Steeling a Dream
Part 1: Diamonds of Steele
Part 1: Diamonds of Steele
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
Steele Holting On
Steeling a Dream
Part 2: Under a Steele Dark Sky
Part 2: Under a Steele Dark Sky
|
| |
|
| |
|
| |
|
| |
|
| |
|
| |
|
| |
|
Steele Holting On
Chapter 1 Aftermath
In reflection, his first clue that things weren’t quite right was at the Los Angeles airport. Remington,
Laura and Mildred were all shocked to be confronted by a myriad of reporters and photographers as they
stepped into the terminal from the jet-way. Mildred, with her usual protectiveness for her kids, cleared a
path while Remington and Laura pulled on their best game faces and smiled for the cameras, waving as if
they were coming home from a grand vacation. They refused all questions and headed straight for Fred
and the limousine parked in the pouring rain at the terminal curb. While the driver retrieved their luggage,
Remington opened the door for the ladies, getting soaked in the process. Laura stood under the canopy,
staring at the car. In the end, Mildred had to give Laura a gentle nudge before the younger woman broke
from her daze and dashed inside.
It could have been just the normal weariness that accompanies a long trip from home. Certainly, the
Steeles had staggered home from vacation any number of times and promptly stretched out on the sofa
or bed together before deciding what to do for dinner or breakfast as the occasion required. But their
second anniversary became a nightmare when a Dublin mob boss decided that he needed the former
thief’s services to obtain enough money to assassinate a blackmailer--and he used Laura as leverage.
Clever thinking by the Steeles allowed them to escape and exact justice with the help of Interpol but not
before suffering a great deal at Denis O’Callaghan’s hands. It had taken tremendous faith on both their
parts to see the two weeks through before winging their way home to Los Angeles.
Laura had slept in Remington’s arms nearly the entire flight--unusual but not unheard of, especially given
the circumstances--and he’d chalked up her vague expression outside the airport to drowsiness and the
surprise presence of the paparazzi. Somehow in the confusion, he’d forgotten that she had watched
another limousine explode a few feet from her and had believed him to be inside at the time.
*****
The fact that she was content to spend the majority of Sunday and Monday curled up with him on the
living room sofa in their penthouse didn’t alarm him at all. After all that had happened, Remington was
more than ready to key up the security system in their flat to its highest level and stay inside as well. He
made only a single trip to the grocer’s on Sunday morning while Laura slept in their bed. He discovered
more persistent reporters in the process and fought through the small crowd of them hovering outside
their apartment building in the pale morning light both coming and going. Apparently, he and Laura had
been more of a news item than he had anticipated.
He was once again thankful that the elevator required a passkey and gave him and Laura a modicum of
privacy from this kind of thing, but he did make a quick sweep of the hidden back staircase that led from
their flat to the ground floor to make certain no one was lurking there.
Early in the afternoon, Laura made brief phone calls to her mom and sisters to let them know she was
home but couldn’t be persuaded by any of them to talk much about what had happened.
Kate was the most persistent. “Laura, Murphy won’t tell me a thing. He said I have to hear it from
you.”
Laura’s hand clutched the table in front of her. “Katy, we were kidnapped. I’m sure I don’t need to
recount exactly what happened to either of us. What’s important is that we both managed to get out
alive. Mildred, Murphy and Interpol helped take down the man who was responsible. What else do you
want to know?”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line as Kate reconsidered her nagging. Murphy had
given her only the bare bones and insisted that Laura had to be the one to give her details. She could
hear the pain in her sister’s voice, and her heart ached for her twin. “Are you going to be okay?” she
asked.
“I’ll be fine. It will just take a few days for everything to feel normal again.” I hope. Laura started
shaking her hand out of the mess of phone cord that she’d wrapped around her fingers in agitation.
Kate didn’t believe that for a moment but knew her sister’s reticence well and changed tactics. “How’s
Remington?”
“Better than I am at the moment.” Or so it seems.
“Laura, I’m here if you want to talk about it.”
“I know, Katy. Not yet. I need to put it away for a while.” She shifted uncomfortably and changed the
subject. “Murphy mentioned that all of you might visit in a few weeks. Are you still planning on that?”
In other words, how long do you have to pull yourself together? Kate thought. “Two or three weeks.
I’ll let you know. I need to see you, Laura.”
“I know. Katy, I don’t want to do this to you, but I’m jetlagged something awful. Can we talk in a few
days?” Laura was close to losing her composure and wanted to bail on the conversation.
Concerned by the pain she could hear in her sister’s voice but understanding how she handled stress,
Kate let her go, giving Laura her love before saying goodbye.
Laura quietly put the telephone in its cradle as Remington came up behind her and placed his arm around
her waist. She closed her eyes and swallowed the sob bubbling in her throat. Only when she had
regained her composure did she turn around and face him. He knew she was fighting back tears, but as
volatile as his own emotions were, he wasn’t up to confronting hers. Instead, he arched a brow and
joked, “If your jetlag feels anything like mine, then the horizontal surface of the couch is looking more
attractive by the moment.”
Laura nodded in agreement, still not trusting herself to speak, and let him lead her to the sofa. There
they stretched out facing one another. He kept one hand buried in her hair; she laid one against his heart.
* * * * *
Mildred ran interference again for them on Monday. It was an extraordinarily rare occasion when
Remington firmly put his foot down when it came to Laura, but he did that day--insisting that she stay
home and rest. What was more surprising was that she didn’t offer even a token argument--citing the
pain in her knee as an excuse not to go in. With a raised brow, he handed her the phone and waited for
her to make an appointment with the orthopedist.
In an attempt to get the reporters camped out at both the Steele’s apartment building and the agency to
leave them in peace, Remington, with Laura’s help, crafted a carefully edited version of the events in
Ireland. He personally called the Los Angeles Tribune editor and faxed over the press release from their
home office, promising an interview for later in the week.
Mildred met that day with the agency staff: Ian, Kaleb and Sandra--the newest associate of the agency--
to brief them prior to the Steeles’ return. She gave them a copy of the press release before it hit the
newsstands and a bare minimum of additional details about the events in Ireland. The trio exchanged
glances, understanding that they were only seeing the tip of the iceberg.
Tuesday bore some resemblance to a normal routine as Remington and Laura arrived at the agency
together. She’d given in and used the crutches when it was apparent that walking on her injured joint
only resulted in more pain and swelling. The office staff welcomed them back with hugs, handshakes
and thinly-concealed sighs of relief moments before Ian dumped a pile of paperwork on each of their
desks. He’d been under intense pressure these past two weeks, taking the brunt of the media attention
and the calls from worried clients. Sandra and Kaleb had handily stepped up to the plate to placate the
latter as much as possible and to provide a solid front to the former, but it had been Ian that kept the
atmosphere cool and professional despite the turmoil.
Sandra Martinez was a smart investigator in her mid-forties who had tired of the male chauvinism of
Houston and had come to Los Angeles six months ago to find a better life. Laura had immediately
bonded with the tall redhead with a mile-wide smile and Texas accent that could be heard a football field
away. Despite all that, or perhaps because of it, she had a real knack for making friends in the right
places and provided a nice balance of experience and panache against Kaleb’s youth and street smarts.
Kaleb Carter was raised on the streets of Los Angeles. Built like a football player with a smooth skull he
religiously shaved, he’d been working for one of Remington’s friends since the age of fourteen. Monroe
had kept an eye on him, making sure he stayed out of real trouble and introducing the lad to Steele nearly
two years ago. When the young man graduated from high school, he began working as an apprentice for
the agency. Because of his age, the Steeles insisted that he take a handful of college courses to help him
keep his options open, but it was obvious that he had real talent for detective work. Like Remington,
he’d grown up poor, on the wrong side of the street and without a father. And as Steele had not quite a
generation earlier, Kaleb blended with the younger elements of street life. He was an old soul in a young
man’s body.
Sandra and Kaleb had a great deal of fun comparing Tex-Mex Spanish to California Spanish and
sometimes left the rest of the office in a daze with their speedy conversations and sly grins. Remington
often called them both amateurs as he rattled through both dialects and insulted them in any one of a
half-dozen others he’d picked up between Spain and South America.
Ian Connelly kept the office humming from his central post in the agency. Like his predecessor, he was
nearly unflappable and found the business intriguing although he had little interest in pursuing the kind of
detective work that made the Steeles famous. Ian commented frequently that the only place he could
comfortably blend was on the beach--with Mrs. Steele’s full agreement. Instead, Mildred found a
kindred spirit, and the pair spent many hours tracking down financial records and tapping into computer
networks all over the world.
Since Sandra had come on board, the Steeles had taken turns pairing up with her and Kaleb, both to get a
feel for her strengths and weaknesses and to further the young man’s training. But Laura met with them
on this morning to let them know they would be permanently teamed up for a while. As long as Laura
was on crutches, it would be Remington’s job to represent the agency outside the office, and the couple
would have to lean a little harder on the rest of the staff for routine detective work.
As the day wore on, it became apparent that the media had caused a furor with the agency’s clients and
reputation. The few details that trickled in from Ireland had been expounded on and distorted enough in
the news that both Remington and Laura agreed that damage control would be necessary. Unfortunately
for them, it required handling now and not later. They both fielded dozens of phone calls from clients
that kept them on retainer. Each was simply looking for reassurance that all would be well--but only a
personal discussion with either of the Steeles would do. Remington would be hard-pressed in the coming
days to keep up the unflappable, sophisticated image that he and Laura had created as they set up a
heavy round of interviews and appearances to cool the attention of the media and calm their clientele.
*****
The second clue that all was not well with Laura came on Wednesday--and was one that should have
been a warning bell to Remington. She didn’t want to go into the agency. He knew she had an
appointment with her orthopedist about her knee mid-morning, but in retrospect, it was completely out of
character for her not to zip into the office for even an hour to see how things had fared. She played it off
well. He had a ridiculously early appearance scheduled on one of the LA morning news shows, and she
mentioned he could pick her up afterward.
Fred dropped him by the penthouse and then returned to the agency to pick up Mildred for a court
appearance which had been delayed due to the unusual circumstances. The defending attorney released
a deep sigh of relief when she showed up to be the expert witness for his client.
Remington drove Laura in the Auburn through the steady rain to her appointment. After his third wary
glance her way, she patted his hand to reassure him. “I’ll be okay; I promise. We’ve done this before,
remember?” He did, and somehow it didn’t reassure him in the slightest.
After a series of x-rays and a thorough exam, the orthopedist promptly fit her with a full leg brace and
insisted she use the crutches until she met with the physical therapist. He shook his head in frustration.
“Mrs. Steele, I don’t know if you’ll get the full use of your knee back. Another surgery isn’t going to
help this time. If you had been able to stay off it after your injury, you would be in better shape. I
understand it couldn’t be helped, and we’ll do what we can. We’re going to take it slowly. You must
promise me that you will do your part to let it heal--and that means absolutely nothing outside of what the
physical therapist tells you to do.”
Dejected by the news, Laura nodded in agreement as the doctor continued, “Now I’d like to give you a
prescription that will help with the pain, but I have to ask you a question first. From what you wrote on
your paperwork, is there a chance you could be pregnant? Because I don’t want to give you this
medication if you are.” Laura’s eyes connected with Remington’s as she slowly nodded. Stunned by her
admission, he reached out and brushed his fingers across her hand.
“Do you want to do a pregnancy test?” the doctor asked.
Remington held his breath as Laura shook her head. “No, it’s too soon to tell.” His heart fell. She saw
the faint regret in his eyes and looked away, unable to bear his disappointment.
Missing the entire exchange, the doctor mulled over her response. “Then we’ll have to do without. Ice
and rest--you know the drill.”
Checking out of the office took only a moment. While Laura signed papers, made an appointment with
the rehabilitation clinic and handed over her credit card, Remington kept his fingers at the small of her
back, stroking rhythmically as he contemplated the possibilities. It hadn’t occurred to him that she could
become pregnant so soon. A quick count in his head told him they still had four or five days to go before
they would have their first real indication of whether it was a possibility.
Completely aware of the direction of her husband’s thoughts, Laura wasn’t ready to contemplate the
same and did her best to distract herself by thinking through the stack of papers on her desk. On the
drive to the agency, she rested her head against the seat and kept her eyes closed, a tactic she used when
she didn’t want to talk. Remington left her alone until he’d parked the Auburn in the garage and rounded
the car to open her door. When she had her balance on the crutches, he not-so-subtly blocked her way.
“Laura.” Knowing what was coming, she gave him the briefest of glances and dropped her gaze to
somewhere around her toes. “Do you think you could be pregnant?”
She could hear the hope in his voice and could only shrug. “I don’t know. It hasn’t even been a month,
and I’ve been on the Pill for so long that I don’t know what to expect.” Keeping his face carefully
neutral, he only nodded before stepping out of her way. As he followed her to the elevator, she had the
distinct impression he was terribly disappointed by her answer.
*****
Somewhere after midnight, Remington watched High Noon (Gary Cooper, Grace Kelly, United Artists,
1952), admiring Marshal Kane’s ability to stand up in the face of the enemy. He’d been unable to sleep
after Laura had undressed in the bedroom and he’d seen the yellowing bruises still visible across her
body. He’d lain with her only long enough for her to fall asleep and then slipped out of bed to flip
channels on the TV.
But even the movie hadn’t been able to stop the flow of memories from the past three weeks, and he’d
lost track of the story several times. He was rubbing his face in an effort to wipe away the thoughts
when he heard Laura shriek. By the time he dashed across the sofa to get to the bedroom, she had
already turned on the light and leaned up on her elbow.
From the doorway, he could see her distress. “Laura? Oh, love--“ He sat beside her and rubbed her
back. “Are you all right?”
Her breath hitched, but she squelched any tears by tilting her head back and blinking a lot. “I’m okay.
Bad dream.” She had to focus on his face to forcibly remind herself that he was still alive. “Will--will
you stay with me a while?”
Knowing how hard it was for her to ask, he realized that the nightmare must have truly frightened her.
“Of course.” He took a moment to turn off the television in the living room before scooting in next to
her. He ran his fingers through her hair until she settled again, but it was a long time before either of
them slept.
* * * * *
By the end of the week, the entire agency staff knew that things were not yet back to normal. Laura
kept to her office where she met with clients, dealt with security contracts and looked over case
paperwork in between. She rarely came out and never cracked a smile. Remington spent most of the
week checking security details, meeting with clients and handling whatever media requests he and Laura
had determined would be good for the agency.
Friday afternoon, Fred drove Laura to the physical therapist’s office where she spent a miserable forty-
five minutes learning new and painful exercises that would hopefully strengthen her knee. Without pain
medicine to dull the resultant throbbing, by the time she got home, she was cranky and miserable. It was
all she could do to pack a bag of ice on her leg and crawl onto the sofa. What she wanted was for Rei to
hold her. What she got was a pillow and a nasty headache.
Remington found her sleeping an hour later. He left her there while he changed clothes and started a
simple supper--for him anyway--of shrimp bisque and a salad. As he stirred the soup, he tried to figure
out what had gone wrong this week.
In Ireland, Laura had seemed to bounce back from the horrid affair, and he'd had every reason to believe
they would resume their normal lives in Los Angeles. But the image of her staring blank-faced at the
limousine at the airport flashed into his head, and he clenched his jaw in memory. Sifting through the
rest of the clues, he realized that she was more affected than she was letting on. Then again, so was he.
He’d spent a great deal of the past few days pushing visions and memories aside so he could focus on his
stacked schedule.
Shaking his head, he snorted at the irony of the hours he was putting in on the agency’s behalf. Whereas
six years ago he had only been a hollow figurehead attempting to draw attention to the agency, now he
was stuck in those shoes with a great deal to lose if he failed. And he would never fail--if only for
Laura’s sake. They might share in the agency now, but the dream was wholly hers. His was to make
her happy.
When dinner was ready, he laid a hand on her cheek to wake her; then he helped her to the island where
they took most of their meals these days. He made half a dozen futile attempts to draw her out in
conversation, but she was pale and sore from the therapy and quite uncommunicative. Afterward, she
soaked in the hot tub and then propped her knee up on the bed while she perused case files. She fell
asleep in minutes, leaving paperwork sprawled across the covers.
Remington set them aside, watching over her for a few minutes before turning out the light and brushing
her cheek with his fingertips. He tried again not to think about the things that had happened to her.
Failing that, he wandered out to the terrace and gave into temptation by pulling out a slim cigar and
lighting it. A warm breeze washed in from the ocean, accompanied by the sounds of traffic below. The
nicotine kicked in, and he let the sensation chase away the terrible images before they could free his
anger. Very carefully, he put the thoughts out of his mind and firmly shut all of it behind a strong mental
door.
Instead, he focused on the possibility of Laura being pregnant. In a rare moment of absolute, ruthless
honesty, he wondered how she would cope with being a mother along with being a wife and detective.
Melding the last two had been hard enough for her.
But she’d surprised him and charted a course unique and true to both of them. Even more astounding
was that Laura seemed to have few preconceived notions of what a husband should be, other than loving
and unfailingly loyal. He’d had the freedom to discover the facets of the role for himself.
As a couple, they complimented each other every bit as much as they did as partners. He had no reason
to expect anything less of them as parents. Long ago, he’d learned not to underestimate her. When
Laura set her mind to a task, she rarely failed to execute it brilliantly. When her love was involved, she
could--and had--moved mountains.
It was that last thought that allowed the tension in his shoulders to ease, and he returned to her side.
Comparatively, the weekend seemed almost normal. Remington spent most of it cooking and Laura
doing paperwork. The week had been miserably hectic, and they’d been relying on take-out dinners
before collapsing in bed at night. Since next week wasn’t looking much better and he preferred his own
creations, he determinedly prepped dishes that could be easily finished later. He’d noted that Laura
wasn’t eating much and made sure he had her favorites on hand. She was still tender from the therapy,
but periodic soaks in the hot tub worked miracles, and color returned to her face by midday on
Saturday. While Remington cooked, Laura made notes in case files at the kitchen island and bounced
around ideas with him in the process. It was a system that had worked well for them these past two
years, and the routine brought them a great deal of comfort--as did their evenings of watching old movies
where each night Laura fell asleep long before the end.
He trailed his fingers through her hair. She’d been sleeping a great deal lately.
* * * * *
Mildred had higher hopes for the week when the pair arrived at the office on Monday morning--
Remington with a cheerful grin and Laura with a hesitant smile. He placed his wife’s briefcase on her
desk, and then they closeted themselves with Ian to work through the week’s schedule.
Mid-morning, Steele left for a Chamber of Commerce luncheon and another interview when he passed a
delivery boy carrying an enormous arrangement of white roses through the lobby of their building. He
paused, eyeing the arrangement, and then dismissed it with an uneasy feeling.
The exquisite white roses were for Laura, and the succinct note poked into the flowers made her frown.
She’d half-expected something like this, but the reality of having Ireland intrude into her own office had
her biting her lip and doing her best to ignore the arrangement. Mildred saw the flowers as they arrived
and casually walked into Laura’s office to check them out. “Nice petals, Mrs. Steele.”
“Yes, they are.”
But Laura didn’t gush over the flowers as she normally did when presented with a bouquet, and Mildred
tilted her head as she thought about it. “Mr. Steele doesn’t do white roses if I remember correctly.”
“No.” Laura passed the note card to her, watching as the other woman read it and wrinkled her nose
before sitting down.
“He sure didn’t wait long. Think we have something else to worry about?”
“I don’t know, Mildred. Sometimes I think the whole fiasco was just a little too easy.”
“Easy? Are you kidding me, Mrs. Steele?”
With a shrug and a sigh, Laura laid out her thoughts. “No. Think about it. O’Callaghan had been
waiting at least two years for Remington, possibly even longer. He had a brilliant plan at the start and
caught both of us in a very well-executed trap. But after that, it’s as if he didn’t have a clue how to pull
it off. Both of us escaped a day later, and he relied completely on Mr. Steele to pull off the rest. In
retrospect, I think if we’d boarded a plane and come home, O’Callaghan wouldn’t have been able to do a
thing about it. He didn’t have the money to hire a hit without the diamond.”
“That’s not right, Mrs. Steele. He did. He would have had to liquidate to get it, but Mr. Steele seemed
to think it was more than likely that he would have done just that.”
“I think that’s what bothers me the most. Why was Remington convinced that’s what O’Callaghan
would do?”
“Interpol agreed, remember?” Mildred tapped her finger on the desk emphatically.
“Something about this bothers me, Mildred.”
“Everything about it bothers me, Mrs. Steele.”
At nearly five o’clock, Remington opened the connecting door from his office to Laura’s and knew what
he would find when the sweet scent hit his nose. He swore under his breath, “Bloody, buggering hell.”
Laura sat at her desk with the roses sitting on her credenza behind her. Without a word she passed him
the short note.
“Thanks, Johnny,” he read aloud. Furious in an instant, Remington clenched his jaw. “Well, you got
your wish; he’s definitely made the connection.”
“I don’t know that I wished for it.” Laura’s response was rather acerbic. She’d tipped off Carlisle
assuming one of two things would happen. If Carlisle didn’t figure out "Mickey" and "Laura Steele"
were one and the same, then Interpol would have had an excellent opportunity to substitute an agent into
Laura’s place and put an operative inside Carlisle’s camp. If he did, then hopefully he would be
convinced that the Steeles had no part of Interpol’s operation and would leave them alone. Laura had
worried that if Carlisle thought the Steeles had put Interpol on him, he would retaliate.
“No. It worked, but I don’t like that Carlisle had to make a point of it.” He rubbed the back of his
neck. “It is like him though.” He sat on the corner of Laura’s desk.
Surprised at his admission, she had to ask, “You know him?”
Still not quite sure how to tell her, he skirted the truth. “As well as anyone. We’ve crossed paths a time
or two, but I tried to stay out of his way.” Never mind he’s one of those damnable cousins I lived with
for a time.
Laura could see there was more in his eyes, but when he failed to elaborate, she asked, “Do the roses
bother you?”
“Yes. I don’t like anything from there intruding here.”
She punched a button on the intercom. “Ian? Does your girlfriend like roses?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Come get these and give her the surprise of her life.”
Remington drew out a toothpick from his pocket and nibbled on it. “You don’t like them either.”
“No. I kept them only so you could see them. I had no intention of leaving them in the agency--for the
same reason you just gave me.”
Ian opened the door and retrieved the flowers. She dismissed him for the day with a smile, and the
young man jauntily sauntered home with his prize.
Chapter Two--Deep Waters
In reflection, his first clue that things weren’t quite right was at the Los Angeles airport. Remington,
Laura and Mildred were all shocked to be confronted by a myriad of reporters and photographers as they
stepped into the terminal from the jet-way. Mildred, with her usual protectiveness for her kids, cleared a
path while Remington and Laura pulled on their best game faces and smiled for the cameras, waving as if
they were coming home from a grand vacation. They refused all questions and headed straight for Fred
and the limousine parked in the pouring rain at the terminal curb. While the driver retrieved their luggage,
Remington opened the door for the ladies, getting soaked in the process. Laura stood under the canopy,
staring at the car. In the end, Mildred had to give Laura a gentle nudge before the younger woman broke
from her daze and dashed inside.
It could have been just the normal weariness that accompanies a long trip from home. Certainly, the
Steeles had staggered home from vacation any number of times and promptly stretched out on the sofa
or bed together before deciding what to do for dinner or breakfast as the occasion required. But their
second anniversary became a nightmare when a Dublin mob boss decided that he needed the former
thief’s services to obtain enough money to assassinate a blackmailer--and he used Laura as leverage.
Clever thinking by the Steeles allowed them to escape and exact justice with the help of Interpol but not
before suffering a great deal at Denis O’Callaghan’s hands. It had taken tremendous faith on both their
parts to see the two weeks through before winging their way home to Los Angeles.
Laura had slept in Remington’s arms nearly the entire flight--unusual but not unheard of, especially given
the circumstances--and he’d chalked up her vague expression outside the airport to drowsiness and the
surprise presence of the paparazzi. Somehow in the confusion, he’d forgotten that she had watched
another limousine explode a few feet from her and had believed him to be inside at the time.
*****
The fact that she was content to spend the majority of Sunday and Monday curled up with him on the
living room sofa in their penthouse didn’t alarm him at all. After all that had happened, Remington was
more than ready to key up the security system in their flat to its highest level and stay inside as well. He
made only a single trip to the grocer’s on Sunday morning while Laura slept in their bed. He discovered
more persistent reporters in the process and fought through the small crowd of them hovering outside
their apartment building in the pale morning light both coming and going. Apparently, he and Laura had
been more of a news item than he had anticipated.
He was once again thankful that the elevator required a passkey and gave him and Laura a modicum of
privacy from this kind of thing, but he did make a quick sweep of the hidden back staircase that led from
their flat to the ground floor to make certain no one was lurking there.
Early in the afternoon, Laura made brief phone calls to her mom and sisters to let them know she was
home but couldn’t be persuaded by any of them to talk much about what had happened.
Kate was the most persistent. “Laura, Murphy won’t tell me a thing. He said I have to hear it from
you.”
Laura’s hand clutched the table in front of her. “Katy, we were kidnapped. I’m sure I don’t need to
recount exactly what happened to either of us. What’s important is that we both managed to get out
alive. Mildred, Murphy and Interpol helped take down the man who was responsible. What else do you
want to know?”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line as Kate reconsidered her nagging. Murphy had
given her only the bare bones and insisted that Laura had to be the one to give her details. She could
hear the pain in her sister’s voice, and her heart ached for her twin. “Are you going to be okay?” she
asked.
“I’ll be fine. It will just take a few days for everything to feel normal again.” I hope. Laura started
shaking her hand out of the mess of phone cord that she’d wrapped around her fingers in agitation.
Kate didn’t believe that for a moment but knew her sister’s reticence well and changed tactics. “How’s
Remington?”
“Better than I am at the moment.” Or so it seems.
“Laura, I’m here if you want to talk about it.”
“I know, Katy. Not yet. I need to put it away for a while.” She shifted uncomfortably and changed the
subject. “Murphy mentioned that all of you might visit in a few weeks. Are you still planning on that?”
In other words, how long do you have to pull yourself together? Kate thought. “Two or three weeks.
I’ll let you know. I need to see you, Laura.”
“I know. Katy, I don’t want to do this to you, but I’m jetlagged something awful. Can we talk in a few
days?” Laura was close to losing her composure and wanted to bail on the conversation.
Concerned by the pain she could hear in her sister’s voice but understanding how she handled stress,
Kate let her go, giving Laura her love before saying goodbye.
Laura quietly put the telephone in its cradle as Remington came up behind her and placed his arm around
her waist. She closed her eyes and swallowed the sob bubbling in her throat. Only when she had
regained her composure did she turn around and face him. He knew she was fighting back tears, but as
volatile as his own emotions were, he wasn’t up to confronting hers. Instead, he arched a brow and
joked, “If your jetlag feels anything like mine, then the horizontal surface of the couch is looking more
attractive by the moment.”
Laura nodded in agreement, still not trusting herself to speak, and let him lead her to the sofa. There
they stretched out facing one another. He kept one hand buried in her hair; she laid one against his heart.
* * * * *
Mildred ran interference again for them on Monday. It was an extraordinarily rare occasion when
Remington firmly put his foot down when it came to Laura, but he did that day--insisting that she stay
home and rest. What was more surprising was that she didn’t offer even a token argument--citing the
pain in her knee as an excuse not to go in. With a raised brow, he handed her the phone and waited for
her to make an appointment with the orthopedist.
In an attempt to get the reporters camped out at both the Steele’s apartment building and the agency to
leave them in peace, Remington, with Laura’s help, crafted a carefully edited version of the events in
Ireland. He personally called the Los Angeles Tribune editor and faxed over the press release from their
home office, promising an interview for later in the week.
Mildred met that day with the agency staff: Ian, Kaleb and Sandra--the newest associate of the agency--
to brief them prior to the Steeles’ return. She gave them a copy of the press release before it hit the
newsstands and a bare minimum of additional details about the events in Ireland. The trio exchanged
glances, understanding that they were only seeing the tip of the iceberg.
Tuesday bore some resemblance to a normal routine as Remington and Laura arrived at the agency
together. She’d given in and used the crutches when it was apparent that walking on her injured joint
only resulted in more pain and swelling. The office staff welcomed them back with hugs, handshakes
and thinly-concealed sighs of relief moments before Ian dumped a pile of paperwork on each of their
desks. He’d been under intense pressure these past two weeks, taking the brunt of the media attention
and the calls from worried clients. Sandra and Kaleb had handily stepped up to the plate to placate the
latter as much as possible and to provide a solid front to the former, but it had been Ian that kept the
atmosphere cool and professional despite the turmoil.
Sandra Martinez was a smart investigator in her mid-forties who had tired of the male chauvinism of
Houston and had come to Los Angeles six months ago to find a better life. Laura had immediately
bonded with the tall redhead with a mile-wide smile and Texas accent that could be heard a football field
away. Despite all that, or perhaps because of it, she had a real knack for making friends in the right
places and provided a nice balance of experience and panache against Kaleb’s youth and street smarts.
Kaleb Carter was raised on the streets of Los Angeles. Built like a football player with a smooth skull he
religiously shaved, he’d been working for one of Remington’s friends since the age of fourteen. Monroe
had kept an eye on him, making sure he stayed out of real trouble and introducing the lad to Steele nearly
two years ago. When the young man graduated from high school, he began working as an apprentice for
the agency. Because of his age, the Steeles insisted that he take a handful of college courses to help him
keep his options open, but it was obvious that he had real talent for detective work. Like Remington,
he’d grown up poor, on the wrong side of the street and without a father. And as Steele had not quite a
generation earlier, Kaleb blended with the younger elements of street life. He was an old soul in a young
man’s body.
Sandra and Kaleb had a great deal of fun comparing Tex-Mex Spanish to California Spanish and
sometimes left the rest of the office in a daze with their speedy conversations and sly grins. Remington
often called them both amateurs as he rattled through both dialects and insulted them in any one of a
half-dozen others he’d picked up between Spain and South America.
Ian Connelly kept the office humming from his central post in the agency. Like his predecessor, he was
nearly unflappable and found the business intriguing although he had little interest in pursuing the kind of
detective work that made the Steeles famous. Ian commented frequently that the only place he could
comfortably blend was on the beach--with Mrs. Steele’s full agreement. Instead, Mildred found a
kindred spirit, and the pair spent many hours tracking down financial records and tapping into computer
networks all over the world.
Since Sandra had come on board, the Steeles had taken turns pairing up with her and Kaleb, both to get a
feel for her strengths and weaknesses and to further the young man’s training. But Laura met with them
on this morning to let them know they would be permanently teamed up for a while. As long as Laura
was on crutches, it would be Remington’s job to represent the agency outside the office, and the couple
would have to lean a little harder on the rest of the staff for routine detective work.
As the day wore on, it became apparent that the media had caused a furor with the agency’s clients and
reputation. The few details that trickled in from Ireland had been expounded on and distorted enough in
the news that both Remington and Laura agreed that damage control would be necessary. Unfortunately
for them, it required handling now and not later. They both fielded dozens of phone calls from clients
that kept them on retainer. Each was simply looking for reassurance that all would be well--but only a
personal discussion with either of the Steeles would do. Remington would be hard-pressed in the coming
days to keep up the unflappable, sophisticated image that he and Laura had created as they set up a
heavy round of interviews and appearances to cool the attention of the media and calm their clientele.
*****
The second clue that all was not well with Laura came on Wednesday--and was one that should have
been a warning bell to Remington. She didn’t want to go into the agency. He knew she had an
appointment with her orthopedist about her knee mid-morning, but in retrospect, it was completely out of
character for her not to zip into the office for even an hour to see how things had fared. She played it off
well. He had a ridiculously early appearance scheduled on one of the LA morning news shows, and she
mentioned he could pick her up afterward.
Fred dropped him by the penthouse and then returned to the agency to pick up Mildred for a court
appearance which had been delayed due to the unusual circumstances. The defending attorney released
a deep sigh of relief when she showed up to be the expert witness for his client.
Remington drove Laura in the Auburn through the steady rain to her appointment. After his third wary
glance her way, she patted his hand to reassure him. “I’ll be okay; I promise. We’ve done this before,
remember?” He did, and somehow it didn’t reassure him in the slightest.
After a series of x-rays and a thorough exam, the orthopedist promptly fit her with a full leg brace and
insisted she use the crutches until she met with the physical therapist. He shook his head in frustration.
“Mrs. Steele, I don’t know if you’ll get the full use of your knee back. Another surgery isn’t going to
help this time. If you had been able to stay off it after your injury, you would be in better shape. I
understand it couldn’t be helped, and we’ll do what we can. We’re going to take it slowly. You must
promise me that you will do your part to let it heal--and that means absolutely nothing outside of what the
physical therapist tells you to do.”
Dejected by the news, Laura nodded in agreement as the doctor continued, “Now I’d like to give you a
prescription that will help with the pain, but I have to ask you a question first. From what you wrote on
your paperwork, is there a chance you could be pregnant? Because I don’t want to give you this
medication if you are.” Laura’s eyes connected with Remington’s as she slowly nodded. Stunned by her
admission, he reached out and brushed his fingers across her hand.
“Do you want to do a pregnancy test?” the doctor asked.
Remington held his breath as Laura shook her head. “No, it’s too soon to tell.” His heart fell. She saw
the faint regret in his eyes and looked away, unable to bear his disappointment.
Missing the entire exchange, the doctor mulled over her response. “Then we’ll have to do without. Ice
and rest--you know the drill.”
Checking out of the office took only a moment. While Laura signed papers, made an appointment with
the rehabilitation clinic and handed over her credit card, Remington kept his fingers at the small of her
back, stroking rhythmically as he contemplated the possibilities. It hadn’t occurred to him that she could
become pregnant so soon. A quick count in his head told him they still had four or five days to go before
they would have their first real indication of whether it was a possibility.
Completely aware of the direction of her husband’s thoughts, Laura wasn’t ready to contemplate the
same and did her best to distract herself by thinking through the stack of papers on her desk. On the
drive to the agency, she rested her head against the seat and kept her eyes closed, a tactic she used when
she didn’t want to talk. Remington left her alone until he’d parked the Auburn in the garage and rounded
the car to open her door. When she had her balance on the crutches, he not-so-subtly blocked her way.
“Laura.” Knowing what was coming, she gave him the briefest of glances and dropped her gaze to
somewhere around her toes. “Do you think you could be pregnant?”
She could hear the hope in his voice and could only shrug. “I don’t know. It hasn’t even been a month,
and I’ve been on the Pill for so long that I don’t know what to expect.” Keeping his face carefully
neutral, he only nodded before stepping out of her way. As he followed her to the elevator, she had the
distinct impression he was terribly disappointed by her answer.
*****
Somewhere after midnight, Remington watched High Noon (Gary Cooper, Grace Kelly, United Artists,
1952), admiring Marshal Kane’s ability to stand up in the face of the enemy. He’d been unable to sleep
after Laura had undressed in the bedroom and he’d seen the yellowing bruises still visible across her
body. He’d lain with her only long enough for her to fall asleep and then slipped out of bed to flip
channels on the TV.
But even the movie hadn’t been able to stop the flow of memories from the past three weeks, and he’d
lost track of the story several times. He was rubbing his face in an effort to wipe away the thoughts
when he heard Laura shriek. By the time he dashed across the sofa to get to the bedroom, she had
already turned on the light and leaned up on her elbow.
From the doorway, he could see her distress. “Laura? Oh, love--“ He sat beside her and rubbed her
back. “Are you all right?”
Her breath hitched, but she squelched any tears by tilting her head back and blinking a lot. “I’m okay.
Bad dream.” She had to focus on his face to forcibly remind herself that he was still alive. “Will--will
you stay with me a while?”
Knowing how hard it was for her to ask, he realized that the nightmare must have truly frightened her.
“Of course.” He took a moment to turn off the television in the living room before scooting in next to
her. He ran his fingers through her hair until she settled again, but it was a long time before either of
them slept.
* * * * *
By the end of the week, the entire agency staff knew that things were not yet back to normal. Laura
kept to her office where she met with clients, dealt with security contracts and looked over case
paperwork in between. She rarely came out and never cracked a smile. Remington spent most of the
week checking security details, meeting with clients and handling whatever media requests he and Laura
had determined would be good for the agency.
Friday afternoon, Fred drove Laura to the physical therapist’s office where she spent a miserable forty-
five minutes learning new and painful exercises that would hopefully strengthen her knee. Without pain
medicine to dull the resultant throbbing, by the time she got home, she was cranky and miserable. It was
all she could do to pack a bag of ice on her leg and crawl onto the sofa. What she wanted was for Rei to
hold her. What she got was a pillow and a nasty headache.
Remington found her sleeping an hour later. He left her there while he changed clothes and started a
simple supper--for him anyway--of shrimp bisque and a salad. As he stirred the soup, he tried to figure
out what had gone wrong this week.
In Ireland, Laura had seemed to bounce back from the horrid affair, and he'd had every reason to believe
they would resume their normal lives in Los Angeles. But the image of her staring blank-faced at the
limousine at the airport flashed into his head, and he clenched his jaw in memory. Sifting through the
rest of the clues, he realized that she was more affected than she was letting on. Then again, so was he.
He’d spent a great deal of the past few days pushing visions and memories aside so he could focus on his
stacked schedule.
Shaking his head, he snorted at the irony of the hours he was putting in on the agency’s behalf. Whereas
six years ago he had only been a hollow figurehead attempting to draw attention to the agency, now he
was stuck in those shoes with a great deal to lose if he failed. And he would never fail--if only for
Laura’s sake. They might share in the agency now, but the dream was wholly hers. His was to make
her happy.
When dinner was ready, he laid a hand on her cheek to wake her; then he helped her to the island where
they took most of their meals these days. He made half a dozen futile attempts to draw her out in
conversation, but she was pale and sore from the therapy and quite uncommunicative. Afterward, she
soaked in the hot tub and then propped her knee up on the bed while she perused case files. She fell
asleep in minutes, leaving paperwork sprawled across the covers.
Remington set them aside, watching over her for a few minutes before turning out the light and brushing
her cheek with his fingertips. He tried again not to think about the things that had happened to her.
Failing that, he wandered out to the terrace and gave into temptation by pulling out a slim cigar and
lighting it. A warm breeze washed in from the ocean, accompanied by the sounds of traffic below. The
nicotine kicked in, and he let the sensation chase away the terrible images before they could free his
anger. Very carefully, he put the thoughts out of his mind and firmly shut all of it behind a strong mental
door.
Instead, he focused on the possibility of Laura being pregnant. In a rare moment of absolute, ruthless
honesty, he wondered how she would cope with being a mother along with being a wife and detective.
Melding the last two had been hard enough for her.
But she’d surprised him and charted a course unique and true to both of them. Even more astounding
was that Laura seemed to have few preconceived notions of what a husband should be, other than loving
and unfailingly loyal. He’d had the freedom to discover the facets of the role for himself.
As a couple, they complimented each other every bit as much as they did as partners. He had no reason
to expect anything less of them as parents. Long ago, he’d learned not to underestimate her. When
Laura set her mind to a task, she rarely failed to execute it brilliantly. When her love was involved, she
could--and had--moved mountains.
It was that last thought that allowed the tension in his shoulders to ease, and he returned to her side.
Comparatively, the weekend seemed almost normal. Remington spent most of it cooking and Laura
doing paperwork. The week had been miserably hectic, and they’d been relying on take-out dinners
before collapsing in bed at night. Since next week wasn’t looking much better and he preferred his own
creations, he determinedly prepped dishes that could be easily finished later. He’d noted that Laura
wasn’t eating much and made sure he had her favorites on hand. She was still tender from the therapy,
but periodic soaks in the hot tub worked miracles, and color returned to her face by midday on
Saturday. While Remington cooked, Laura made notes in case files at the kitchen island and bounced
around ideas with him in the process. It was a system that had worked well for them these past two
years, and the routine brought them a great deal of comfort--as did their evenings of watching old movies
where each night Laura fell asleep long before the end.
He trailed his fingers through her hair. She’d been sleeping a great deal lately.
* * * * *
Mildred had higher hopes for the week when the pair arrived at the office on Monday morning--
Remington with a cheerful grin and Laura with a hesitant smile. He placed his wife’s briefcase on her
desk, and then they closeted themselves with Ian to work through the week’s schedule.
Mid-morning, Steele left for a Chamber of Commerce luncheon and another interview when he passed a
delivery boy carrying an enormous arrangement of white roses through the lobby of their building. He
paused, eyeing the arrangement, and then dismissed it with an uneasy feeling.
The exquisite white roses were for Laura, and the succinct note poked into the flowers made her frown.
She’d half-expected something like this, but the reality of having Ireland intrude into her own office had
her biting her lip and doing her best to ignore the arrangement. Mildred saw the flowers as they arrived
and casually walked into Laura’s office to check them out. “Nice petals, Mrs. Steele.”
“Yes, they are.”
But Laura didn’t gush over the flowers as she normally did when presented with a bouquet, and Mildred
tilted her head as she thought about it. “Mr. Steele doesn’t do white roses if I remember correctly.”
“No.” Laura passed the note card to her, watching as the other woman read it and wrinkled her nose
before sitting down.
“He sure didn’t wait long. Think we have something else to worry about?”
“I don’t know, Mildred. Sometimes I think the whole fiasco was just a little too easy.”
“Easy? Are you kidding me, Mrs. Steele?”
With a shrug and a sigh, Laura laid out her thoughts. “No. Think about it. O’Callaghan had been
waiting at least two years for Remington, possibly even longer. He had a brilliant plan at the start and
caught both of us in a very well-executed trap. But after that, it’s as if he didn’t have a clue how to pull
it off. Both of us escaped a day later, and he relied completely on Mr. Steele to pull off the rest. In
retrospect, I think if we’d boarded a plane and come home, O’Callaghan wouldn’t have been able to do a
thing about it. He didn’t have the money to hire a hit without the diamond.”
“That’s not right, Mrs. Steele. He did. He would have had to liquidate to get it, but Mr. Steele seemed
to think it was more than likely that he would have done just that.”
“I think that’s what bothers me the most. Why was Remington convinced that’s what O’Callaghan
would do?”
“Interpol agreed, remember?” Mildred tapped her finger on the desk emphatically.
“Something about this bothers me, Mildred.”
“Everything about it bothers me, Mrs. Steele.”
At nearly five o’clock, Remington opened the connecting door from his office to Laura’s and knew what
he would find when the sweet scent hit his nose. He swore under his breath, “Bloody, buggering hell.”
Laura sat at her desk with the roses sitting on her credenza behind her. Without a word she passed him
the short note.
“Thanks, Johnny,” he read aloud. Furious in an instant, Remington clenched his jaw. “Well, you got
your wish; he’s definitely made the connection.”
“I don’t know that I wished for it.” Laura’s response was rather acerbic. She’d tipped off Carlisle
assuming one of two things would happen. If Carlisle didn’t figure out "Mickey" and "Laura Steele"
were one and the same, then Interpol would have had an excellent opportunity to substitute an agent into
Laura’s place and put an operative inside Carlisle’s camp. If he did, then hopefully he would be
convinced that the Steeles had no part of Interpol’s operation and would leave them alone. Laura had
worried that if Carlisle thought the Steeles had put Interpol on him, he would retaliate.
“No. It worked, but I don’t like that Carlisle had to make a point of it.” He rubbed the back of his
neck. “It is like him though.” He sat on the corner of Laura’s desk.
Surprised at his admission, she had to ask, “You know him?”
Still not quite sure how to tell her, he skirted the truth. “As well as anyone. We’ve crossed paths a time
or two, but I tried to stay out of his way.” Never mind he’s one of those damnable cousins I lived with
for a time.
Laura could see there was more in his eyes, but when he failed to elaborate, she asked, “Do the roses
bother you?”
“Yes. I don’t like anything from there intruding here.”
She punched a button on the intercom. “Ian? Does your girlfriend like roses?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Come get these and give her the surprise of her life.”
Remington drew out a toothpick from his pocket and nibbled on it. “You don’t like them either.”
“No. I kept them only so you could see them. I had no intention of leaving them in the agency--for the
same reason you just gave me.”
Ian opened the door and retrieved the flowers. She dismissed him for the day with a smile, and the
young man jauntily sauntered home with his prize.
Chapter Two--Deep Waters