Steeling a Dream
Part 1: Diamonds of Steele
Part 1: Diamonds of Steele
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Steele Holting On
Steeling a Dream
Part 2: Under a Steele Dark Sky
Part 2: Under a Steele Dark Sky
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Steele Holting On
Chapter 2 Deep Waters
After that, the nightmares started in earnest. For the next several nights, Laura could hardly close her
eyes before the vision of the limo exploding, the sound of her husband sobbing harshly in the hotel and
the memory of the gouges in his skin intruded into her sleep. Most of the time she bit her lip and let the
tears flow in silence so as not to wake Remington, but twice already this week he’d roused her and said
she’d been crying out in her sleep.
And she wasn’t the only one. Once, while she was lying still after waking from a particularly horrible
dream, she’d heard him mumbling her name and cursing vehemently at someone else. She had draped
an arm around him, and he'd settled after a few moments.
By the end of the week, both were exhausted from the lack of real sleep, the hectic pace they’d been
keeping at the agency and the worry they had for each other. Not only that, the physical therapist was
pushing Laura hard to build strength back into her joint. After this last session on Friday afternoon, she
was extraordinarily irritable and eventually sent herself to bed so as not to inflict any more snotty remarks
on her innocent husband. Remington resumed his position on the terrace and smoked another cigar, lost
in his own troubled thoughts.
They hadn’t made love since their last day in London. For a couple that indulged almost daily for two
years, that came as an abrupt shock. Laura hadn’t actually denied him, just fell asleep moments after
getting into bed. Remington had to admit he wasn’t any better. He’d put in such long hours these past
two weeks that he hadn’t indulged in any of the teasing banter with her that put a sparkle in her eyes. In
retrospect, he realized he’d let their desire to protect the agency take priority over their personal needs.
He wanted her--not just in bed. He needed to see that their relationship could be what it was a month
ago. He needed to know if she was pregnant. She was nearly a week overdue for her period, but she
hadn’t offered any explanations. Given her fragile emotional state, he was afraid to ask for one.
Snuffing out the cigar, Remington pushed away from the railing and left the terrace. It only took him a
few minutes to undress and ready himself to join Laura in bed. Clad only in a t-shirt, she had curled up
on his pillow--searching for him in her sleep. He let her find him, and they slept the night through.
When the Saturday morning sun brought a dim glow to the room, he woke first to find Laura sprawled
across him. With her head pillowed on his shoulder, she used his body to support her knee while one
hand clutched his waist. He brought his own hand up to stroke her back, only to discover knotted
muscles there.
How can she sleep that way? Exhaustion? Annoyed with himself again for letting the week get out of
hand, Remington eased out from under her and began massaging the tension from her slim form. The
faded echoes of the bruises could still be seen across her ribs and back; he traced them with a fingertip
before soothing the aches along her spine and shoulders.
Unknowingly, he drew her out of the nightmare she’d been having. She’d been reliving the agony of
thinking he was dead when his gentle touch interrupted the dream. Immediately, she relaxed, and
Remington felt some of the strain ease under his hands. Now he could focus on the knots themselves
and give her some relief.
The gossamer webs of sleep drifted away as she woke to his gentle touch. Her first thought had to do
with how much she’d missed having his hands on her. She lost track of her second when he slipped her
shirt over her head and continued with his gentle ministrations on her neck and shoulders. One thumb
dug into a particularly sore spot under her shoulder blade and then soothed it away. She hovered
somewhere between waking and sleeping while he worked the aches from her body. As the tension
released, a shudder of pleasure rippled through her.
Remington had been waiting for it and smiled when it happened. A gentle nudge to her waist had her
rolling to her back. Smoothly, he slipped a pillow under her knee and began massaging the sore muscles
and tendons of her leg. He considered the fact that she was naked to his gaze a bonus.
Laura opened sleepy eyes and smiled at him. “You’re pretty good at that.”
“One of my many talents,” he jested. She couldn’t help the quivering that rolled through her small
frame. The combination of pain relief with the gentle stroking awakened her quiescent need for him.
“You like that?”
“I do.” Laura blushed as she came fully awake and realized she wasn’t wearing a scrap of clothing while
Rei sat between her legs as he massaged her knee and thigh. “Oh!” He was nude as well and looked like
a Roman sculpture sitting at the foot of the bed.
He raised a brow. “Now Laura, the feast to my eyes is only fair recompense for the thorough massage
you are receiving even as we speak. Besides,” he waited a beat, “I can’t have my way with you if
you’re all tense and sore, hmm?”
“Ah, right.”
“How does it feel?” He slid his thumb up the inside of her thigh and brushed it across the sensitive skin
at the top.
“How does what feel?” Whatever train of thought she might have had was lost as her brain zeroed in on
the sensation.
“Your knee, your back and whatever else might be aching a bit.” He drifted his thumb closer to her
center and discovered she was becoming damp there.
“Uh, fine" What is he talking about? He touched her knot and circled it one time, causing her to close
her eyes and bite her lip.
His thumb stroked from the base of her cleft to the top and back again. “Fine? Moments ago your body
was tighter than the string on a bow.” His thumb came up wet, and he laid it across his lips and savored,
much the same as a chef checking the flavor of sauce--and his refined palate detected something
different, something elusive that teased the senses.
Laura missed the quizzical look that crossed his face. “What was the question?”
He stroked her again and repeated the action. Yes, something is different. “You appear to be quite
relaxed, love.”
“I am.” Well, not if you keep doing THAT.
He took advantage of her stillness and slid his hands over her narrow hips, along her trim waist and
cupped her breasts, causing her to wince ever so faintly. Sore? Is she about to get her period? Or is
she pregnant? He narrowed his eyes as he moved to lie next to her where he could reach her collarbone
with his lips.
With the tenderest of care, he nuzzled her neck and stroked with his free hand until she began making
little squeaking sounds. Then he captured her mouth while he eased over and sank his body deep inside
hers. He stayed a while, not moving, as their tongues melded, and she flexed her short nails on his
shoulders.
“I’m not begging, Rei.” Sure I am. I’m at your mercy and you know it. Damn knee. If I could get a
little leverage, I’d be on top, and you’d be begging ME.
“Of course not, love.” Yeah, you are. And I’m enjoying the hell out of it. Watch this. He took two
long, slow strokes and waited. What are you going to do about that?
Nope. Not begging. Instead, she drew her fingers through his hair and trailed them down his back, using
the lightest touch possible.
Involuntarily, he leaned into her hands, causing him to pull out of her a fraction. Just as helpless to resist,
he sank back in. Her touch sent a shiver through him. Damn it, woman, I can’t concentrate when you
do that. Two years into marriage, he still reveled in the sensation of her fingers trailing over his bare skin.
Then she pulled out the big gun, the one that never failed to disrupt his focus entirely. As her lips found
his neck and shoulder, she whispered, “Rei?”
"Hmmm?”
“I love you.”
Pure pleasure washed over him. She hadn’t said the words since their flight from Cork, and he hadn’t
realized how much he had needed to hear them. Game, set and match. I’m all yours.
He rarely gave her the words, but he did so now, linking her name to his in the process. “I love you,
Laura Steele.” He watched her eyes blur with emotion and began moving inside her, savoring the motion
and the pleasure it created. When he felt her whole body contract around his, he joined her and
murmured her name in her ear.
Because it was Saturday, Remington insisted on making a real breakfast that included eggs of some kind,
ham or bacon and toast. During the work week, he let Laura get away with coffee or yogurt in the
mornings, but on the weekends he insisted on feeding her. The five pounds she’d put on in their two
years of marriage looked good to him though she complained about it from time to time. He saw that she
looked a little green at the sight of scrambled eggs with cheese dusted on top but ate them anyway
between sips of tea.
“So what are we going to do today? Go for a drive? See a movie? I think there’s a Katherine Hepburn
festival going on this weekend.”
“I need to do my exercises this morning.”
He raised one eyebrow at her, noticing that she avoided the question. “Then I’ll go box for a bit while
you do them; we’ll decide after lunch.” She opened her mouth and closed it again without saying
anything. “Laura?”
“Rei, I don’t know that I want to go anywhere today.”
At her forlorn expression, he captured her cheek. “Buck up, love; we’ll do our chores this morning and
be completely irresponsible this afternoon.” Her mouth turned up at the edges, but the light didn’t reach
her eyes.
The moment he left for the run-down, sordid little gym he frequented, Laura retreated to her barre in the
spare bedroom to work through the exercises the physical therapist had assigned. She could feel the
black cloud hanging over her head again, much as it had done these past two weeks. She wanted to
weep but stuffed it down and focused on the movements the therapist taught her.
After she ran through the painful stretches, she attempted to do some of the other parts of her normal
exercise routine. Ten minutes in, her hamstring pulled hard. She dropped to the floor clutching the
strained muscle. Another week on crutches had allowed it to contract, and she hadn’t stretched it out
properly. Oh, this hurts. She sat on the wood floor for a while and tried to massage the pain away,
wishing Remington was here with his magic hands. Damn it, Rei. Why do I need you for everything?
That thought stopped her cold and sent her scrabbling for the phone near the door. No, damn it. I won’t
do this again. Not now. She sat on the floor and leaned against the wall. From memory, she punched
in a number that she hadn’t dialed in nearly six years.
“Dr. Angelo? Um, it’s Laura Steele; I mean ... you probably don’t remember me … but I was Laura
Holt then.”
A woman with a lovely, deep voice answered, “Ah, yes, Mrs. Steele. I saw your picture in the paper and
wondered how you were faring. It’s been many years since you’ve called me. More since you’ve called
me on the weekend.”
Laura took a deep breath and replied, “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Dr. Angelo, I--“
“Mariah, please, Laura. We’re long past last names, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I suppose we are.”
“Tell me why you’ve called. From the sound of your voice, I imagine there must have been much more
to Ireland than what I read in the paper.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” With great trepidation, Laura clutched the phone cord and began recounting
the two weeks in Ireland in exacting detail.
Remington returned to the flat after only thirty minutes. He’d started for the gym and turned back--
realizing that despite the delight of their morning interlude, Laura wasn’t herself at all. He made one
quick stop and picked up a pregnancy test for her. I need to know--one way or the other. Shut up,
Daniel. I know you’re laughing at me again. From time to time he had the distinct feeling his father
was watching every move he made. This was one of them.
Why hadn’t she taken a pregnancy test? He knew he’d been out of the office and away from her far too
much, but it had taken a good dose of his charm and persuasiveness to soothe the clients and deal with
the press concerning the recent events. Laura had given only one brief interview from her office and let
him handle the rest.
When he stepped from the elevator and opened the door to their penthouse, he heard her speaking with
someone from the bedroom they’d turned into a small gym. She sounded upset. He drew closer and
realized she was giving someone an honest accounting of the fortnight they’d spent overseas.
“Mariah, I know that it’s all put to rest for now and O’Callaghan can’t hurt us, but I can’t seem to think
past it. And now … there are complications. Oh, damn. I won’t go back down this road again! I
thought I was strong enough not to let this happen again.”
Dr. Angelo kept her voice level, projecting confidence and comfort across the phone lines. “Laura,
you’ve had an enormous shock, and you’ve been the victim of a violent crime. Not only that, under the
influence of drugs, you’ve hurt the person you love most. Of course, there are going to be
repercussions. Now then, I need to know what kind of complications there are.”
“Well, for one, my knee injury might be permanent. How am I supposed to be a detective if I can’t
detect, Mariah? I love what I do. Remington and I make a great team. I don’t want him permanently
partnered with someone else.”
“That’s understandable, Laura. What else?”
“I … I think I’m pregnant. I’m almost certain. I think Remington knows it too. Oh, Mariah, I want to
be the people we were a month ago. We decided together that we wanted a family. I want to be excited
about this child. I want us to be happy about it.”
“Are you worried about his reaction?”
“No, I know he’ll be thrilled. But I can’t think past Ireland long enough to be happy about anything right
now.” She started to cry. “I can’t put off a pregnancy test much longer, or he’ll think there’s something
wrong and I don’t want to have a baby. But I do. I just don’t know how to tell him so that he’ll believe
me.”
“Laura, I know you can get through this. You’ve done it before, and you are already doing the right
things. Can you tell me how far along you are? The obstetrician will count from the first day of your
last period.”
“Five weeks,” she said without hesitation.
“You’ve been keeping track.”
“We want a family, Mariah.”
“So tell me what you are afraid of most. Not the big things. I want to know the things that set you off.”
Laura closed her eyes and let Mariah’s soothing voice calm her. “The limousine--getting in it every day
gets more difficult. Being cold. My knee after therapy--it starts aching as it did those first few days. But
mostly not being with Rei. If I could find a way to hold his hand the entire day, I would. I can’t sleep
unless he’s holding me. I don’t want to go anywhere because I’m afraid something will happen to him.
Mariah--I don’t want to do to him what I did to Kate.” Her breath hitched, and she had to refocus on
calming herself, using techniques that Mariah had taught her long ago.
“Then we’ll deal with those things, Laura. How are things in the bedroom?”
“Not counting this morning?”
“If I count this morning, does it make things better?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’ll count it.”
“We’ve been exhausted, so there’s been none up until now.”
“How was it before?”
“Daily.”
Mariah whistled. “I imagine he wasn’t the only instigator.”
Laura laughed softly, with a hint of her old humor. “No. Not even close.”
“I want to see you on Monday, my friend. I’m going to give you a homework assignment over the
weekend.”
“Okay.”
“First, I want you to get out of the house for just three hours with your husband. Do something that's
fun where you can get outside in the sunlight. A picnic would be good. Second, I want you to see an
obstetrician this week if for no other reason than to be able to take something for your knee to cut the
pain. And third, I want you and your husband to find a restaurant or some place you can go to talk about
Ireland without bringing it into your home.”
“Okay,” she repeated.
“Laura, how’s he holding up with all this?”
“I honestly don’t know. I’ve caught him in a few bad dreams because I’ve been awake so much, but
beyond that--we’ve hardly been together except for a couple of hours in the evenings. We’ve been
working overtime doing damage control from all the media attention. He’s taken the brunt of that.”
“How long will that keep up?”
“I hope we’re done. Things slowed down quite a bit at the agency yesterday, and the press has finally
quit calling for interviews. I ... things are different though, Mariah.”
“Then the last part of your assignment is to get a bead on how he’s doing, and you can’t do that unless
you spend time with him. Monday, Laura. I don’t care when you want to come in; I’ll make it work for
you.”
“I have physical therapy at three.”
“Then I’ll see you at four.”
“Mariah, what do I do about telling him?”
“What you knew before you called me. It’s time to dig down and find the words, Laura. If you can’t be
happy about it right now, he needs to know why. I know he loves you. You would never marry if he
didn’t. But does he understand you?”
“Probably as well as you do.”
“Then he’ll understand this. We’ll talk more on Monday, and you can tell me how things went.”
“Mariah, thank you.”
“Laura, for you, anytime.”
After saying goodbye, Laura hung up the phone and leaned against the wall. She wiped away the last of
her tears. I can do this. We survived. We’re home. Things will be good again. Now if she could only
make herself believe the last part.
Remington slipped out the front door and into the elevator before Laura could find him. He took a quick
stroll around the block thinking about what he’d overheard and couldn’t help the sigh of relief and a small
grin. Laura thought she was pregnant, and she was happy about it despite all evidence to the contrary.
She also wasn’t avoiding him. If he knew his wife, and he did, she was trying to stand on her own two
feet and not lean on him when she had every right to do so.
He frowned, thinking of the phone conversation. Laura had called her friend "Dr. Angelo" and later
"Mariah." He increased his pace until he reached the convenience store on the corner. He flipped
through the phone book on the counter and found a Dr. Mariah Angelo, psychologist. A shrink? And
one that Laura was familiar with enough to call by her first name.
Comprehension dawned as he fit the pieces of the conversation with one he’d had a while back with
Murphy. Apparently, Laura had struggled with depression in high school and later after Wilson had left
her. Remington couldn’t quite relate the image he had of Laura with the one of someone needing
therapy, but in a strange way it made sense--she was always a bit frightened of her emotions becoming
too strong.
Now he understood what she had been hiding from him these past two weeks, and his own façade began
to crack. Damn O’Callaghan. With the man dead, Steele didn’t even have the satisfaction of justice--
however it might have been executed. Abruptly, he spun around and headed back to the garage.
During the short trip to the sweaty boxing gym, all the terrible visions and raging anger he’d been
suppressing erupted. With his characteristic icy calm, his blue eyes lightened until they were nearly the
color of his name as he strode through the humid room filled with grunting men and loud rock music
pouring from the speakers mounted high above. He wrapped his knuckles just once, wanting--needing--
to feel the pain as he pummeled the heavy bag.
Repeatedly, he drove his fist into the canvas while reliving the extreme emotions of those two weeks,
from the joy of deciding with Laura that they wanted to start a family to the excruciating horror of the
pain O’Callaghan had caused her. He still couldn’t forgive himself for what he’d done. Buggering hell,
Rei, couldn’t you have come up with another fucking option? What kind of man abandons his own
wife after she’s been abused? What kind of bastard hurts his own wife anyway? He could feel his own
tears burning in his eyes and threw his punches harder to shove past it.
When he did, his shoulders and knuckles burned, and he sagged on a nearby bench, his head in his
hands. A large part of him wanted to walk away from the pain, to shut it out and forget it. It had always
worked in the past--a new name, a new life and the old could be left behind. But he had a different kind
of life now, and he wasn’t exactly sure how to deal with the raging emotions he had.
In the end, he fell back upon old habits. On the drive home, the crisp morning air dried the sweat from
his face, and he shut away the dark emotions in his head, this time clearing them from his mind by
visualizing the Remington he’d been a short two months ago. His expression lightened, and by the time
he reached the penthouse, he had a slight grin on his face. The pregnancy test was stashed under the car
seat for now.
Laura was reading through one of Sandra’s cases, making notes on it from the sofa. An ice pack rested
on her propped up knee. She had obviously showered and applied a bare amount of makeup, for there
was no trace of distress on her face. But the smile she automatically gave him when he opened the door
didn’t reach her eyes. “Hi.”
“Hello, love.” He braced himself above her and kissed her temple.
She wrinkled her nose. “You need a shower.”
“Aye, and you smell like roses when you sweat.” Without thinking, he let a touch of the music of Ireland
thread through his voice.
Rather than making her edgy, hearing the rare accent comforted her like a warm caress. She smiled for
real this time. “Of course, I do. And women don’t sweat; they glow.”
“Call it what you will, but you still need a shower afterwards.” He pushed himself upright and walked to
the bedroom. “Have you had any thoughts as to what we’re going to do this afternoon?” His voice was
nonchalant.
Just as offhandedly, she answered, “I don’t think I’m in the mood for a movie; how about a picnic?”
“I’ll get a shower and pack a lunch.”
Chapter Three -- Small Steps
After that, the nightmares started in earnest. For the next several nights, Laura could hardly close her
eyes before the vision of the limo exploding, the sound of her husband sobbing harshly in the hotel and
the memory of the gouges in his skin intruded into her sleep. Most of the time she bit her lip and let the
tears flow in silence so as not to wake Remington, but twice already this week he’d roused her and said
she’d been crying out in her sleep.
And she wasn’t the only one. Once, while she was lying still after waking from a particularly horrible
dream, she’d heard him mumbling her name and cursing vehemently at someone else. She had draped
an arm around him, and he'd settled after a few moments.
By the end of the week, both were exhausted from the lack of real sleep, the hectic pace they’d been
keeping at the agency and the worry they had for each other. Not only that, the physical therapist was
pushing Laura hard to build strength back into her joint. After this last session on Friday afternoon, she
was extraordinarily irritable and eventually sent herself to bed so as not to inflict any more snotty remarks
on her innocent husband. Remington resumed his position on the terrace and smoked another cigar, lost
in his own troubled thoughts.
They hadn’t made love since their last day in London. For a couple that indulged almost daily for two
years, that came as an abrupt shock. Laura hadn’t actually denied him, just fell asleep moments after
getting into bed. Remington had to admit he wasn’t any better. He’d put in such long hours these past
two weeks that he hadn’t indulged in any of the teasing banter with her that put a sparkle in her eyes. In
retrospect, he realized he’d let their desire to protect the agency take priority over their personal needs.
He wanted her--not just in bed. He needed to see that their relationship could be what it was a month
ago. He needed to know if she was pregnant. She was nearly a week overdue for her period, but she
hadn’t offered any explanations. Given her fragile emotional state, he was afraid to ask for one.
Snuffing out the cigar, Remington pushed away from the railing and left the terrace. It only took him a
few minutes to undress and ready himself to join Laura in bed. Clad only in a t-shirt, she had curled up
on his pillow--searching for him in her sleep. He let her find him, and they slept the night through.
When the Saturday morning sun brought a dim glow to the room, he woke first to find Laura sprawled
across him. With her head pillowed on his shoulder, she used his body to support her knee while one
hand clutched his waist. He brought his own hand up to stroke her back, only to discover knotted
muscles there.
How can she sleep that way? Exhaustion? Annoyed with himself again for letting the week get out of
hand, Remington eased out from under her and began massaging the tension from her slim form. The
faded echoes of the bruises could still be seen across her ribs and back; he traced them with a fingertip
before soothing the aches along her spine and shoulders.
Unknowingly, he drew her out of the nightmare she’d been having. She’d been reliving the agony of
thinking he was dead when his gentle touch interrupted the dream. Immediately, she relaxed, and
Remington felt some of the strain ease under his hands. Now he could focus on the knots themselves
and give her some relief.
The gossamer webs of sleep drifted away as she woke to his gentle touch. Her first thought had to do
with how much she’d missed having his hands on her. She lost track of her second when he slipped her
shirt over her head and continued with his gentle ministrations on her neck and shoulders. One thumb
dug into a particularly sore spot under her shoulder blade and then soothed it away. She hovered
somewhere between waking and sleeping while he worked the aches from her body. As the tension
released, a shudder of pleasure rippled through her.
Remington had been waiting for it and smiled when it happened. A gentle nudge to her waist had her
rolling to her back. Smoothly, he slipped a pillow under her knee and began massaging the sore muscles
and tendons of her leg. He considered the fact that she was naked to his gaze a bonus.
Laura opened sleepy eyes and smiled at him. “You’re pretty good at that.”
“One of my many talents,” he jested. She couldn’t help the quivering that rolled through her small
frame. The combination of pain relief with the gentle stroking awakened her quiescent need for him.
“You like that?”
“I do.” Laura blushed as she came fully awake and realized she wasn’t wearing a scrap of clothing while
Rei sat between her legs as he massaged her knee and thigh. “Oh!” He was nude as well and looked like
a Roman sculpture sitting at the foot of the bed.
He raised a brow. “Now Laura, the feast to my eyes is only fair recompense for the thorough massage
you are receiving even as we speak. Besides,” he waited a beat, “I can’t have my way with you if
you’re all tense and sore, hmm?”
“Ah, right.”
“How does it feel?” He slid his thumb up the inside of her thigh and brushed it across the sensitive skin
at the top.
“How does what feel?” Whatever train of thought she might have had was lost as her brain zeroed in on
the sensation.
“Your knee, your back and whatever else might be aching a bit.” He drifted his thumb closer to her
center and discovered she was becoming damp there.
“Uh, fine" What is he talking about? He touched her knot and circled it one time, causing her to close
her eyes and bite her lip.
His thumb stroked from the base of her cleft to the top and back again. “Fine? Moments ago your body
was tighter than the string on a bow.” His thumb came up wet, and he laid it across his lips and savored,
much the same as a chef checking the flavor of sauce--and his refined palate detected something
different, something elusive that teased the senses.
Laura missed the quizzical look that crossed his face. “What was the question?”
He stroked her again and repeated the action. Yes, something is different. “You appear to be quite
relaxed, love.”
“I am.” Well, not if you keep doing THAT.
He took advantage of her stillness and slid his hands over her narrow hips, along her trim waist and
cupped her breasts, causing her to wince ever so faintly. Sore? Is she about to get her period? Or is
she pregnant? He narrowed his eyes as he moved to lie next to her where he could reach her collarbone
with his lips.
With the tenderest of care, he nuzzled her neck and stroked with his free hand until she began making
little squeaking sounds. Then he captured her mouth while he eased over and sank his body deep inside
hers. He stayed a while, not moving, as their tongues melded, and she flexed her short nails on his
shoulders.
“I’m not begging, Rei.” Sure I am. I’m at your mercy and you know it. Damn knee. If I could get a
little leverage, I’d be on top, and you’d be begging ME.
“Of course not, love.” Yeah, you are. And I’m enjoying the hell out of it. Watch this. He took two
long, slow strokes and waited. What are you going to do about that?
Nope. Not begging. Instead, she drew her fingers through his hair and trailed them down his back, using
the lightest touch possible.
Involuntarily, he leaned into her hands, causing him to pull out of her a fraction. Just as helpless to resist,
he sank back in. Her touch sent a shiver through him. Damn it, woman, I can’t concentrate when you
do that. Two years into marriage, he still reveled in the sensation of her fingers trailing over his bare skin.
Then she pulled out the big gun, the one that never failed to disrupt his focus entirely. As her lips found
his neck and shoulder, she whispered, “Rei?”
"Hmmm?”
“I love you.”
Pure pleasure washed over him. She hadn’t said the words since their flight from Cork, and he hadn’t
realized how much he had needed to hear them. Game, set and match. I’m all yours.
He rarely gave her the words, but he did so now, linking her name to his in the process. “I love you,
Laura Steele.” He watched her eyes blur with emotion and began moving inside her, savoring the motion
and the pleasure it created. When he felt her whole body contract around his, he joined her and
murmured her name in her ear.
Because it was Saturday, Remington insisted on making a real breakfast that included eggs of some kind,
ham or bacon and toast. During the work week, he let Laura get away with coffee or yogurt in the
mornings, but on the weekends he insisted on feeding her. The five pounds she’d put on in their two
years of marriage looked good to him though she complained about it from time to time. He saw that she
looked a little green at the sight of scrambled eggs with cheese dusted on top but ate them anyway
between sips of tea.
“So what are we going to do today? Go for a drive? See a movie? I think there’s a Katherine Hepburn
festival going on this weekend.”
“I need to do my exercises this morning.”
He raised one eyebrow at her, noticing that she avoided the question. “Then I’ll go box for a bit while
you do them; we’ll decide after lunch.” She opened her mouth and closed it again without saying
anything. “Laura?”
“Rei, I don’t know that I want to go anywhere today.”
At her forlorn expression, he captured her cheek. “Buck up, love; we’ll do our chores this morning and
be completely irresponsible this afternoon.” Her mouth turned up at the edges, but the light didn’t reach
her eyes.
The moment he left for the run-down, sordid little gym he frequented, Laura retreated to her barre in the
spare bedroom to work through the exercises the physical therapist had assigned. She could feel the
black cloud hanging over her head again, much as it had done these past two weeks. She wanted to
weep but stuffed it down and focused on the movements the therapist taught her.
After she ran through the painful stretches, she attempted to do some of the other parts of her normal
exercise routine. Ten minutes in, her hamstring pulled hard. She dropped to the floor clutching the
strained muscle. Another week on crutches had allowed it to contract, and she hadn’t stretched it out
properly. Oh, this hurts. She sat on the wood floor for a while and tried to massage the pain away,
wishing Remington was here with his magic hands. Damn it, Rei. Why do I need you for everything?
That thought stopped her cold and sent her scrabbling for the phone near the door. No, damn it. I won’t
do this again. Not now. She sat on the floor and leaned against the wall. From memory, she punched
in a number that she hadn’t dialed in nearly six years.
“Dr. Angelo? Um, it’s Laura Steele; I mean ... you probably don’t remember me … but I was Laura
Holt then.”
A woman with a lovely, deep voice answered, “Ah, yes, Mrs. Steele. I saw your picture in the paper and
wondered how you were faring. It’s been many years since you’ve called me. More since you’ve called
me on the weekend.”
Laura took a deep breath and replied, “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Dr. Angelo, I--“
“Mariah, please, Laura. We’re long past last names, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I suppose we are.”
“Tell me why you’ve called. From the sound of your voice, I imagine there must have been much more
to Ireland than what I read in the paper.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” With great trepidation, Laura clutched the phone cord and began recounting
the two weeks in Ireland in exacting detail.
Remington returned to the flat after only thirty minutes. He’d started for the gym and turned back--
realizing that despite the delight of their morning interlude, Laura wasn’t herself at all. He made one
quick stop and picked up a pregnancy test for her. I need to know--one way or the other. Shut up,
Daniel. I know you’re laughing at me again. From time to time he had the distinct feeling his father
was watching every move he made. This was one of them.
Why hadn’t she taken a pregnancy test? He knew he’d been out of the office and away from her far too
much, but it had taken a good dose of his charm and persuasiveness to soothe the clients and deal with
the press concerning the recent events. Laura had given only one brief interview from her office and let
him handle the rest.
When he stepped from the elevator and opened the door to their penthouse, he heard her speaking with
someone from the bedroom they’d turned into a small gym. She sounded upset. He drew closer and
realized she was giving someone an honest accounting of the fortnight they’d spent overseas.
“Mariah, I know that it’s all put to rest for now and O’Callaghan can’t hurt us, but I can’t seem to think
past it. And now … there are complications. Oh, damn. I won’t go back down this road again! I
thought I was strong enough not to let this happen again.”
Dr. Angelo kept her voice level, projecting confidence and comfort across the phone lines. “Laura,
you’ve had an enormous shock, and you’ve been the victim of a violent crime. Not only that, under the
influence of drugs, you’ve hurt the person you love most. Of course, there are going to be
repercussions. Now then, I need to know what kind of complications there are.”
“Well, for one, my knee injury might be permanent. How am I supposed to be a detective if I can’t
detect, Mariah? I love what I do. Remington and I make a great team. I don’t want him permanently
partnered with someone else.”
“That’s understandable, Laura. What else?”
“I … I think I’m pregnant. I’m almost certain. I think Remington knows it too. Oh, Mariah, I want to
be the people we were a month ago. We decided together that we wanted a family. I want to be excited
about this child. I want us to be happy about it.”
“Are you worried about his reaction?”
“No, I know he’ll be thrilled. But I can’t think past Ireland long enough to be happy about anything right
now.” She started to cry. “I can’t put off a pregnancy test much longer, or he’ll think there’s something
wrong and I don’t want to have a baby. But I do. I just don’t know how to tell him so that he’ll believe
me.”
“Laura, I know you can get through this. You’ve done it before, and you are already doing the right
things. Can you tell me how far along you are? The obstetrician will count from the first day of your
last period.”
“Five weeks,” she said without hesitation.
“You’ve been keeping track.”
“We want a family, Mariah.”
“So tell me what you are afraid of most. Not the big things. I want to know the things that set you off.”
Laura closed her eyes and let Mariah’s soothing voice calm her. “The limousine--getting in it every day
gets more difficult. Being cold. My knee after therapy--it starts aching as it did those first few days. But
mostly not being with Rei. If I could find a way to hold his hand the entire day, I would. I can’t sleep
unless he’s holding me. I don’t want to go anywhere because I’m afraid something will happen to him.
Mariah--I don’t want to do to him what I did to Kate.” Her breath hitched, and she had to refocus on
calming herself, using techniques that Mariah had taught her long ago.
“Then we’ll deal with those things, Laura. How are things in the bedroom?”
“Not counting this morning?”
“If I count this morning, does it make things better?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’ll count it.”
“We’ve been exhausted, so there’s been none up until now.”
“How was it before?”
“Daily.”
Mariah whistled. “I imagine he wasn’t the only instigator.”
Laura laughed softly, with a hint of her old humor. “No. Not even close.”
“I want to see you on Monday, my friend. I’m going to give you a homework assignment over the
weekend.”
“Okay.”
“First, I want you to get out of the house for just three hours with your husband. Do something that's
fun where you can get outside in the sunlight. A picnic would be good. Second, I want you to see an
obstetrician this week if for no other reason than to be able to take something for your knee to cut the
pain. And third, I want you and your husband to find a restaurant or some place you can go to talk about
Ireland without bringing it into your home.”
“Okay,” she repeated.
“Laura, how’s he holding up with all this?”
“I honestly don’t know. I’ve caught him in a few bad dreams because I’ve been awake so much, but
beyond that--we’ve hardly been together except for a couple of hours in the evenings. We’ve been
working overtime doing damage control from all the media attention. He’s taken the brunt of that.”
“How long will that keep up?”
“I hope we’re done. Things slowed down quite a bit at the agency yesterday, and the press has finally
quit calling for interviews. I ... things are different though, Mariah.”
“Then the last part of your assignment is to get a bead on how he’s doing, and you can’t do that unless
you spend time with him. Monday, Laura. I don’t care when you want to come in; I’ll make it work for
you.”
“I have physical therapy at three.”
“Then I’ll see you at four.”
“Mariah, what do I do about telling him?”
“What you knew before you called me. It’s time to dig down and find the words, Laura. If you can’t be
happy about it right now, he needs to know why. I know he loves you. You would never marry if he
didn’t. But does he understand you?”
“Probably as well as you do.”
“Then he’ll understand this. We’ll talk more on Monday, and you can tell me how things went.”
“Mariah, thank you.”
“Laura, for you, anytime.”
After saying goodbye, Laura hung up the phone and leaned against the wall. She wiped away the last of
her tears. I can do this. We survived. We’re home. Things will be good again. Now if she could only
make herself believe the last part.
Remington slipped out the front door and into the elevator before Laura could find him. He took a quick
stroll around the block thinking about what he’d overheard and couldn’t help the sigh of relief and a small
grin. Laura thought she was pregnant, and she was happy about it despite all evidence to the contrary.
She also wasn’t avoiding him. If he knew his wife, and he did, she was trying to stand on her own two
feet and not lean on him when she had every right to do so.
He frowned, thinking of the phone conversation. Laura had called her friend "Dr. Angelo" and later
"Mariah." He increased his pace until he reached the convenience store on the corner. He flipped
through the phone book on the counter and found a Dr. Mariah Angelo, psychologist. A shrink? And
one that Laura was familiar with enough to call by her first name.
Comprehension dawned as he fit the pieces of the conversation with one he’d had a while back with
Murphy. Apparently, Laura had struggled with depression in high school and later after Wilson had left
her. Remington couldn’t quite relate the image he had of Laura with the one of someone needing
therapy, but in a strange way it made sense--she was always a bit frightened of her emotions becoming
too strong.
Now he understood what she had been hiding from him these past two weeks, and his own façade began
to crack. Damn O’Callaghan. With the man dead, Steele didn’t even have the satisfaction of justice--
however it might have been executed. Abruptly, he spun around and headed back to the garage.
During the short trip to the sweaty boxing gym, all the terrible visions and raging anger he’d been
suppressing erupted. With his characteristic icy calm, his blue eyes lightened until they were nearly the
color of his name as he strode through the humid room filled with grunting men and loud rock music
pouring from the speakers mounted high above. He wrapped his knuckles just once, wanting--needing--
to feel the pain as he pummeled the heavy bag.
Repeatedly, he drove his fist into the canvas while reliving the extreme emotions of those two weeks,
from the joy of deciding with Laura that they wanted to start a family to the excruciating horror of the
pain O’Callaghan had caused her. He still couldn’t forgive himself for what he’d done. Buggering hell,
Rei, couldn’t you have come up with another fucking option? What kind of man abandons his own
wife after she’s been abused? What kind of bastard hurts his own wife anyway? He could feel his own
tears burning in his eyes and threw his punches harder to shove past it.
When he did, his shoulders and knuckles burned, and he sagged on a nearby bench, his head in his
hands. A large part of him wanted to walk away from the pain, to shut it out and forget it. It had always
worked in the past--a new name, a new life and the old could be left behind. But he had a different kind
of life now, and he wasn’t exactly sure how to deal with the raging emotions he had.
In the end, he fell back upon old habits. On the drive home, the crisp morning air dried the sweat from
his face, and he shut away the dark emotions in his head, this time clearing them from his mind by
visualizing the Remington he’d been a short two months ago. His expression lightened, and by the time
he reached the penthouse, he had a slight grin on his face. The pregnancy test was stashed under the car
seat for now.
Laura was reading through one of Sandra’s cases, making notes on it from the sofa. An ice pack rested
on her propped up knee. She had obviously showered and applied a bare amount of makeup, for there
was no trace of distress on her face. But the smile she automatically gave him when he opened the door
didn’t reach her eyes. “Hi.”
“Hello, love.” He braced himself above her and kissed her temple.
She wrinkled her nose. “You need a shower.”
“Aye, and you smell like roses when you sweat.” Without thinking, he let a touch of the music of Ireland
thread through his voice.
Rather than making her edgy, hearing the rare accent comforted her like a warm caress. She smiled for
real this time. “Of course, I do. And women don’t sweat; they glow.”
“Call it what you will, but you still need a shower afterwards.” He pushed himself upright and walked to
the bedroom. “Have you had any thoughts as to what we’re going to do this afternoon?” His voice was
nonchalant.
Just as offhandedly, she answered, “I don’t think I’m in the mood for a movie; how about a picnic?”
“I’ll get a shower and pack a lunch.”
Chapter Three -- Small Steps