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 10 Connections
Tony kept his binoculars trained on the door to the building. Carlisle had come to LA and headed
straight for Steele’s office. Roselli had flown the SST and then hopped a private Lear to land only
moments before the Irish mob boss.
He scowled. The man had carried a slim white box into the building with him, and now it was
nowhere to be found. He radioed another agent who had come with him. “Stay on Carlisle. I’m on
Steele and I’m moving to the garage. It’s after five so he’s sure to leave soon.”
Ian pushed Mrs. Steele’s office door open. She nervously paced in front of the window while Mildred
kept an eye on her. “Mrs. Steele? Mr. Carlisle just left.”
Laura glanced down at her watch. “Thank you, Ian, and thank you for staying late. I’ll see you in the
morning.” The young man nodded and closed the door again.
“Mrs. Steele, I gotta give you credit. You’ve got good instincts. You said there was more to this,”
Mildred commented. Laura hadn’t said a word while she paced, her irritation apparent.
“How am I supposed to be his partner if he doesn’t share these little tidbits with me?” she fumed.
“Cousins with Carlisle. Damn.” She shook her head.
“Why do you think he didn’t say anything?”
She threw up her hands before crossing them and leaning against her desk. Then she scrunched up her
face as she gave the question an honest assessment.
Remington stepped through her door, calm as ever, but both she and Mildred could see the uncertainty
and frustration in his blue eyes. “Laura, Mildred … I--“ he stopped and rubbed the back of his neck.
His wife only raised a brow while Mildred put her hands on her hips. She shook her finger at him.
“Chief, I know you like to keep your secrets, but how are we to anticipate things like this if you don’t
share them when you’re supposed to?”
“I, ah, I don’t know, Mildred.” He touched his fingers to his lips and tried again. “Laura--“ Good Lord,
how was he to explain? He tried again, “Laura--“
She held her hand up. “Don’t. I imagine that no matter how many times I complain about your
damnable past there will be things you will always keep hidden in order to protect those you care about.”
She cocked her head. “No one can spill what they don’t know. … Is it something like that, Rei?”
His voice was flat as he spoke. “It was apparent that Interpol hadn’t made the connection, and I didn’t
see any reason to make an issue of it. I was a very young child when I lived with his mother, my great-
aunt. I came to stay with him a few weeks here and there as I was passed around from one family to
another until I was dumped into the orphanage. Later, when Daniel and I were working around England
and France, he caught up with me in London and offered me a job.”
“Doing what?”
“His right-hand man. He liked what he’d heard about me and had a soft spot for the family connection.
Siobhán was an infant then, and Carlisle had started having a guilty conscience about passing me over.
He told me that his mother had charged him with keeping me, but he’d gone against her wishes. I
imagine that still bugs the hell out of him. That was the last time I saw him until today.”
Laura sat in her chair, wondering about the twisted, tangled paths of fate that had taken Remington on so
many different journeys. “Why did you turn him down?”
He closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened, white-hot heat burned in them. “Because I
knew what happened to those that crossed the Six--Johnny included. He thought nothing of having
O’Callaghan killed. No matter what guilty feeling he might have about me, he’s not had one over the
hundreds of families they’ve collectively destroyed over the past two decades.” Images of a burned out
building he'd happened upon during one of his nighttime adventures surfaced. He’d never forgotten the
two children screaming for their dad as their mother looked on in horror. Later he’d heard that the
owner, the father of those two children, had argued with one of the Six’s henchmen. The retaliation had
been brutal.
Remington picked up a pen off the top of the credenza and began fiddling with it. “The white roses? It’s
his trademark. He had them at his mother’s funeral. Anytime someone was killed in his dealings, he
would send a dozen of them to the funeral. As if his sympathy would make a difference to a wife whose
husband was shot while defending a grocery store from his ‘enforcers’ or a child whose mother was
killed because she refused to trade favors to one of his men for protection.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “’Tis the dirtiest of businesses, Laura, and I wanted nothing to do
with it. Daniel and I left the next morning. He never asked me why I wanted to go, just packed his
bags.”
She was carefully neutral when she asked, “Why does he call you ‘Ciarán’?”
Remington put the pen down. “Because apparently that is what my mother named me. It means ‘little
dark one.’ I’d heard so many names by the time I was eight that I had always assumed it was just
another one that someone had used for me at some time or another. I had no idea that it had any real
meaning.” He let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Daniel Harrison Chalmers and Ciarán Patrick McGee. I’ve
spent my whole life looking for a name. I’ve gone by so many that I can’t remember them all. And in
the end I stole one and kept it, and now I’ve been handed two more. It’s a bloody embarrassment of
riches.”
Mildred still wasn’t quite ready to forgive him. “Mr. Steele, what did Carlisle want with you?”
“Interpol’s closing in on him. He wanted me to pull them off, and barring that, find a way for him to go
under with his daughter.
“And will you?” She leveled a hard look at him.
“I gave him a name that will get his daughter out of the country. The rest is up to him.”
Laura quietly sighed. “What will you tell Interpol?”
“The truth about our connection. I see no way of hiding it now. I’m sure they’ll have tracked him here
and wonder why he’s come. I gave him a day. I … maybe I owe his mother that.”
Mildred relented and crossed the room to pat him on the cheek. “You’re okay, Mr. Steele.” He
shrugged again, in embarrassment this time, and touched his face where her fingers had warmed it.
Grateful for her understanding, he squeezed her shoulders in a quick hug.
“Thank you.”
Pink touched her face as she reached for the door knob. “Chief, we may not like it, but we
understand.” She shot a glance back at Laura and was gratified to see the other woman nod. “You two
have a good weekend. I’m meeting the girls at the bowling alley.” She shut the door behind her.
A quick glance at Laura told him that she wasn’t angry. He walked over to perch on her desk, unsure of
where to go from here. It was a surprise when she took an entirely different tack than he expected.
“Can I see what was in the box?” Her curiosity was killing her. She’d only caught a glimpse of light-
colored material and a few pictures.
“Ah, certainly.” He ducked out of the room and returned with the box in hand.
Laura removed the cover and her heart pounded. Six photographs lay on top of a piece of paper
embellished with ornate writing. Fabric could be seen around the edges of the certificate. Boxes, she
thought. Answers to her husband’s past seemed to arrive in boxes.
The slightly curling black-and-white pictures were unmistakably the childhood photos of the man sitting
on her desk. The intense brooding gaze from the infant, the curve of the cheekbone of the toddler, and--
in what was obviously the last one taken--a laughing small boy with a shock of black curls as he played in
a tub of bubbles--all together the six photographs depicted what one might call a normal, happy
childhood. This revelation made the knowledge of the tiny boy being yanked away and thrust into an
abusive environment all the more heart-wrenching.
With a pang to her heart, Laura wondered if the child she carried would look anything like the boy in the
pictures. She set them aside and picked up the baptismal certificate, reading the name “Ciarán Patrick
McGee” in elegant calligraphy. This too she set aside. Underneath it all was an elaborate baby’s gown,
meant for a christening. The fancy cuffs and hem dripped with the intricate tangles of Irish lace. She
also found a small shift to be worn underneath the gown and an infant’s cap frothing with still more lace.
Perhaps it was the hormones, for Laura wasn’t one to be a watering pot, or perhaps it was the sure
knowledge that someone had loved him for at least a few short years; in any case, tears slid her cheeks as
she held the material that had once clothed her husband as an infant.
Remington had never been one to be sentimental about many things, although he had an odd item or two
that he’d rather not lose, but seeing his wife weep over a tiny dress had him looking away in order to
keep his composure. As a matter of habit, he handed her his handkerchief, and she dried her tears.
“Perhaps you did owe his mother something then,” was all she said before packing up the box again--
rising with it and her purse.
Tony watched the couple from his hiding place in the garage. Sure enough, Laura was carrying
Carlisle’s box. Steele toted a briefcase and held her door open while she got in rather ungracefully
before rounding the car and firing up the engine.
Lowering his sunglasses and grateful he’d cut his hair short again so as not to be recognized, the spy
inched backwards until he could slip down the stairs and to the street where his motorcycle was
waiting. He pulled into traffic as the Steeles exited the garage.
He was surprised when the pair only went home, and he settled into a nearby bar to watch for any
further movement that evening. A quick call to the other agent revealed that Carlisle had returned to
the airport and hired a local jet for a quick flight to Florida. He ordered the other agent to stay on
Carlisle’s tail and assured the other man that he would catch up within a day or so.
Well after dark, the Steeles hadn’t stirred and Tony made his next move.
Chapter Eleven--Partners
Tony kept his binoculars trained on the door to the building. Carlisle had come to LA and headed
straight for Steele’s office. Roselli had flown the SST and then hopped a private Lear to land only
moments before the Irish mob boss.
He scowled. The man had carried a slim white box into the building with him, and now it was
nowhere to be found. He radioed another agent who had come with him. “Stay on Carlisle. I’m on
Steele and I’m moving to the garage. It’s after five so he’s sure to leave soon.”
Ian pushed Mrs. Steele’s office door open. She nervously paced in front of the window while Mildred
kept an eye on her. “Mrs. Steele? Mr. Carlisle just left.”
Laura glanced down at her watch. “Thank you, Ian, and thank you for staying late. I’ll see you in the
morning.” The young man nodded and closed the door again.
“Mrs. Steele, I gotta give you credit. You’ve got good instincts. You said there was more to this,”
Mildred commented. Laura hadn’t said a word while she paced, her irritation apparent.
“How am I supposed to be his partner if he doesn’t share these little tidbits with me?” she fumed.
“Cousins with Carlisle. Damn.” She shook her head.
“Why do you think he didn’t say anything?”
She threw up her hands before crossing them and leaning against her desk. Then she scrunched up her
face as she gave the question an honest assessment.
Remington stepped through her door, calm as ever, but both she and Mildred could see the uncertainty
and frustration in his blue eyes. “Laura, Mildred … I--“ he stopped and rubbed the back of his neck.
His wife only raised a brow while Mildred put her hands on her hips. She shook her finger at him.
“Chief, I know you like to keep your secrets, but how are we to anticipate things like this if you don’t
share them when you’re supposed to?”
“I, ah, I don’t know, Mildred.” He touched his fingers to his lips and tried again. “Laura--“ Good Lord,
how was he to explain? He tried again, “Laura--“
She held her hand up. “Don’t. I imagine that no matter how many times I complain about your
damnable past there will be things you will always keep hidden in order to protect those you care about.”
She cocked her head. “No one can spill what they don’t know. … Is it something like that, Rei?”
His voice was flat as he spoke. “It was apparent that Interpol hadn’t made the connection, and I didn’t
see any reason to make an issue of it. I was a very young child when I lived with his mother, my great-
aunt. I came to stay with him a few weeks here and there as I was passed around from one family to
another until I was dumped into the orphanage. Later, when Daniel and I were working around England
and France, he caught up with me in London and offered me a job.”
“Doing what?”
“His right-hand man. He liked what he’d heard about me and had a soft spot for the family connection.
Siobhán was an infant then, and Carlisle had started having a guilty conscience about passing me over.
He told me that his mother had charged him with keeping me, but he’d gone against her wishes. I
imagine that still bugs the hell out of him. That was the last time I saw him until today.”
Laura sat in her chair, wondering about the twisted, tangled paths of fate that had taken Remington on so
many different journeys. “Why did you turn him down?”
He closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened, white-hot heat burned in them. “Because I
knew what happened to those that crossed the Six--Johnny included. He thought nothing of having
O’Callaghan killed. No matter what guilty feeling he might have about me, he’s not had one over the
hundreds of families they’ve collectively destroyed over the past two decades.” Images of a burned out
building he'd happened upon during one of his nighttime adventures surfaced. He’d never forgotten the
two children screaming for their dad as their mother looked on in horror. Later he’d heard that the
owner, the father of those two children, had argued with one of the Six’s henchmen. The retaliation had
been brutal.
Remington picked up a pen off the top of the credenza and began fiddling with it. “The white roses? It’s
his trademark. He had them at his mother’s funeral. Anytime someone was killed in his dealings, he
would send a dozen of them to the funeral. As if his sympathy would make a difference to a wife whose
husband was shot while defending a grocery store from his ‘enforcers’ or a child whose mother was
killed because she refused to trade favors to one of his men for protection.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “’Tis the dirtiest of businesses, Laura, and I wanted nothing to do
with it. Daniel and I left the next morning. He never asked me why I wanted to go, just packed his
bags.”
She was carefully neutral when she asked, “Why does he call you ‘Ciarán’?”
Remington put the pen down. “Because apparently that is what my mother named me. It means ‘little
dark one.’ I’d heard so many names by the time I was eight that I had always assumed it was just
another one that someone had used for me at some time or another. I had no idea that it had any real
meaning.” He let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Daniel Harrison Chalmers and Ciarán Patrick McGee. I’ve
spent my whole life looking for a name. I’ve gone by so many that I can’t remember them all. And in
the end I stole one and kept it, and now I’ve been handed two more. It’s a bloody embarrassment of
riches.”
Mildred still wasn’t quite ready to forgive him. “Mr. Steele, what did Carlisle want with you?”
“Interpol’s closing in on him. He wanted me to pull them off, and barring that, find a way for him to go
under with his daughter.
“And will you?” She leveled a hard look at him.
“I gave him a name that will get his daughter out of the country. The rest is up to him.”
Laura quietly sighed. “What will you tell Interpol?”
“The truth about our connection. I see no way of hiding it now. I’m sure they’ll have tracked him here
and wonder why he’s come. I gave him a day. I … maybe I owe his mother that.”
Mildred relented and crossed the room to pat him on the cheek. “You’re okay, Mr. Steele.” He
shrugged again, in embarrassment this time, and touched his face where her fingers had warmed it.
Grateful for her understanding, he squeezed her shoulders in a quick hug.
“Thank you.”
Pink touched her face as she reached for the door knob. “Chief, we may not like it, but we
understand.” She shot a glance back at Laura and was gratified to see the other woman nod. “You two
have a good weekend. I’m meeting the girls at the bowling alley.” She shut the door behind her.
A quick glance at Laura told him that she wasn’t angry. He walked over to perch on her desk, unsure of
where to go from here. It was a surprise when she took an entirely different tack than he expected.
“Can I see what was in the box?” Her curiosity was killing her. She’d only caught a glimpse of light-
colored material and a few pictures.
“Ah, certainly.” He ducked out of the room and returned with the box in hand.
Laura removed the cover and her heart pounded. Six photographs lay on top of a piece of paper
embellished with ornate writing. Fabric could be seen around the edges of the certificate. Boxes, she
thought. Answers to her husband’s past seemed to arrive in boxes.
The slightly curling black-and-white pictures were unmistakably the childhood photos of the man sitting
on her desk. The intense brooding gaze from the infant, the curve of the cheekbone of the toddler, and--
in what was obviously the last one taken--a laughing small boy with a shock of black curls as he played in
a tub of bubbles--all together the six photographs depicted what one might call a normal, happy
childhood. This revelation made the knowledge of the tiny boy being yanked away and thrust into an
abusive environment all the more heart-wrenching.
With a pang to her heart, Laura wondered if the child she carried would look anything like the boy in the
pictures. She set them aside and picked up the baptismal certificate, reading the name “Ciarán Patrick
McGee” in elegant calligraphy. This too she set aside. Underneath it all was an elaborate baby’s gown,
meant for a christening. The fancy cuffs and hem dripped with the intricate tangles of Irish lace. She
also found a small shift to be worn underneath the gown and an infant’s cap frothing with still more lace.
Perhaps it was the hormones, for Laura wasn’t one to be a watering pot, or perhaps it was the sure
knowledge that someone had loved him for at least a few short years; in any case, tears slid her cheeks as
she held the material that had once clothed her husband as an infant.
Remington had never been one to be sentimental about many things, although he had an odd item or two
that he’d rather not lose, but seeing his wife weep over a tiny dress had him looking away in order to
keep his composure. As a matter of habit, he handed her his handkerchief, and she dried her tears.
“Perhaps you did owe his mother something then,” was all she said before packing up the box again--
rising with it and her purse.
Tony watched the couple from his hiding place in the garage. Sure enough, Laura was carrying
Carlisle’s box. Steele toted a briefcase and held her door open while she got in rather ungracefully
before rounding the car and firing up the engine.
Lowering his sunglasses and grateful he’d cut his hair short again so as not to be recognized, the spy
inched backwards until he could slip down the stairs and to the street where his motorcycle was
waiting. He pulled into traffic as the Steeles exited the garage.
He was surprised when the pair only went home, and he settled into a nearby bar to watch for any
further movement that evening. A quick call to the other agent revealed that Carlisle had returned to
the airport and hired a local jet for a quick flight to Florida. He ordered the other agent to stay on
Carlisle’s tail and assured the other man that he would catch up within a day or so.
Well after dark, the Steeles hadn’t stirred and Tony made his next move.
Chapter Eleven--Partners