Stranded Steele

Part Five

Rated R

---

Laura woke suddenly, wondering why the sheets on her bed were so rough against her skin - then she realized that there was far more skin than there usually was touching the sheets. Putting a hand on the fabric, she frowned as she realized that it wasn't a sheet at all, but a canvas tarp. Lifting it, she realized that she was totally naked - and so was- Her eyes lifted quickly to the face of the man beside her. His eyes were closed. He was still asleep. Memories came flooding back as Laura lay there in the dim, pre-dawn light. Had she REALLY done that dance? And then practically thrown herself at -Harry?

 

Surpressing a groan, Laura slipped carefully from beneath the canvas, not wanting to wake her companion. She wasn't ready to face him yet. Looking around, she spied her sarong and picked it up before making her way down the beach to the water.

 

She needed to think.

 

**********

 

Jerome Maxwell looked up as his lawyer entered the small room. "What's going on?" he asked, his dark, beady eyes full of speculation.

 

"The trial's been postponed," Jack Hamilton informed him, opening his briefcase to pull out a notepad with some writing on it. He slid it across the table to his client.

 

Maxwell read the information as he asked, "Why? I thought the DA was anxious to get this thing done and lock me away for good?"

 

"Look like Steele and Holt are missing," Hamilton informed him. "The DA doesn't want to procede without his star witnesses."

 

Picking up a pen, Maxwell nodded. "I can understand that. But I hope nothing's happened to Mr. Steele or Miss Holt. I'd hate for someone to think I might have harmed them in any way," he said smoothly, pushing the pad back to Hamilton.

 

The lawyer read the instructions and his eyes lifted, locking with Maxwell's in a silent battle of wills.

 

"I'm sure I can trust you to- see that everything is taken care of, right?" Maxwell asked pointedly.

 

Hamilton's eyes fell, and he tossed the pad into the case, closing it and locking it. "Yeah. I'll be in touch."

 

**********

 

Hamilton drove for twenty minutes to make sure he wasn't being followed, then stopped at a pay phone to make his call. "Yeah. It's me," he told the person on the other end of the line. "He's decided to get rid of the problem after all. Think you can handle it? . . . Good. . .No, he doesn't care how, he just wants it done soon. . . Look, I don't want to hear the details, I'm just relaying a message. Let me know when you've finished the assignment." He hung up the telephone, his head bowed. How deep was he going to get in this? he wondered. *You're already in it up to your neck, Jack*, he told himself. Sighing, he got back into his car and turned it toward the office.

 

**********

 

Remington reached out, intending to draw Laura closer, but his hand encountered only rough canvas. He opened his eyes, frowning. She wasn't there. Turning over with some effort, "Oh, for a nice, soft, bed," he moaned, he didn't see Laura anywhere.

 

He sat up, groaning as his sore muscles protested the movement. He grinned, recalling the cause of that soreness, then looked around. Her sarong was gone- and there were foot prints in the sand leading down the beach - toward the water.

 

It took a moment for him to find her. She was swimming, diving beneath the waves and then coming back to the surface. Remington's grin widened. A swim sounded just the thing for his aching muscles, he decided, scooping up his trousers before standing and following the trail she'd left in the sand.

 

Laura came back to the surface and glanced toward the beach. Something dark was laying beside the bright colours of her sarong. She was about to turn and look for him when she felt his arms around her waist, his lips warm against her ear. "Good morning," he murmured, caressing the sensitive skin behind her ear. "Why didn't you wake me?" he asked.

 

"Maybe I needed some time alone," she suggested, trying not to respond to the feel of his chest hair against her back, the touch of his hands on her aching breasts.

 

Remington heard something in her voice that troubled him and turned her so that he could see her face. "You're regretting what happened, aren't you?"

 

"No. Yes." She sighed. "I don't know. I'm- confused-" she told him, bracing her hands against his chest, cursing her fingers as they curled of their own volition into the dark hair.

 

"Why?" he asked. "Last night was perfect," he assured her. "Well," he quickly amended, "maybe not PERFECT." He waited a beat before continuing. "A nice, soft bed and silk sheets would have been better, but-"

 

"That's right. JOKE about it," she ground out, turning away from him.

 

He caught up with her in the shallows pulling her around to face him. "You can't run, Laura. There's nowhere TO run this time, remember?"

 

"I'm not- running," she insisted as her traitorous fingers found his chest again. "It's just- I need- time. To- to sort things out. To-"

 

"To what?" he asked, pressing kisses along her brow, on her eyes, talking between each light caress. "To decide whether or not you- enjoy - this?" he asked, drawing her close to his nude body again.

 

"You're not playing fair," Laura accused. "I can't think when you're so- close."

 

"Then don't think," he suggested, framing her face with both hands, his thumb tracing the outline of her lips. "For once in your life, don't think, don't stop to analyse everything. Just feel," he pleaded, pulling her hips even closer.

 

Laura gasped at his obvious desire, then her arms were locked around his neck and he was lowering her into the shallow water as it moved over them and back out in a neverending cycle. Remington's mouth found hers, and Laura stopped thinking . . .

 

**********

 

Mildred waited patiently down the dock as the small boat was tied fast and a young couple was assisted to the dock. The Hawaiian man who had been piloting the boat lifted their luggage onto the planking near the couple. "I hope you enjoyed your stay at the Devonshire, Mr and Mrs. Johnson." Mildred studied the couple, trying to figure out where she'd seen them before. There was something about the woman that was naggingly familiar.

 

The blonde man smiled at his equally fair wife. "Oh, we did, Charlie. In fact, if my business here in Honolulu could have waited, we would have stayed another week, right honey?" She nodded, then indicated the briefcase that Charlie was lifting. Mr. Johnson held out his hand. "I'll take that," he said with a smile. "Important papers."

 

"Your cab will be here any moment," Charlie told them as Mildred approached. "Can I help you?"

 

"Are you Charlie? As in Charlie's Charters?"

 

"Yes. But if you're looking to book a charter - "

 

"No. I just need some information. About your boat?"

 

"You from the insurance company?" Charlie asked hopefully. "Cause if you are, I really need that money so I can get another boat. Until I do, all I have is this thing," he said, indicating the small speedboat.

 

"No," Mildred said. "I work for Remington Steele-" she told him, not noticing the curious expressions that crossed the faces of the Johnsons as they were getting into the cab. "I'm Mildred Krebs."

 

"You made the reservations for them," he realized. "I'm really sorry about what happened to them," Charlie assured her.

 

"What DID happen?" Mildred wanted to know. "How did someone take your boat without your knowledge?"

 

"My niece says that the gate was unlocked when she arrived- she thought I was already here. That I'd taken the Sea Rose out for an early trip. Evidently someone picked the locks, got the key and took the boat without my knowledge."

 

"Do you have any idea who it was? Or why he'd do it?"

 

"All I know is that he told Nick over at Devonshire Island that his name was Jim, and that he'd just hired on with me a couple of days ago. I don't have anyone by that name that works for me, Miss Krebs. Have you talked to the Coast Guard?"

 

"Yeah. They still say there's no sign of any survivors."

 

"I wouldn't doubt it. There wasn't much left of the boat - and those waters are pretty shark infested. Anyone who survived the blast wouldn't have lasted more than a few minutes out there. Especially if they were injured."

 

"That's what the Coast Guard told me," Mildred agreed. "But I KNOW they're out there, Charlie. Miss Holt and Mr. Steele aren't dead." She saw his look of pity. "Listen, could you take me out to Devonshire? So I can talk to this Nick guy? I'll pay you for your time."

 

"He can't help you, Miss Krebs."

 

"It's too much of a coincidence that this should happen now," Mildred insisted. "Mr. Steele and Miss Holt were scheduled to be in court this morning to testify against a loan shark. A real creep. If they don't testify, the guy's gonna walk. Somehow he figured out where they were and sent someone to take them out. I want to see if this Nick can give me a description and will look at some mug shots of known associates of Jerome Maxwell."

 

Charlie sighed. "All right, Miss Krebs. Let me refuel the boat- and then we'll go. I got nothing else to do until the insurance company pays off, anyway."

 

Mildred gathered the leather case she had been holding closer as she looked out toward the horizon. *Hold on, kids,* she thought. *I'm coming.*

 

************

 

Laura finished her task and stepped back, hoping she'd made the letters big enough. "What are you doing?" Remington asked, coming from the camp.

 

"Putting a message in the sand," she told him, nodding. "S.O.S. It SHOULD be visible from an airplane - IF they're searching for us." He brought her back against him as he surveyed her work.

 

"I'm sure they are," he said, his nimble fingers working at the spot where the sarong was tucked between her breasts. "But until they find us," he whispered, lowering his lips to the curve of her neck, "Let's dispense with this, shall we?" he suggested, whisking the fabric from her body.

 

"Give that back!" she told him, grabbing for the sarong.

 

Remington grinned. "Come and get it," he told her, then turned and made for the camp.

 

"Come back here!" Laura called out behind him, running after him. When she was close enough, she tackled him from behind, sending them both sprawling into the shaded area of sand near the jungle. The sarong went flying from Remington's hands. When she would have gotten up to retrieve it, Remington grabbed her hands and held her atop him. "Harry," she began, then a smile came over her face and she pulled her hands free and began unfastening his trousers.

 

Remington put his head back. "Ahh, Laura," he said, lifting his hips to help her remove the garment.

 

"Close your eyes," she whispered, leaning over him, the tips of her breasts brushing the soft hair of his chest.

 

Once his eyes were closed, he sighed, then frowned as he realized she was gone. Opening his eyes, he sat up to see her running toward the water, trousers in hand. "Why you little-"

 

She laughed, a sound that echooed inside his chest. She was relaxed, happy, and Remington hoped he would be able to maintain that once they were back in civilization. "If *I* have to go running around naked, Harry," she called out playfully as he neared her position at the edge of the surf, "Then so do YOU!"

 

"Laura!" he called out, but he was too late. The trousers were flung into the water. He knew they would wash ashore, but for the moment, he concentrated on gaining his pound of flesh from Laura. And what lovely flesh it was, he mused as he caught her hand and they tumbled onto the sand once again.

 

She frowned. "Did you hear something?" she asked.

 

Intent on laying a line of kisses across her chest, Remington said, "Only the sound of our hearts beating," he told her.

 

"No," she said, sitting up. "I could have sworn that I heard -" Her eyes scanned the sky. "I DID! It's a helicopter!" She said. "Someone's here to rescue us!" She started waving, forgetting for the moment that she was totally naked.

 

Something hit the water near them, and Remington grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him. "Rescue us? More likely to kill us!" he decided, pushing her ahead of him, zigzagging their way back toward the camp and the relatively safetly of the dark jungle beyond. "RUN!" he told her as the helicopter came closer and more bullets fell, sending up little sprays of water and sand.

 

As they passed the canvas "bed", Remington grabbed for his boxer shorts, then joined Laura in the darkness. She pulled her sarong from where he'd tossed it earlier and wrapped it around herself. "Did you see who they were?" she asked.

 

"It LOOKED like the Johnsons," he told her.

 

"From the hotel? The newlyweds?" Laura peered over the bush that they were using as a blind. "The helicopter's circling to land," she told him. "It doesn't make any sense, Mr. Steele." Remington looked at her, noting her sudden return to formality. "If they were there the entire time, why go to all this trouble to strand us here and THEN kill us? Why not just kill us at the hotel?"

 

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe they're Maxwell's insurance policy. Jim strands us, he sends those two in to clean up." He looked toward the beach. "Let's go. They'll be searching in here soon."

 

**********

 

Mildred thumbed through the mug shots as Charlie steered the small boat through the water. Most of the people known to have done work for Jerome Maxwell were scum of the earth types. She paused, looking at the dark haired woman's image. Turning the picture over, she gasped. "Oh no."

 

"What is it, Mildred?" Charlie asked, leaning closer. He saw the picture. "That looks like Mrs. Johnson, doesn't it? Except for the hair, I mean."

 

"I think it IS Mrs. Johnson," Mildred told him. "Only her name's really Bridgette Simmons. She's a hit woman. And I think they've gone after Miss Holt and Mr. Steele!" Mildred's eyes scanned the horizon in a circle, then paused. "Can you see something out that way?" she asked.

 

Charlie squinted against the glare of sun on water. "Maybe. There's an island over there. Too small to be of much use to anyone - It's well out of the traffic lanes, and there's a volcano on it that make it less than desireable property."

 

"Could they be there?"

 

Charlie shook his head. "It's the opposite direction from where the ship when down. There's no way they could have swam that far."

 

"Maybe they didn't swim!" Mildred speculated. "Come on, Charlie. Can't we check it out?"

 

Charlie sighed, but turned the wheel to port anyway.

 

**********

 

Remington and Laura paused, seeing the abandoned helicopter before them on the beach. "Think we should try?" he asked, glancing behind him. Laura had left a scrap of fabric on a bush to lead the team of killers away, but he wasn't taking any chances.

 

Recalling the last time she'd gotten into a helicopter with him, Laura looked up at him. "Only if you promise not to jump out of this one."

 

"Let's see if the radio's working, anyway. We might be able to get a message out -" He led her as close as he could, then motioned for her to join him as he crossed the open space to the helicopter. They climbed inside, and Remington checked the gauges, then flipped a few switches. "Seems someone knows my little trick involving injectors," he muttered. "Okay. The radio -"

 

"HANK!" Bridgette yelled behind her. "They're at the helicopter!" Remington ducked as a bullet flew through the plexiglass bubble.

 

"Come on," he said, grabbing Laura's hand and making a run for the water.

 

They dove in, feeling bullets whizzing past them. Remington looked at Laura. "On the count of three," he said.

 

"One," she began, taking a breath.

 

"Two," he said, taking one himself.

 

"THREE!" they said in unison, then each too a deep breath and went under the waves, swimming to the left, trying to stay in the shallows near the island.

 

**********

 

"It looks deserted," Mildred said, disappointment in her voice.

 

"Let's go around to the other side," Charlie suggested. "Just to make sure." Mildred had almost had him believeing that the two detectives might be alive on this island. He couldn't fault her for her loyalty, he supposed.

 

Laura and Remington came back to the surface, gasping for breath. "You okay?" he asked.

 

She nodded. "You?"

 

"I'll recover," he told her.

 

"Now what?" she asked. "They're not going to give us another chance to get back to the helicopter. And we can't stay out here forever."

 

"We'll swim a little farther down, then come back up onto the beach - see if we can't surprise them,'' he suggested.

 

"Just a minute," Laura said, pausing. "I hear something."

 

"Oh, not again," he moaned. "All we need is another hired killer -"

 

"It's a boat!" she said. "And I think Mildred's on it!"

 

Mildred's jaw dropped as she spotted Laura and Remington. As Charlie helped them into the small boat, she gave them each a hug. "I KNEW you weren't dead. I just KNEW it!"

 

"Mildred, not that I'm looking gift horse in the mouth, but- what are you doing here?" Laura asked.

 

"Looking for you," she explained, then her cheeks reddened and she covered her eyes. "Oh, Mr. Steele."

 

Laura giggled, and Charlie grinned, tossing them each blankets. Boxer shorts weren't very good for covering a person when they were wet, Remington mused ruefully. He glanced toward the beach. "Wonder how long they'll stay to wait?" he asked Laura.

 

"Who?" Mildred wanted to know.

 

"Jerome Maxwell's hired killers," Laura informed her as Charlie turned the boat back toward home.

 

**********

 

"I thought you said that the DA wouldn't go to trial without Steele and Holt," Maxwell whispered to his attorney as the gentleman in question began his opening remarks.

 

"I guess he decided that he might as well try with the other witnesses."

 

"You're sure that the telegram said that the problem had been taken care of?"

 

"Yes," Hamilton said as the judge cleared his throat and glared at them.

 

"Call your first witness, Mr. Bergstrom," he told the District Attorney.

 

"The court calls Laura Holt to the stand," he announced.

 

She smiled sweetly at Maxwell as she passed. Maxwell sank into his chair as Hamilton wiped his brow nervously. His goose was cooked.

 

**********

 

Laura was in her office when there was a knock on the connecting door and Remington's head appeared. "Busy?"

 

"A little. A weeks' vacation and the paperwork just piles up."

 

"Hmm," he agreed, entering the room to perch on the edge of her desk. "I was hoping we could have dinner together- at my place-"

 

"I don't know, Mr. Steele-"

 

"So we're back to the formal, are we? I suppose you expect me to just forget everything that happened on that island."

 

"I- think it might be for the best - for now, anyway."

 

"For how long? Another year? Two? FOUR more? Sorry, Laura. I can't do that. Not after the last forty eight hours." He took a deep breath. "What is it, Laura? Why are you pushing me away this time?"

 

"I only meant - Harry," she said softly, sitting back in her chair, "that I wasn't sure about having dinner at your place. I had a nice, leisurely dinner at Che Rive in mind- and then back to my loft for champagne -"

 

Remington felt as though is grin was wider than his face. "You ARE a little minx, you know that? Teasing me that way." He took her hand and pulled her to her feet and into his arms. "I'll make the reservations," he said, covering her lips with his.

 

Mildred opened the door quietly, intending to tell them that their next client was waiting. But seeing Miss Holt in Mr. Steele's arms, she closed the door and backed away. The client could wait.

 

The End

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Original content © 1999 by Nancy Eddy