Begins at the end of the episode-
Laura wasn't sure how long she sat on the foot of the bed. He was gone. He'd once told her that he didn't want to be the man who destroyed her life - but isn't that what he'd done? Losing the Agency's license and then just - leaving without so much as a word? He'd taken the passports, and that meant that he probably wasn't planning on returning to be Remington Steele again.
He was gone. Just like her father was gone.
****
She woke up to find herself still on his bed. It was nearly dawn, and she quickly looked around, hoping that it had all been just a bad dream - but the sight of the closets empty of clothes told her that it had really happened.
As she was brushing her teeth with the extra brush and toothpaste that he always kept on hand - "Purely for the use of the occasional client of the agency who needs a place to stay," he'd insisted, Laura found herself wondering why she hadn't pushed harder for him to study the old case files from the days when Remington Steele had just been a name she had used to start the Agency. She'd suggested that it might be a good idea, but he had always found a reason to put that particular task off.
For the first time, she wished she had way to contact Daniel Chalmers. If anyone might know where the man that he called "Harry" was, it would be Chalmers.
Another thought followed that one, however: if she were able to contact Mr. Steele's mentor, he most likely wouldn't tell her where his protege might be, and would most likely be glad to hear that Harry had "finally returned to his senses".
She thought about going into the kitchen to find something for breakfast as her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since early yesterday. But she knew that the kitchen would hold too many memories of Mr. Steele - as did the entire apartment.
Besides, no matter what her stomach said, she wasn't hungry. Laura sank onto the sofa, trying to decide what she was going to do. The first step would be to get the Agency's license back. It would have to wait until Monday morning, however, since the Bureau of Investigative Licensing was closed on weekends.
She took a deep breath as she stood up, feeling better now that she knew what to do next. If Mr. Steele had been right, the license would be easy to deal with. And then, she would start doing what she had trained to do: find the man she called Remington Steele.
****
She was almost back to her loft when a Cadillac limo caught her attention, and she almost ran up the stairs, quickly unlocking the door. Inside, she grabbed the telephone and dialed Fred's number.
"Hello?" a sleepy voice responded.
"Fred, it's Laura Holt," she told him without preamble.
"Good morning, Miss Holt," he replied. "Was I supposed to pick you up?"
"No, Fred, I'm sorry if I woke you - I just needed to ask you a question."
"Ask away, Miss Holt."
"When did you last see Mr. Steele?"
"Last night," was his answer. "He had me drive him to the some government office building downtown."
"And after he left there?"
"When he came out, he was holding onto a large envelope and some papers - and there was a guy with him."
"Who?"
"No idea, Miss Holt. I never heard a name - but Mr. Steele asked me to take them to the nearest police station. They both went inside, and it was almost a hour before Mr. Steele came out alone."
"And then you took him back to Rossmore?" she asked.
"No, he had me stop at a mailbox a few blocks from there. He got out and put the papers into the envelope, and then put the envelope into the mailbox."
Laura's mood started to lift slightly. "And then?"
"He told me he was going to walk home, and that I should go home."
"What time was this?" she wanted to know.
"Around nine, I think. It was already dark." He paused. "Is anything wrong, Miss Holt?"
"I'll let you know on Monday morning," Laura told him. "I'm sorry that I woke you, Fred. Go back to sleep."
She hung up the phone, made coffee and took a shower before eating a piece of toast with her coffee, trying to decide what her next move should be. Grabbing the telephone book, she looked for the address of the Licensing Bureau, then collated that with police stations in that part of town. Writing down the address of the closest station, she grabbed her car keys and went down to the Rabbit.
Maybe Oscar Bergman would be able to tell her something.
****
"Oscar Bergman's not here, Miss Holt,"
the desk sergeant informed her. "According to our records,
he was brought in by Mr. Remington Steele at 8 pm last evening,
and that Mr. Bergman was arrested because of a confession which
Mr. Steele presented. Mr. Bergman was transferred downtown to
Parker Center early this morning so that he could post bail."
"Thank you, Sergeant," she said, leaving the station,
driving to the office. She knew that the place had been padlocked,
and the files confiscated, but she'd become pretty good a picking
locks…
****
Not these locks, apparently, she realized after breaking two lock pics in the mechanism of the *two* heavy-duty padlocks holding the doors closed. No doubt someone from the Bureau would be there on Monday morning to remove the locks and - hopefully - return the case files.
At least putting those back into order would give Mildred something to think about. Curiosity led Laura to a bank of payphones downstairs, and she placed a call to the apartment on Rossmore.
After the sixth ring, she hung up, sighing. "Hope springs eternal, eh, Laura?" she could almost hear him saying as she left the building, reminding herself to come back later, after the mail usually ran on Saturday. But her confidence that there had been time for the envelope to get through the postal system so quickly was far less than her hope.
****
She considered the idea of driving to Mildred's, but since Laura wasn't sure how much she was going to tell the agency's secretary/mother-figure, she drove back to the loft and called her instead. "I hope I didn't wake you, Mildred," she said once the phone was answered.
"Oh, Miss Holt! No, if you want to know the truth, I haven't been to bed. I mean, I went to bed, but I couldn't sleep. Worrying about what you and the Boss are going to do, worrying that I won't be able to get my IRS pension -"
"Are you planning on retiring?" Laura interrupted, trying to sound cheerful. "You *are* going to give the Agency a two-week notice, aren't you?"
"Well, I didn't think would have to - there's not an agency anymore. The doors are padlocked, and they took the files, Miss Holt. The files that I worked on for a month before they were all straightened out. I'm too old to start a new job -"
"We have our license back, Mildred," Laura announced.
"What?"
"Apparently the man who came to the office - Mr.-"
"Bergman," Mildred said, and Laura could see her disgust even over the phone. "Oscar Bergman."
"Yes, well, Mr. Bergman was given a bribe by Harlan Earhardt to pull our - the Agency's license."
"But - why?"
"He wanted to stop our investigation."
"But he *hired* the agency!" Mildred declared.
"I'll explain on Monday," Laura assured her. "I'm hoping -" there was that word again "- that the Bureau will be there then to remove the padlocks and return the files they confiscated."
"I thought you told me when you called yesterday that you were going out of town?"
"My plans changed," Laura informed her. "I'll explain that, too."
"You always say that, Miss Holt, and you never do. I'll see you and Mr. Steele on Monday."
"Good-bye, Mildred." Laura hung up the phone, finding herself hoping that, come Monday morning, Mr. Steele would be waiting in the office and there would be no need to explain anything about why her plans had changed.
Because hope *did* indeed "spring eternal".
****
She considered simply staying at the Rossmore apartment until Monday morning, on the off chance that he would come back. But with nothing there to tie him to apartment - except for the movie posters in the living room - she felt that such a move would only make her feel worse.
So Laura spent all of Sunday dividing her time between exercises and cleaning the loft within an inch of its life. She moved furniture, vacuumed the rugs, and scrubbed the tub with an old toothbrush.
It was dark by the time she finished, and she had to admit that she still wasn't tired enough to be able to sleep - something she hadn't done much of the night before. So it was back to the exercise barre along the wall. She needed to be on top of her game tomorrow morning if she was going to face Mildred's questions.
****
Laura was just entering the building when she saw several men with dollies on which sat a good number of boxes containing files. "Would you by any chance be taking those up to Remington Steele Investigations, gentlemen?" she asked.
"That's right," the first man answered. "Who are you?"
"Laura Holt. Follow me, please," she ordered, leading them to the nearest empty elevator.
"You work for Mr. Steele?" the man questioned as the crowded box moved upward.
"I'm his associate," she confirmed. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Laura led the way down the corridor to find Mildred anxiously pacing the floor.
Seeing Laura and the men with her, she rushed to meet them. "Oh, Miss Holt, are they here to -"
"To remove the padlocks and return our files, Mildred," Laura assured the woman. "I need to ask a favor -"
"Anything, Miss Holt!"
"The postman usually starts his route through the building about now, doesn't he?"
Mildred glanced at her watch, and then nodded. "Yes."
"I need you to go and find him and get our mail from him. Do you think you can do that?"
"I can try. He doesn't usually like to hand out mail out of sequence. I saw him coming in one morning and asked him for our mail, and he got a little testy -"
"I have every confidence in your charm, Mildred," Laura told the woman.
"I'll try," Mildred finally said, going toward the elevators as the first man placed they keys into the padlocks and removed the chains holding the doors closed.
He stepped back to allow Laura to push the door open and enter the offices. "Where do you want the files?" he asked.
She sighed and led them to her office door, opening it. "Back in the file cabinets would be nice - but -" Laura closed the door. "Just set them out here. We'll take care of it. Miss Krebs is very particular about the files." Returning to the desk in the reception area, Laura's eyes scanned the desk, frowning. "What about our appointment book?" she wanted to know, holding out her hand.
The man who had unlocked the doors smiled and pulled the book from his pocket. "Sorry. It almost slipped my mind. We took it so that we could notify any potential clients that they should make other arrangements," he told her.
"So in addition to illegally revoking our license, Mr. Bergman cost us the money from lost clients. Thank you. I'll be sure to tell that to our attorney when he files the lawsuit. I don't think I got your name, Mr -?" she asked, picking up a pen from the desk as she looked at him expectantly.
"I'm a nobody," he said quickly, shooing the other men out of the office. "Just someone they sent to unlock the doors and return the files. I didn't have anything to do with what Mr. Bergman did - or didn't do," he stated quickly. Running into the door as he tried to make a quick getaway, she heard him yelling at the others. "Don't worry about waiting for the elevator! Take the stairs!"
For the first time in several days, Laura found herself smiling. Glancing over the appointments, she realized there had only been three scheduled - and all of them were in the afternoon, so Mildred could handle that once she came back to the office.
That little niggle of hope was back again as her eyes fell on the door leading to his office. Maybe he had somehow managed to get back in and had been holed up here all weekend. Taking a deep breath, Laura walked to the door and turned the knob, pushing it open.
"Mr. Steele -" There was no sign of him in the conference area - or behind the desk. The door into the washroom was open - it was empty, too. But he'd left some aftershave and toothpaste on the cabinet beside the sink - and there was a wrinkled shirt and rumpled suit in the bottom of the small closet.
Her next move was through her office via the connecting door and into the coffee room. It had once been Murphy's office back in the early days of the Agency. After he left for Denver, Mildred had converted it into a coffee/storage room. For a moment, she thought about calling him and asking if he would be willing to come back to Los Angeles - but she doubted he would be. He and Sherri had gotten married and were expecting their second child. Asking him to uproot his family simply because Mr. Steele had decided to take off - just like Murphy had always expected that he would.
And it hadn't been necessary, Laura told herself. He'd gotten the Agency's license back, he could have stayed - "For what?" she mused. She had told him that she had accepted William Westfield's invitation to fly back to Mexico for the weekend - to give them that "time" she had talked about them needing to take.
Maybe he didn't want to be Remington Steele - if she wasn't going to be here, too.
****
Mildred caught up with the postman on the second floor, just leaving the stockbroker's office. "Sam!" she called out. "Wait up!"
He exhaled and turned to look at her. "Yes, *Miss* Krebs?" he asked pointedly. "I have to keep on schedule."
"I need a favor," she told him, and his eyebrows lifted.
"A favor, *Miss* Krebs?"
Mildred moved forward and slipped her arm through his. "You can call me Mildred," she insisted.
"That's not what you said last week," he reminded her.
"It was a busy day, and I was out of sorts - I'm really sorry if I snapped at you -"
"Snapped? You almost threw me out of the office!" He shook off her hold on his arm. "Now, I have mail to deliver -"
"I thought you wanted to take me to dinner?" she said quickly, and he stopped again.
"What?"
"That's what you asked the other day, wasn't it? If I'd like to have dinner one night?"
"Well, yes, but -"
She moved closer, placing her finger on one of the buttons of his blue shirt. "I'm saying yes," she told him.
He looked hopeful - then suspicious. "What's the favor?" he wanted to know.
"Oh, that," she said. "Just that - I'd like our mail now."
"Why can't you wait until I get up to the 11th floor?"
"There's an envelope with some very important information, and Mr. Steele and Miss Holt need to have it before the client arrives in -" she made a show of looking at her watch, "fifteen minutes. Do you think you'll be there by then?"
"Nine floors in fifteen minutes? I doubt it." He sighed deeply. "You know that delivering mail out of order totally messes me up, Mildred," he reminded her.
"You can give me just the envelope," Mildred suggested, "and still deliver the rest when you get there."
"I don't know -" Mildred, desperate, looked around at the empty corridor, then used the front of his shirt to pull him in for a quick kiss. Sam blinked, then his eyes widened, and he opened one of the bags he was carrying over his shoulder to pull out a manila envelope. "I'll call you," he promised in a dreamy voice.
****
Laura was at the window, staring down at the street when heard the office door open. Suddenly *he* was there, smiling. "Thought I'd gone, eh?" he asked. "Got all the way to London and realized that this is where I belong -" he reached for her pulling her into his arms. "And *this* is where you belong -"
"Miss Holt!" Mildred's voice brought Laura back to reality, back to the empty office. Crossing the room, she opened the door. "I got it!" Handing it to Laura, she added, "At *great* personal expense, I might add."
"Really?" Laura questioned, moving around Mildred's desk to grab the letter opener.
"I owe the postman a dinner."
Knowing that Sam had asked Mildred for a date a week ago, Laura managed a smile "So the Postman rang twice, hmm?"
"Lana Turner, John Garfield, 1946," Mildred noted.
Laura slit the envelope and pulled out two pieces of paper. Mildred picked up the second as Laura examined the larger one. "The Agency's license," she declared. "What's that, Mildred?" she asked.
"It's a confession that Horton Earhardt bribed him to pull our license. Signed by Oscar Bergman."
Laura opened the envelope and shook it, hoping - that word *again* - that a note might have been included - but there was nothing else.
Mildred watched her, frowning. "What else were you expecting, Miss Holt?"
"Nothing, I suppose. We need to make some telephone calls," she began. "Apparently Mr. Bergman called the people listed on the appointment book, suggesting that they call another agency to handle whatever they were going to hire us to do. So we need to call them and see if they've done that or still want to come in and talk to us since we're in business again."
"There were only three for the day," Mildred recalled, rattling off the names from memory. "I'll make some coffee, and then call them. And Mr. Steele will expect his tea when he gets here -"
"I'm going to start putting the files back into the cabinets," Laura announced, silently berating herself for being so cowardly. She picked up a box of files, glanced at the open coffee-room doorway, and came to a decision. Putting the box down, she entered the room, just as Mildred was turning the coffee machine on. "You don't need to worry about water for Mr. Steele's tea, Mildred."
Mildred turned to look at her. "Do you think he'd prefer coffee this morning? Oh, I should have bought one of the cheese danishes that he likes - after all, he did get the Agency's license back, didn't he?
"*After* he *lost* it," Laura reminded her.
"But that was all a scam, wasn't it? I mean, Mr. Bergman was going to yank the license no matter what happened, wasn't he?"
"I suppose so," Laura agreed.
"I'll go get the danish, then make those phone calls -"
Laura followed her back into the reception room, trying again. "Mildred, Mr. Steele won't be in today."
"What? Why? Did something happen to him?"
Laura kept her gaze focused on the tip of her index finger as it drifted along the edge of the desk. "No. But - when he called me to tell me that he had gotten the license back, he told me that he had been asked to work on a case, and that he was leaving town to do it."
"Leaving town? Alone? Where's he going?"
"I don't know, Mildred. He said that he couldn't give me any details, but he might have to go deep undercover for awhile."
"When will he be back?"
"He wasn't sure, and said that you and I could handle the Agency until he finished the case."
"Will he be checking in?"
"He told me that he can't even risk doing that much."
"So, the Boss left town to work on a case that he couldn't discuss, but you don't know where he's going, or how to contact him, or when he'll be back."
"That about sums it up, I'm afraid."
Mildred looked thoughtful. "Hmm. Maybe there's something to that rumor after all."
"What rumor is that, Mildred?"
"That before he started the Agency, Mr. Steele worked for a 'government agency'."
"I suppose it's possible," Laura agreed. "I don't know very much about his history before he hired me."
"It's still not like him to just take off and not call - All of his personal appointments -"
"He'd like you to cancel them," Laura told her. "He also asked me to have you do something else for him - I have a list of names that he wants you to trace by location." She put a slip of paper down on Mildred's desk."
Picking up the paper, Mildred began to read: "Michael O'Leary, Paul Fabrini, John Morrell, Richard Blaine, Douglas Quintane." Looking up at Laura, she asked, "Who are they?"
"I have no idea," Laura lied. She knew the names by heart. But Mr. Steele would have had to use those fake passports to leave the country - and if she was going to find him, she needed some kind of a trail to follow. "I *believe* they're somehow involved in the case he's working on."
"But - if I manage to find them, how are we supposed to let him know?"
"We'll cross that bridge when it comes, Mildred," Laura said. "Now, why don't I go get us both some coffee, then while I'm making those phone calls, you can start taking care of those files."
****
By the time Laura finished calling the three clients, confirming appointments for the two that hadn't gone elsewhere, it was almost lunchtime. Stepping into her office, Laura watched as Mildred worked on returning the files to the cabinets against the wall. She went through a stack of files, slapping several down onto the top of the cabinet, grumbling.
"Problems?" Laura asked.
"Oh, Miss Holt. I don't know how those people manage! When they took these, they were in order. It's like they shuffled the folders like a deck of cards!"
"I'm sure you'll get it straightened out - there's no hurry. Would you mind going to start that trace of that list of names that Mr. Steele wanted you to do?"
"You're sure, Miss Holt?"
"I'm sure. I *am* capable of sorting files into alphabetical order, you know. Who do you think managed the file system before you came along?"
"I thought - Miss - Wolfe?"
"Fox," Laura correctly gently, smiling at the reminder of Mr. Steele's tendency to get Bernice's last name wrong. "Bernice was good at answering telephones and greeting clients, but I handled the paperwork," Laura said. "Now go on. Our first client is due at one-thirty."
"Anyone here?" a man's voice called out, and Mildred's eyes widened.
"Sam!" she whispered, and Laura frowned. "The postman."
"Oh." Laura started toward the door. "Would you rather that I -?"
"No, I'll have to face him eventually," Mildred said, taking a deep breath before going through the doorway. "Hello, Sam!"
Laura remained in her office, just in case Mildred needed her assistance, as Sam responded. "Looks like it's mostly junk mail," he told her. "I was wondering - do you like to bowl?"
"Do I -?" Laura heard wariness in the next question. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, the bowling alley that I go to has a really great restaurant. I thought maybe we could bowl a couple of games, then have dinner there -"
"What bowling alley do you use?"
"Starlight," he told her. "It's out on -"
"I know where it is. I'm part of a ladies' league there. We usually bowl on Thursday evening."
"And I usually stay away on Thursdays because there are so many ladies there." Laura could hear him smile. "I won't anymore." He cleared his throat. "Well, I need to go on with my rounds - are you free Friday evening? It's a no league night -"
"What time should I meet you?" she asked.
"Is 7 o'clock too late?" he wanted to know.
"No, that's fine."
"See you when I come back for the late mail," he told her.
Laura came out of the office and leaned against the frame as he left. "Bowling. *So* romantic," she sighed.
"At least it's not roses and candles. I can handle bowling." Picking up the list of names, Mildred sat down at the computer keyboard and began to type.
The telephone rang, and she started to grab it, but Laura quickly said, "Keep going, Mildred, I'll get it in here." Turning back into her office, she picked up the receiver. "Remington Steele Investigations."
"I wouldn't have expected you to answer the telephone, Laura."
Laura recognized William Westfield's voice immediately, and glanced through the open doorway. "Just a minute," she said, putting the receiver on the desk and closing the door quietly. Picking it up again, she said, "William. I'm surprised -"
"I hoped you would be," was his response. "The reason I'm calling is to ask you to have lunch with me."
"William - I don't think that's a good idea. It's not fair to you."
"Why don't you let me make that decision?" he suggested. "And it's just lunch. Besides, I think you owe me, after running out on me the way you did on Friday."
"You're right," she agreed. "Okay. Where?"
"I can pick you up," he offered.
"No, I'm kind of busy here at the moment, so -"
"Romano's? At, say, noon?"
"Can you get reservations there that quickly?" Mr. Steele had been able to get reservations ten minutes before he arrived most places. But Romano's had been the exception to his vaunted ability to charm the birds from the trees - or get last minute reservations from a maitre'd.
"I think I can manage," he assured her. "I'll see you at noon."
"Noon," Laura repeated. As she hung up, Laura admitted that she did owe him an apology for leaving him on the airplane and running off. Then she would make it *very* clear that she wasn't in the market for a romantic relationship.
****
One of the reasons why Romano's was so difficult to get reservations for was that it was small, with candles adorning red and white checked tablecloths - more suitable for a romantic dinner than a weekday lunch date. Their menu of the usual Italian fare - pizza, spaghetti, lasagna and so on, was excellent - prepared by an actual Italian chef who loved to cook.
Laura had never been here for lunch - and only once for dinner with Mr. Steele, and he had made the reservation two weeks before. She was surprised to see the lights were turned up, and the candles weren't burning. The Hostess smiled at her. "May I help you?"
"I'm meeting Mr. Westfield," Laura told her.
The smile widened. "I believe he's expecting you," she said. "Follow me." She led Laura across the room to a corner table, where William was sitting. "Your guest has arrived, Mr. Westfield," she told him.
"Thank you, Maria," he said, standing to his feet as she moved away. "Hello, Laura."
"William," she said, sitting down in the other chair, then waiting for him to sit down again.
"You know, I half expected you to be back to 'Mr. Westfield' again by the time you got here." He smiled. "I'm glad I was wrong."
"William,-" she began, but the waiter, whose name badge proclaimed his name to be Carlo, arrived.
"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked.
"Sparkling water," Laura told him as William looked at her.
"Same for me."
"Two sparkling waters. I'll be right back to take your kitchen order."
"You could have had something else," William told her. "I don't usually drink during the day, especially if I have to be in court. I know some of my colleagues do, but I don't feel right doing it."
"I don't usually drink much either," she told him. *Except for the occassional glass of champagne* flitted through her mind.
"You were about to say something before the waiter-"
"Here you go," Carlo announced, placing one glass in front of Laura, and the other before William. "Now, what would you like for an entree? Our lunch special today is spaghetti with your choice of sauce. It includes a salad and fresh breadsticks."
"Sounds good to me," Laura told him. "Marinara sauce, and Italian dressing on the salad."
"Make that two, Carlos," William said, handing him the menus.
"It'll be right out," the young man promised, turning toward the kitchen.
"Okay. Now. What were you going to say?" William wanted to know.
"Well," she began, toying with her fork and knife, "first, I really do owe you an apology for running off the other night. I would have tried to explain, but - the plane was about to take off, and I knew that I couldn't be on it when it did."
"So it really *wasn't* something that I said or did that made you change your mind?"
"No. You're sweet, and very nice, but -"
"But there's someone else - Mr. Steele, I'd guess."
Laura grimaced. "Guess is the appropriate word for - whatever it is that he and I have. It's complicated." She sighed as Carlo brought their salads.
William picked up his salad fork, then told her, "I have an hour to spare, and I've been told that I'm a good listener."
"Trust me, it would take more than an hour to even *begin* to explain it."
"Isn't that what friends are for? To listen when you're angry or frustrated - or happy?"
"I wouldn't even know where to start -"
"The beginning is always a good place. How did you get the job with Mr. Steele?"
"I was working at the Havenhurst Agency - that's where I apprenticed and learned how to be a detective," she told him. "But I was tired of the men there taking all of the credit when it had been me doing the legwork and solving cases."
"That's understandable. Go on."
"So I left and opened my own agency - but the minute a client found out that I was a woman, they walked out the door and went to someplace like Havenhurst. About that time, Mr. Steele contacted me and asked me to talk to him about a job, that he was considering opening an agency. We talked, and he confided that he really didn't want to have to handle the day-to-day tasks involved in actually *running* an agency. He liked to be able to travel around the world, and wanted someone he could trust to run the place. He agreed to keep in touch and sign off on reports, and he did. He called frequently from Paris, Dubai, Rome, London, and I would fill him in on our cases and what we were doing -"
"We?" he questioned.
"I convinced him to let me hire a friend from Havenhurst - Murphy Michaels. Between him and me and a receptionist, we started to work and built the Agency into a first rate detective agency."
Carlo appeared again with their entrees, and left with the nearly untouched salad plates.
"Why did Mr. Steele come back?"
"He said that he was ready to put down roots and stay here in Los Angeles for the most part, and began taking a more active role in the cases that we handled. Murphy left to open an agency of his own in Denver about that time. You remind me of him in some ways." She sighed. "It's basically just been him and me ever since."
"So when did you and Steele -?" William let the question dangle into the silence between them.
"We didn't. We haven't -"
"Because he doesn't want more or because you don't?"
"I feel like I'm being questioned in court," she answered. "He wants to," she admitted under his watchful gaze. The man was probably amazing to watch in court.
"So you're the one dragging your feet. Must be frustrating - for both of you."
"Don't get me wrong, there have been times when I've seriously considered it. But I worked too hard to earn any respect that I have in my profession. In most news stories about our cases, I'm always the 'unknown woman' or his assistant. Once they said that I was his secretary. If I were to - if he and I -"
"Crossed that line?" he suggested with a knowing grin.
"Then people would say that I'd slept my way into my job. When they pulled the Agency's license on Friday afternoon, I thought maybe it would be a way for us to find out if it was only the agency that kept us together. And then I told him that I was going to Mexico City for the weekend -"
"With me?"
Laura nodded, recalling that moment at Mr. Steele's apartment. She had halfway expected him to ask her not to go, but he had simply nodded and walked out of the apartment, leaving her there alone. "On the plane, I realized that what I was doing was running away from whatever he and I have instead of staying and finding out what that might be."
"And that's why you left me on the plane. To talk to him. I get the idea that nothing was resolved."
"No. He - left town, *after* he went to the Bureau and got the Agency's license back."
"Where did he go?"
"I have no idea," she confided. "He's on a very hush-hush case of some kind, gave me a list of names to track down, and said he would check in whenever he could." The lie was becoming easier to tell.
"So it wasn't that he didn't want to talk to you - he's working."
"I tried to talk to him when he called me just before he left," she lied. "He said we could discuss it when he completes this case."
"Well, at least you have that to look forward to."
"I was right," Laura said, breaking the silence that followed his statement. "You *are* very special."
"Don't speak too soon. I'm happy that I'll have the opportunity to make you fall in love with me while your Mr. Steele is off solving a case."
Laura decided that it was time to pull out the big guns after all. "Tell me something, William - you work in a business where your bosses expect you to behave circumspectly and stay away from scandal, am I right?"
"For the most part, I suppose. Why do you ask?"
"Suppose - just suppose, mind you - that you were being considered for a full partnership in the law firm - and your fellow attorneys made a trip down to - say - Acapulco for the weekend and one night at a nightclub, your girlfriend - that you're living with and plan to marry, by the way - has a few too many drinks, strips off her clothes, grabs two *small* fans and does a fan dance on the bar while your friends and co-workers watch."
"That's a lot of supposition," William stated, clearly still trying to take it all in.
"What would your reaction be?" she wanted to know.
"I'd probably drag you out of there and want to know what you thought you were doing -"
"And if I said that I was just being myself, and that I couldn't guarantee not to embarrass you again?"
"It really happened, didn't it?" William asked. "You were the girl -"
"Yes," she confirmed. "Only the boyfriend was a banker and was up for a major promotion - until I embarrassed him in front of his superiors." She put her fork down, realizing she wasn't using it. "You remind me a little of Wilson. Both of you could be described the same way. I bet you lay out your clothes the night before, don't you?"
"Well, I don't lay them out, but I usually know what I'm going to wear the next day," he nodded.
"You know what? Remington Steele knows the whole, sordid story - and you know what he asked? He wanted to see the fan dance. He accepts me for who I am - wild side and all. I just hope that I get a chance to tell him -" she swallowed her fear. Not fear that he wouldn't return from the 'case', but fear that she wouldn't be able to find him because she wasn't as good a detective as she claimed to be.
"I'd still like to be your friend, Laura," William finally said, reaching across to capture her hand that was still playing with the unused fork. "Now, why don't you eat your lunch before it gets totally cold? I have to be in court at one-thirty, and I refuse to leave a friend here alone to finish her meal."
"I have to meet a client then," she told him, finally digging into the spaghetti.
While she ate, William told her a little about his background, most of which she already knew about thanks to her investigation, but as she finished the pasta and sauce, she said, "William, what I told you, and said - I don't want any of that to go any further."
He grinned, pretending to lock his lips with an imaginary key that he then "tossed" away. "My lips are sealed," he promised, raising his hand to signal Carlo for the ticket. "You know, after the way you got us into the sanitarium down in Mexico City, I believe your story. And I think that part of you is why you're so good at what you do. Ever thought about that?" he asked, giving Carlo a credit card.
Laura's eyes widened as he spoke, moving to the waiter, then back to William. Alone again, she frowned. "You said you wouldn't -"
"I didn't mention anything that you told me, Laura." He signed the ticket and collected the card as he rose. "Come on, friend, I'll walk you to your car."
****
The printer was working as Laura returned to the office, and she moved over to peer over Mildred's shoulder. "Anything about those names?" she asked.
"No," Mildred sighed. "It's a report on Mr. Aberdeen. The one-thirty client," she proclaimed, holding the paper out for Laura to take.
Trying to hide her disappointment, Laura nodded, scanned the page as she moved toward her office. "I'll get back to those files," she said. "Buzz me when Mr. Aberdeen arrives and I'll see him in Mr. Steele's office."
"The files are done, Miss Holt." She shrugged as Laura turned to look at her with surprise. "I wasn't hungry, and I didn't want to leave the office in case one of those names came through."
"Listen, Mildred, you can't let him down this way. He would expect you to be strong. I'm going to need your help until he gets back. And so you can't skip lunches to wait for information. Besides, even if you get it, we have to wait until he gets in touch with us to give it to him."
"I guess you're right, Miss Holt. Does this mean that I might get to actually do some legwork?"
"I think that it could be arranged. Now, I'm going into Mr. Steele's office to wait for Mr. Aberdeen." She got as far as opening the door, then turned back to say, "Oh, and Mildred, if anyone calls or asks to see Mr. Steele, just tell them that you'll get him their message when he checks in. There's no reason for everyone to know that he's out of town and that we don't know where he might be."
"Gotcha, Miss Holt."
Laura pushed the door open as a red-haired man entered the office, telling Mildred, "I'm Nick Aberdeen. I have a one-thirty appointment with Mr. Steele."
Laura smiled her best smile, moving forward to shake his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Aberdeen," she told him. "I'm Laura Holt - Mr. Steele's associate. We spoke on the telephone," she prompted.
"Of course."
"Why don't we go in here," Laura suggested, ushering him to the door of the main office, "and discuss why you need our help? Mildred, would you please get some coffee for Mr. Aberdeen and myself?"
"It's on the way," Mildred told her, moving toward the coffee-room.
Laura followed Aberdeen into the office, where he was studying the photos on the wall. Going over to the desk, she perched on the corner and asked, "Now, Mr. Aberdeen, what can the Remington Steele Agency do for you?"
"Is Mr. Steele going to join us?" he asked.
"Mr. Steele's a very busy man, Mr. Aberdeen. I'm sure he'll try to join us, but if he doesn't, I'll make a full report to him and we'll discuss the best way to handle you case."
She had managed this before *he* had entered her life - of course, then she'd had Murphy and Bernice to help. It wasn't going to be easy this time - people had gotten used to seeing Remington Steele. Until those names and fake passports led her to where he'd landed, she had no choice but to keep pushing forward…
Continued in the next episode, Steele Searching, Part 1