Laura Holt, successful Private Investigator, is asked to provide security for a collection of jewels owned by Lord Bryce-Davies, via his representative in America. Things get complicated when a smooth talking Brit seems to be making a distracting play for Laura's attention-and the centerpiece of the collection, a priceless tiara, while an equally suave representative for the Insurance company seems more interested in the security arrangements than he should be.
In this alternate universe, Laura Holt never invented Remington Steele. She stuck it out on her own, and eventually became recognized as a force to be reckoned with. She hired her old friend from Havenhurst, Murphy Michaels, as an operative of Holt Investigations, and is just managing to make ends meet as people discover her expertise.
September 16, 1984, at a small airfield somewhere near Los Angeles, California:
Laura Holt watched Hugh Carter's expression as the security men from Graybridge Security off loaded the two metal attaché cases from the private jet into the armored car. The elderly English gentleman wasn't impressed, but then, she didn't expect him to be. He didn't know what she had in mind. Once the armored car doors were secured, the van pulled away, and Laura started her own car to follow it.
As they left, Laura's gaze flickered toward the linen company van that was about to leave as well. She smiled.
At the Regency Hotel, Laura parked her car, a nondescript white Volkswagen Rabbit, and got out to supervise the "arrival" of the collection of antique jewelry she'd been hired to protect, with Mr. Carter at her side.
Across the street, unnoticed by Laura Holt or anyone else, a man was sitting in a car, surreptitiously taking photographs of Laura's arrival. He noted with interest her sketched salute to a linen delivery driver as he passed en route to the service entrance, and snapped a photograph of the driver. One could never be too careful, he mused. In his line of work, even the smallest thing could help achieve one's goal.
***
Laura and Carter followed the uniformed guards into the hotel's security office, watching as they placed the metal cases into the large safe there. "Well, Mr. Carter?" she asked the man. "What do you think?"
"I'm sorry, Miss Holt," the white haired man told her with an air of disappointment. "I suppose I expected more of you. With your reputation and all- what's to stop someone from simply- waylaying that armored car and taking Lord Bryce-Davies' collection?"
"Let them," Laura said, as her associate, Murphy Michaels, came into the office, wearing a white linen deliveryman's uniform. "Because they'll come up empty," she told Carter, who looked worried. "Security is a lot like a magic act, Mr. Carter. If anyone wants to knock over that armored car, they're welcome to it. Because the cases the guards will be carrying will be as empty as the ones were today. While people are watching them, Murphy will slip the real cases into the hotel in a laundry cart."
Carter began to smile. "Perhaps I misjudged you, Miss Holt. His Lordship said that you were the right person to handle this job. These jewels are very important, Miss Holt. They've been in His Lordship's family for generations. His collection is second only to that of the Royal family itself. I don't mind telling you," he said, running a finger around his collar as if it were too tight, "that when he told me that he wanted to send them all the way to Los Angeles for this charity event, I tried to talk him out of it. Far too risky."
"Put your fears to rest, Mr. Carter," Laura assured the man. "Things will go wonderfully tomorrow."
"I hope so. His Lordship won't be pleased if anything happens to his family jewels."
Laura heard Murphy's "harrumph" of smothered laughter at the man's statement, and stepped on his foot with her heel, turning the laughter into a smothered yelp of pain.
"I'll make sure that the jewels are as safe as can be, Mr. Carter," Laura said.
"Then I shall leave the matter in your hands. I have to call His Lordship and give him a report. Excuse me."
Laura shook her head at Murphy's pretense of limping. "You're not hurt."
"I'm crippled for life," he insisted, the limp becoming more pronounced. "Come on, Laura. Family jewels?" His eyes were alight with laughter.
She joined in the laughter. "You're terrible, Murphy, you know that, don't you?" Laura asked. "I'll meet you back at the office."
Laura's gaze scanned the lobby as she walked briskly through it en route to the front doors. Several people were checking in- people were milling about the area, nothing out of the ordinary.
"Oomph!" She never saw him until they collided. One minute she was walking along, and the next she found herself smack up against a lean, firm body encased in tight jeans, white shirt and a worn leather jacket. "I'm sorry," she apologized as strong hands fell on her shoulders to steady her. "I guess I should look where I'm-" looking up, she lost her train of thought as she met a pair of blue eyes, "-going." Her palms rested against his chest, where she could feel his accelerated heartbeat.
"It was entirely my fault," he insisted, his hands lingering a second longer on her soft shoulders than they probably should have. "Forgive me. I was looking for someone-." Their gazes met, locked, and time seemed to stand still,"-else," he finished at last. It was as though they were the only two people in the room.
He was English, Laura realized, and for a moment wondered if this tall, dark, and handsome man might possibly be Lord Bryce-Davies. But his Lordship wasn't supposed to arrive until tomorrow, just before the charity reception to kick off the American tour of the collection to raise money for a Foundation his Lordship had founded to help the poor. "I wasn't looking where I was going," Laura told him, knowing that she should step back, break the physical contact of his hands on her shoulders. But she couldn't bring herself to make that first move. "You're- English aren't you?" *Lame, Laura, * she thought. *Really lame. State the obvious, why don't you? *
"Yes, I am. And- you're American," he replied with a smile that caused Laura's heart to do a couple of flip-flops.
"Born and bred," she told him. "Um- just visiting?"
"Yes-" those blue eyes flickered past her, and his arms fell away, leaving Laura feeling curiously bereft. "Excuse me. I found the person I was looking for. Perhaps we'll meet again- have a drink?"
"Yeah. I'd- like that." She stood there, frozen in place as he moved past her and away. Curious as to whom he might have been meeting, Laura turned to see him vanishing into the elevator just before the doors closed. Probably a tall, leggy blonde, she thought. His type would go for someone like that, someone without a thought in their empty head. She would probably never see him again. With a deep sigh of regret, she turned toward the front doors and went to her car.
The man who had been taking pictures of Laura outside the hotel witnessed from the entire scene across the lobby. His surprise at seeing the younger man was eased by an idea that took quick root. He watched Laura Holt leave the hotel, and followed her out, flagging down a taxi to follow her.
***
"How'd it go?" Bernice Foxe, the agency's secretary/receptionist asked as soon as Laura and Murphy returned to the office.
"So far, so good," Laura said.
"You should have seen her sell her plan to Carter, Bernice," Murphy enthused. "She was great. Had him eating out of the palm of her hand."
"It was nothing," Laura said airily, going to her office. "Just my normal, everyday brilliance," she told them dramatically, sitting on the edge of her desk. "I really think this case is going to put us over the top," she told them. "If we pull this off, the publicity alone is going to be worth its weight in gold. Even without Lord Bryce-Davies' rather generous retainer, we should be able to kiss the red ink goodbye for good."
"Excuse me?" a man's voice said, drawing their attention to the door. Their laughter stilled, and Laura slipped from the desk to stand beside Murphy.
"Can we help you?" Laura asked.
"Miss Holt?"
"Yes, I'm Laura Holt," she said, looking him over. He was middle aged, with silver streaks in his dark hair and a smile that would charm the birds from the trees.
"I'm Nathan Ford," he told her, holding out some identification. "Fidelity Insurance. London office. My company holds the policy on the jewelry collection that your agency is protecting."
"What can we do for you, Mr. Ford?" Murphy asked.
"Would you care for a cup of coffee?" Bernice asked, cutting Murphy's question off. "Or- maybe some tea?"
"Thank you," Nathan said. "Whatever's easiest. I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble, Miss-?"
"Foxe. Bernice," she said, drawing the last syllable out seductively. "I'll go brew some fresh water."
Nathan Ford watched Bernice sway toward the door, and then smiled at Murphy. "Have we met, Mr.-"
"Murphy Michaels. I'm Miss Holt's associate. No," he said, answering Nathan's question. "We haven't met."
"Odd. I feel as though I've seen you before somewhere."
"I have that kind of face. Blends in the crowd."
"Invaluable in your line of work, I'm sure," Nathan told him.
"How can we help you, Mr. Ford?"
"As I said, my company insures Lord Bryce-Davies' collection, and my employers wanted me here to make certain their investment is secure."
"They're insured for three million dollars, aren't they?" Laura recalled from her research.
"Yes. And worth far more."
"You think someone is going to steal the collection?" Laura asked.
"I'm certain of it. And he's not after the entire collection-"
"He's not?"
Nathan produced a photograph of a jeweled tiara. "The centerpiece of the collection. Worth- conservatively- half a million dollars. Sterling silver, encrusted with diamonds, rubies, sapphires. Rumored to have been given to the first Lord Bryce-Davies by Henry VIII."
"It's very impressive," Laura admitted. "What makes you so certain that this piece is going to be stolen while the collection is here?"
"Because one of the best jewel thieves in Europe is in Los Angeles, Miss Holt."
"Then why haven't the police arrested him?"
"The man's never been caught in the act. Oh, there are suspicions, of course- "
"Do you have a name?" Murphy wondered.
"The only name he uses is Harry."
"Harry- what?" Laura questioned.
"Just- Harry. Late twenties, early thirties, six feet tall, dark hair and blue eyes."
"Blue eyes, you say?" Laura asked, as the memory of a pair of brilliant blue eyes returned.
"Yes. Very charming as well, by all accounts." Nathan Ford frowned at Laura. "Are you all right, Miss Holt?"
"Laura?" Murphy asked, turning to look at her. "You're pale."
"Because I think I literally ran into our would be thief at the hotel earlier," she told them.
"Then I'm right. He'll make a try for the collection before it leaves Los Angeles. If he holds to form, it will be after the reception tomorrow evening."
"Well, we'll be waiting for him," Laura declared, her face set with determination.
***
In a fourth floor room of the Regency Hotel, Mr. Carter shook his head. "Your Lordship, I didn't expect you until tomorrow afternoon-" He surveyed his employer's attire with an air of disapproval- and resignation.
"Never fear, Hugh, I'll be at the reception tomorrow night," Lord Bryce-Davies reminded his agent. He removed his leather jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair. "You know that I can't resist a good party. Champagne, caviar, not to mention attractive women-" he said with a leering smile as he lit a cigar.
"Yes, but- "
"Not that I don't trust you, old man, but I just wanted to check things out for myself before tomorrow night. Keep hands on, as it were. And I can't do that as Lord Bryce-Davies."
Carter's eyes widened as he realized where all of this was heading. "Oh, sir," he sighed. "Surely there's some other way, sir? It's not as if this were Cannes or Paris, or even Hong Kong. You're not as familiar a figure. You could move about freely as-"
"As Lord Bryce-Davies?" the younger man finished in a disbelieving tone, shaking his head. "I've found Americans to be as title conscious as anyone else, Hugh. The moment they find out that I'm a Lord, their entire attitude changes. They're no longer seeing *me*, only the bloody title!" He shook his head. "You know that I prefer to get to know people who are working for me on a more even footing, without all of the attendant baggage of my 'elevated status'." He sat back on the bed, resting against the headboard. "Now, you said you had a report about the security arrangements for the collection, Hugh?" Bryce-Davies said, deciding to change the topic under discussion.
"Ah, yes. You were correct about Miss Holt. She's quite remarkable, your Lordship. She's come up with a most ingenious plan to sneak the collection into the hotel using a *linen* truck."
"A linen truck, eh?" Bryce-Davies mused, smiling. Hugh sounded quite impressed with Miss Laura Holt. And it took a lot to impress Hugh Carter.
He'd known who she was earlier, of course, when she'd careened into him in the lobby. Petite, chestnut hair and dark eyes with a slight elfin slant. Not his usual type, to be certain. But there had been something about those eyes. Or perhaps it had been the smile. How many times had he referred to that photograph he'd found of her while researching the best agency to secure his collection? He'd been loath to leave her. But he had needed to speak with Hugh, and upon seeing his agent heading for the lifts, had seen no other way to continue. "I think it's time that I introduce myself to Miss Holt, Hugh."
"I can easily arrange it, your Lordship," Carter said eagerly, going to the telephone.
But Bryce-Davies deftly removed the receiver from the older man's hand. "On *my* terms, Hugh.'
"Please, your Lordship. Miss Holt isn't likely to be awed by a title. She seems quite level headed-."
His Lordship looked across the room, his blue eyes shining. "Perhaps. But I still prefer to remain incognito until tomorrow night's reception. Outside of this room, you and I have only met once- years ago; in the company of Lord Bryce-Davies-before he assumed the title. I'm simply-."
"Harry," Carter finished, looking resigned. How many times had his employer decided to disappear into what he liked to call his "alter ego"? There was no reasoning with him when he got into this mood, so Carter bowed to the inevitable. "Yes, your grace-" he flinched under that blue gaze as he amended, "Harry."
***
The man who had introduced himself to Laura as "Nathan Ford" was smiling as he approached his hotel room at the Regency. Things were going swimmingly. While Laura Holt was occupied with keeping an eye on Harry, she wouldn't be able to keep an eye on *him*. As he opened the door to his room, the knob was pulled out of his hand, and hands grabbed him by his coat to yank him into the room.
He found himself looking at two familiar faces. "Johnny. Leo. What a surprise. I didn't know you were in Los Angeles."
Leo, a thin, rat faced little man with a nervous twitch, held a deadly looking knife in his hand. "We're here for the tiara, same as you, Chalmers."
"I'm afraid you're mistaken, Leo," Daniel Chalmers insisted. "I'm simply here on holiday." Johnny, who had once enjoyed a limited success in the boxing ring, released him, dropping him onto the floor. "Can I get up now?"
Johnny held out a hand to assist him. "People like you don't take holidays, Chalmers," he said in a threatening tone of voice. "That tiara's too tempting a target. But we saw it first."
Daniel smiled with secret amusement at his words. "I hardly think so. You can't possibly hope to steal that tiara without assistance," he told the two men, and then grunted as he felt the closed switchblade against his back.
"Let's kill him now, Johnny," Leo suggested. "I'm gettin' hungry."
"How about if we were to team up?" Daniel suggested, hoping he didn't sound as desperate as he felt. "Work together."
"And why should we trust you?" Johnny asked.
"Because I've already established myself with the woman who's protecting his Lordship's collection. Miss Holt thinks I'm an insurance agent, here to keep an eye on things. Before the reception tomorrow evening, I'll be privy to her entire plan."
Johnny's dark eyes bored into Daniel's face, then he stepped back toward the door. "Keep in touch, Chalmers," he warned. "Come on, Leo."
Leo flicked the knife once more in Daniel's direction, and then followed Johnny from the room.
Daniel stood there, straightening his clothing, his eyes on the door. This wasn't going to be as simple as he thought it would be . . .