpol to trace the
money. Besides, we don’t want to become a funnel for purloined items.”
Remington leaned on the table and played with the stem of his wine glass. “What if I told you I
could do it? That I have a way of getting Carlos his money without its having any connection with
the agency?”
She crossed her arms and eyeballed him while thinking about the portfolio she saw not too many
days ago. “You have an account somewhere. Not here and not under your name.” She held up a
hand. “Don’t confirm or deny it. I don’t want to know.” He quirked a brow at her but didn’t say
anything.
Looking at her nails, she thought out loud while he continued to eat his lasagna. “The money is
tempting, I’ll admit. But I don’t like the idea of taking money for handing over stolen goods that
someone is suddenly uncomfortable having around--especially since he stole or contracted to have
them stolen in the first place. Nor can I see giving him part of the reward for it. But--what if we
gave the money to charity?”
Remington quipped, “You seem to like giving our reward money away, Laura.”
“It’s not our money, is it? Not really. Look at it this way: your clients avoid embarrassing questions
or possible prosecution, the museum gets its prize back and some charity gets the spoils. We gain
by improving our reputation as an agency and for our philanthropy.” She ate another bite while she
thought a little more. “Three or four good 'finds' of this nature and we might get real contracts to
find other pieces--and that is legitimate money that we would earn.”
Now she gave him a challenge. “This will be entirely in your hands. It will be your job to keep me
from figuring out which cases, beyond the first one, are legitimate. You’ll have to document every
detail so that it will pass muster with me. If I catch you, I’ll help you close it and that will be last
time. I don’t want to know how, if, or when money gets kicked back, and you have to promise me
that you won’t allow us to become a conduit for turning over recently stolen merchandise. But if
you discretely and occasionally help a businessman disperse his ‘problems’ back to the proper
authorities, I’m good with that.”
His jaw dropped in astonishment. “Are you compromising your principles for me?”
“We walk the edge of the law most of the time as private investigators. How is this any different
from breaking into the Federal Reserve and putting back millions of dollars so that a client won’t get
prosecuted for theft? Our job is to help the client that hires us.”
“However,” she paused and jabbed the air with her fork for emphasis, “we don’t have the attorney-
client privilege that keeps us from having to turn our files over to the police--unless we’ve been
contracted by an attorney to investigate on his or her behalf. So that’s why the case files have to
pass muster. You have to automatically assume that every single 'find' will be thoroughly
investigated to determine if we had any involvement beyond the actual recovery. The interesting
part for you will be to manufacture a reason why we recovered a particular item when we haven’t
been contracted for it.” She leaned back, daring him with her posture. “Think you can do it?”
He grinned, realizing she’d given him a clue where to start. “Now you’ve thrown down the
gauntlet.” Raising his glass in a toast, he offered, “Let the games begin.” She tapped her goblet to
his and smiled.
* * * * *
Over the ensuing years, any number of orphanages, boys’ and girls’ homes, homeless shelters and
programs for at-risk kids were the recipients of donations from Remington Steele Investigations.
They also received money from an unknown benefactor from time to time.
The only comment Laura ever made to Remington was the observation that there must be an
account with a very healthy balance somewhere in the world.
17 March 2009
Steele Holting On
Steele Holting On
 | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  |
 | |  | |  | |  |