Forgotten Steele

Part Eight

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Remington kept watch as people milled around the gem exhibit. At last his eyes fell on Tracy, who was doing much the same thing across the room. He hadn't slept very well; worrying about how he was going to keep her in Los Angeles once this was over. Mildred's idea of a klonk on the head was beginning to sound better by the moment.

Slowly he made his way to her side. "Any sign of him?" she asked.

"Not even a glimmer," he told her, still scanning the crowd. "I've been thinking-what will you do when you leave here?"

"Follow the gems to their next stop," she said. "Denver, I believe. Another show similar to this one."

"Ever thought about-settling down?" he asked, hoping he sounded suitably nonchalant about her response.

Tracy's brown eyes widened as she turned to look at him. "Never."

"Why not?"

"I'm not the picket fence type," she told him. "If you're going to suggest that I stay here, don't. There's nothing for me here. No incentive for me to stay."

Blue eyes met brown. "You're certain about that?"

Her eyes searched his face, and then she shook her head. "As much as I love a challenge, I also know when I'm fighting a lost cause. Miss Krebs was correct last night: you're taken."

Remington's brow rose. "Really?"

"It's there everytime you mention Laura Holt. Your eyes give you away. I only hope that someday I'll find someone who has that look when he thinks of me."

"Oh, I think you will," he assured her.

Tracy's grin should have warned him. "Of course, if you ever decide that you're bored with your paragon of virtue, give me a call."

Before he could answer, he saw Mildred crossing toward them. "There you are, Mr. Steele," she said, glancing at each of them. "Did I interrupt something?"

"Not at all, Mildred. What did you find out?"

She handed him a sketch. "I took Sgt. Baker with me to see Miss Stewart. She gave him a pretty good description-that's what he came up with."

"That's the man I saw in the gallery yesterday morning. He must have been here inspecting the set up before he went to Roy Compton's house."

"Speaking of Compton," Mildred said, keeping her voice low, "the coroner's report came back. He WAS given that drug- and it most likely contributed to his heart attack."

Tracy glanced at the photograph. "Fat lot of good that does us. The man's a master of disguise. For all we know, he's here right now, waiting, watching for an opportunity to grab those gems."

Remington looked at Mildred. "Did you notify the armored car company? And the insurance company?"

Mildred nodded. "First thing. They're going to make sure everything's okay on their end."

Remington sighed. "Why don't you keep Miss Holt company, Mildred, while I bring Mr. Burton up to speed on what's happening?"

The two women exchanged doubtful looks as he moved away. Finally Tracy said, "You're quite fond of him, aren't you?"

"He and Miss Holt are like my own kids," Mildred told her. "I'd do just about anything for them."

"Would you give Miss Holt a message for me when she returns?"

Mildred looked uncertain. "Well, I-"

"Just tell her that I hope she knows how lucky she is to have someone like him."

"I think she knows," Mildred said, smiling as she followed the younger woman's gaze to where Mr. Steele was talking quietly to Mr. Burton. "But I'll tell her you said so." If THIS didn't get these two together, Mildred thought, she wasn't sure anything could.

There was still no sign of The Chameleon when Mr. Burton locked the front doors behind the last visitor, and he turned with a relieved sigh. "Perhaps he changed his mind," he said to Remington. "Decided that it was too risky."

"Perhaps," Remington agreed, but the look he sent Tracy and Mildred said otherwise. He still had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Where is the case for the gems?" he asked Burton.

"I'll bring it to the gem room," the museum owner said.

For the next several minutes they occupied themselves with returning the gems to their various boxes. The Royal Lavulite was the last to be put away, and Remington watched Tracy closely as she carried the brilliant blue gems to him. "They're so lovely," she said with a sigh as they lay in her hand.

"Umm. And dangerous," he reminded her, then realized that Tracy had no recollection of their two previous brushes with the gems. He took them from her and placed them into their box, fastening the seal before closing the lid of the case and setting the combination to arm to electric charge. He tapped the case. "It's ready when the armoured car arrives," he announced to Burton and the other guards.

One of the guards approached the quartet. "The car just arrived," he said.

"Excellent," Remington said, carrying the case out to the alleyway where Tom Dawson was just exiting the armoured car's front door. "Mr. Dawson," he said with a smile.

"Mr. Steele." He turned to the others. "Miss Holt. Mr. Burton. Heard you had a bit of excitement here last night."

"Yes. Someone tried to steal the gems," Remington told him. "I assume your company filled you in?"

"First thing this morning," Dawson assured him. "Are we ready?"

Remington held out the case. "Right here. Everything set."

Dawson held out his wrist for Remington to fasten the handcuff. "Not too tight," he said. "Wouldn't want it to chafe."

"Of course not," Remington said, as something began to nag at him again.

The guards opened the rear of the car. "Well, I'd best be off. Good day."

Tracy stepped forward, her hand outstretched. "Good bye, Mr. Dawson. Perhaps we'll meet again someday."

Dawson lifted his cuffed right hand. "I'd like that," Dawson said.

Right hand. Remington's mind flashed back to their first meeting with the courier the previous day- when they had initially shaken hands, the cuff had been on Dawson's LEFT wrist, not his right. "He's an impostor!" Remington announced. "Stop him!"

Dawson's eyes narrowed, and he flung the metal case in a circle, knocking the guards around him off their feet, giving him the time to flee down the alley.

Remington and Tracy gave chase, as did several other guards. They turned a corner and saw the object of their pursuit leap onto the higher rungs of an old fire escape. Remington's mind registered that this was where he'd discovered Laura's belongings, but a glance at his companion revealed only a face set with determination to recover those gems.

When she would have grabbed for the lower section of ladder, the part which was swinging free, obviously about to collapse, Remington pulled her back and gave her a lift onto the higher section. He quickly followed, telling the guards to take the stairs inside the building up to the roof.

Tracy reached the roof first, and managed to fling herself toward Dawson, grabbing his arm to slow him down. He flung her off, and she hit the concrete floor with a dull "thud" as Remington charged the man. He grabbed the blonde hair, and wasn't surprised when the wig came off in his hands. "End of the line, Davenport," he said.

"Not yet, Steele," Davenport replied, swinging the case toward him.

Remington leapt out of the way, then grabbed Davenport by the shirt. "Why, mate? Why come out of retirement after all this time? Why not just stay hidden? Play it safe?"

"It was too tempting a prospect," Davenport said. "All those gems. I could live like a king for the rest of my life with them, selling them just a few at a time."

"And was Roy Compton's death part of that tempting proposition?" Remington asked.

"No. No, it wasn't. But things happen. I don't expect you to understand."

Remington's problem was that he DID understand. Only TOO well. "It's over, mate. The guards will be here any minute." He could hear them in the stairwell. "Give it up."

Davenport shook his head. "Sorry, MATE. Can't do that." He waited for the door from the stairs to open, then, as Remington was distracted, pushed away and broke into a run. His path took him toward the side of the building. There was a ten-foot space between this one and the next, and with growing disbelief, Remington realized that Davenport intended to try and jump that breach.

"Better luck next time, Steele!" he called back as he catapulted himself off the ledge toward the second building.

Remington ran to the edge in time to see Davenport's left hand grasp the crumbling bricks. His right arm dangled, weighted by the metal case containing the gems. "Oh dear God," Remington muttered. "Hang on!" he called out. "We'll get help over there!" Turning to the guards, he said, "Get over there- pull him up. And hurry."

"Hang on, Davenport!" he noticed that the man was breathing heavily.

"Can't," Davenport replied. "Guess you won after-all." His eyes met Remington's in silent communication as the door on the next roof opened and two guards rushed toward the ledge where he was hanging. As Remington watched in horror, Davenport released his grip on the bricks and plunged to the alleyway below, where he lay, still and unmoving.

Remington heard the guards head back down the stairs, and watched, his head bowed, as the first one reached Davenport. Feeling for a pulse, he looked up at his friend, and shook his head negatively. The Chameleon was dead.

A low moan caused Remington to turn toward the spot where Laura lay against the ledge. She was sitting up, a hand to her head. "Who's the man with the jackhammer?" she muttered.

"Jackhammer?"

"The one in my head," she told him. "Mr. Steele. Where are we?" she asked, looking around.

"On a rooftop, actually," he told her, his eyes catching sight of something wedged into the bricks. A white rectangle of cardboard. Picking it up, he realized it was one of Laura's business cards.

"I KNOW that, Mr. Steele," she said, wincing as the frown hurt her head. "The question is, HOW did I get up here?"

"Laura?" Remington pulled her to him. "Oh, thank God. You're back."

Laura looked at him as if she suspected he'd gone off his rocker. "Was I gone?"

"I'll explain it all later, Miss Holt," he told her. "Right now, why don't we go back down and talk to our client and let Dr. Krebs know she was right again."

"Dr. Krebs? What ARE you talking about?" she asked as he helped her up and then guided her toward the stairs.

He laughed softly. Laura was back, and all was right with his world.

Mildred, who gave Remington an "I told you so" look when he explained that Laura had regained her memory after hitting her head, agreed to remain at the museum until the insurance company could find another courier to take the gems on to Denver. Remington called an ambulance to go rescue the real Tom Dawson, then accepted Mr. Burton's grateful thanks before leading Laura out to the Rabbit and opening the door for her before getting inside and starting the engine.

She'd been quiet, probably trying to regain her equilibrium after her experiences. The question was, how much of the last forty-eight odd hours did she remember? He knew that after his own experience with amnesia in Ireland he had recalled only bits and pieces of what happened. And he'd yet to recall everything that had happened in that movie house. Once the car was in traffic, he reached across to touch Laura's hand. "Penny for your thoughts."

"I'm not sure I want to share them just yet," she said, looking out the window. "Not until I get things clear in my mind."

"How much do you remember?" he asked.

"Bits and pieces. Nothing I can string together into anything coherent. Did I do anything that would- embarrass the agency?"

"Not really." He pulled the Rabbit into a parking space beside her building. "I'd be glad to fill you in, if you'd like."

She looked as she might refuse his suggestion, then stopped. "I guess you'd better."

Once upstairs in her apartment, Remington cleaned the small cut on her head. "Maybe we should take you to a doctor," he said. "Two bumps on the head in such a short span of time . . ."

"I'm fine," she insisted, and Remington shrugged as he gave in. "I just have to know- what did I do?"

"Well, you called yourself Tracy Lord, a jewel thief with the intent to steal the gems from the museum," he began, watching her carefully.

"I what? I didn't-did I?"

"You made a lovely would be thief. And you might have gotten away with it- if there hadn't been someone else already planning the same heist."

"This- Chameleon?"

"Yes. Let me tell you, Laura. I have a much finer appreciation for what you must have gone through during those first rocky months of our relationship. Trying to keep your alter ego in line was devilishly difficult."

Laura grabbed a pillow and held it to her "What did I do?"

"When you couldn't seduce the information about the gems out of me-," he began, only to see her eyes widen.

"Oh my GOD."

"I said you hadn't succeeded," he reminded her. "You decided to pretend to be Laura Holt to keep an eye on the gems- and you gave me your word that you wouldn't steal the gems as long as they were in my custody."

"Just like-," she said, watching him.

"Just as I promised you when we first met. And you kept your word, but you were tempted. I was beginning to wonder how I was going to keep you from following the damn things to Denver." He grinned. "Luckily, Dr. Krebs' cure worked again."

His smile was infectious. "We'll have to remember that in case either of us forgets who we are again," she told him, her smile mirroring his.

"Hmm. Any of this sound familiar?"

"A little," she admitted in a low voice.

Remington watched her, deciding that she needed some time to assimilate the things he'd told her. "Why don't I find something for us to eat?" he suggested. "Might make us both feel a little better. I haven't eaten anything since this began."

"Okay," Laura agreed. "I think I'll take a shower."

"Fine. Uh- knowing the usual state of your cupboards, I might have to go out and pick up a few things."

She nodded, obviously still deep in thought as she turned toward the bathroom.

Remington sighed and glanced in the refrigerator, then left to visit the supermarket a few blocks away.

Laura stepped under the shower, closing her eyes, wincing as the water hit the bump on her head. She remembered more than she'd admitted to Mr. Steele. The bits and pieces were slowly beginning to coalesce into something comprehensible.

She remembered kissing someone- Mr. Steele, she wondered? And she seemed to recall being in his apartment, inspecting the rooms, finding the pictures of her and him. Of being in his bed, waiting for him, when he returned. Had she really done that?

But it was HIS words that she remembered with startling clarity: "I'm- previously committed to someone else . . . Laura's exactly what I need. She's the most important thing in my life. And when she comes back, I'm going to tell her that."

And her own words at the museum, telling him that it was evident how much he cared for his associate. Evident to everyone except her, obviously. Oh, she knew he cared. But as Tracy, she had seen things so much more clearly. Even though he'd had the opportunity, Remington had refused to take advantage of her mental state. He'd done that before, too- the night her house had exploded, taking so much of her safe, secure little world with it.

Laura turned off the shower and went up the short stairway into the bedroom. She came up short, seeing the clothing scattered everywhere. It reminded her of the old Laura. The one that had sent Wilson running in the opposite direction. Angry with herself for allowing that person out, she grabbed the clothes, only to freeze as her fingers curled into silk. Lifting the gown, Laura bit back the moan that rose in her throat.

She'd bought the gown on a whim, thinking that she'd wear it once she and Mr. Steele- once she and Remington crossed that invisible line that lay between them. As she gazed at the peach colored fabric, Laura could recall the quickly hidden appreciation in his eyes when he'd seen "Tracy Lord" in the gown. She wondered what his reaction to seeing Laura Holt in this gown would be. There was only one way to find out.


Remington set the grocery sack on the floor to unlock the metal door, grumbling one more about Laura's choice of abode. He wondered what she would say if she knew that her alter ego hadn't approved of the place either. Perhaps, on some subconscious level, Laura was ready to move on. He slid the door aside and picked up the groceries, only to nearly drop them again as he saw Laura, reclining on the sofa- wearing that silk nightgown.

"Hello, Mr. Steele," she said, rising slowly and coming toward him. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten the way back here."

"I-um, had to go farther afield than I thought I would to get the ingredients for what I wanted to prepare. Um, Laura-," he said, placing the sack on the table, his eyes never leaving her. "Are you feeling all right?" He was afraid she'd had a relapse. That she was Tracy again.

"I'm feeling quite myself, Remington," she assured him, sliding her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, slipping his coat from his arms and to the floor.

"What about dinner?" he asked nervously as her fingers worked to loosen his tie and unfasten the top buttons of his shirt.

"It can wait. Right now, I'm hungry for something else."

Remington placed his hands on her arms and pulled back slightly to see her eyes. "Laura, are you sure about this? I mean, after all you've been through in the last forty eight hours, you're probably still not entirely yourself."

"I don't think I've ever been more certain about anything in my entire life," she assured him. "I wasn't ENTIRELY truthful with you earlier," she said softly. "I DO remember large chunks of time over these last couple of days. Especially our - conversations."

"I see." He studied her for a long moment, and then pulled her into his arms, repeating the kiss he'd given Tracy Lord that first night. He pushed, fully expecting Laura to pull away, to put up that bloody wall she kept between them and the bedroom.

But this time he encountered no resistance, nothing to bar him from pulling her even closer, from running his hands over her silk clad body. His shirt was unbuttoned, and he closed his eyes as she ran her fingers through the hair on his chest before pulling the shirt from his trousers. He removed his hands from her long enough to unfasten the cuffs, then placed his hands on her shoulders, sliding the thin straps over and down as his head bent to her neck, and then lower . . .

"Oh my God, Remington," she sighed, and felt as if she were floating on air. Opening her eyes, she realized that he was carrying her up the circular stairway to the bedroom. Once there, he lowered her back to her feet, waiting. He'd told her how he felt- when she had been Tracy. Now it was her turn. "You're the most important thing in my life, Remington Steele. That's who you are, you know. You've become the man I imagined when I created my fictitious boss. Nothing else matters."

"Not even that I love you?" he said in that soft, lilting voice. "That the day I met you my life began anew? That I want to spend the rest of my life by your side, making you happy? Being Remington Steele?"

Laura's heart felt as if it might burst upon hearing his heartfelt declaration. For a man who once said he distrusted words, he was VERY good at saying them. "I love you, too. I think I have from the first moment, the day you walked into that office as Ben Pearson. I love you." Behind them, the phone began to ring.

"It's probably Mildred," he said regretfully, obviously thinking that she was going to answer the summons as she always had.

Laura's hands found the buckle of his belt. "Let it ring. I'm sure that she'll call back." She smiled at him. "I really should get an answering service." Remington captured her lips once more, and as the echo of the telephone died away, it was replaced with the soft moans of two people finding each other at last . . .

The End

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Original content ©1999 by Nancy Eddy