"Mr. Steele?" she called softly, almost afraid to speak up, as if it might prolong the discovery that he'd gone - again. He'd been moody and silent for the last week, disappearing for hours on end, missing meetings with clients, usually with no explanation except that the appointment had slipped his mind.
Then, this afternoon, when he had returned to the office just as a difficult and disappointed client had stormed out of the office, Laura had finally confronted him about his actions- only to be told to buzz off, that he just needed some time to sort a few things out. They had both said some terrible things to each other- and the end result had been his storming out of the office, leaving Laura to handle yet another client on her own.
That hadn't bothered her, after all, it wasn't as if she couldn't handle it, but by the time the client had gone, she was feeling miserable and worried about what was causing Mr. Steele to act as he had been. Someone from his mysterious past, perhaps?
It had been Mildred who had convinced her to come over here, to try and talk to him again. The receptionist/secretary/private detective-in-training had tried several times to call his apartment, and had gotten only a busy signal- as if he had taken the phone off of the hook.
Laura decided to put off going to the bedroom, and turned toward the kitchen, only to stop in her tracks as she heard someone muttering softly in the bedroom. Hurrying to the door, she stood there, watching as Remington pulled some clothes from the small suitcase on his bed and tossed them aside before trying- obviously not for the first time- to close the latches, without success.
"I think you're going to need a bigger suitcase," Laura told him.
He barely looked at her as he removed more clothes and managed this time to close the case. "Think so?" he asked.
"Where are you going?" Laura asked, blocking his way as he picked up the suitcase and started out of the room.
"England, if you must know," he told her in a brusque tone. "And I'm going to miss my flight if I don't leave now."
"And when were you going to tell me that you were leaving? Or were you just going to do it like last time?" she accused. "Let me come in here and find you gone without a note, or-"
He sighed, running a hand over his face, drawing Laura's attention to details that she'd missed in her anger at his disappearing acts of the last few days. He looked tired. No, scratch that. He looked exhausted. As if he hadn't been sleeping well - if at all. There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was mussed, and his clothes- well, they certainly weren't up to the usual standards of "Remington Steele". "I was going to call once I got there," he told her.
She placed a hand on his arm. "What's wrong?"
"It's - Daniel," he told her, his voice breaking slightly.
"Daniel? Daniel Chalmers?" Laura's concerned tone changed to one of suspicion. They had played *this* scene before as well. "Don't tell me. He's sick. Gravely ill - and needs you there with him. You know, to- keep the vigil. I know how excruciatingly lonely those hours can be." She expected him to look at her sheepishly, as he often did when she caught him out in another of his lies. But instead he looked at her with shock in those blue eyes. "Isn't that what you told me once before? When you and he were running off to England and he dragged you into that whole Duke of Rutherford mess?" she asked. "Where is he? Waiting for you at the airport like last time? I can't believe that you'd let that man lure you into another of his little schemes!"
Remington sighed and his eyes took on a dark hue as they often did in times of stress. "Laura, Daniel's in England. I can give you the number of his doctor if you'd like- he'll tell you about Daniel's condition. But I don't have time to stand here arguing with you. I can't miss my flight. If I do, I might miss-" he seemed unable to voice his fear.
"Are you telling me the truth?" Laura asked, looking him in the eye. "Daniel's really sick?"
"On the edge, according to his doctor. I've been trying to track him down for the last week without actually *going* to London. It hasn't been easy," he told her, running a hand through is dark hair, tousling it even more than it already was.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Laura wanted to know. "I'll go with you-"
"I don't have time to stop by your loft, Laura-the flight-" he glanced at his watch to point out how short time was.
"So I'll get whatever I need once we get there."
"And your passport?"
"I'll call Mildred from the limo and have her meet us at the airport with it." She got as far as the front door, and then hesitated. "Unless there's some reason that you don't *want* me to go?" she asked, still not totally convinced of his veracity.
"No, to be honest, I'd welcome the company," he said, a small, relived smile hovering somewhere just off of his lips. "These last few days have been - well- hell."
***
Mildred met them at the airport with moments to spare. Laura had managed to get a ticket on the flight- much more easily than the last time this had happened, she recalled, and must have chuckled outside.
Remington took her arm as Mildred waved goodbye and they started down the gangway toward the airplane. "Sometime amusing?"
"Just remembering the trouble I had the time I followed you and Daniel to London," she explained. I wound up flying tourist, just barely able to watch the two of you living it up in the first class section."
The smile finally appeared. "Daniel certainly does know how to go first class," he agreed, recalling other times, other places. Suddenly the smile was gone, and Laura placed a comforting hand over his as it lay on the arm of the chair between them.
"What's wrong with him?"
"He's been shot- several times, as a matter of fact."
"Shot?"
"He called me ten days ago and told me about some grand scheme he'd hatched- tried to lure me in on it-" Remington must have seen Laura's expression, because he quickly assured her, "but I told him that I wasn't interested in being anyone other than Remington Steele." When Laura smiled in acceptance of his words, he shook his head. "I told him it was a crazy idea, but Daniel's stubborn. When he sets his gaze on a prize, nothing will deter him. I remember one time in Marrakesh . . . " his voice trailed off as he recalled the incident.
"What was his scheme?"
"Something about trying to scam an organized crime boss out of his ill gotten gains. I made him promise to call me as soon as it was done. I suppose I had a feeling that something would go wrong," he admitted.
"And it did." It wasn't a question. Laura knew from all of this that something had gone terribly, horribly wrong.
Remington put his head against the seat, his gaze moving to the sky beyond the rectangular window beside him. "Apparently. I don't know the details. All I know is that when Daniel didn't check in as he was supposed to, I started calling around, asking if anyone had seen him, knew where he was. I even halfway expected him to turn up here, having decided that London was a bit too hot if he'd been successful. No one had heard from him since he'd started is little gambit." He shook his head, pounding his thigh with a clenched fist. "Damn. If I'd agreed to join him, maybe-"
"You'd both be in a hospital in London," Laura suggested gently, clasping his clenched fist in her hand. "Or the morgue."
"I suppose you're right," he agreed.
"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Laura asked him. "I could have helped with the search."
"I didn't want to draw undue attention to him. He might have still been working the con- or on the run, trying to keep a low profile. And I wasn't sure that you'd care enough-"
His honesty startled her. "What-?"
He lifted a hand to silence her. "I know that you and Daniel haven't always seen eye to eye on things. And after that fiasco in London-"
"He's important to you," Laura said. "And that makes him important to me. So you spent this last week making calls and not sleeping, worrying. How did you find him?"
"I wasn't really worried until I found out that the mark was threatening to kill the next person who tried to con him- just as he'd done to the man who had just tried it. I sent out the word to everyone I could contact in London- Chalky, Felicia, - everyone, and asked them to keep their eyes and ears open. I almost left that night-"
"But you didn't," Laura said, sounding surprised.
"You have Felicia to thank for that. She told me that by coming over there and asking questions - if Daniel was alive - then I'd just draw attention to Daniel as I'd been afraid would happen. She gave me her word that she'd scour the entire city and surrounding countryside to find him."
"Remind me to thank her when we get to London," Laura told him. "Apparently she succeeded."
"No," he said, shaking his head. "When I got home from the office after our little row, there was a message waiting for me my machine. It was from a doctor in a small private hospital on the outside of London- He said he'd found my name and number on the person of his newest patient, and thought I should know that Daniel was- very ill."
"You mentioned that he'd been shot-?"
"Three times. Once in the arm, once in the leg, and a third time in the chest." Laura winced upon hearing the report. "Dr. Martindale told me that by all rights Daniel should have been dead when he was stumbled into the remote country hospital and collapsed. He'd been wandering about for at least twenty four hours- and he'd been beaten as well."
"Damn," Laura breathed.
"They were taking him into surgery when Dr. Martindale called," Remington told her, "and his chances weren't very good."
Laura took his hand in hers again. "Daniel's a survivor, Remington. He'll make it."
"I pray you're right, Laura. Just the idea that Daniel's not out there, somewhere, running a con or planning one-"
"Why don't you try to get some sleep?" Laura suggested, reaching up to turn the overhead light off and flagging down an attendant. "Could we get a pillow and a blanket, please? Thank you."
"That's not necessary, Laura," Remington insisted. "I'm fine-"
"You're dead on your feet and you know it. You're not going to do Daniel or anyone else any good if you collapse before you get there." She took the pillow and blanket and put the pillow behind his head, then spread the blanket over him. "There. Now sleep."
"Yes, Mother," he replied with a tiny smile, settling his head into the pillow.
***
A tall, thin young man with unruly, dark hair, wearing an ill-fitting suit that had seen better days, met them at Heathrow. "Mr. Steele?" he asked, his pale blue eyes scanning Remington's face with a depth that surprised Laura.
"Yes, I'm Remington Steele."
"I'm Jarred Martindale. Dr. Martindale's son. He asked me to bring you to the hospital." He looked at Laura, his gaze curious.
"I'm Laura Holt," she explained.
"Forgive me," Remington said. "Miss Holt is my-,"
"- friend," Laura finished, and then asked the question that she knew as foremost on Remington's mind. "How is Daniel?"
The young man hesitated as they moved toward the exits. "I think you'd best let my father tell you about Mr. Chalmers condition, -" he began, but Remington spoke up.
"Did he survive the surgery?" Remington wanted to know. "Can you tell us that, at least?"
"I don't know if-"
"Look-"
Laura moved between Remington and Jarred. "Mr. Steele and Mr. Chalmers are very close," she told Jarred in a quiet tone of voice. "Almost as close as you and your father probably are."
Jarred swallowed, looking at Remington. "Yeah. I guess they would be." He stopped, his eyes widening as if he'd said something he shouldn't have. "Mr. Chalmers came through the surgery, but Father says it's still touch and go." He indicated the small car they were approaching. "Here we go. We'll be there soon enough."
Laura got into the back seat with Remington. "You're not English are you, Jarred?" she asked as he turned the car into the traffic leading out of the airport.
"I wasn't born here, no, ma'am. But I've lived here for the last few years. My mother's Irish. Most people don't hear my accent. It's easier to fit in if I don't sound Irish. When I first came here, the other kids teased me a lot. So I learned to cover it up." He looked at her in the rear view mirror as he spoke. "You've a good ear, Miss."
"I think I've just learned to hear a bit of Erin mixed into an English accent," Laura noted, looking at Remington. "It's a shame to cover it up. I rather like the sound of an Irish brogue, truth be told," she confessed, slipping her hand over his to get his attention.
He smiled, looking first at her, then at Jarred. "What part of Ireland are you from?" Remington asked, but his mind was clearly on the end of this journey and not the question.
"Just outside Dublin," he said. "Lovely area. I wish we could move back there. But my father said that he could do better here than there, so- "
"Does your mother miss Ireland, too, Jarred?" Laura asked.
"All the time. You know what they say. You can take the Irish out of Ireland, but you can't take Ireland out of the Irish."
Remington smiled. "That they do, Jarred. That they do."
"We'll be at the hospital in two shakes," Jarred promised as they left the city behind, and Laura couldn't help but notice that he wasn't troubling to hide the Irish accent now.
***
Dr. Martindale's clinic/hospital was located in a remote, rural area. The building itself had been converted from an English manor house. "It's lovely," Laura told him as the front door opened and a woman appeared.
"Mother," Jarred said as they got out of the car. "This is Mr. Remington Steele and his friend, Laura Holt."
Laura shook Mrs. Martindale's hand, and couldn't help but notice the woman's blue eyes were fixed on the man at Laura's side. "Miss Holt. Mr. Steele. Tis a pleasure to finally meet you."
"You're heard of me?"
"Oh, of course. We do get the London papers out here, you know. They were fairly filled with your exploits on your last visit to London. I only hope this visit turns out as well. My husband is waiting for you inside. Please. Come in. Jarred, take their cases to the guest room, if you will. Then see to your chores."
"But-"
The blue eyes fixed her son's disappointed face. "Do your chores, lad. It's not a holiday."
Jarred's eyes fell first, and he moved toward the stairs, carrying Remington's suitcase.
"If you'll follow me," Mrs. Martindale said, leading Laura and Remington down a dark paneled hallway that smelled strongly of antiseptic.
"How is Daniel, Mrs. Martindale?" Remington asked. "Jarred told us that he made it through the surgery."
"He wasn't supposed to tell you anything," she said. "But, I suppose that - under the circumstances - he can be forgiven."
"The circumstances?" Laura asked, her innate curiosity forcing her to ask the question.
The Irishwoman's smile was a strange mixture of sorrow and happiness. "It's not every day a boy gets to meet his long lost cousin, now, is it?" she asked, her blue eyes on Remington once again.