Los Angeles, September, 1982
He stood outside the Beverly Wiltshire Hotel, snapping pictures of the woman and her two children as he waited for his quarry. According to his sources, Laura Holt was supposed to be returning to the hotel with the newest client of Remington Steele Investigations, Gordon Hunter. The detective agency had been retained to protect the very thing that he was after: Royal Lavulite.
As a black limo pulled into view behind the little family, he snapped a few frames of the vehicle, and then lifted the lens slightly above the family before him to snap a picture of the woman and man getting out of the car to stand at the curb for a moment.
He paused, and felt as if he'd been hit in the gut by a hard fist. It was her. Another gaze through the lens, which he focused tightly on that elfin face. Ilsa. Dear God, she was Laura Holt, associate of Remington Steele. He smiled slightly as he recalled her having mentioned something during those three days about being an apprentice at a detective agency-much to the chagrin of her boyfriend. He hadn't really believe it at the time. Idly, he wondered what the wimp thought about her being a detective instead of at home hosting dinner parties and cleaning up after him.
"Are you okay?" the woman asked, obviously noticing his distress.
"Fine," he assured her, then noticed that Ilsa- Laura, he corrected- sketched a brief salute at the driver of a linen truck that parked down the way, and snapped a couple of pictures of him. *Bad form, my girl,* he thought. *Never tip your hand when someone might be watching.* But the delivery driver was quickly dismissed from his thoughts as he turned the lens back onto her.
The past almost six years had given her a sense of self-assuredness that easily showed through in her every move as she turned and followed Hunter into the hotel lobby behind the guards from the armoured truck. He smiled at the woman in front of him. "You have a lovely family," he assured her, but his mind wasn't on the here and now as he gave her some money.
She took it and laughed. "For an extra fifty, you can keep the kids," she joked.
He touched the little girl's chin. "I don't think my suitcase is big enough," he told her as they moved away.
He was going to have to change his plans. There was no way that he could play this the way he had originally laid it out. She was bound to recognize him as Richard Blaine- the man that she'd spent three passion-filled days-and nights- with in an Acapulco hotel suite five years ago. Or-maybe he could pull it off at that. She'd had no idea of his real name then- just as he hadn't known hers. Maybe he could pass himself off as the insurance agent and then explain-
He shook his head as he entered the lobby to watch her disappear with Hunter into the hotel security office. No, he couldn't do that to her. Stealing the gems on her watch would probably destroy her career. And the distraction of her being here would be too much as it was. Better that he just sat this one out and follow the gems on to San Francisco. He could make the grab there.
But he still needed to see her- to talk to her. If she had married that wimp Wilson, he wanted to know she was happy. He didn't know what he could do about it if she wasn't, but he was driven to at least make the attempt.
***
Laura pushed open the glass door of Remington Steele Investigations and smiled at the dark haired receptionist sitting behind the desk. "Any messages, Bernice?" she asked.
"Maria called. She said she was taking Rikki to ballet class and then bring her here."
"I'll have to call and let know that I might not be here," Laura said with a frown as she glanced over the mail. "Is Murphy in?"
"Chomping at the bit," Bernice told her. "He told me what you said to Hunter. Have you lost your mind?"
Laura smiled. "Not yet. Bring some coffee, please?" she asked, going into her office and tossing her hat onto the desk and picking up the phone to dial her number. "Maria? It's Laura. I glad you haven't left for ballet yet . . . No, she's still going, but about dinner in town tonight- it looks like I'll be tied up until late. Tell her we'll make it up with lunch tomorrow, okay? . . ." she heard the door that connected to Murphy's office open as she spoke. "I know, Maria. But this is a *very* important client. If we pull this off, I'll have a lot more time to spend with her. I'll make it up to her, I promise . . . Okay . . ." she covered the receiver to return Murphy's look of disapproval. "Don't look at me that way, Murph." Putting lifting her hand, she smiled. "Hello, baby . . . Did Maria tell you that Mommy can't have dinner with you tonight? . . . Tell you what, we'll go to the amusement park this weekend, okay? . . . I cross my heart," Laura said, making a crossing motion on her chest. "Okay. Have fun at ballet practice. Love you." She hung up the phone and picked up a file folder as she turned toward the other door that led into what would have been Remington Steele's office- if that gentleman had really existed, that is. "Don't say it, Murphy," she warned.
"The only thing I want to know is what we're going to tell Hunter when Remington Steele doesn't show up."
"But he will," Laura told him, sitting behind the desk to slip off her shoes and put her feet up.
Bernice entered with a tray of coffee and cups. "Okay, I'll ask. How is a guy who doesn't exist going to meet Mr. Hunter?"
"He doesn't actually have to *meet* Remington Steele," Laura pointed out. "He just wants to know that Steele is on the case- so . . . we manufacture his presence."
"Could you explain?" Murphy asked, stirring the sugar into his coffee.
"I want you to reserve the VIP suite at the hotel for Mr. Steele. We'll make it *look* as though he's checked in and on the premises. Then, a few properly timed pages for him, and by the time Gordon Hunter realizes that he's never actually seen Remington Steele, the case will be concluded."
"You're taking a big chance, Laura," Murphy warned with his usual pessimism.
"Look, I invented Remington Steele to attract clients *like* Hunter. He's creating a media event with those gems. Some of that will spill over onto us. We'll have clients beating down the doors."
"We said that any client who demanded to meet Steele we'd kiss goodbye, remember?"
"Touch on the overhead, Bernice," Laura said, sipping her own coffee.
"These offices, the furniture, the limo- we're so deep into the red I see it in my sleep."
Laura sat forward. "Murphy, if we can pull this off, we can kiss the red ink goodbye forever."
He was about to speak when they heard a voice in the reception area seconds before someone tapped on the door. "Hello? Anyone about?"
Laura's breath froze in her chest at the sound of that voice. She tried to dismiss the English accent, telling herself that it was just someone who sounded like him. It had been over five years, after all. There was no way he would just- show up, here- now.
But when he opened the door and peered around it, she knew she was wrong. It was him. God, but he was still handsome. Those eyes. And Laura could tell from the way Bernice's stance changed that she wasn't the only one to think so.
Forcing herself to breathe, she slipped on her shoes and moved around to stand beside Murphy as he asked, "May we help you?"
Those blue eyes were on Laura as he answered. "I'm here to see Miss- Holt," he told Murphy.
Laura felt Murphy's blue eyes turn to look at her in confusion. "Another case?" he asked.
It was the perfect out, and Laura grabbed it. "Yes. That's right. A case. If you'll excuse us-"
Bernice turned to the client. "Would you like some coffee? I'll make a fresh pot. Or tea, perhaps? I'll make some fresh water," she told him, sauntering toward the door.
But Murphy wasn't ready to give up just yet. "I'm Murphy Michaels, Miss Holt's associate. How can we help you, Mr.-?"
Laura tried her best to warn him, but when he shook Murphy's hand and said, "Blaine. Richard Blaine," she sagged against the edge of the desk in defeat, drawing both men's attention.
"Blaine?" Murphy questioned, his suspicious gaze fixed squarely on Laura. "That name's familiar for some reason."
"I'll handle Mr. Blaine's case, Murphy," Laura said. "If you'll just go and take care of what we were just discussing-?"
"Are you sure?" he asked. "I can stay."
"I can handle it," Laura assured him with more bravado than she felt as she escorted her partner to the door and closed it securely behind him. Placing her back against the door, she turned to look at him. "You might at least have used your real name."
"How was I to know that you'd told your associate about that weekend?" he questioned.
"And I supposed *you* haven't told anyone about it," she countered, moving back toward the desk.
"As a matter of fact, no, I haven't." It was true. He hadn't even told Daniel about those three days. It had been too personal to share with anyone. He looked around the office. "You've done well for yourself. What does Wilson think of all this?"
"I have no idea what Wilson thinks," she told him. "I haven't seen him in almost six years."
"He didn't take well to your disappearing, then."
"I think it was that, and the fan dance." He smiled at the memory of that dance, and Laura hardened her heart against that smile. "Why are you here?"
"I was in Los Angeles on business," he told her. It was the truth, after all. "I'm staying at the Beverly Wiltshire and made a few inquiries. How did you find out that Richard Blaine wasn't my real name?" he asked.
"I watched Casablanca," she informed him, moving to sit in the chair behind the desk.
"Ah. So. You're not married?"
"I've been too busy to get married," she told him. "Getting my license, building an -" she nearly said 'agency', but did a quick save. "A career."
"Have dinner with me this evening?" he asked. Laura caught her breath as he leaned over the desk. "For old times sake?"
"I- I can't. I have to work. This case-"
"Protecting the Royal Lavulite," he said, nodding. Seeing Laura's reaction, he said, "I made some inquiries, remember? Isn't there anyone else who can take care of it for the evening? Mr. Steele, perhaps?"
"Remington is- unavailable until- tomorrow," she told him. "He's- due in later tonight."
Hearing her use her employer's first name brought him up short. So that was the way of it. "Okay. Maybe we'll- run into each other at the hotel, then. I'd like to meet your Remington Steele."
Murphy tapped on the connecting door between her office and this before entering. "Laura, could I see you a moment? About that matter we were discussing earlier?"
"Can't it wait, Murphy?" Laura asked.
"They're on the phone, waiting for an answer," he told her.
"I'm on my way out," Richard told her. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Michaels." He paused. "Have we met somewhere before?"
"I doubt it."
"Hmm. Your face is familiar."
"I've been told that before," Murphy said, his expression decidedly unfriendly. In fact, Michaels looked as if he would gladly punch Richard's face with little provocation.
"I'm sure I'll remember. It was nice seeing you again, Laura."
She nodded, a jerky movement, and once he was gone, her knees threatened to give way. If it wasn't for Murphy's quick action, she would have ended up on the floor. "Hey. Breathe. You didn't tell him, did you?"
"No. I still don't know anything about him," she said. "I *still* don't know his real name," she sighed. "Now. What's the problem?"
"Do you have any idea how much the VIP suite at the Wiltshire costs?" he asked.
Laura sighed and grabbed the telephone to confirm the reservation.
***
Richard returned to his hotel room, wondering how he could convince Laura to have dinner with him before he left town. He put his key into the lock, and jumped back as a knife came through the panel. Pushing the door open, he pinned his would be attacker between it and the wall, only to feel a second man grab him from behind and toss him to the floor.
The lights came on, and Richard found himself looking up at two familiar faces. Two familiar -and angry faces. "Who are you?" the taller of the two men asked with an America accent. Richard knew that his name was Raymond Kessler, an ex-professional boxer who had gone to prison for a betting scam gone awry, ending his pugilistic career.
"Just a happy go lucky tourist out to see a bit of world," Richard told them.
"Then how come we found five passports with five different names on them?" the smaller man asked, his accent definitely London based, as he dropped the passports onto Richard's chest. Leo Neff was well known for his expertise with the switchblade in his hand.
"I keep trying for a good picture," Richard said.
Kessler didn't smile. "Those gems belong to us."
"I was under the impression that they belong to the South African government," Richard said. It had been his main reason for trying to recover the gems to being with. The reward for their return would allow him to live in luxury for some time.
"We have a proprietary claim," Kessler informed him. "After all, the courier who smuggled them out of the country initially worked for us."
"Only he got greedy and sold them on his own," Richard recalled.
"He's been properly chastised for his indiscretion," Kessler said.
"May I get up now, or do you prefer me in the groveling position?"
Kessler extended a hand to help him, and as soon as he could Richard released it. He didn't trust either man. "Each time we try to reclaim those stones you get in our way. First in Paris, then London. Here you are again."
"We must have the same travel agent," Richard suggested with a smile.
Neff, standing behind him, said, "I'm 'ungry. Let's kill 'im and get somethin' t'eat."
"That won't satisfy anything but your appetite," Richard warned. As long as they were here, they would need to be watched. He could use them as a means to get close to Laura. If he warned her about them-. Neff jabbed him in the back with the closed knife held at ready. "I admit that we may have been at cross purposes up to now. Perhaps it's time we joined forces."
Kessler's distrust was clearly visible. "Why?"
"It certainly beats the alternative," Richard commented, glancing back at Neff.
Kessler, apparently satisfied, turned to go. Neff followed him, opening and closing the knife as he said, "Keep in touch."
Richard scratched his cheek with the passports, as he considered how he was going to continue. Laura had mentioned she'd be back in the hotel later- perhaps he'd be able to warn her about Kessler and Neff then. The last thing he wanted was to be forced to go after those gems to keep them out of unfriendly hands.
Removing his jacket and tie, he picked up his camera and went into the bathroom, setting up a makeshift darkroom in the small space. As the pictures developed, he studied the ones of Laura first. He hadn't expected to be so shaken by seeing her again. There had only been one other woman that had affected him as deeply- and she was dead.
Until this morning, he had comforted himself with the knowledge that Laura had gone home and married Wilson. That she had settled for a safe, predictable life, planning dinner parties and raising a brood of children, with only occasional thought intruding about the stranger she'd spent three wonderful days with before settling down.
As the last pictures came into focus, Richard recognized Murphy Michaels in the linen delivery man's uniform and smiled. "So that's your plan, my dear Laura. Ingenious. And you just might pull it off, since I've taken myself out of the game."
***
Laura sat in the bar of the hotel, watching the doorway for Murphy's arrival with Remington Steele's suitcases. A waiter appeared beside her with a silver ice bucket- and a magnum of champagne. She looked up at the waiter. "I didn't order this."
"Compliments of the gentleman, miss," he told her as he removed the foil.
Laura looked in the direction he pointed, and saw Richard sitting at another table. He lifted his glass toward her. "Tell the gentleman that I-" she jumped as the cork popped out of the bottle and he poured a glass of the wine as Richard approached the table. Laura looked up at him. "A magnum of champagne?"
"You looked thirsty," he commented.
"Do you always do things on such a grand scale?" she asked.
"First class, remember? Sometimes more so than others." He indicated the other chair. "May I?" Not wanting to make a scene, Laura had no choice but to nod. He sat down and filled the second glass with some of the champagne. "I still can't picture you as a detective. Such a rough and tumble occupation for someone like yourself."
"It's what I've always wanted to do," Laura told him. "So I studied and apprenticed, and finally got my license."
"And has it fulfilled your- fantasies?" Richard asked, fingering the stem of his glass as he spoke.
"The work was rewarding, the recognition was nil. It seemed that no matter how successful my efforts were, the lions' share of the credit always went to my male counterparts - regardless of their contribution."
"Tawdry thing, male chauvinism," he commented wryly. "But still, at least in the way it's portrayed in your cinema, it's not a profession one would expect to find a woman attempting. All those blazing guns and smashing fists."
Laura finally smiled. "Believe me, it takes more brains than brawn."
"I take it sex isn't a problem for Remington Steele," he commented, deliberately pausing before continuing. "Yours, that is."
Laura sat back, pretending a relaxation she didn't feel in the least. Convincing *him* that Remington Steele was a real man was very important. "On the contrary. Remington is the most generous, understanding, supportive man I could imagine," she said, lifting her glass in a toast. "Professionally *or* personally."
Richard's eyes locked with hers. "He seems to have rather large shoes to fill."
"Few men would be foolish enough to try," Laura met his gaze squarely, letting him read as much into that answer as he wanted.
"Unless, of course, one enjoyed impossible challenges." He took a drink. "Will he be involved tomorrow?"
Laura smiled again. "Remington's presence will be felt rather than seen. But he'll be here."
Richard lifted his glass. "Tomorrow, then. May everything go as smoothly as you hope."
Laura drank to the toast, lifting her gaze to see Murphy in the lobby with a baggage cart. "Excuse me," she said and rose to her feet. Richard stood as well. "I have to go. Business."
"You're sure I can't convince you to have a late dinner this evening?"
"Remington's due in soon," she told him. "I really can't."
Richard nodded and sat down again, watching Laura cross to join Murphy Michaels. She was trying too hard to make him believe that she and Steele were involved. Based on what she'd told him, he hadn't thought she would risk her professional reputation by being involved with her employer. It seemed to Richard that a meeting with that paragon of virtue was in order.
And he still hadn't told Laura about Kessler and Neff, he realized as those two men took a seat on either side of him. "Good move," Kessler commented, "Getting on team with Steele's associate."
"Just sowing seeds, gentlemen," Richard assured them.
"And when can we expect the harvest?" Neff wanted to know.
"She's going to show me the route that the gems will take. I want you to follow us." He rose from the table as Laura turned and walked away from her friend to head toward the front doors. Probably going to meet Steele, Richard thought. He held out his keys. "Take my car. Blue Mercedes." Kessler pointed to Neff, who took the keys as Richard moved off.
"Excuse me- Laura! Wait!" he called, and was relieved when she paused with the limo door open. He lowered his voice before saying, "There's something else I need to tell you- but not here. It's not safe."
Laura looked around, and then nodded once as she got into the car. "Come on."
Richard followed her with a small smile. So far, so good.
To Be Continued ---