She was waiting near the doors of the Hilton when Larry Davis
came out of the building, carrying his suitcase- and a briefcase
that wasn't the one she'd seen earlier in his room. "Hello,
Mr. Davis," she said as he opened the door of a waiting taxi."
He turned, smiling at her. "Going somewhere?"
He smiled. "Miss Holt. As a matter of fact, I left a message
with your service a few minutes ago. It seems my employers have
decided that Grayson's not the right man for the job after all.
So I'm going home. I need to talk to my wife, tell her what happened.
I don't want to lie to her."
"How thoughtful of you," Laura commented dryly. "And
are you also going to tell her what you REALLY do for a living?"
she asked, her dark eyes meeting his without flinching.
Davis frowned. "I'm not sure I know what you mean, Miss Holt.
Is something wrong?"
"I don't like being used, Mr. Davis- or whatever your name
is. Especially not to find a poor little computer expert who's
never seriously heart a soul just so you can shoot him."
"Shoot who? Oh, my. You don't mean- Stanley Grayson? Someone
shot him? It must have something to do with that young woman,
don't you agree? Is he all right?"
"He'd dead, Mr. Davis. You're very good at what you do."
She continued to meet his gaze. "I think we need to talk."
Davis' eyes narrowed, then he said, "Not here."
"What about my office?" Laura suggested.
"Hey, Mister, do you need a cab or not?" the driver
demanded to know. "I got other people-."
Davis stepped back, ushering Laura into the vehicle ahead of him,
then followed her, giving the driver the address for Remington
Steele Investigations.
Laura unlocked the front doors to the office, leading him directly
to Mr. Steele's office. Once the door was closed, she didn't waste
any time.
"I know you killed Stanley Grayson, Davis. And very likely
Rachel as well. What happened? Did she ask for more money? Try
to shake you down?"
"She got greedy," Davis admitted. "A mistake that
I wouldn't recommend that you repeat."
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't call the police
and turn you in," Laura asked.
"I could give you several," he said. "Including
the fact that your death could be blamed on any number of former
cases."
"I don't think so. I dictated a tape on the way back to town.
I mailed it to a friend from the hotel. If anything happens to
me, he has instructions to take it to the police."
"Then suppose you give me the number of reasons that you'd
accept not to turn me in."
"I'm not greedy. I just need some help to get my own agency
started. I'm tired of always being in Steele's shadow. I'm a better
detective than he'll ever be- but I need money to set myself up."
"How much?"
"Fifty thousand. In cash."
"And what guarantee do I have that you won't come back later
for more? Or turn me in anyway?"
Laura shrugged. "There aren't a lot of guarantees in life,
Davis. Why did you kill Stanley Grayson? What did he ever do to
you?"
"To me? Nothing. He was just a job. Just one more in a long
line. Just like you will be," he said, grabbing her without
warning and turning her back toward him, his left arm around her
arms and waist, his right hand around her neck. "It's a pity,
Miss Holt. Wish we had time to get to know each other better."
He sighed as his fingers began to tighten. "But I can't risk
your double crossing me."
The tape," she croaked.
"By the time they find your body, I'll be long gone."
Laura managed to free an arm, swinging it to knock the lamp from
Mr. Steele's desk with a crash. Davis' fingers tightened, then
stilled as the door leading to Laura's office burst open and Fiske
led several other agents into the room.
"Let her go, Devon."
Devon's hold on Laura tightened. "I can break her neck before
you kill me," he said.
Laura met Agent Fiske's eyes as he spoke. "You don't want
to do that, Devon."
Laura felt Devon's hand move from her waist, but she was still
held immobile by his hand at her throat. She took a chance, bringing
her foot down hard on his. He released her and she rolled behind
the desk as he pulled a gun from his coat pocket. Taking aim at
Fiske, he ignored Fiske's order to drop the weapon, firing one
shot in the direction of the FBI agent before the others opened
fire.
Devon fell to the floor, unmoving.
Fiske came over to extend a hand to help Laura to her feet. "Are
you okay, Miss Holt?"
She nodded, then frowned at the darkening stain on his left arm.
"You've been shot."
"Flesh wound," he assured her with a grin. "I've
had worse," he was saying as Mildred came into the office,
leading the police past the FBI agents. She hurried up to Laura.
"Oh, Miss Holt. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Mildred." Laura looked at Fiske. "What
happens to Stanley now?"
"He's already been moved- given another identity. Just remember
how you agreed to write this up in your report."
She shook her head. "I don't like the idea of falsifying
records that could cost me my license," she told him.
"What falsification?" he asked. "You're just not
going to mention the fact that you found Stanley Grayson, that's
all. You discovered that Davis killed a local working girl when
SHE discovered that he was really a hit man for the mob. You contacted
us, agreed to confront Davis. End of story."
"Not quite," another voice said, and Laura and Mildred
both winced as they saw the short, rumpled looking man with curling
brown hair enter the office. "I've got a dead body here,
and Feds all over the place." He nodded in the direction
of the women. "Miss Holt. Mildred."
"Detective Jarvis. What are you doing here?" Laura asked.
"I was in the neighborhood and heard the call about a shooting
at this address." He looked around, as if searching for someone
in particular. "Where's Mr. Steele?"
Laura exchanged a glance with Mildred before answering. "He's
out of town. Personal business. Do you know Agent Fiske, Lieutenant?"
she asked, to get his attention away from more questions about
Mr. Steele's whereabouts.
"We've met," Jarvis confirmed, frowning at the government
agent. "Someone want to explain what's going on?"
"Gladly, Lt. Jarvis," Fiske said, putting an arm around
the smaller man's shoulders to lead him back out of Steele's office.
"Why don't we go into my office?" Laura suggested to
Mildred as the coroner's men entered the room.
"That's a good idea, Miss Holt," Mildred agreed, opening
the door. "We need to talk." Once they were in the other
room, Mildred said, "You took a hell of a chance, Miss Holt.
He could have killed you."
"I only did what I had to do, Mildred," Laura insisted.
"It was my a fault all this happened. I was so eager to prove
to myself that I could handle this case without Mr. Steele that
I didn't stop, didn't thing thinks out as well as I should."
"If Mr. Steele had been here," Mildred began, but Laura
turned on her.
"But he's NOT here. And even if he was, this is still MY
agency, and it was MY decision. Besides," she added quietly.
"He won't ever know about it."
"They DO have newspapers in- wherever he is," Mildred
reminded her.
"Newspapers? What makes you think this will be in the papers?
I'm sure that Agent Fiske will want it kept as quiet as possible."
She paused as there was a knock on the door, and Fiske's head
appeared. "Miss Holt. Excuse me, but there's a reporter out
here who wants to interview you about how you helped capture Devon."
Laura ignored Mildred's `I told you so' look. "But- I didn't
do anything."
"Nonsense," he insisted, coming further into the room
to take her arm. "You know, you really need to blow your
own horn a little more often. Com'on, Miss Krebs. You, too."
Laura tried her best to downplay her part in the capture of a
hit man that the FBI had been after for years. But Fiske insisted
that she take credit for finding Devon, for luring him into the
trap they had set. The reporter even took a picture of Laura standing
between Jarvis and Fiske as they congradulated her on a job well
done.
It was late when she got back to the loft, and she fell into bed,
exhausted. She'd made it through one day. Only a hundred and twenty
or so to go.
But it was a long time before she fell asleep.
Mildred was on the telephone when Laura entered the office the
next morning, and she grimaced, handing her employer a stack of
messages- and the morning paper, open to show the headline, Associate
of Remington Steele Captures Hit Man. Laura shook her head
as she read the caption under the photograph, realizing that they
had finally gotten her name and occupation correct for the first
time.
"I have an opening at two," Mildred was saying into
the telephone. She nodded as Laura pointed to her own office.
Inside, Laura sat down at her desk, sorting through the messages
before finally glancing at the article. She's solved important
cases BEFORE Remington Steele had become a real person, but the
credit had always gone to her unseen boss. She was in the spotlight
at last- but for some reason it didn't seem as important to her
as it once had.
The door opened, and Mildred came in with a cup of coffee. "Agent
Fiske is on line one."
"Thanks, Mildred," she said, running a finger around
the rim of the mug.
She paused before leaving the room. "You okay, hon?"
"I'm fine," Laura assured her, picking up the telephone.
"Agent Fiske. I thought you'd be back in Washington by now,"
she said as the door closed behind Mildred.
"Well, I to finish some paperwork- and I've been offered
a spot in the LA office."
"Really?"
"Anyway, I was just wondering if you'd like to have dinner
this evening."
"Dinner?" Laura questioned, finding herself uncertain.
"Spend some time with an out of towner who's considering
moving to your fair city?"
Laura sat back. "Uh- dinner. Umm."
Fiske's voice took on a disappointed note. "Guess the research
was right. Don't worry about it. Wouldn't want to step on Steele's
toes."
"Research?" Laura questioned, sitting forward again
as the door opened and Mildred came into the room, carrying more
messages.
"Standard procedure. Anytime we deal with an outside agency,
we do a check." He hesitated a moment. "I'd be more
than glad to discuss it over dinner."
"What time?" Laura asked, telling herself that it was
only that she wanted to find out what he'd dug up. If he knew
the truth- if he'd discovered her little ruse, there could be
trouble.
"Seven?"
"Seven," Laura confirmed, ignoring Mildred's disapproving
glare. "My address is-."
"I know it," he told her, and she could hear the smile
in his voice. "See you then."
"Good bye," Laura wished, hanging up. She picked up
a file that Mildred had placed on her desk with the messages.
When Mildred didn't leave, she looked up. "Yes?"
"You're having dinner with Fiske?"
"He's thinking about moving to Los Angeles," Laura explained.
"He wants me to show him around."
"It's going to be hard to do that at your sister's,"
Mildred pointed out.
"My sister's?"
Mildred nodded slowly. "You and Mr. Steele were supposed
to have dinner over there this evening."
"Oh no. That's right. We were. You'd better call Frances.
Tell her we won't be there."
"Me? She's your sister, Miss Holt. She's going to want to
talk to you." She tapped the newspaper that lay on Laura's
desk. "In fact, I'm surprised she hasn't called already,"
Mildred told her as the telephone rang. Picking it up, she said,
"Remington Steele Investigations. . . Mrs. Piper. . . Yes,
she is," she said, ignoring Laura's attempt to get her to
lie. "Just a moment." She pushed the "Hold"
button on the phone. "Speak of the devil. Our first client's
due in ten minutes. I'll get you some more coffee," she offered,
picking up the cup and leaving.
Laura glared after her before pressing another button. "Hello,
Frances," she said sweetly.
"Are you all right, Laura? Donald just showed me the paper."
"I'm fine, Frances," Laura said, getting tired of having
to reassure everyone as to that fact. "All in a day's work.
I was about to call you anyway," she began, but as usual,
her older sister refused to let her talk.
"What's this in the article about Remington being out of
town, Laura?" she asked.
Laura still had no idea when her "Mr. Steele" had become
"Remington" to Frances and Donald. "Just some personal
business he had to attend to, Frances," she said.
"It's very strange that he didn't mention it when I talked
to him the other day."
"He called you?"
"Yes. To ask what kind of wine he should bring to dinner.
You know, Laura, if you don't tie that man up somewhere, you're
going to lose him to someone who will. He's just too good to be
true. If I were you," she said, only to go silent for a moment
as Laura responded.
"You're not me, Frances. Mr. Steele's business came up suddenly."
"Well, you can tell us all about it at dinner," she
said.
"About dinner, Frances," Laura said, wincing.
"Oh, you're NOT going to cancel, are you, Laura?"
"Well, with Mr. Steele out of town, I have more work to do.
I'm swamped. I doubt I'll get away from the office before midnight,"
Laura lied.
"Tomorrow night, then?" Frances suggested, then sighed.
"Oh, wait. Danny has a scout meeting." Laura could just
imagine her sister consulting her schedule of scout meetings and
music lessons, and little league. "Next week. Will Remington
be back then?"
"I doubt it," Laura answered. "You know, Frances,
I feel as if seeing Mr. Steele is the only reason you invite me
over at all these days."
"Nonsense, Laura. You know you're welcome anytime."
Frances paused for a moment. "You sound like you need to
talk, Laura. I'm free for lunch today."
"All right. Lunch. I'll meet you at The Trellis at noon."
"You'd better book a table. You know how hard it is to get
in there at noon."
"I will, Frances," Laura assured her as Mildred knocked
lightly on the door. "I have to go. A client."
"All right, Laura."
Laura hung up the telephone as Mildred led a middle aged man into
the office. "Mr. Henried, Laura Holt."
Laura smiled at the little man and held out her hand. "What
can we do for you, Mr. Henried?"
To Be Continued . . .