"I bought it for her - but she doesn't like to carry a gun," he said, recalling his first conversation with her on that very subject. "Do you pack a rod, Miss Holt?" he had asked. He checked it, then loaded the two chambers. From the desk itself, he picked up the agency's small revolver, made sure it was loaded, then put it back on the desk next to the telephone along with the derringer.
"What now?" Tony asked.
"Now, we wait for him to call again."
"And when he does? What then? Do we rush off and get all three of us killed?"
Steele went to the window again. He had dimmed the lights, so if the officers in the police car below were watching the apartment, they wouldn't see anything. "I'll go in first and distract St. Clair long enough for you to get Laura out."
"She won't go as long as you're in danger," Tony told him.
"Carry her out if you have to, Antony. Do whatever it takes to make sure she's safe. That's the only thing that matters."
Tony looked at the guns on the table. "You do realize that you're repeating what happened in Dublin," he said softly.
Steele turned to look at him, then put the smaller gun deep into the side of the leather Italian made boots he was wearing. "We're talking about Laura's life, Antony." He looked at the agency's gun for a long moment. "Antony, I want you promise me that if this goes wrong, you'll take care of Laura." And my child, he added silently.
"Steele-"
"I need your promise, Antony. If I'm to do what I must -"
"Just don't do something stupid like getting yourself killed." He met Steele's blue gaze for a moment. "I promise."
"Thank you." He froze as the telephone rang again. Before the echo died, Steele picked it up. "Steele here."
"Be at the telephone at the corner of Port and Bayview in fifteen minutes," St. Clair told him.
Steele glanced at the clock on the wall. "I'll be there. If Laura's been harmed-"
"Now, that depends on you, lad. Just be certain not to bring the police with you. You're wasting time." He hung up.
Tony watched as Steele tucked the agency gun into the small of his back and then put on a dark jacket. "Well?"
"Now, we get out of the building without being seen."
"You're in charge here," was all Tony said.
"But not too close," Tony said, watching as the cab pulled away. Tony made a mad dash for the garage and the white VW Rabbit that was Laura's car. "Port and Bayview," he kept saying, torn between hoping that the police wouldn't see him and that they would.
"I was afraid you were going to be late, Mr. Steele."
"I had to get away from the police who are watching the apartment," Steele reminded him.
"Leave your car. Walk north until you see a red MG. There will be a note on the front seat with further instructions."
"I'm not going to play your little games, St. Clair," Steele said, scanning the area until he saw the white car parked down the street.
"This isn't a game. It's life or death. Mrs. Steele is waiting, lad."
Remington tossed the cab driver a fifty dollar bill, then started walking until he found the red MG. The note was brief. "Turn left, go two blocks, third building on the docks, abandoned warehouse." There was something else as well: Laura's new watch. The watch he'd bought her when he'd told her about the trust fund he'd inherited from Jessica's mother. Steele closed his fingers around it, then started the car.
"Oh, he'll come, lass. He'll not risk losing you." He put a finger under he chin, smiling as she jerked away from his touch. "Not that I blame him. An eye for the ladies, that one has." He recalled the useless struggle she'd put up before he was able to tie her to the chair, and his blue eyes darkened. "I like a lady with a bit of fire, meself. Perhaps, after I finish my business, you and I will have a bit of fun."
"I'd rather spend time with a snake," Laura ground out.
"Don't you know, lass," St. Clair said, smiling dangerously, "There are no snakes in Ireland."
"Then you must not be Irish," Laura replied sweetly.
"Watch your tongue, Mrs. Steele," he warned, brandishing the knife. "If you want to keep it." He reached down to rub his knee. "He's close," St Clair said quietly, moving back into the shadows.
Steele slowly pulled the agency's gun from his belt, and drew a bead on that broad chest. It would be so easy, he thought. But Laura was so close. If he was a little off-
"You'd best aim well, lad," St. Clair said suddenly. "If you don't, your lady will be the first to die."
"Let her go, St. Clair. I'm here now. You don't need both of us."
"But I'm afraid I do. Unload the gun, Steele. Drop the bullets- one at a time so I can hear them fall."
"I'll ask you once more to release Laura."
"He can't do that, Remington," Laura called out. "I've seen his face. And if he kills you without killing me, I'll track him to hell and back -"
"Would you please be quiet, Laura?" Steele said.
"Unfortunately she's right, Steele," St. Clair said. "I made a mistake by not killing you in Dublin." His movement was so swift that Steele was caught off guard as St. Clair's knife fell against Laura's throat. "The bullets, Steele. Now. I shan't be asking again."
Steele took the bullets from the gun, his eyes meeting Laura's. "Why didn't you kill me ten years ago?"
"Well, now, let's just say you reminded me of someone I once knew." One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Six bullets fell. "And now the gun." Hearing it clatter on the concrete floor, St. Clair smiled. "Take the stairs over there down. And keep your hands where I can see them."
"I've been better- and worse," she told him.
"You see? She hasn't been harmed- yet, Mr. Steele. Whether she will be or not depends on you, lad." On whether you're still as good with a blade as you were ten years ago." His right hand didn't move from Laura's throat. "Have y'ever seen a knife fight, Mrs. Steele?"
"One or two," she said.
"A good one is like a well-staged ballet," he told her. "If the two opponents are well-matched. That kind of talent isn't something learned. It's bred into a person, Mrs. Steele. There's only been one man to ever best me in a fight," he told her. "And he's standing right there." He opened his left hand, releasing a length of braided leather rope in Steele's direction, one end tied to his left wrist. "Pick it up, lad," St. Clair said. "Tie it to your wrist." Steele bent to pick up the rope. "And no tricks. One pull, and Mrs. Steele's pretty neck will be a great deal less pretty."
Steele began tying the rope to his wrist. How long had it been since he'd done something like this? Too long. That silent message passed from him to Laura.
St. Clair watched, then pulled on the rope. "That's good. Now, for the rules. If you win, you and your lovely lady will be free to go. But if I'm the victor, both your lives will be forfeit. After I've experienced Mrs. Steele's - attractions, of course." He saw the anger that crossed Steele's face at the thought of his touching Laura. "There's a knife in that crate down the way," he pointed out, indicating the crates on the other side of the room. "Do you see it?"
"I see it," Steele confirmed.
"That's the objective, lad. The means to cut out the old lion's heart. Do you think you have the courage to try? Or has the soft life you've been living these days taken the fight out of you?" He tossed the knife in his hand high, where it landed in the wooden cat-walk - out of reach. Slowly, favoring his right leg, St. Clair turned, knowing that Steele wouldn't begin until he said to. "If you can't beat a crippled old man, lad-"
They stood watching each other for the slightest move until St. Clair tensed, causing Steele to jerk the rope hard, moving in the direction of the knife. Helpless to do anything, a frustrated Laura sat watching the struggle quietly, not wanting to distract Remington. When something fell from his boot, Laura couldn't believe what she was seeing. The derringer he'd gotten her. She had to get to it before St. Clair saw it. If she could, then maybe she could stop this. Inch by slow inch, she scooted across the floor, keeping her eyes on the two men who were nearing the knife.
St. Clair got to the weapon first, and Steele began backing as far away as the rope would allow. St. Clair wasn't as fast as Remington, Laura noticed, but he used his heavier weight to his advantage. He jerked on the rope, pulling Remington in, then, before his prey could retreat, slashed at him with the sharp blade. The tip caught Steele's sweater, barely touching his chest- but deep enough to leave a streak of blood. St. Clair's laugh was low.
"First blood, Steele. You're out of practice."
Steele had been watching St. Clair's movements, knew that he was still favoring his right leg, trying to protect that old wound. Waiting until his adversary's weight was resting on his left leg, Steele swung sharply, tugging on the rope will all his might as he did. Off-balance, St. Clair went down with a groan of pain, and dropped the knife. Steele grabbed it and pressed it against St. Clair's throat.
"Go on, lad. End it. I don't deserve to live. I've never done one good thing, one thing that I can be proud of."
"That's the truth," Steele agreed, thinking about Patrick, about Mary, all the hundreds of live ended prematurely because of Morgan St. Clair. A red haze of anger coated his vision, and his hand tightened on the knife.
"No, Remington," Laura said in a soft voice.
"He murdered Patrick, Laura. And Mary- He would have killed us both -"
"That doesn't make killing him right. Look at him. He's an old man. Tired of running. Let the authorities handle him." Steele didn't move. "Will killing him bring back Patrick? Or Mary?" she asked.
Steele knew she was right, and with a regretful movement removed the knife from St. Clair's throat and instead cut the rope that bound them. He looked at the man who hadn't moved except to put a hand on his knee. "Don't worry, lad. I won't be going anywhere. This old injury's finally done me in." There was noise from the catwalk above as Tony finally got into the building.
He peered over the rail. "You all right, Steele?"
"I was beginning to think you weren't going to make it, Antony," Steele called.
Tony came down the stairs, his gun ready. "Better late than never, I guess."
"Keep an eye on St. Clair," Steele said, then turned to cut the ropes on Laura's wrists and legs, pulling her into his arms as soon as she was free. The sound of sirens cut through the air. "Ah, the local constabulary arriving at last."
"I called them when I'd almost given up on finding a way in," Tony explained, his hand and eyes not wavering from St. Clair, who was now sitting up. "Are you okay, Laura?"
"I'm fine now, Tony," she told him as the room became filled with policemen, all holding weapons on St. Clair.
Lt. Barnes entered, picking up the derringer as he did so. "I believe this might be yours, Mrs. Steele?"
She took it, placing it in her pocket. "Thank you."
He looked at Steele. "Al said you were a lucky man, Mr. Steele. He was right. I think we can wait until tomorrow to talk to you about what happened here this evening." He turned to the officers who had surrounded St. Clair. "Take him to the station. I've already notified the proper authorities." Barnes looked around. "Stop by the station tomorrow and we'll take your statements."
"We will, Lieutenant," Steele assured the man, shaking the hand he offered. Once they were gone, Tony took charge of the agency gun and said he'd return it to the office on his way back to Jessica's. "She's going to want to know what happened, Steele," he said.
"Tell her whatever you like, Antony," Steele said, his eyes on Laura. "And keep the Rabbit for the night. We'll use the MG that I drove here in."
"Whatever you say." Tony left them, entwined in each other's arms.
Steele brought the watch out of his pocket and put it back on her wrist. "I shouldn't have left you alone this evening," he said. "When I think of what might have happened-"
She placed her finger to his lips. "Don't. Nothing happened. I'm fine, so are you. Let's go home, Mr. Steele." She smiled at him. "An MG?"
Once at the apartment, Laura applied an antiseptic to Remington's wound. "St Clair was right about one thing," he said. "I am out of practice. Before I became Remington Steele, I had to keep myself ready for things like that." He put his head back on the pillow. "Right now, I feel like I've run a long race and won just by the skin of my teeth."
"But you did win, Remington," she told him.
"Did I Laura? St. Clair's still alive- and if he escapes punishment-"
"He won't." He was nearly asleep, she realized. "Remington, what are you and Jessica up to?" she asked softly.
"A surprise," he murmured. "A surprise for the most wonderful woman I know."
Laura realized he wasn't going to say anything else, and settled down against him, watching him sleep. "Good night, Mr. Steele," she whispered.
"Good night, Mrs. Steele," he replied, smiling as she turned off the light beside him, plunging the room into darkness.