Author's Note: This is the next story in my AU series "Steele With a Twist", in which Remington Harrison Steele, former con man and jewel thief, turned *himself* into a famous PI in Los Angeles after discovering that his mentor, Daniel Chalmers had lied to him and was actually his long lost father. Along with his associates, Murphy Michaels and Laura Holt, and aided by the invaluable receptionist/office manager Mildred Krebs, Remington Steele Investigations solves crimes in Los Angeles and around the world. Remington and Laura, who knows Murphy from her brief time at Havenhurst, are "unofficially" engaged to be married, mostly due to Laura's fear of that institution and fear that a public relationship with her boss will affect how people see her as a private investigator.--Krebbie
Mildred Krebs was busy sorting the morning mail when she realized that Murphy Michaels had come from his office to glance toward the front doors that led into the offices of "Remington Steele Investigations".
"No sign of them yet?" he asked, frowning slightly.
"Not even a glimmer," Mildred confirmed. "They should be here shortly, though." She studied him for a moment. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Murphy replied, moving to look at the mail that Mildred had laid neatly on the edge of her desk.
"Come on, Mr. Michaels," the older woman admonished. "This is the sixth time you've come out here to see if Mr. Steele and Miss Holt were back yet."
"I don't know, Mildred," he said with a sigh. "The Becker case finished up two days ago."
"And they decided to spend the rest of the weekend in Las Vegas," Mildred finished with a nod. "What's so terrible about that?" she asked with a quiet laugh. "Considering how busy this place has been these last few weeks, I think they deserved a little time alone."
"You saw Laura in Vegas, Mildred. If Steele hadn't physically picked her up from that crap table, she would have lost every bit of the money we were supposed to be there to recover."
"But he *did* stop her," Mildred pointed out. "And everything turned out the way it should. That scumbag Becker is in jail for embezzlement, and his investors sent us a check for services rendered." She waved an envelope in front of him. "So why the glum face, chum?"
Murphy exhaled, lifting his hand to the back of his neck. "I don't know. I just have this feeling that it was a mistake to leave them alone there, that's all. Nothing I can pinpoint."
His words were punctuated by the sound of Laura Holt's laughter as she entered the office, followed closely by Remington Steele. Remington's blue eyes were filled with answering laughter as he nodded. "Mildred. Murphy."
Murphy made a point of looking at his wristwatch. "Running a bit late."
"Umm," Remington agreed, looking slightly apologetic. "Couldn't be helped."
"Our flight was detained," Laura explained. "A little old lady tried to stowaway on the plane."
"From Las Vegas to L.A.?" Mildred questioned doubtfully.
"Only one leg of a trip that was intended to take her ultimately to Hawaii," Remington explained. "Felt as if I were reliving a scene from 'Airport'," he said. "Burt Lancaster, Jacqueline Bisset, Dean Martin, Helen Hayes…"
"What happened to her?" Mildred wanted to know, cutting off his movie cite.
"She saved the airplane from a bomber and got a lifetime ticket," Remington explained. Seeing Mildred's shocked expression, he realized his mistake. "Helen Hayes, I mean. The little old lady who held us up today was very nearly taken into custody."
"You mean she wasn't?" Murphy asked, looking as surprised as Mildred had a moment ago.
"She would have been," Laura said, "if I hadn't convinced Harry to pay her fare."
Murphy lifted his eyes toward the ceiling as Mildred sighed. "You did that, Chief?" she questioned.
Remington nodded. "She was attempting to reach her daughter in Honolulu," he explained. "Hadn't seen her grandchildren in five years."
"So Harry also paid for her ticket to Hawaii once we got to Los Angeles," Laura said.
"You're such an old softie, Boss," Mildred sighed.
"In the head, perhaps," Remington agreed with a touch of humor.
"I guess you kept Laura away from the tables this weekend, then," Murphy noted, "since you had the money to help that woman."
Laura's eyes narrowed as she looked at her old friend, but Remington responded. "As a matter of fact, I gave her a few pointers. She did rather well, if truth be told." His eyes found hers, and Murphy found himself studying the two of them. "Of course, it remains to be seen whether or not the last wager we made pays off."
"I think it will," Laura replied, smiling at up at him.
"Hmm. Yes. Well," Remington said, clearing his throat and tugging at his ear. He turned to look at Mildred, who handed him the mail out of habit. "What's on the calendar for today, Mildred?"
"You have a ten o'clock with Harlan Dexter," she told him.
Remington glanced at his own watch. "Ten minutes. If you would bring Mr. Dexter's file into my office?" he asked, turning toward the room.
Mildred went to the file cabinets and opened one to pull out a file. "Oh, Miss Holt," she said as she turned around, before Murphy could find something to say to Laura. "You had several messages - " she picked up a pile of slips and gave them to Laura before heading into the boss' office.
Laura glanced at the messages and groaned, causing Murphy to look at her. "Bad news?"
"My mother," she replied with a sour expression. "She wants to come for a visit. Excuse me, Murphy. I need to call her back and try to head her off at the pass," she declared, disappearing into her own office and closing the door.
In Remington's office, Mildred put the Dexter file on his desk, where he was already looking through the morning newspaper that she'd placed there. "The weekend must have done you good, Boss," she commented. He looked at her with a curious expression. "You look more relaxed than you did before."
"An illusion, Mildred, I assure you," was his comment. "Would you be a dear and get me a cup of tea?"
"Right away," she said, heading toward the door. Halfway there, she told him, "You might be interested to know that Miss Holt's mother is thinking about coming for a visit."
Remington waited until the door closed behind her, and then went to the door that connected his office to Laura's. He tapped once, and then opened it. "Laura-" he fell silent as she lifted her hand in warning. She was sitting on the edge of her desk, the telephone to her ear.
"Mother, I don't care if you had a dream that I was in trouble," Laura was saying into the receiver. "*I'm* telling you that I'm fine." She gave Remington a strained smile. "Never been better, in fact . . . Where was I all weekend? . . . We were in Las Vegas . . . On a case . . . Well, me, Murphy, Mildred- Of course he was there. He owns the agency for goodness sake." She sighed. "There's no reason for you to come out here, Mother," she said, and Remington thought that she looked a bit like a deer caught in headlights.
Remington held out his hand, offering to take over. "Perhaps I can help?" he suggested softly.
Laura's eyes narrowed as she looked up at him, as if she were uncertain of his intent.
He placed a hand to his chest, over his heart. "You have my word that I only want to help."
Without another word, Laura gave him the phone, but kept a close eye on him as he began to speak.
"Hello, Abigail . . . yes . . . Well, I happened into Laura's office for a conference and overheard part of the conversation . . . Yes, she's perfectly fine . . . Would I lie to you, Abigail?" he asked, his tone dripping with the charm that he knew from past experience would calm the woman. "Even if you were to come out here, I'm afraid that Laura's schedule wouldn't allow her to spend much time with you. We're very busy at the moment . . . Yes, well, the usual. Murder, mayhem, the odd extortion case . . ." he grinned at Laura. "Oh, - next month, perhaps?" he suggested. "We might be less busy by then . . . Oh, that's right. I'd forgotten about that trip to Europe that you've been planning," he said, giving Laura a warning look as she giggled, fully aware that he hadn't forgotten a thing. "Well, we'll see you when you return, then . . . Enjoy yourself . . . Give Daniel my regards," he leaned toward the telephone on the desk. "I will, Abigail . . . Yes . . . Good bye." Hanging up the phone, he saw Laura sag with relief before she launched herself into his arms.
"Thank you!" she declared. "I should have just had you call her to begin with. That charm of yours works every time."
Remington returned her smile, sliding his arms around her waist to pull her closer still. "I seem to have that effect on the Holt women," he murmured. "As much as I don't mind your mother's visits, I don't know that I’m quite ready to face her after the events of this past weekend."
Laura looked uncertain. "You regret it, don't you?"
He looked at her. "Never," he assured her, lowering his lips toward hers as there was a knock on the door. Sighing, he whispered, "Later," and the reluctantly released her to slip back through to his own office, closing the door behind him as he heard Mildred's voice at Laura's door.
"Is Mr. Steele in here?" she was asking.
Remington looked up to find Harlan Dexter sitting in a chair before the desk with his usual air of impatience. "Ah, Mr. Dexter," he said, moving to shake the man's hand. "Forgive me. I was - in conference with - an associate." Going behind his desk, he sat down, not surprised to find the promised cup of tea sitting there, waiting for him. "I think you'll be pleased with what we discovered . . ."
****
Remington came from the kitchen as the door buzzer went off. Laura was due any moment, and as he opened the door, he said, "You could have let yourself in," only to fall silent as he saw the man standing in the doorway.
"I didn't think it was a good idea," the man responded. He was short, with a fringe of dark and gray hair around a baldhead. His green eyes were filled with a strange mix of humor and concern.
"Forgive me," Remington said. "I was expecting someone else."
The man gave him a rueful smile. "I figured as much. Can we talk, Mr. Steele? I need your help."
"I don't usually see new clients after office hours," Remington began. "Perhaps if you made an appointment for tomorrow morning-" he suggested, starting to close the door.
"Tomorrow morning might be too late," the man said. "Racine Douglas might be dead by then."
Mention of the famous actress caused Remington to pause. "Racine Douglas?"
The man pulled a card from his jacket pocket and held it out. "I'm her agent. Howard Forrester. I’m also her friend." Howard looked up and down the shadowed hallway. "May I come in, Mr. Steele?"
"Please," Remington said, stepping back to allow him to enter the apartment before he closed the door.
Howard stood in the entryway, examining the décor, sniffing the air. "I think something's burning," he noted, nodding toward the kitchen.
"Oh, my," Remington groaned, moving swiftly in that direction. "Excuse me."
He entered the kitchen and winced as he saw the pan boiling over on the stove. He grabbed the handle with one hand and lifted the pot as he lowered the burner with the other. After a quick check on the remainder of the meal, he lowered the controls on everything and then returned to the living room, where Howard Forrester was standing at the window that overlooked the terrace.
"Sorry," he apologized. "Would you- care for a drink?"
"Thanks. Bourbon," Howard chose. "Nice view," he said as Remington poured two drinks.
"You mentioned Racine Douglas?" Remington prompted, giving Howard his drink. "Is she in some sort of trouble?"
"Someone's stalking her, Mr. Steele," Howard said baldly.
"Have you been to the police?"
"Racine won't hear of it. She's terrified of the bad press. You know everything she's gone through this last year, Mr. Steele, I'm sure. The ugly divorce from Ian Devlin, the implications that while she plays a romantic leading lady she's an ice maiden in real life." Remington nodded, recalling having read the rumors. "Reporters have made her life hell. Then last month, she started getting letters from someone. Some nut."
"Letters?" Remington questioned, and watched as Howard drew some papers from an inside coat pocket and held them out. Taking them, Remington unfolded them.
"I warn you, they're a bit- strange."
After skimming through several of the missives, all neatly typed, all signed, "I'll see you soon, Your Biggest Fan", Remington found himself agreeing with Howard's assessment. The common thread of all of the letters was that the writer believed that he was the only one who could bring Racine back to "life" and make her a "whole woman" again. The majority of the letters were very colourful descriptions of precisely how he intended to accomplish his task.
"I warned you," Howard said as Remington finished reading.
"You've no idea who he might be?"
"None. But Racine's convinced that he's serious- and a threat to her life."
"So why come to me?" Remington asked.
"I managed to convince Racine that a private investigator would be perfect for this. Someone who could investigate quietly and provide security as well."
"Security?"
"She's terrified, Mr. Steele. She refuses to leave her house unless someone she trusts is with her. I'd do it, but I have other clients who need my attention. It wouldn't be hard for people to believe that someone such as yourself who's been seen around LA with attractive women would be seeing Racine Douglas. She told me that she thought she'd feel safe with you around, Mr. Steele. And your associates are very good at what they do - I've done some research," he confessed.
"So it would appear," Remington said as the front door opened to admit Laura, carrying a bottle of wine.
"Sorry I'm late," she was saying. "I-" She fell silent as she realized that they weren't alone.
Remington moved to take the bottle from Laura's hand. "Uh, Laura Holt, Howard Forrester."
"Miss Holt," Howard said, extending a hand. "I'm very impressed with your work."
"My work?" Laura questioned, looking at Remington as she shook Howard's hand.
"Um, yes. Howard wants to hire the agency to provide security for his client. He's Racine Douglas' agent."
Laura's eyes widened. "*The* Racine Douglas?" she asked.
"Is there another one?" Howard asked with a smile. "Considering how much trouble this one can be, I hope not," he confided, still smiling.
"What kind of security do you need for her?" Laura wanted to know. "And- wouldn't you usually hire a regular security company?" she wondered, looking at Remington.
"Discretion, Miss Holt," Howard explained. "Something that I believe Remington Steele Investigations is well-known for."
"Our watchword," Remington agreed, his mind working a mile a minute. He didn't want this conversation to go any further until he'd had a chance to talk to Laura. To let her know precisely what Racine Douglas was asking of the agency- and of him. "Why don't I call you tomorrow morning, Howard?" he suggested, hoping that the man would give him the time he needed. But it wasn't to be, he realized.
"I'm afraid that I need a decision tonight, Mr. Steele. Racine's supposed to appear at a charity gathering at nine this evening- she's refused to go unless you're there."
Remington felt Laura's eyes on his face, and managed a smile. "Tonight?"
Howard looked apologetic. "I realize that you and Miss Holt had plans for the evening - "
"Plans?" Laura questioned, and laughed. "Work, Mr. Forrester. We were going to discuss some cases - "
"I wasn't sure. There are rumors that -"
"Now, Howard," Remington interrupted him to say smoothly, "you of all people know how misleading rumors can be."
"You're right, Mr. Steele." He gave Laura an apologetic smile before looking at Remington again. "So. Will you do it? Provide personal security for Racine while your associates investigate those letters and find whoever's stalking her?"
"Stalking?" Laura repeated. "She's being stalked?"
"Mr. Steele has the letters," Howard said, and then pulled some envelopes, wrapped securely in a plastic bag, from his pocket. "Here are the envelopes. There's no return address, and they were all mailed from different post offices."
Laura took them, examining them through the protective plastic. "Fingerprints?"
Howard winced. "The only people who have handled them are Racine's secretary and myself." He looked at Remington again. "Well, Mr. Steele?" Remington looked at Laura, only to hear Howard ask, "Do you need to discuss it with Miss Holt? I'll understand-"
"No," Remington said quickly. "We'll take the case."
Howard exhaled loudly. "Thank you, Mr. Steele. Racine's limo will pick you up here at eight thirty. Fancy dress. I hope your tux is pressed."
"Always," Remington assured him, walking him to the door. "Miss Holt and my other associate Murphy Michaels will be in touch with you tomorrow to gather details."
Howard smiled back at Laura. "It might be easier if your associate Murphy Michaels meets me at my gym tomorrow at one," he suggested. "My work is my life, Mr. Steele," he explained. "My only pleasure in life is a regular workout at Tony's Gym on Hilldale. A chance meeting there between myself and an- old friend won't draw much attention."
"I'll see that he's there," Remington promised, holding the door open.
Laura watched as Remington closed the door behind Howard Forrester. When Remington turned to look at her, Laura grabbed the bottle of wine and started toward the kitchen. "I'll just put this in the fridge," she said.
Remington hurried to catch up to her. "Laura, Laura, wait-" He grabbed her arm, stopping her. "You're upset."
"Upset? Why should I be upset?" she wanted to know, shrugging his hand off of her arm and continuing on to the kitchen.
"It doesn’t bother you at all that I’m going to be forced to spend quite a bit of time with a woman that was once called the 'sexiest woman in America'?" he asked as she turned toward the stove to inspect the food that he'd been preparing until Howard Forrester's arrival.
Laura lifted the lid of a pan, and then put it back down slowly before turning to look at him. "Should I be bothered? I mean, yes, she's blonde, petite, blue eyed, - gorgeous," Laura admitted, moving closer to him. "But it's just work, isn't it? It won't - mean anything?"
Remington saw the worry in her brown eyes as he stood there, looking down at her. "No." Do you want to know why?" Laura nodded, and he lifted a hand to touch her hair. "Because I happen to be totally, completely over the moon about a certain chestnut haired, brown eyed vixen who stole my heart the very first moment I saw her."
"We discussed this, remember?" she said. "That we might have to do something like this. Part of the job."
"Doesn't mean either of us has to like it," he told her, bringing her close to him for a long kiss. "Be here waiting when I get home?" he asked, his forehead resting against hers.
"I'll be here," Laura told him, lifting her face to look at him. She straightened the collar of his shirt. "Now, Harry, you'd better start getting ready for your date."
"It's not a date," Remington reminded her as he turned and left the kitchen. "It's a business appointment."
"Let's just hope Racine Douglas understands that," Laura muttered to herself as she set about salvaging dinner.
***
Remington got into the stretch limousine, smiling uncertainly at the chauffer, a tall, dark haired young man with the look of the Mediterranean about him. Racine Douglas was already there, looking like a porcelain doll in her trademark strapless dark blue satin gown.
"Mr. Steele," she said, sounding terribly grateful for his presence.
"Miss Douglas. It's a pleasure," he assured her, lifting her blue-gloved hand to his lips.
She smiled, revealing even white teeth that no doubt owed a great deal to her dentist's expertise. "It might be better if you call me Racine, Mr. Steele."
"And I'm Remington," he returned.
"I can't tell you how relieved I was when Howie called and told me that you'd agreed to help me," she said in her soft voice that forced Remington to dip his head closer to hear clearly. "I've been so frightened."
A wave of compassion swept over Remington and he lifted his arm around her shoulders. "There, there, Miss - Racine. Just leave everything to my associates and me. We'll take care of everything."
****
Laura turned off the television and glanced at the clock again. It was nearly midnight, and still no sign of Harry. She went to the door of the terrace and slid it open to go outside. Moving to the edge, she peered down to the street below, looking for the white stretch limo that had taken him away earlier. After a moment, she felt chilled by the stiff breeze and wrapped her arms around herself before going back inside.
****
Jack brought the limo to a halt before the front door of Racine's Malibu home, then got out and opened the door. Ever the gentleman, Remington got out and assisted Racine from the vehicle, intending to walk her to the front door.
"You can go, Jack," she told the chauffer, who tipped his hat and moved back toward the limo.
"Wait a moment," Remington said, and watched as Jack came to a halt. "How am I going to get home?" he asked Racine.
Her blue eyes were wide. "Didn't Howie explain that I need constant security?" she questioned.
"I'm afraid that Howard didn't mention that," Remington explained.
"Then you should come inside and call him," she suggested, leading him toward the front door and giving him the key to unlock it. "Wait a few minutes, please, Jack," she told the chauffer.
Remington took the key and opened the door, allowing her to enter before him, and then closing the door. Holding out the key, he said, "Yours, I believe."
"Keep it," she said. "You might need it."
He pocketed the key, and then followed her into what appeared to be a living room, where she turned on a light beside the sofa, nodding toward a well-stocked bar against the far wall. "Help yourself to a drink. The telephone is over there." She pointed to the telephone nearby. Removing the diamond teardrop earrings from her ears, she told him, "I'm going to take these into the bedroom to the safe," and left the room.
Remington took a deep breath as he picked up the telephone with the intent to call Howard Forrester. But he realized belatedly that he didn't know the man's number, having left his business card with Laura. Hanging up the phone, he decided to wait until Racine returned and get the number from her. Moving toward the glass windows that overlooked the garden and beach, Remington waited. He would wait until he'd spoken with Howard before he called Laura, however. It wasn't a call that he was looking forward to making.
From the direction in which Racine had gone, Remington heard her voice. "Remington?"
He reacted automatically to the fear in her voice, and followed it to an elegantly appointed bedroom that was illuminated only by a light beside the bed. "What's wrong?" he asked, trying to see around her where she stood at the end of that bed. She looked frightened by something, and Remington moved to her side, where he saw the single red rose laying atop a white square on the satin comforter. "It's only a rose," he told her.
"I didn't put it there," she said. "It wasn't here before I left."
"Your housekeeper?" he suggested, moving closer to discover that the white square was an envelope addressed to Racine.
"She doesn’t live in," Racine explained as he moved the rose aside and used his handkerchief to lift the envelope by one corner. "She's been staying, but when Howie told me you'd agreed to help, I told her to go home to her family. Someone's been here, Remington. *He's* been here," she declared, and was suddenly in Remington's arms, causing Remington to drop the envelope back onto the bed.
Remington felt her body shaking, and instinctively placed his arms around her. "Would you like me to call the police?" he asked.
"No," she pleaded, looking up at him. "No police. "
"Your home has been violated, Racine."
"Can't you investigate it? Isn't that what you do?"
"Of course. I'll go take a look around," he told her, attempting to move away from her.
"No," she said, refusing to let him go. "Don't leave me. Please. Don't leave me."
Remington lifted his eyes toward the ceiling, silently hoping that Laura would understand…