Disclaimers in Part 1
"More like where you left," Tony recalled.
"Thought I'd like to see how it ends," Remington replied.
Laura pulled away from Tony. "Remington? When did you get back? Where have you been?" She stopped halfway between the two men. It wouldn't do for Tony to think she was forgiving her husband too quickly for walking out the last time he'd found them together.
"I got back this morning and came straight to the office, thinking that I'd find you here," he told her, his gaze faintly accusing.
"We were with a client," Laura informed him. "Working. Or is that a word you've forgotten the meaning of?"
"Not at all. I've been rather busy myself since I got back, catching up on things. As for where I went, I took care of Daniel's estate, and then found myself in Ireland with my grandfather."
"Your- grandfather?" Laura asked, still playing the game, trying to maintain an air of anger toward him. "And I suppose he doesn't have a telephone so that you could have *called* and let me know you were alive?"
"I wasn't certain that you cared one way or the other any longer," Remington replied, moving to lean against the file cabinets. "I did send you a gift," he reminded her.
"What? The desk? The one Daniel probably conned out of some poor, unsuspecting old woman?"
"You're not wanted around here, Steele," Tony said. "You might as well go back to your grandfather."
"Is that true, Laura?" Remington asked, straightening to take a step toward Laura. "Am I not wanted?" He reached out to touch her cheek. "I'm sorry for leaving the way I did. But I love you, and I only wanted you to be happy. At the time I left, I thought that my leaving would do that."
"And now?" Laura asked in a quiet tone.
Remington shook his head, running a thumb along her lips. "I was wrong. And I want a chance to make it right. If you'll give me that chance."
"Laura-" Tony began, but Remington spoke without looking at him.
"If the last five years mean nothing to you, Laura, then tell me, and I'll walk out that door. I won't promise not to look back, but if it's what you want-"
"Laura, don't let him con you," Tony said.
"You're not involved in this conversation, Antony," Remington said, still looking at Laura. "This is between me and my wife."
"She's not your wife," Tony burst out. "It's a fake. Just like you are."
Remington lifted an eyebrow upon hearing that comment, but never took his eyes off of Laura. "It doesn't have to be," he said to her. "Think you'd like to be Mrs. Harrison Chalmers?"
Laura finally smiled. "I think I prefer Mrs. Remington Steele. Don't go." She fell into his arms. "I was worried," she told him.
"So was I," Remington said, looking past her to where Tony was still standing, obviously furious. "But I'm home now, and things can get back to normal- or as close to normal as anything gets around here, anyway."
"Speaking of which," Laura said, looking at Tony, "why don't you call your friend and have him let Mildred know that Remington's home so that she can come back?" she suggested.
"Good idea," Tony decided, moving toward the door. "I'll do it from the loft-"
Remington frowned, his gaze narrowing as he looked at Tony. "Why would Antony's friend contact Mildred at her sister's?" he asked.
"She's not at her sister's," Laura said. "She went to find you. And why did you think that she'd gone to see Eunice?" she wanted to know.
Tony stood there, his jaw muscle moving slightly as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. Remington watched him. "You didn't tell her that I called, Antony?"
"He called, Tony? When?"
"The day Mildred left," Tony explained. "Look, I only told him that so that he wouldn't go looking for Mildred himself-"
"Didn't want us hooking up, eh, Antony?" Remington questioned.
"Something like that. I'll go make that call," he told Laura. "But she probably won't believe him. She doesn't trust him."
"Probably because she knows he's a friend of yours," Remington pointed out. "Why can't you make the call from here?" he wondered, following Tony into the reception area.
"I don't have the number with me," Tony explained. He almost stumbled in his haste to get to the doors, running directly into a middle-aged matron who was just entering the offices. "Excuse me," he said quickly and then slipped through the door into the corridor.
Laura glanced at Remington before moving toward the client to apologize. Remington grabbed the telephone on Miss Mason's desk, giving the confused young woman a bright smile as he dialed a number.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Clark," Laura was saying, listening to Remington on the telephone.
"Have you had any word about George yet?" Mrs. Clark asked.
"Fred? . . . He's on his way downstairs. Make sure he doesn't see you, mate . . . Good man." Remington hung up the telephone and turned to greet the woman standing with Laura. "Mrs. Clark. Pleased you meet you," he said smoothly, giving the still shaken woman his best, most charming smile. "My partner here has told me all about your case." When Laura frowned at him, he winked at her. "In fact, I was just refreshing my memory regarding the search for George."
Mrs. Clark seemed extremely relieved. "Thank goodness you're here, Mr. Steele," she sighed. "It's been two days. If we don't find him soon, I don't know what I'll do."
"There, there, Mrs. Clark," Remington said, patting her hand sympathetically. "The Remington Steele Agency will locate George soon, I'm sure. Why don't we go into my office and discuss it further, eh?" he suggested, ushering the woman through his door before he leaned toward Laura. "Who's George?" he asked. "Missing husband?"
"Her prize winning poodle," Laura explained, and chuckled softly at his pained expression before following him into the office.
***
Fred followed Mrs. Steele's VW Rabbit at enough distance that he wouldn't be spotted. Of course, Mr. Roselli probably wouldn't look twice at the beat up old Ford that Fred had borrowed from his sister. Watching the other man get into the Rabbit, Fred had been able to tell that Roselli was pretty agitated, and that was good, right? People didn't think clearly when they were upset, usually.
Things where going well until Fred found himself caught at a stop light, able only to keep an eye on the Rabbit until it turned right at the next corner. Once the light changed to green, Fred steered the Ford into the outer lane and turned as well, but there was no sign of the Rabbit. He drove slowly down the lane, glancing into the dark alleys on either side of the warehouses that lined the street, but there was no sight of the white car- or Tony Roselli.
Sighing deeply, Fred located the first payphone that he could and to report in to Mr. Steele that he'd failed.
***
Laura watched as Remington escorted Mrs. Clark through the reception area, assuring here that her dog would be returned quickly. A courier entered the office when Remington opened the door for Mrs. Clark.
"I have a package for a Mr. Steele?" the young man told Marilee.
"I'll take it," Remington said quickly, barely letting Mrs. Clark get through the doors before grabbing the package. "Sign for it, if you will, please, Laura," he said, opening the letter size envelope and going toward his office. "And Miss Mason, if Fred should call, put it right through."
"Yes, Mr. Steele," Marilee nodded.
Laura signed her name to the courier's pad before she, too, vanished into Remington's office, finding him standing at the window, reading what he'd taken from the envelope. "Well?" she asked.
"His name's not Roselli."
"It's not?"
"It's Ryerson. Antony Ryerson. Born in New York, orphaned at a young age, raised by his father's maiden sister. She died during a break in at her home the year that Antony graduated from college." Remington glanced at another paper. "By the skin of his teeth, apparently."
"Where did you get this information?" Laura wanted to know, taking the report from him.
"Harrison Bumpers," he informed her, reading over her shoulder.
"Mildred's friend from the IRS?"
"One and the same. She had asked him to run a check on Antony's fingerprints, but Bumpers came up empty. So he pointed her to a friend of his with the FBI. Bumpers sent a copy of this to Mildred via the computer around the time that Tony told you that Mildred left to visit sister Eunice."
"He must have found her reading it and -" Laura's voice trailed off. "Married? He was married?"
Remington leaned closer to examine the papers. "Apparently so. For six months- Grace Hamilton, daughter of the American Ambassador to Saudi Arabia."
"She was killed when she got caught in the crossfire between Tony and someone that he was trying to blackmail information out of."
"Good Lord," Remington breathed, taking the papers as Laura released them to sit down on the edge of his desk. "Antony's gun was proven to be the murder weapon. He insisted that he and the other man had struggled, and the other man had gotten his gun and shot Grace. Her father didn't believe that. He thought that Grace shouldn't have been there at all. Hamilton had Antony relieved of his duties and stripped of any official capacity."
"Then- what was all that about in London and Ireland?" Laura questioned.
"According to this, he's been hiring himself out to various governments, trying to get back on the good side of his former employers."
"I can't believe this," Laura said.
"It's here in black and white, Laura," Remington pointed out.
"No, not that," she said, standing up to move away from the desk- and Remington. "I can't believe that I was so stupid." She paced across the room. "I *trusted* him! I believed that story he gave me about his father being a cop in New York and being angry that Tony hadn't followed in his footsteps. He's been lying to me the entire time!"
The telephone rang, and Remington grabbed it. "Steele here . . . Ah, Fred . . . Any news?" Remington frowned. "I see . . . Don't worry, Fred. It happens to the best of us. He'll show up again, I'm sure. Come back to the office." He hung up. "He lost Antony somewhere near the docks."
"Great. What now?" Laura asked.
"Plan B," Remington told her.
"What's Plan B?" she questioned.
***
Tony pushed aside the metal door that lead into the loft, entering the room. Tossing his jacket over the back of the sofa, he moved toward the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he bent to remove a beer. Pulling the ring, he opened it and straightened, then froze as he heard a familiar voice.
"You have a problem, Antony."
Smiling, Tony forced himself to relax as he turned to face the other man. "Do I?"
Remington held up a manila folder. "If Laura sees this, you're finished." He placed the folder on the counter between them.
Tony carefully put the beer on the counter before pulling the folder closer and opening it. Just as he'd suspected, it was another copy of the report that Mildred had been printing out. "Past history," Tony shrugged. "Another lifetime. You can understand that, can't you, Steele? Or whatever your name is."
"Harrison Chalmers," Remington confirmed. "But you knew that, didn't you? You had someone following me all over London- had him send me to my grandfather in Ireland with the lie that the old man had been looking for me. And then you planned to have me killed so that you would have Laura all to yourself."
"You have proof of this?" Tony questioned, picking up the beer can again to take a drink.
"I have your friend in Ireland. I'm sure he'll talk with the proper- incentive."
"I doubt it," Tony replied, shaking his head. He indicated the report. "So, Laura hasn't seen this yet, I take it?"
"No. I thought we could handle this without involving her further. You're going to leave town. After you tell me what you've done with Mildred."
"No idea what you're talking about, Steele," Tony said. "Mildred went to find you."
"I don't think so. She would have called Laura by now. And according to Estelle Becker, Mildred didn't use her passport to get into England. Where is she?"
Tony stood there, looking at Remington for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. I'll take you to her. On the condition that you let me walk away from this."
"And how would I know that you wouldn't be back again in a month, trying again?"
"You've got the report. I don't want Laura to know about Grace."
"You knew that by having her with you at that hotel you were putting her in danger, didn't you?"
"That's not how it happened," Tony insisted. "The guy that I was meeting had orders to take me out," Tony confirmed. "I told Grace to stay out of sight. She didn't listen. How the hell was I supposed to know that she'd chose the exact moment Jermyn was trying to kill me to get in the middle of things?"
"According to her father, she shouldn't have been there at all. He said that you were the one who insisted that she go with you to that hotel- and it was your gun that fired the shot which killed her."
"Jermyn got my gun," Tony said. "It went off- Grace was-"
"In the way?" Remington suggested. "Only child of a wealthy man. Must have set you up pretty well," he surmised. "What happened? Money run out faster than you planned?"
"Hamilton went to court, had me cut out of the will. Said that since it was my gun that killed Grace, I shouldn't be allowed to profit from her death. It was an accident, Steele. I didn't want it to happen." He drew himself up. "Now, do we have a deal?" Tony asked.
"Once I have Mildred, you're free to leave," Remington confirmed.
Tony finished the beer and picked up his jacket. "Let's go, then." He stood beside the door, waiting for Steele to pass through before him, and then closed it before following.
***
When Antony pulled the Rabbit into the deeply shadowed end of an alleyway that had once been a delivery entrance into the building, Remington realized how easy it had been for Fred to lose him earlier. The warehouse was already dark even though it was early afternoon- thanks to the dirty windows high on the walls. It smelled of damp, and lubricant, and that lingering metallic smell that was inherent in old warehouses.
"Yours?" Remington asked.
"Belongs to an old friend," Tony explained. "He's- away for awhile and isn't using it."
"How long is he away for?"
"Five to ten," Tony replied with a smile. "Mildred's right back here," he said, indicating a metal door in the wall before them. He pulled out the key and placed it into the lock. "Inside."
Remington entered the room to see Mildred lying on a tiny cot on the far wall. "Mildred," he said, crossing to kneel at her side. She didn't respond. He felt for a pulse. "What did you do to her?" he asked, and then went still at the sound of a gun being cocked. Rising as he turned, Remington saw the gun in Tony's hand. "What's the meaning of this, Antony?"
"I gave Mildred something to - keep her quiet. As for you- well, with your track record, it won't be hard to make Laura believe that you changed your mind and took off again. By the time they find your body, it won't matter anymore. Laura will have forgotten you." Tony aimed the barrel of the gun directly at Remington's chest. "So long, Steele."
Remington braced himself for the shot, only to relax slightly when Laura flew through the still open doorway and knocked Tony's arm to the left, sending the bullet harmlessly into the cinderblock wall.
"Laura!" Tony said, grabbing her and pulling her to her feet. "What are you doing here?"
"Trying to find out what's going on," Laura said, jerking her hand away from his to go and check on Mildred. "What did you do to her, Tony?" she demanded.
"Just something to keep her quiet for awhile," Tony insisted. "Laura, you shouldn't be here."
"Like Grace shouldn't have been at that hotel that day, Tony?" Laura asked.
"I can explain that, Laura. It's not all in the report. Her father's the one who set Jermyn on my trail in the first place, trying to get rid of me. He hated me from the start. Wasn't good enough for his little girl."
Laura moved to where Remington was sitting on the edge of the cot, examining Mildred. "How is she?"
"She's alive. But her pulse is weak and slow. Whatever he gave her-"
"We're going to take her out of here," Laura decided, looking at Tony. "Now."
Tony shook his head, lifting the gun again. "Not just yet. I need some time to get away. Thirty minute head start. That's all I want."
"I can't do that, Tony," Laura said.
Tony pulled a syringe from his pocket. "This is the antidote to what I gave her," he said. "Once it's administered, she'll be okay." He placed it on the table between them, and when Laura made a move toward it, he turned and ran through the door.
Laura grabbed the syringe and removed the protective sleeve from the needle. Pressing the end forward to remove any air bubbles, she grabbed Mildred's arm. Suddenly Remington stopped her.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Don't you smell that?" he questioned. Laura shook her head, frowning, then stopped. She gave another press on the plunger of the syringe.
"Almonds?"
"I'll bet you anything that he put cyanide in that syringe. Keep us here, waiting for her to recover while he makes his escape." Remington placed a hand on Mildred's forehead. "Mildred. Mildred, love, wake up."
"I'll get some water," Laura told him, rising and going to the dingy little bath to grab the single washrag from the rod on the wall and put it under the tap. She returned a moment later to put the wet rag on Mildred's head. "Mildred?"
"Mrs. Steele?" Mildred said. Opening her eyes, she blinked a few times. "Mr. Steele?" She touched his shoulders, then his face. "Oh, you're back!" Her arms went around his neck. "Mr. Steele, we have to stop that rat Roselli. Only his name's not Roselli. It's -"
"Ryerson," Remington finished, and smiled when Mildred looked downcast about his stealing her news.
"Are you okay, Mildred?" Laura asked.
"Oh, Mrs. Steele," Mildred said, giving Laura a hug as well. "I thought I was a goner. He came in here a little while ago and said that things were almost finished. That the next time he came back, it would be to - tie up loose ends."
"It's okay now, Mildred," Remington assured the woman.
"Where is he?" she wanted to know as Laura and Remington helped her to her feet. "I want a piece of that rat."
"Every rat ultimately overlooks the trap that catches him, Mildred," Remington pointed out. "Even this one."
"I don't understand," Mildred was saying as they opened the door into the alleyway. The Rabbit was there, all four tires flat. She looked around. "Where is he?" she asked.
"Fred?" Laura called out.
"Over here, Mrs. Steele," came the reply from the other side of the car.
Tony was leaning against the car, blood running down his face, his nose already swollen. Fred had a length of pipe in his hand, and handed the gun in his other hand over to Remington. "Excellent work, Fred," Remington praised.
"He was so concerned with getting out of there that he never saw me coming," Fred explained. "Just like you thought he'd be."
"You louse!" Mildred said to Tony, who drew away from her to find himself pressed tightly against the car. "I hope they lock you up and throw away the key! You - you- you *rat*!"
Laura pulled Mildred back. "Go call the police, Fred," she ordered.
Fred nodded and left the alley, heading toward the limo that was parked out on the curb.
Tony looked up at Laura. "It could have been so different," he said, holding a hand to his still bleeding nose. He reached his other hand toward Laura, and then suddenly pushed her into Remington. He used their momentary surprise to vault to his feet and take off out of the alley at a run, the others right behind him.
All three came to a dead stop on the curb as they saw Tony dart into the busy street- directly in front of an oncoming truck.
The smell of burning tire rubber mixed with the sound of brakes squealing - but to no avail. Tony hurtled into the path of the truck and froze, unable to move as the truck slammed into him, sending him to the pavement.
The driver got out of the truck as Laura, Remington, and Mildred gathered around Tony's broken body. Laura touched his face. "Tony?" she said.
"The guy just ran out in front of me," the truck driver said. "I didn't see him until it was too late--"
"It wasn't your fault," Remington assured the distraught man before joining Laura next to Tony.
Tony opened his eyes and looked at Laura. "I loved you. It - could have been- wonderful," he whispered with his last breath, and then went limp. Remington touched his fingers to Tony's neck, feeling for any sign of life. His eyes met Laura's as he shook his head to indicate that Tony was dead.
***
Later that day, Remington came out of the kitchen after clearing the table with two glasses of wine- only to find the living room deserted and the balcony door open.
Laura was there, her arms resting on the ledge, looking out over the lights of the city. "Wine?" he asked, placing her glass on the ledge near her hand as he slipped his now free arm around her waist to draw her close against him. Nuzzling his chin in her hair, Remington said, "It wasn't your fault, you know. He was on a collision course from the day his wife was killed. It was just a matter of time before it happened. If it wasn't you, it would have been someone else."
"I know. I just- I keep wondering if I hadn't let him think there might have been a chance- maybe he'd still be alive."
"And still racing toward that ultimate collision," Remington said. They remained there, sipping their wine as his words soaked in. "How hard do you think it would be for the two of us to get away?" he asked. "Just for a couple of days."
Laura turned to look at him. "We *might* be able to manage a weekend," she decided. "Once Mildred has recuperated." They had already decided to keep Marilee on the payroll to allow Mildred more time in the field. "Why? Anywhere special in mind?"
"Ireland. I promised my grandfather that I'd be back for a visit. When I called him earlier and told him to turn the firebug over to the authorities, he said that he wanted to meet you."
"Why don't we make a deal?" Laura suggested.
Remington gave her an uncertain look. "A deal?"
"I'll go to Ireland with you- if you figure out how we're going to explain to my mother and my sister why we got married and didn't invite them."
"Abigail?" he questioned. Laura nodded. "And Frances?" Another nod. "Both?"
"Both."
Remington looked down at her face. "Very well. You have a deal."
"You're sure that you can handle mother *and* Frances?"
"Of course," he said, pulling her fully into his arms. "When it comes to the Holt women, I have every confidence in my powers of persuasion," he informed her, lowering his lips to hers . . .
Finis