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 9 Turning Point
The following Friday was a rather momentous day.
Mid-morning, Remington and Laura had their second appointment with the obstetrician. Like most
expectant parents, they were nervous and excited at the same time. After the preliminary questions about
symptoms she was experiencing were answered and any particular problems addressed--of which there
were thankfully none--the doctor had Laura lie back on the table for a quick sonogram. Since twins were
rampant in Laura’s family, Dr. Berger had determined a picture would be better than simply listening for
a heartbeat.
Idly, Remington stroked Laura’s hair as the cold gel was applied to her belly. She wrinkled her nose and
shivered at the sensation. She forgot all about temperature, though, when a grainy picture of a small
peanut-shaped dot floated around on the screen. Rei’s hand froze.
“Just one, Mr. and Mrs. Steele,” announced the obstetrician. “And so far we’re looking great.”
“Thank God,” murmured Remington, entranced by the image on the monitor. Laura would have
protested his response if she wasn’t relieved too. One was enough for now.
Dr. Berger pressed a button several times and handed her several sonogram photos for keepsakes before
turning off the machine. The doctor wiped down her torso with a well-washed, clean towel and then laid
a Doppler instrument below her belly button. She explained that they might be able hear the heartbeat
this early if they got lucky.
And sure enough, a rapid, high pitched thumping began to come through the little speaker.
Laura looked up at Remington as he stared--transfixed by the little instrument from which the sound was
emanating. More than the picture, the sound of that tiny heart beating had him fumbling for his
handkerchief with one hand while the other held Laura’s in a crushing grip. She knew he’d been
fascinated by the changes in her body over the past several weeks, but apparently the reality of what they
were about hadn’t set in until this moment. The doctor smiled at his reaction, and Laura stroked her
husband’s arm as she listened to the mesmerizing sound with him.
When the exam was finished and Dr. Berger had retreated, Remington sat hard on the lone chair. He
scrubbed at his face while Laura straightened her clothing and slid off the table. “Rei?” She interrupted
his daze.
“Oh, are you done, love?” He automatically stood and reached for the doorknob to open it for her. But
she threaded her arms through his and held him still until he had his composure again. He started to
speak, but she laid a finger across his lips before pulling his head to hers. Laura’s hands came up to
tangle in the hair on either side of Remington’s head as she held him in place and savored his mouth.
She could taste where the tears had streaked and dried as his arms came up and held on to her.
When she ended the kiss, he shifted to hold her so that her head cradled against his shoulder. “Good
Lord, Laura, I know this is terribly obvious at this point--but we’re having a little one.”
She stifled a chuckle. “Mm hmm. Somewhere between Christmas and New Year’s.”
He broke their embrace and reached for the door again. “That’s rather nice. Our little one’s birthday
will be between yours and mine.”
Laura walked into the hallway and commented, “Sure and Mother is already complaining about having to
shop for six birthdays around the holidays. It’s a good thing the rest of the family is scattered throughout
the rest of the year.”
“But she’s quite happy about all of it.”
“It’s rare that I do something that thrills her. I’m certain she thinks it was all your idea.”
Remington grinned and tugged his ear as they rode in the elevator to the ground floor. “Ah, she does.
She insinuated as much the day we told her.”
Laura just shook her head with a wry smile. Some things would never change.
After lunch, an armored car pulled up in front of Century Towers, and two armed security guards carried
a small package to the twelfth floor. Ian buzzed Mr. Steele, who immediately appeared to sign for the
nondescript box. He disappeared again with the package, closing his door behind him. The secretary
frowned and crossed his arms. He didn’t like secrets in his office, and in this agency they were a
rampant, living entity that annoyed the hell out of him. He would have to consult with Mildred when she
returned from the courthouse.
In the privacy of his office, Remington didn’t hesitate to slice into the box with the pocket knife he kept
in his desk drawer. He lifted out a small item covered in bubble-wrap and underneath that, velvet.
Inside the soft fabric was the stone at the crux of all that had occurred in Ireland.
Laura had said she didn’t want it, but he hadn’t been able to resist seeing the stone properly cut. And
when he saw the finished gem, he found a jeweler that could turn his sketches into reality. The artist had
surrounded the one-and-a-quarter caret pear-cut red diamond with blown platinum strands to make the
stone look as if it floated in space. Platinum links the width of an infant’s hand made up the necklace
from which the pendant was suspended. Remington sat in his office chair with his back to the bank of
windows. He held the necklace in his hand, watching it spin as it dangled from his fingers.
Laura walked in, carrying a file in her hand. She set it on the desk when she saw what held and came
around to his side where she leaned against the edge. Watching her husband’s face, she asked, “What
are you going to do with it?”
“I don’t know.” He thought about the past eight weeks since they’d come home. While things were
better, they hadn’t quite put it all behind them yet. Laura was still seeing Dr. Angelo once--and her
physical therapist twice--each week. He was spending that and more working out his own difficulties at
the boxing gym. “Laura … why aren’t you angry with me?”
“About what?”
“This whole … bloody ordeal!”
Laura sighed. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, and she'd given him a similar answer
each time. She stifled her irritation, but some of it leaked through anyway. “Rei, why is this all your
fault? You didn’t book the flight to Cork. You didn’t have us kidnapped. You did what you had to do
to get us out of a terrible situation. And when you couldn’t do any more, you put your trust in me to
finish it. What else am I supposed to ask of you?” Getting hold of her emotions, she leaned over onto
the desk and brushed her fingers through his hair, adding with sure confidence, “They didn’t break us,
love. They couldn’t.”
A month ago he might not have agreed. But today? He pulled her off the desk and into his lap, still
clutching the necklace in his hand. “No, that they didn’t.” Remington looked at the diamond again. “I
can’t sell it. I don’t want the money. You--we paid too high a price for it. And I don’t want anyone
else to have it; I feel as if it’s a part of us somehow.”
She took it from him and held the pendant to the light, watching it dance and sparkle as it spun. “It’s
gorgeous.” Maybe it was fanciful imaginings, but in her pregnant state, the suspended red gem reminded
her of the child she carried. He took it from her again, and with his eyebrows, asked for permission to
slip it over her head. She nodded. The necklace itself was a long one, allowing the diamond to rest just
below her sternum. Laura picked it up again and toyed with it. “It’s incredible how something so ugly at
the start can become so extraordinarily beautiful.
Remington placed his hand against the curve of her belly. “My thoughts exactly.”
Warmed by the feel of his long fingers resting against her abdomen, she cocked her head, shooting him a
questioning glance and looking at the pendent again. “You made this?” Since their marriage, Laura had
discovered that her husband had a knack for designing jewelry--usually with lyrical, flowing lines in
platinum or rose gold.
“I commissioned it from my sketches, yes.”
“When?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I gave the raw stone to a cutter as soon as we returned. Quite frankly, I had
to see what was inside. Call it old habit or insatiable curiosity--either one is accurate.” He shifted his
hand to play with the stone resting against her belly. “When you told me you were pregnant, I knew
what I wanted to do with it and gave the gem to the artist a couple of weeks ago. She does excellent
work.” He hesitated and touched his fingers to his lips. “What … what would you have me do with it?
I know you said--“
Laura stroked his cheek and pressed a kiss to it. “I’ll wear it, of course.” The fact that he created it for
her made all the difference in the world.
“You’re sure?”
“We have the Policemen’s Ball two weeks from tomorrow. I think that’s a good place to wear it. It’ll be
secure enough.” She wrinkled her nose, trying to avoid thinking about how valuable the necklace might
be. Between it and her wedding ring, she felt something like a Middle Eastern bride wearing her dowry
in jewels.
Remington chuckled. “Perhaps. But you’ll have me with you anyway.”
With no small amount of reluctance, for she adored the jewelry he created for her, Laura stood and drew
the necklace over her head to lay it on the velvet cloth he held out. He wrapped it, tucking the piece into
the box and placing the whole thing into his desk drawer to take home later.
He reached out and touched her middle, sliding his hands to either side of her waist and laying his head
against her swelling belly, thinking about the heartbeat he’d heard that morning and imagining he could
hear it now.
“Rei,” she tipped his chin up and stroked his cheek, “we’re okay.”
At times like this, Remington was awed by Laura’s strength of character. A lesser woman would have
eyed the stone with avarice; a weaker one would have shied away from the painful memories it evoked.
But Laura saw beyond all of that to the beauty that had been forged from a nightmare. It was, at times,
the way he often thought she must think of him.
The third unusual event that day occurred shortly before the Steeles closed the office for the weekend.
They had one last client scheduled to arrive at four-thirty. He was new to the agency and had requested
an appointment with Mr. Steele regarding a security system for his home.
Steele had Carter look up the address and from the property tax records draw up an initial plan that could
be tweaked during or after the meeting. Even if the client didn’t sign with the agency, the practice was
good for the apprentice.
Remington straightened his tie and looked over the file one more time after checking his watch. He
assumed that the client was purchasing the home as his name didn’t match the ones on the property tax
rolls. John Carmine. It sounded Italian, but the name rang a bell in the deepest recesses of his mind. He
frowned as Ian buzzed him.
“Mr. Steele, Mr. Carmine is here.”
“Thank you, Ian.” By not instructing the secretary to send the client into his office, Connelly knew to
make gracious apologies about a phone call and that Mr. Steele would be out shortly.
Remington peeked around Laura’s open door. She was on the telephone, sweet-talking an apartment
manager into divulging the name of a renter. Smiling with success, she hung up and wrote down the
information on the file lying open in front of her before noticing him standing there. “Don’t you have a
client waiting?”
“Ah, I do. Does the name ‘John Carmine’ mean anything to you?”
Laura shook her head. “No. Should it?”
He tugged his jacket straight and pulled out the cuffs of his shirt. “Perhaps not. It seemed familiar for
some reason. No matter. I’ll be done shortly.” He retreated to his office, leaving both doors on either
end of their connecting hallway slightly ajar as a matter of habit.
Out of curiosity and instinct, she stood and straightened her own wine-colored jacket--buttoning it so that
her pregnancy wasn’t obvious--and made up an excuse to ask Ian a question. She opened her office
door at nearly the same time as her husband opened his, and they took a good look at the man pacing in
front of Ian’s desk. Tall and thin like Remington, but older and sporting grey streaks in his deep brown
hair, he was carrying a slim square box behind him as he walked.
“Hello, Cousin … hello, Mickey.” Irish danced through the hard voice of Johnny Carlisle, a man who
didn’t like to be kept waiting, as he nodded first to Remington and then to Laura. Power radiated
through his slim build. He wore an expensive suit and neutral expression as he took in the Steeles.
Ian sat straight up at his desk, his open face reflecting dismay as he connected the dots.
Johnny’s eyes skimmed over Laura, and he approached her first, shifting the box to one hand and
holding out the other to take hers. Keeping her own face pleasant and controlled, Laura held his gaze
when she placed her fingers in his. With practiced grace, he turned her hand over to drop a kiss across
her knuckles.
The secretary watched Remington flash into movement--the panther pouncing on his prey. In three silent
steps, Steele had Carlisle up against a wall and Laura stepping smoothly out of the way. “You will never
touch her again, Cousin.”
Laura saw alarm flare in Carlisle’s grey-blue eyes before he blanked it and pushed Steele away. “Aye,
Ciarán. ‘Tis just me, Cousin Johnny. I’ll not hurt ye wife.” The older man seemed surprised at the
younger man’s reaction and was quite unused to others standing up to him.
At that, Remington stiffened and snapped, “In my office. Now.” He gave Laura a searching look, saw
the faint question in her eyes, and held the door for her to join them.
She stopped by Ian’s desk and jotted a fast note. Mildred, my office, door’s open. To cover up the
note’s contents, Laura told Ian, “Call on that tomorrow. We’ll be a while. Lock up when you leave.”
He nodded, and as soon as Mr. Steele closed the door, he scrambled for Mildred’s office.
“Mrs. Krebs.” Hearing concern in his voice, she looked up in surprise from her computer. “Ah, Johnny
Carlisle’s here, and Mr. and Mrs. Steele are with him. Mrs. Steele wants you to listen in. Her door is
open.” She raised her brows, wasting no time in rounding the corner to Laura’s office and stepping
lightly through the short hallway where the connecting door to Mr. Steele’s office stood open a bare
inch. Voices came through clearly.
Laura intentionally stood where Carlisle wouldn’t note the open door. Remington leaned against the desk
and, counter to all of the manners he’d ever learned, patently refused to offer a seat to the other man.
With arms crossed and as angry as she’d ever seen him, Remington had an edge of violence underscoring
his words. “What are you doing here, Carlisle?”
Johnny dropped the box on the coffee table before turning to Steele. “I came to thank ye for the warning
and wondering why in the bloody hell ye bothered. Interpol’s on me arse. Two of me partners are
sitting in a French jail, and me name’s next on the list. What did I do to piss ye off, Ciarán?”
“Steele. The name is Steele, Carlisle.”
“Sure, and if that’s what ye want to be called. It’s not what ye mum named ye, but it’ll do.” Johnny
narrowed his eyes when he saw the other man clench his jaw. Ah, now I’ve got a wee bit of leverage,
Cousin. “I was cleaning house the other day and found a box. Me own mum packed it ‘afore she died.
‘Tis yours. I though ye might want it. Seemed the right thing to do to bring it to ye personally.”
Despite the burning questions, Laura kept quiet. She was too smart not to keep the fact that she had no
idea what he was talking about under wraps.
“What do you want, Carlisle?” Steele repeated.
Johnny gambled. He knew Steele wasn’t responsible, but he had no idea who had brought Interpol down
on him. “Call off your Interpol dogs, Steele. I’ve got ‘em breathing down me neck.”
“I can’t do that. I wasn’t the one who put them on you in the first place.” Steele studied his nails and
watched his adversary out of the corner of his eye.
“Then who in bloody hell did?” Johnny’s temper snapped. He could feel the noose tightening about his
neck already.
Cool and smooth as aged scotch on the rocks, Laura stepped in to play bad cop. “Interpol already had
your number. I believe the mistake was yours when you began playing your little game with Denis O’
Callaghan and the others fifteen years ago. We only called Interpol to get O’Callaghan off our backs.
Neither of us takes kidnapping and brutality lightly.”
Johnny flinched. It was worse than he thought. He didn’t think Interpol had gotten that close.
“Buggering hell. I thought having him dead would do the world a favor. I thought it would do you two a
favor. I owed you that at least.”
Steele arched a brow. “Are you saying you had him killed?”
“Of course, I did. Do I look stupid, Ciarán … sorry, Steele?”
Abruptly reminded that Carlisle was one of the most powerful men in Dublin, Laura calmly interjected,
“Why did you think it would be a favor to us?”
Johnny crossed his arms. “I know what he did to ye, and I know what the buggering bastard was
capable of. The only reason Denis pegged Ciarán was because he knew he was me cousin. ‘Twas
another way to get back at me, ye see.”
“How in the bloody hell did he know we were related? I’ve never told anyone,” Steele spat out. Laura’s
eyes rounded, and she blinked twice to clear her expression before Johnny noted it. They are cousins of
some sort. … Oh Lord, I hope Interpol never finds out.
The older man looked tired and worn, a far cry from the sophisticate who made a move on Laura just
two months before in a London restaurant. “Because I owed ye for what happened after me mother
died, and I made it clear to me partners when ye started working Dublin that ye was to be left alone. Ye
wouldn’t join me business, but I could do that at least.”
Laura reeled in shock and struggled to stay composed despite the anger that flashed through her.
Remington reached out and grabbed the other man by the collar. “This … this is why I wouldn’t work
for you. Too many innocent bystanders get caught up in your f--“ A glance to Laura had him
rewording his phrase. “--bloody messes. You think I don’t know what Denis did to Erin? Do you think
I don’t know what he could have done to Laura?” He shoved Johnny back several steps where the man
collapsed into a chair. Carlisle raked his hands through his hair in a motion that bore an uncanny
resemblance to Remington’s own habit.
Johnny sagged in defeat. “Ciarán … Steele ... I’m sorry. I’m protecting someone.”
“Erin’s daughter.”
“You were always bloody quick. She’s my daughter too. Erin and I had an affair. I loved her. I’ve
always loved her. Denis finally figured it out, and when Siobhán was five, Erin brought her to me
because he threatened to kill the little girl. I … asked her to stay … I told her I could keep her safe from
him. But she insisted that she had made her choice, poor though it was. Erin wasn’t one for divorce.
She knew what she was going back to. He’d been abusing her for years, and it didn’t take long before he
had her killed. I finally got proof a few years ago, and I’ve been doing everything I could to break the
bastard. I’d have done him in years ago if he would have ever come out of hiding, but all he’d ever do is
scuttle about Cork where nearly everyone was in his pocket.”
Carlisle stood and walked to the window. “Steele, my daughter means everything to me. All I’m asking
is a way to protect her. If I go to prison, I have no claim on her, and I’ve got too many enemies.
Someone will see her dead before the year is out.”
Reluctantly, Remington asked, “What is it you want me to do? I can’t imagine with all your connections
and money that I can be of assistance.”
“Short of calling off Interpol, tell me how to take Siobhán and hide. It’s the only thing left for me.”
There was a terribly long silence before Steele’s voice came low and icy. "I should do nothing, Johnny.
I should let your daughter spin in the wind just as I did all those years ago. Should I call some of those
cousins and see if they’ll take her in as they did me?”
Carlisle blanched. “Ciarán, I told ye; I know I owe ye. Bloody hell, I was eighteen when me mother
died. You weren’t four yet. When the first of them popped up and offered to take ye in, I thought ye’d
be better off than with the likes of me. By the time I developed a bloody conscience, ye were gone.
Later I heard ye hooked up with ye da, and I figured ye were better off.”
Remington shot Johnny a hard look. “You knew Daniel was my father.”
“Of course, it was common knowledge, Ciarán.”
Remington’s temper splintered and he barked out, “It’s Steele, damn it! Ciarán doesn’t exist anymore
than any other name I’d used until my wife gave me this one.”
Carlisle reached over, snatched the box off the table and shoved it at his cousin. “Tell that to me mum.”
Shocked into silence, Remington set the box on his desk and lifted the top off. Inside was a white
christening gown, a certificate and a small stack of pictures that he thumbed through rapidly. It was all
Laura could do to keep watching Carlisle instead of her husband’s expression. She thought she would
see triumph in Johnny’s face for getting the best of Remington, but instead she saw only regret and a
nervous fear. At the edge of her vision, Laura saw Remington, with the pictures in his hand, walk away
to face the windows.
Like a lioness guarding her injured mate, Laura crossed over to lean against the desk and stare at
Carlisle. “Why did you come here?” she asked. “You have no hold over us, and we don’t have one on
you.”
Johnny gave Laura an opaque look and stroked his chin. “You’re a feisty one. I like you. Took me a
bit to put together your clues. Mickey.” He snorted. “That was clever. Brutally accurate, but clever.”
“It’s nice to know you’ve pegged my personality, but you haven’t answered my question,” she said drily.
The two had a short staring contest and Johnny lost. “Bloody hell. Ciarán didn’t tip me off. You did.”
He sagged in defeat. He’d hoped his cousin would help him and had taken the meet with his wife in
London as an indication that they could be some sort of associates. But he’d read the situation entirely
wrong. It was apparent that his cousin still held him accountable for events that had occurred thirty-odd
years before.
Remington brooded as he stared out the window and listened to the exchange behind him. Abruptly, he
made a decision. But first, he was going to make Johnny sweat. Without a word, he crossed to the little
bar in the corner of his office and poured two Irish whiskeys, one of which he handed to Carlisle.
Setting his upon the desk, he took Laura’s face in his hands. “Will you give us a minute, love?” She
searched his face and saw only sadness touching his eyes. Quietly, she nodded and straightened up, only
to have him grasp her fingertips and squeeze lightly before letting go.
Meeting Mildred in the hallway, Laura waved her forward and closed both doors with a quiet snick. She
stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets and stared at the ceiling. Wisely, Mildred said nothing as she
took a seat on the divan in Laura’s office. She watched the younger woman begin to pace as her
agitation increased.
Steele cleared his mind as he watched Laura close the door behind her. He knew there would be hell to
pay later for not coming clean about his connection with Carlisle, but he blanked it out of his head and
focused on the man sitting across from him as he took a small sip of Jameson’s. “All right, Johnny.
What aren’t ye telling me?”
The older man’s eyebrow quirked at the Irish music threading through Steele’s voice. It was disarming
because of its rare appearance. “I’ve been getting me books clean for Siobhán, but they aren’t clean
enough yet. Killing O’Callaghan was arrogance on me part. They haven’t pinned me, but they will.”
Remington spoke in a clipped British accent again. “Why should I help you? Why should I help the man
that bloody well abandoned me as a boy? The same one that nearly got my own wife killed while playing
this bloody game with O’Callaghan?”
Johnny stood and walked to the window as Steele had earlier. “No reason at all. Except perhaps to help
Siobhán. Not for me. But for me mum. She loved ye, Ciarán … ah, Steele. The proof is there in the
box.” He glanced back at the younger man.
Testing him, Remington asked, “What if I could get Siobhán to a safe place? What if I can protect her
but not you?”
He could see the pain in Carlisle’s eyes. “If that’s my only choice … then I’ll take it.”
“How did you know Daniel was my father?”
The abrupt change in topics startled Johnny, and he took a deep breath before answering. He had the
distinct feeling that his daughter’s fate depended on his answer, and an icy cold thread darted up his spine
as he considered his words. “My mother told me the story when ye came to live with us. She said her
niece, Mary Claire, was ill before you were born. Yours sent mine a letter saying she was scared she
wouldn’t live and asked her to care for ye. She said ye father’s name was Daniel Chalmers and gave the
whole sordid story of her affair with him.”
He took a sip of his drink and continued, “My mother wrote her back, but it was already too late. It took
a couple of months, but the orphanage gave ye over on account of the letter; a worker told her that ye
mum had named ye Ciarán on account of ye dark looks--ye had the same black hair and deep blue eyes
as a babe.”
“Then why wasn’t that name listed on my birth certificate?”
Johnny shook his head. “I don’t know. I remember Mum muttering about it. She was determined to
have ye baptized properly though.”
Remington retrieved the certificate from the box. “Ciarán Patrick McGee? All right, I get ‘Ciarán.’
Where did the ‘Patrick’ come from?”
“Mum refused to name ye after ye father since he was in the clink, so she named ye after St. Patrick
instead.”
“Like half the lads in Ireland. The other half is named after St. Brendan.”
“Aye. Something such as that.” Johnny watched his younger cousin down the rest of his drink and set
the glass on his desk again.
Steele gave him a name. “Riley Kelly.”
“Riley Kelly? Who is that?” Johnny wondered.
“Contact Kelly in Shannon. He’ll get your daughter out of the country for a rather steep price. Meet her
in the Bahamas and see what kind of assets you can move there. Then you’ll need to talk to Pierre
Dumont in Dunmore Village. He’ll set up new identities for you so you can move somewhere else. I
recommend Buenos Aires. It’s a long way from Ireland and Interpol.” He waited a beat. “And Johnny,
you can’t go home. Ever.”
Carlisle stood motionless for a long while as he saw the empire he’d built crumbling around him. “How
long until you call Interpol to tell them I was here?”
“I’ll give you twenty-four hours. That’s the best I can do. I suggest that both of you be in the Bahamas
by then, or you’ll never get out.”
“If I don’t, can you keep Siobhán safe?”
Steele shook his head. “I won’t put my family at risk for yours, Carlisle. I don’t owe you that much.
Go now so we don’t have to regret it.”
Johnny hesitated and then stuck out his hand. But Remington held his palm up--refusing to take it.
“Go,” he repeated.
“You bought me time, Steele--both in Ireland and now. I owe you. Perhaps someday I’ll be able to
repay you.”
Steele didn’t acknowledge him and deliberately turned to the windows again. In the end, Johnny
shrugged and walked out the door.
Chapter Ten--Connections
The following Friday was a rather momentous day.
Mid-morning, Remington and Laura had their second appointment with the obstetrician. Like most
expectant parents, they were nervous and excited at the same time. After the preliminary questions about
symptoms she was experiencing were answered and any particular problems addressed--of which there
were thankfully none--the doctor had Laura lie back on the table for a quick sonogram. Since twins were
rampant in Laura’s family, Dr. Berger had determined a picture would be better than simply listening for
a heartbeat.
Idly, Remington stroked Laura’s hair as the cold gel was applied to her belly. She wrinkled her nose and
shivered at the sensation. She forgot all about temperature, though, when a grainy picture of a small
peanut-shaped dot floated around on the screen. Rei’s hand froze.
“Just one, Mr. and Mrs. Steele,” announced the obstetrician. “And so far we’re looking great.”
“Thank God,” murmured Remington, entranced by the image on the monitor. Laura would have
protested his response if she wasn’t relieved too. One was enough for now.
Dr. Berger pressed a button several times and handed her several sonogram photos for keepsakes before
turning off the machine. The doctor wiped down her torso with a well-washed, clean towel and then laid
a Doppler instrument below her belly button. She explained that they might be able hear the heartbeat
this early if they got lucky.
And sure enough, a rapid, high pitched thumping began to come through the little speaker.
Laura looked up at Remington as he stared--transfixed by the little instrument from which the sound was
emanating. More than the picture, the sound of that tiny heart beating had him fumbling for his
handkerchief with one hand while the other held Laura’s in a crushing grip. She knew he’d been
fascinated by the changes in her body over the past several weeks, but apparently the reality of what they
were about hadn’t set in until this moment. The doctor smiled at his reaction, and Laura stroked her
husband’s arm as she listened to the mesmerizing sound with him.
When the exam was finished and Dr. Berger had retreated, Remington sat hard on the lone chair. He
scrubbed at his face while Laura straightened her clothing and slid off the table. “Rei?” She interrupted
his daze.
“Oh, are you done, love?” He automatically stood and reached for the doorknob to open it for her. But
she threaded her arms through his and held him still until he had his composure again. He started to
speak, but she laid a finger across his lips before pulling his head to hers. Laura’s hands came up to
tangle in the hair on either side of Remington’s head as she held him in place and savored his mouth.
She could taste where the tears had streaked and dried as his arms came up and held on to her.
When she ended the kiss, he shifted to hold her so that her head cradled against his shoulder. “Good
Lord, Laura, I know this is terribly obvious at this point--but we’re having a little one.”
She stifled a chuckle. “Mm hmm. Somewhere between Christmas and New Year’s.”
He broke their embrace and reached for the door again. “That’s rather nice. Our little one’s birthday
will be between yours and mine.”
Laura walked into the hallway and commented, “Sure and Mother is already complaining about having to
shop for six birthdays around the holidays. It’s a good thing the rest of the family is scattered throughout
the rest of the year.”
“But she’s quite happy about all of it.”
“It’s rare that I do something that thrills her. I’m certain she thinks it was all your idea.”
Remington grinned and tugged his ear as they rode in the elevator to the ground floor. “Ah, she does.
She insinuated as much the day we told her.”
Laura just shook her head with a wry smile. Some things would never change.
After lunch, an armored car pulled up in front of Century Towers, and two armed security guards carried
a small package to the twelfth floor. Ian buzzed Mr. Steele, who immediately appeared to sign for the
nondescript box. He disappeared again with the package, closing his door behind him. The secretary
frowned and crossed his arms. He didn’t like secrets in his office, and in this agency they were a
rampant, living entity that annoyed the hell out of him. He would have to consult with Mildred when she
returned from the courthouse.
In the privacy of his office, Remington didn’t hesitate to slice into the box with the pocket knife he kept
in his desk drawer. He lifted out a small item covered in bubble-wrap and underneath that, velvet.
Inside the soft fabric was the stone at the crux of all that had occurred in Ireland.
Laura had said she didn’t want it, but he hadn’t been able to resist seeing the stone properly cut. And
when he saw the finished gem, he found a jeweler that could turn his sketches into reality. The artist had
surrounded the one-and-a-quarter caret pear-cut red diamond with blown platinum strands to make the
stone look as if it floated in space. Platinum links the width of an infant’s hand made up the necklace
from which the pendant was suspended. Remington sat in his office chair with his back to the bank of
windows. He held the necklace in his hand, watching it spin as it dangled from his fingers.
Laura walked in, carrying a file in her hand. She set it on the desk when she saw what held and came
around to his side where she leaned against the edge. Watching her husband’s face, she asked, “What
are you going to do with it?”
“I don’t know.” He thought about the past eight weeks since they’d come home. While things were
better, they hadn’t quite put it all behind them yet. Laura was still seeing Dr. Angelo once--and her
physical therapist twice--each week. He was spending that and more working out his own difficulties at
the boxing gym. “Laura … why aren’t you angry with me?”
“About what?”
“This whole … bloody ordeal!”
Laura sighed. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, and she'd given him a similar answer
each time. She stifled her irritation, but some of it leaked through anyway. “Rei, why is this all your
fault? You didn’t book the flight to Cork. You didn’t have us kidnapped. You did what you had to do
to get us out of a terrible situation. And when you couldn’t do any more, you put your trust in me to
finish it. What else am I supposed to ask of you?” Getting hold of her emotions, she leaned over onto
the desk and brushed her fingers through his hair, adding with sure confidence, “They didn’t break us,
love. They couldn’t.”
A month ago he might not have agreed. But today? He pulled her off the desk and into his lap, still
clutching the necklace in his hand. “No, that they didn’t.” Remington looked at the diamond again. “I
can’t sell it. I don’t want the money. You--we paid too high a price for it. And I don’t want anyone
else to have it; I feel as if it’s a part of us somehow.”
She took it from him and held the pendant to the light, watching it dance and sparkle as it spun. “It’s
gorgeous.” Maybe it was fanciful imaginings, but in her pregnant state, the suspended red gem reminded
her of the child she carried. He took it from her again, and with his eyebrows, asked for permission to
slip it over her head. She nodded. The necklace itself was a long one, allowing the diamond to rest just
below her sternum. Laura picked it up again and toyed with it. “It’s incredible how something so ugly at
the start can become so extraordinarily beautiful.
Remington placed his hand against the curve of her belly. “My thoughts exactly.”
Warmed by the feel of his long fingers resting against her abdomen, she cocked her head, shooting him a
questioning glance and looking at the pendent again. “You made this?” Since their marriage, Laura had
discovered that her husband had a knack for designing jewelry--usually with lyrical, flowing lines in
platinum or rose gold.
“I commissioned it from my sketches, yes.”
“When?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I gave the raw stone to a cutter as soon as we returned. Quite frankly, I had
to see what was inside. Call it old habit or insatiable curiosity--either one is accurate.” He shifted his
hand to play with the stone resting against her belly. “When you told me you were pregnant, I knew
what I wanted to do with it and gave the gem to the artist a couple of weeks ago. She does excellent
work.” He hesitated and touched his fingers to his lips. “What … what would you have me do with it?
I know you said--“
Laura stroked his cheek and pressed a kiss to it. “I’ll wear it, of course.” The fact that he created it for
her made all the difference in the world.
“You’re sure?”
“We have the Policemen’s Ball two weeks from tomorrow. I think that’s a good place to wear it. It’ll be
secure enough.” She wrinkled her nose, trying to avoid thinking about how valuable the necklace might
be. Between it and her wedding ring, she felt something like a Middle Eastern bride wearing her dowry
in jewels.
Remington chuckled. “Perhaps. But you’ll have me with you anyway.”
With no small amount of reluctance, for she adored the jewelry he created for her, Laura stood and drew
the necklace over her head to lay it on the velvet cloth he held out. He wrapped it, tucking the piece into
the box and placing the whole thing into his desk drawer to take home later.
He reached out and touched her middle, sliding his hands to either side of her waist and laying his head
against her swelling belly, thinking about the heartbeat he’d heard that morning and imagining he could
hear it now.
“Rei,” she tipped his chin up and stroked his cheek, “we’re okay.”
At times like this, Remington was awed by Laura’s strength of character. A lesser woman would have
eyed the stone with avarice; a weaker one would have shied away from the painful memories it evoked.
But Laura saw beyond all of that to the beauty that had been forged from a nightmare. It was, at times,
the way he often thought she must think of him.
The third unusual event that day occurred shortly before the Steeles closed the office for the weekend.
They had one last client scheduled to arrive at four-thirty. He was new to the agency and had requested
an appointment with Mr. Steele regarding a security system for his home.
Steele had Carter look up the address and from the property tax records draw up an initial plan that could
be tweaked during or after the meeting. Even if the client didn’t sign with the agency, the practice was
good for the apprentice.
Remington straightened his tie and looked over the file one more time after checking his watch. He
assumed that the client was purchasing the home as his name didn’t match the ones on the property tax
rolls. John Carmine. It sounded Italian, but the name rang a bell in the deepest recesses of his mind. He
frowned as Ian buzzed him.
“Mr. Steele, Mr. Carmine is here.”
“Thank you, Ian.” By not instructing the secretary to send the client into his office, Connelly knew to
make gracious apologies about a phone call and that Mr. Steele would be out shortly.
Remington peeked around Laura’s open door. She was on the telephone, sweet-talking an apartment
manager into divulging the name of a renter. Smiling with success, she hung up and wrote down the
information on the file lying open in front of her before noticing him standing there. “Don’t you have a
client waiting?”
“Ah, I do. Does the name ‘John Carmine’ mean anything to you?”
Laura shook her head. “No. Should it?”
He tugged his jacket straight and pulled out the cuffs of his shirt. “Perhaps not. It seemed familiar for
some reason. No matter. I’ll be done shortly.” He retreated to his office, leaving both doors on either
end of their connecting hallway slightly ajar as a matter of habit.
Out of curiosity and instinct, she stood and straightened her own wine-colored jacket--buttoning it so that
her pregnancy wasn’t obvious--and made up an excuse to ask Ian a question. She opened her office
door at nearly the same time as her husband opened his, and they took a good look at the man pacing in
front of Ian’s desk. Tall and thin like Remington, but older and sporting grey streaks in his deep brown
hair, he was carrying a slim square box behind him as he walked.
“Hello, Cousin … hello, Mickey.” Irish danced through the hard voice of Johnny Carlisle, a man who
didn’t like to be kept waiting, as he nodded first to Remington and then to Laura. Power radiated
through his slim build. He wore an expensive suit and neutral expression as he took in the Steeles.
Ian sat straight up at his desk, his open face reflecting dismay as he connected the dots.
Johnny’s eyes skimmed over Laura, and he approached her first, shifting the box to one hand and
holding out the other to take hers. Keeping her own face pleasant and controlled, Laura held his gaze
when she placed her fingers in his. With practiced grace, he turned her hand over to drop a kiss across
her knuckles.
The secretary watched Remington flash into movement--the panther pouncing on his prey. In three silent
steps, Steele had Carlisle up against a wall and Laura stepping smoothly out of the way. “You will never
touch her again, Cousin.”
Laura saw alarm flare in Carlisle’s grey-blue eyes before he blanked it and pushed Steele away. “Aye,
Ciarán. ‘Tis just me, Cousin Johnny. I’ll not hurt ye wife.” The older man seemed surprised at the
younger man’s reaction and was quite unused to others standing up to him.
At that, Remington stiffened and snapped, “In my office. Now.” He gave Laura a searching look, saw
the faint question in her eyes, and held the door for her to join them.
She stopped by Ian’s desk and jotted a fast note. Mildred, my office, door’s open. To cover up the
note’s contents, Laura told Ian, “Call on that tomorrow. We’ll be a while. Lock up when you leave.”
He nodded, and as soon as Mr. Steele closed the door, he scrambled for Mildred’s office.
“Mrs. Krebs.” Hearing concern in his voice, she looked up in surprise from her computer. “Ah, Johnny
Carlisle’s here, and Mr. and Mrs. Steele are with him. Mrs. Steele wants you to listen in. Her door is
open.” She raised her brows, wasting no time in rounding the corner to Laura’s office and stepping
lightly through the short hallway where the connecting door to Mr. Steele’s office stood open a bare
inch. Voices came through clearly.
Laura intentionally stood where Carlisle wouldn’t note the open door. Remington leaned against the desk
and, counter to all of the manners he’d ever learned, patently refused to offer a seat to the other man.
With arms crossed and as angry as she’d ever seen him, Remington had an edge of violence underscoring
his words. “What are you doing here, Carlisle?”
Johnny dropped the box on the coffee table before turning to Steele. “I came to thank ye for the warning
and wondering why in the bloody hell ye bothered. Interpol’s on me arse. Two of me partners are
sitting in a French jail, and me name’s next on the list. What did I do to piss ye off, Ciarán?”
“Steele. The name is Steele, Carlisle.”
“Sure, and if that’s what ye want to be called. It’s not what ye mum named ye, but it’ll do.” Johnny
narrowed his eyes when he saw the other man clench his jaw. Ah, now I’ve got a wee bit of leverage,
Cousin. “I was cleaning house the other day and found a box. Me own mum packed it ‘afore she died.
‘Tis yours. I though ye might want it. Seemed the right thing to do to bring it to ye personally.”
Despite the burning questions, Laura kept quiet. She was too smart not to keep the fact that she had no
idea what he was talking about under wraps.
“What do you want, Carlisle?” Steele repeated.
Johnny gambled. He knew Steele wasn’t responsible, but he had no idea who had brought Interpol down
on him. “Call off your Interpol dogs, Steele. I’ve got ‘em breathing down me neck.”
“I can’t do that. I wasn’t the one who put them on you in the first place.” Steele studied his nails and
watched his adversary out of the corner of his eye.
“Then who in bloody hell did?” Johnny’s temper snapped. He could feel the noose tightening about his
neck already.
Cool and smooth as aged scotch on the rocks, Laura stepped in to play bad cop. “Interpol already had
your number. I believe the mistake was yours when you began playing your little game with Denis O’
Callaghan and the others fifteen years ago. We only called Interpol to get O’Callaghan off our backs.
Neither of us takes kidnapping and brutality lightly.”
Johnny flinched. It was worse than he thought. He didn’t think Interpol had gotten that close.
“Buggering hell. I thought having him dead would do the world a favor. I thought it would do you two a
favor. I owed you that at least.”
Steele arched a brow. “Are you saying you had him killed?”
“Of course, I did. Do I look stupid, Ciarán … sorry, Steele?”
Abruptly reminded that Carlisle was one of the most powerful men in Dublin, Laura calmly interjected,
“Why did you think it would be a favor to us?”
Johnny crossed his arms. “I know what he did to ye, and I know what the buggering bastard was
capable of. The only reason Denis pegged Ciarán was because he knew he was me cousin. ‘Twas
another way to get back at me, ye see.”
“How in the bloody hell did he know we were related? I’ve never told anyone,” Steele spat out. Laura’s
eyes rounded, and she blinked twice to clear her expression before Johnny noted it. They are cousins of
some sort. … Oh Lord, I hope Interpol never finds out.
The older man looked tired and worn, a far cry from the sophisticate who made a move on Laura just
two months before in a London restaurant. “Because I owed ye for what happened after me mother
died, and I made it clear to me partners when ye started working Dublin that ye was to be left alone. Ye
wouldn’t join me business, but I could do that at least.”
Laura reeled in shock and struggled to stay composed despite the anger that flashed through her.
Remington reached out and grabbed the other man by the collar. “This … this is why I wouldn’t work
for you. Too many innocent bystanders get caught up in your f--“ A glance to Laura had him
rewording his phrase. “--bloody messes. You think I don’t know what Denis did to Erin? Do you think
I don’t know what he could have done to Laura?” He shoved Johnny back several steps where the man
collapsed into a chair. Carlisle raked his hands through his hair in a motion that bore an uncanny
resemblance to Remington’s own habit.
Johnny sagged in defeat. “Ciarán … Steele ... I’m sorry. I’m protecting someone.”
“Erin’s daughter.”
“You were always bloody quick. She’s my daughter too. Erin and I had an affair. I loved her. I’ve
always loved her. Denis finally figured it out, and when Siobhán was five, Erin brought her to me
because he threatened to kill the little girl. I … asked her to stay … I told her I could keep her safe from
him. But she insisted that she had made her choice, poor though it was. Erin wasn’t one for divorce.
She knew what she was going back to. He’d been abusing her for years, and it didn’t take long before he
had her killed. I finally got proof a few years ago, and I’ve been doing everything I could to break the
bastard. I’d have done him in years ago if he would have ever come out of hiding, but all he’d ever do is
scuttle about Cork where nearly everyone was in his pocket.”
Carlisle stood and walked to the window. “Steele, my daughter means everything to me. All I’m asking
is a way to protect her. If I go to prison, I have no claim on her, and I’ve got too many enemies.
Someone will see her dead before the year is out.”
Reluctantly, Remington asked, “What is it you want me to do? I can’t imagine with all your connections
and money that I can be of assistance.”
“Short of calling off Interpol, tell me how to take Siobhán and hide. It’s the only thing left for me.”
There was a terribly long silence before Steele’s voice came low and icy. "I should do nothing, Johnny.
I should let your daughter spin in the wind just as I did all those years ago. Should I call some of those
cousins and see if they’ll take her in as they did me?”
Carlisle blanched. “Ciarán, I told ye; I know I owe ye. Bloody hell, I was eighteen when me mother
died. You weren’t four yet. When the first of them popped up and offered to take ye in, I thought ye’d
be better off than with the likes of me. By the time I developed a bloody conscience, ye were gone.
Later I heard ye hooked up with ye da, and I figured ye were better off.”
Remington shot Johnny a hard look. “You knew Daniel was my father.”
“Of course, it was common knowledge, Ciarán.”
Remington’s temper splintered and he barked out, “It’s Steele, damn it! Ciarán doesn’t exist anymore
than any other name I’d used until my wife gave me this one.”
Carlisle reached over, snatched the box off the table and shoved it at his cousin. “Tell that to me mum.”
Shocked into silence, Remington set the box on his desk and lifted the top off. Inside was a white
christening gown, a certificate and a small stack of pictures that he thumbed through rapidly. It was all
Laura could do to keep watching Carlisle instead of her husband’s expression. She thought she would
see triumph in Johnny’s face for getting the best of Remington, but instead she saw only regret and a
nervous fear. At the edge of her vision, Laura saw Remington, with the pictures in his hand, walk away
to face the windows.
Like a lioness guarding her injured mate, Laura crossed over to lean against the desk and stare at
Carlisle. “Why did you come here?” she asked. “You have no hold over us, and we don’t have one on
you.”
Johnny gave Laura an opaque look and stroked his chin. “You’re a feisty one. I like you. Took me a
bit to put together your clues. Mickey.” He snorted. “That was clever. Brutally accurate, but clever.”
“It’s nice to know you’ve pegged my personality, but you haven’t answered my question,” she said drily.
The two had a short staring contest and Johnny lost. “Bloody hell. Ciarán didn’t tip me off. You did.”
He sagged in defeat. He’d hoped his cousin would help him and had taken the meet with his wife in
London as an indication that they could be some sort of associates. But he’d read the situation entirely
wrong. It was apparent that his cousin still held him accountable for events that had occurred thirty-odd
years before.
Remington brooded as he stared out the window and listened to the exchange behind him. Abruptly, he
made a decision. But first, he was going to make Johnny sweat. Without a word, he crossed to the little
bar in the corner of his office and poured two Irish whiskeys, one of which he handed to Carlisle.
Setting his upon the desk, he took Laura’s face in his hands. “Will you give us a minute, love?” She
searched his face and saw only sadness touching his eyes. Quietly, she nodded and straightened up, only
to have him grasp her fingertips and squeeze lightly before letting go.
Meeting Mildred in the hallway, Laura waved her forward and closed both doors with a quiet snick. She
stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets and stared at the ceiling. Wisely, Mildred said nothing as she
took a seat on the divan in Laura’s office. She watched the younger woman begin to pace as her
agitation increased.
Steele cleared his mind as he watched Laura close the door behind her. He knew there would be hell to
pay later for not coming clean about his connection with Carlisle, but he blanked it out of his head and
focused on the man sitting across from him as he took a small sip of Jameson’s. “All right, Johnny.
What aren’t ye telling me?”
The older man’s eyebrow quirked at the Irish music threading through Steele’s voice. It was disarming
because of its rare appearance. “I’ve been getting me books clean for Siobhán, but they aren’t clean
enough yet. Killing O’Callaghan was arrogance on me part. They haven’t pinned me, but they will.”
Remington spoke in a clipped British accent again. “Why should I help you? Why should I help the man
that bloody well abandoned me as a boy? The same one that nearly got my own wife killed while playing
this bloody game with O’Callaghan?”
Johnny stood and walked to the window as Steele had earlier. “No reason at all. Except perhaps to help
Siobhán. Not for me. But for me mum. She loved ye, Ciarán … ah, Steele. The proof is there in the
box.” He glanced back at the younger man.
Testing him, Remington asked, “What if I could get Siobhán to a safe place? What if I can protect her
but not you?”
He could see the pain in Carlisle’s eyes. “If that’s my only choice … then I’ll take it.”
“How did you know Daniel was my father?”
The abrupt change in topics startled Johnny, and he took a deep breath before answering. He had the
distinct feeling that his daughter’s fate depended on his answer, and an icy cold thread darted up his spine
as he considered his words. “My mother told me the story when ye came to live with us. She said her
niece, Mary Claire, was ill before you were born. Yours sent mine a letter saying she was scared she
wouldn’t live and asked her to care for ye. She said ye father’s name was Daniel Chalmers and gave the
whole sordid story of her affair with him.”
He took a sip of his drink and continued, “My mother wrote her back, but it was already too late. It took
a couple of months, but the orphanage gave ye over on account of the letter; a worker told her that ye
mum had named ye Ciarán on account of ye dark looks--ye had the same black hair and deep blue eyes
as a babe.”
“Then why wasn’t that name listed on my birth certificate?”
Johnny shook his head. “I don’t know. I remember Mum muttering about it. She was determined to
have ye baptized properly though.”
Remington retrieved the certificate from the box. “Ciarán Patrick McGee? All right, I get ‘Ciarán.’
Where did the ‘Patrick’ come from?”
“Mum refused to name ye after ye father since he was in the clink, so she named ye after St. Patrick
instead.”
“Like half the lads in Ireland. The other half is named after St. Brendan.”
“Aye. Something such as that.” Johnny watched his younger cousin down the rest of his drink and set
the glass on his desk again.
Steele gave him a name. “Riley Kelly.”
“Riley Kelly? Who is that?” Johnny wondered.
“Contact Kelly in Shannon. He’ll get your daughter out of the country for a rather steep price. Meet her
in the Bahamas and see what kind of assets you can move there. Then you’ll need to talk to Pierre
Dumont in Dunmore Village. He’ll set up new identities for you so you can move somewhere else. I
recommend Buenos Aires. It’s a long way from Ireland and Interpol.” He waited a beat. “And Johnny,
you can’t go home. Ever.”
Carlisle stood motionless for a long while as he saw the empire he’d built crumbling around him. “How
long until you call Interpol to tell them I was here?”
“I’ll give you twenty-four hours. That’s the best I can do. I suggest that both of you be in the Bahamas
by then, or you’ll never get out.”
“If I don’t, can you keep Siobhán safe?”
Steele shook his head. “I won’t put my family at risk for yours, Carlisle. I don’t owe you that much.
Go now so we don’t have to regret it.”
Johnny hesitated and then stuck out his hand. But Remington held his palm up--refusing to take it.
“Go,” he repeated.
“You bought me time, Steele--both in Ireland and now. I owe you. Perhaps someday I’ll be able to
repay you.”
Steele didn’t acknowledge him and deliberately turned to the windows again. In the end, Johnny
shrugged and walked out the door.
Chapter Ten--Connections