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Remington entered the apartment as
quietly as he was able, not wanting to alert Rachel to his presence.
But apparently the woman had taken it on herself to rearrange
all the furniture, so that when he turned to tiptoe into the bedroom,
his thigh connected with the credenza that was SUPPOSED to be
behind the sofa and was now against the wall beneath the movie
posters.
"Remy?" Rachel called out, coming from the kitchen wearing
one of his aprons.
"Why the bloody hell did you move that table?" he asked,
nursing the pain in his leg.
"I thought it looked better over there," she said. "Are
you all right?" she asked, moving closer to place a hand
over his to rub the injured area.
Remington jerked away from her touch. "I'm fine. Just don't
do anything like that again, okay?"
"I'm sorry. I just thought that- since this is my home too,
now-"
"No, it's not," he said. Turning to look at her, he
said, "You and I both know that we're not married, Rachel.
Now I want the truth. Who put you up to this little charade?"
She shrank away from his words. "We ARE married," she
insisted. "I don't understand why you're trying to deny it.
Have you changed your mind?"
He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Rachel, I was here,
in this apartment all weekend. It's just a matter of time before
I find someone who can verify that fact. All I want is to know
who you were with in Las Vegas."
"Remington Steele," she said, leaning toward him. "Oh,
Remy. I wish I knew why you're acting this way. You said you loved
me, that you wanted to be with me for the rest of our lives -"
her green eyes were filling with tears. "I believed you -"
Rachel collapsed against his chest, sobbing softly. "All
I- All I want is to -make you happy," she whispered. "To
be the best wife I can be -" She lifted her eyes to his,
her full lips parted slightly, an open invitation.
Remington pushed her away and headed toward the bedroom, pulling
a suitcase from the closet. He paused, noticing that several dresses
were hung beside his suits before tossing the case onto the bed.
Rachel came to the door. "What are you doing?"
"Going to a hotel until all of this is resolved."
"A hotel? You're- deserting me?"
"You're welcome to remain here until I get to the bottom
of all this-"
She tried to grab his arm, to stop his movement between the dresser
and suitcase. "Remy- you can't leave. Please. You're my husband
-"
Remington jerked away and continued his packing. "No, I'm
NOT." He paused to look at her. "What are you getting
out of this, Rachel? A few thousand dollars? A share in whatever
the take is? Because it's not worth the risk. We'll find your
partner. We already know that he looks like me -"
"You weren't like this in Las Vegas," she said. "You
were sweet, and wonderful-"
"It wasn't me!" he insisted, moving to take some suits
from the closet. "It was an impostor using my name and credit
card, posing a me to set some insane little scheme into motion."
He picked up the case and turned toward the door again.
"Isn't there ANYTHING I can say to make you stay, Remy?"
she begged tearfully, following him into the living room.
Remington set the suitcase beside the door and turned slowly to
face her. "You could start with the truth," he suggested.
Blue eyes battled with green- and the green fell away.
"I- I don't know his name. Not his real name. He always used
the name Remington Steele around me."
He moved closer, pressing his advantage. "Where did you meet
him?"
"My- agent," she told him, sitting down on the sofa.
"I'm an actress," she confessed. "Or, I WANT to
be an actress. I haven't been able to find any work - and I was
running low on money. The bill collectors were knocking constantly
on my door. I didn't know what I was going to do - then Murray
- he's my agent- said that he'd gotten a call from a man who said
he wanted to hire me for a few weeks-"
"How long ago was this?"
"Two weeks," she said. "Remy - he said he wanted
to make sure I could play the part he needed me to play."
"Did he tell you why he wanted you to pretend to be my wife?"
"He said it was a joke, you know? Said that when the time
was right, he'd let you know the truth. But until then, I was
to keep pretending. I guess I didn't do a very good job, huh?"
she asked despondently.
"You did a good enough job to almost make me think I WAS
in Las Vegas," he told her. "Now," he said, sitting
down in the chair nearby. "Tell me everything you remember
about this man."
**********
Laura slid the loft door open and ran to pick up the ringing telephone.
"Hello?"
"Laura, it's Sidney. I got a prelim back on those prints
and the name."
She sat down. "Yes?"
"She's not wanted by the police for anything. And the name
checks out to an address the Valley. Apparently she wants to be
an actress- she's registered with all the unions - And I got her
agent's name as well, if you're interested."
Picking up a pen, Laura pulled her notebook from her purse. "I'm
interested, Sid. What's the name?"
"Murray Simon," he told her, giving her an address and
telephone number.
"Thanks, Sidney. I owe you."
"How about dinner tonight?" he suggested eagerly. "I
can be there in twenty minutes-"
"Sorry, Sidney, but - I'm busy on this case -"
"A case? More likely it's just that I don't stand a chance
with someone like Steele hanging around," he said with a
sigh. "Guess it's hopeless."
"I'll call you next week, Sidney," Laura assured him.
"We'll get together for lunch. Thanks again."
She hung up the phone and studied the name and number before her.
As she started to pick up the telephone, it rang again. "Hello?"
"Miss Holt. Have I got news for you," Mildred said.
**********
"I don't know what I'm going to do now," Rachel told
Remington as she finished. "I'll leave-" she began,
starting to rise.
Remington held out his hand. "No, you stay here. I'll go
tell Laura what you've told me and then go on to a hotel. Tomorrow,
you can tell Laura the story you just told me. Perhaps you'll
remember something that will help us find out who he is. An address
or telephone number-"
Rachel shook her head. "He always contacted me. And he wouldn't
tell me where he was staying." She looked at him. "He
looks- so much like you - Remy -" He winced, and she sighed.
"I'm sorry. It's habit, I suppose. He DOES look like you,
though. But he's not at all like you."
"What do you mean?"
"He's - Oh, I'm not sure I can explain it. There's an- edge
to him. A sharp, frightening edge that makes me think he could
hurt someone who made him angry. Maybe even kill them."
Remington patted her hand. "You'll be safe here," he
told her. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. Laura's number
is in the book beside the telephone."
"Thank you - Remington." She looked toward the dining
room. "What about dinner?" she asked. "I CAN cook,
believe it or not."
He smiled at her for the first time. "Is it something that
you can reheat?" he asked.
"I suppose so."
"Then the three of us can have it tomorrow evening."
She followed him to the door. "I don't know why you're being
so nice to me. I don't deserve it -"
"We'll talk about it later," he said. "Lock the
door." He waited in the hallway until he heard the soft "click",
then turned toward the elevator.
**********
Laura had tried to call Murray Simon, but had found herself connected
to his answering service, so she left a message for him to call
the office first thing tomorrow morning, then ate the take out
that she'd picked up on the way home. She found herself wondering
how Remington was faring with Rachel, and considered calling the
apartment- then thought better of the idea. The last thing she
needed was to look like a jealous female and give whoever was
behind this ammunition against her.
At last she dressed for bed and as she turned out the lights,
she was surprised by a knock on her door. Moving closer, she asked,
"Who is it?"
"It's me," came the response.
"Mr. Steele?" she questioned, sliding the door aside.
"What are you doing here?" She noticed the suitcase
in his hand and frowned.
"Rachel admitted that she was hired by someone to set all
this up -" he told her. "I wanted to talk to you about
it-Can I come in?" he asked.
Laura stepped back, then closed the door behind him. She watched
as he set the case beside the door. "What's that for?"
she asked.
"I'm going to spend the night in a hotel. Figure it's safer
that way. For tonight, anyway."
Laura silently agreed, but asked, "What did she tell you?"
"She's an actress," he told her, then paused as she
nodded.
"Sidney called earlier. He told me that much and gave me
the name of her agent. I left a message for him to call the office
tomorrow morning. Go on."
"Anyway, about two weeks ago, her agent was contacted by
someone calling himself Remington Steele, saying that he wanted
to hire Rachel to help out on a sting operation that his agency
was setting up. He offered her quite a lot of money, and Rachel,
who's not in the best of financial shape, jumped at the chance.
She said that they met at her apartment in the Valley, and that
he drilled her on her role, then sent her to Las Vegas to establish
her cover before joining her this last weekend and continuing
the little drama he penned. Then, he brought her back to Los Angeles
last night, and she arrived at the office this morning as he directed
her to."
"Does she have an address? A telephone number? Anything?"
"Apparently not. He's been very careful not to reveal anything
about himself. All she knows is that he looks quite a bit like
me."
"But with an Irish accent," Laura said, drawing another
surprised look. "Mildred called, as well. She's gotten several
descriptions of the man who pretended to be Remington Steele in
Las Vegas this weekend. About your height, hair a few shades lighter
and a little longer, blue eyes- but not AS blue as yours - and
an Irish accent."
"So it's GOT to be someone who's after me. But for the life
of me, Laura, I don't remember ever crossing anyone like that."
"Maybe Daniel's heard something," she suggested.
"No, I don't want to bother Daniel with this," he decided.
"Not yet, anyway."
"How did you get Rachel to tell you the truth?" Laura
wondered.
"I threatened to leave," he said, sitting down and loosening
his tie. "I'll bring her to the office with me tomorrow morning-
after I talk to Maude."
Laura found a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. "Do
you believe her story?" she asked him as she curled up on
the other end of the sofa.
"I've no reason to doubt it," he said. "She might
be a good actress, but I think she's really frightened of this
man. She said as much."
"Then why continue working for him?" Laura asked. "Why
not just walk away?"
"She needs the money. I got the distinct impression that
she was in debt up to here," he said, holding his hand over
his head. He finished his wine. "I'd better call a cab to
take me to the hotel-"
"Is that a good idea?" Laura wondered. "If the
newspapers get wind that you're staying at a hotel -"
"Do you have a better one?"
She looked a little uncomfortable. "You- COULD stay- here,
I suppose." She looked up. "On the couch," she
informed him before he could consider any other sleeping arrangements.
"I thought you were the one who was so worried about appearances?"
he asked.
"Since you're certain that Rachel's not going to cause trouble,
I'd rather you be here than in a hotel where a reporter's bound
to start asking questions as to WHY one of Los Angeles' most prominent
detectives isn't in his own apartment."
Remington considered her reasoning. "You're right, Laura.
So I'll accept your gracious invitation to share your - accommodations.
At least for the night."
"Good," she said, rising to go upstairs and gather a
pillow and blankets.
"I think I'm going to call Rachel and make sure she's all
right." He went to the telephone. "If you don't mind,
of course."
"Be my guest," Laura insisted, keeping an ear turned
in his direction as she spread a sheet over the makeshift bed.
"It's Remington," he said into the telephone. "I'll
be staying at Laura's for the night-" He smiled, scratched
behind his ear, a sure sign that he was uncertain about something.
"No, actually, her version of our relationship was quite
on target. . . Indeed?" he said, looking toward Laura as
she fluffed a pillow. "Did she really? That's very interesting.
. . I'll be back tomorrow morning to pick you up before going
to the office. . . I need to talk to my cleaning lady about all
of this . . . All right. Get some sleep. And don't worry, okay?
Keep the door locked. . . Good night." He hung up the telephone
and went to help Laura spread the last blanket.
"How's she doing?" Laura asked.
"She's fine. A bit nervous, but other than that-"
"I should HOPE she's nervous. You COULD press charges against
her for fraud."
"And what would that get me?" Remington asked. "Rachel's
not the one who used my credit card and usurped my good name."
"Your good name," Laura mused.
"I consider it my name," he said quietly. "I've
used it longer than I've ever used any name before," he reminded
her, moving closer to her with each word. "And I tend to
be just a little perturbed when someone else decides to sully
it." Laura began to smile. "And just WHAT is so amusing,
Miss Holt?"
"Nothing. I'm just constantly amazed at how much you've changed
since we first met -" She shook her head. "One of these
days, I'm going to figure out SOMETHING to call you when we're
alone."
He pulled her into his arms. "How about 'darling'?"
he suggested. "Or-"
"I get the picture, Mr. Steele," Laura assured him,
laughing softly, her arms sliding around his neck. "You know,
technically, you're still a married man."
"Hmm, so I am."
"And I have a hard and fast rule never to get involved with
married men."
"You do, eh?" he asked, tracing the contours of her
face with his lips. "You know what they say about rules,
don't you?"
"That they're made to be broken?" Laura replied, returning
his light kisses with some of her own.
"That there's usually a very good reason for them,"
he answered, giving her a final kiss. "Good night, Laura."
"Good night, Mr. Steele," she returned, then went upstairs
and slid between the sheets of her lonely bed as he turned off
the light beside the sofa. She had a feeling it was going to be
a long, sleepless, night.
**********
Maude Carson let herself into Mr. Steele's apartment with the
key he'd given her. She knew she was early, but she had to get
this done quickly so she could be at the Donaldson's before lunch.
Mrs. Donaldson had called late last night, informing her that
she was going to have an important luncheon at the house today,
and that she absolutely HAD to have Maude's help with things.
She was sure Mr. Steele wouldn't mind, she thought to herself,
thinking that he'd probably already left for his office. But just
to make sure, she went to the bedroom door and opened it just
a crack - enough so that she could see if there was anyone in
the bed.
There was. Maude almost closed the door, but the dark stain on
the sheet caught her eye. The blonde woman who was laying in Mr.
Steele's bed looked deathly pale. As she moved silently into the
room, Maude's breath caught in her throat - and came out as a
scream.
The woman was dead.
To Be Continued - - -