Laura sat in the Rabbit, tapping impatiently on the steering wheel, watching Murphy talking to someone on the payphone. As he hung up, she sighed deeply and waited for him to return. "Now are you going to tell me what was so important that you had to stop and make a call?" Laura asked as he got back into the car.
"Just checking on a few things," Murphy replied. "Where to now?" he asked, obviously not intending to explain further.
She glanced at her watch. "Well, I suppose we could go on to your meeting with Howard Forrester."
"Where are we meeting again? Some kind of gym?" Murphy questioned. "Why not at his office?"
Laura started the Rabbit's engine before pulling out into traffic. "Tony's Gym on Hilldale," she answered. "And he thought it would easier to simply run into you in public rather than having people ask why Remington Steele's associates were in his office."
"We'd better stop by my place on the way, then," Murphy pointed out, indicating the slacks and tennis shirt that he was wearing. "I'll stick out like a sore thumb at a gym in these."
Laura nodded and made a right hand turn that would take her toward Murphy's condo.
***
While Racine was on camera for her interview with local talk-show host Jerry Morgan, Remington took the opportunity to call the office and check in with Mildred. "Any word from Laura and Murphy?" he asked once the receptionist had answered.
"Not really," Mildred said, and for a moment, Remington frowned at her non-committal reply.
"Mildred, either they called or they didn't."
"No, Chief, they haven't called in about the case. How's Miss Douglas today?" she asked.
"Still a bundle of nerves," Remington answered. He gave Racine a reassuring smile as she turned to look for him during a short break in taping. "I need you to find out what you can about Ian Devlin, Mildred."
"You don't think he's responsible, do you, Boss?" Mildred asked.
"I'm leaving no stone unturned," Remington noted. "Be discreet," he reminded her as Racine rose from her chair, signaling the end of the interview. "I have to go."
Racine moved toward him, sliding her arm through his with a proprietary air. Jerry Morgan followed close behind her. "Too bad you refused to join in the interview, Steele," he commented. "I'm sure my viewers would be interested in the fact that Racine Douglas and Remington Steele are an- item."
"I didn't want to intrude on Racine's interview," Remington reiterated. He'd never liked Jerry Morgan. The man's interview methods and reporting was just shy of tabloid journalism, in Remington's opinion. In fact, the two men had tangled several months ago over a report that Morgan had made about Laura, speculating on the reasons that she had gotten the job with Remington Steele Investigations.
"That's not like you, Steele," was Morgan's reply. "I've never known you to shun the spotlight. Not unless it's to protect that associate of yours. Bolt, wasn't it? Nora?"
Remington's eyes narrowed dangerously, but he managed a slow smile. Morgan knew Laura's name as well as his own. "Perhaps I've changed," Remington suggested in a soft tone. "Sometimes one doesn't like a relationship trumpeted to all and sundry." Giving Racine a smile, he said to her, "Shall we be going, Racine? I made a late luncheon reservation for us at Giannetti's."
"Whatever you say, Remy," Racine replied, allowing Remington to lead her out of the television station and to the waiting limo.
Remington sat back in the seat as Jack closed the door. "Thank goodness that's over," he sighed.
"Do you think it worked?" Racine asked.
He smiled at her words. "I'd wager that within an hour, the news that we're an 'item' as Morgan put it will be all over Los Angeles."
"You make it sound like a chore," Racine pouted prettily. "As if it were something distasteful."
Placing an arm around her shoulders, Remington laughed softly, speaking close to her ear. "As long as we both remember that it's only playacting, Racine," he said quietly so that Jack wouldn't hear the words through the privacy screen.
"I know," she told him with a regretful sigh before she looked up at him through her lashes. "But do you mind very much if I wish that it weren't?"
****
Murphy eyed the nearby building warily, watching as several men came and went through the glass doors that led into Tony's Gym. Glancing at Laura, he asked, "What are you going to be doing while I'm pumping iron?"
"I thought I'd drop by Forrester's office. It's right around the corner, so I'll leave the Rabbit parked here. That way, when you get finished, you won't have to stand around."
"Thoughtful of you," Murphy said, taking a deep breath before opening the door. "Well, here goes nothing," he said.
Laura surveyed his tanned legs beneath the gym shorts he's changed into as he grabbed his gym bag out of the back seat. "Look at it this way, Murph," she said with a playful grin, "you might get lucky."
He gave her an angry glare before turning to walk down the street toward the Gym's entrance. Laura laughed and got out of the car to walk in the other direction, halfway expecting to meet Howard Forrester en route to his meeting with Murphy.
But her path went without challenge, and she opened the wooden and glass door of the restored office building with a spring in her step. Maybe she wouldn't have to explain why she was here after all.
Laura wandered the building, familiarizing herself with the names of the other offices in the old building. At last she found herself before a door with the words "Howard Forrester Talent Management" painted on the frosted glass, and Laura didn't bother to knock before turning the knob and entering. A middle-aged woman looked up from the desk. "May I help you?" she asked.
Laura smiled brightly. "I'm just finding my way around the building," she explained, holding out a hand. "Tracy Lord. New receptionist for Jarmon, Hancock and Flynn on the third floor," she explained, using the name of a law firm she had seen during her tour.
The older woman looked uncertain as she shook Laura's hand. "I didn't know they were looking for a new receptionist. What happened to Delores?"
"Oh, an illness in the family," Laura said quickly. "A *sudden* illness. I'm a temp, really. But I like knowing who else is working around me," Laura confided, looking around the office at the photographs on the walls. Pretending interest in one, she moved toward it. "Wow. Mr. Forrester represents Phillip Jordan? I saw him in a play a couple of weeks ago." She shook her hand. "He's really *hot*," Laura declared, only half play-acting. She and Harry had indeed gone to one of Jordan's plays. The only problem was that she'd thought Jordan had a tendency to overact.
"I suppose he is," the woman replied, watching Laura carefully.
Laura glanced at her. "I didn't catch your name."
"I didn't give it," the woman replied. "But I'm Mabel. Mabel Garrett."
Laura continued down the line of photographs. "Is he going to do another picture anytime soon?" she asked about a well-known character actor. "I think he's so underused. He's so much more talented than most big stars he works with."
"There might be something coming along soon," Mabel confided, beginning to smile at Laura's 'star-struck' act.
Laura gasped when she got to Racine Douglas' photograph. "Oh, my. Her too? She's my favorite star," Laura gushed. "I felt so sorry for her during that awful divorce." Laura moved toward the desk. "I mean, Ian Devlin might be to die for, but really, they were such a lovely couple. And for him to cheat on her like that . . . You think Mr. Forrester could get me an autograph?" Laura questioned eagerly.
Mabel's smile was a little tight, Laura thought. "I'll see what I can do. Howard- Mr. Forrester spends quite a bit of time with Miss Douglas."
"It must be wonderful, working in a place like this," Laura sighed. "How long have you worked for Mr. Forrester?" she asked.
"Ever since he opened the office," Mabel told her, then looked around before continuing in a confidential tone. "I'm his mother."
***
Murphy entered the gym and went to the desk, where a dark haired man stood, his green eyes vaguely assessing. "Can I help you? This is a private gym. And I don't think I've seen you here before." He smiled. "Believe me, I'd remember."
"Yeah, well, no. I was in the area and needed to work out. Someone recommended this place. What's the charge?" Murphy asked, his feeling of discomfort growing as the man continued to look at him.
"First hour's free, since you're new here. After that, it's fifty bucks and hour. A hundred if you need a personal trainer." He stretched to look over the counter at Murphy's legs. "I've got a free hour, if you want to try that out."
"No, thank you anyway. I just want to pump some iron," Murphy told the man.
"Through those doors. If you change your mind, just ask for Pete," he said with a look of regret.
Murphy gave Pete a nervous smile, and then went through the swinging doors in the gym. Almost immediately, he noticed something wasn't quite right. Most of the gyms that he went to were co-ed. Women and men would be equally mixed while working out on the various machines. But, from Murphy's point of view, there wasn't one woman in sight.
And several of the men were watching him with the same look that he'd seen a moment ago on Pete's face. With a growing feeling of discomfort, Murphy merely nodded and smiled at those closest to him as he moved toward a weight bench that had just come open. He dropped his gym bag beside it and moved to adjust the weights.
Before he was able to sit down, he heard a voice and looked up to see the face of the man who's picture Laura had showed him from an old movie magazine from around the time of Racine Douglas' divorce. Howard Forrester moved toward him. "Johnny!" Forrester said with a delighted smile. Murphy was momentarily relieved. He came forward, still smiling, and Murphy thought he saw several of the other men give each other pained looks before looking away. Murphy endured an embrace as Forrester continued. "How long's it been?" he asked, and then answered. "Two years. Since that film in Montana, right?"
"Sounds about right," Murphy replied, trying not to be uncomfortable when Forrester slipped an arm around his shoulders.
"Why didn't you call and let me know you were in town?" Forrester asked.
"I just got in," Murphy told him. "I was gonna call later-"
"Well, it's a good thing we ran into each other, isn't it? Tell you what, I was about to head toward the steam room," Forrester explained, gently steering Murphy away from the weight bench. Murphy quickly retrieved his gym bag. "Why don't you join me?"
Without any choice, Murphy smiled. "Sounds good to me."
Forrester smiled and laughed, his arm still around Murphy's shoulders as they headed toward the doors across the room.
With others - all still men, Murphy couldn't help but note - milling about, Murphy wasn't able to say anything until the door of the steam room's dressing area closed behind them. Forrester began to disrobe, and Murphy swallowed nervously, looking everywhere around the small room but at the other man. "Mr. Forrester -"
"Don't be shy, Mr. Michaels," Forrester insisted, and Murphy was relieved when he saw a white towel wrapped around the man's lean midsection. "It's a private steam room. I always reserve it after a workout." He moved to the door that led to the steam room itself and set some controls. "Come on. You can't get a good steam bath wearing all those clothes."
"I'm not here for a steam bath, Mr. Forrester," Murphy reminded him. "I'm here to-"
Forrester gave Murphy a smile that was likely designed to put him at ease, but only ratcheted the unease up a full notch. "I'm aware of why you're here, Mr. Michaels. But sometimes the attendant comes in to make sure things are all right, that we don't need more towels or - anything. How would it look if he came in and found you still fully clothed?" Grabbing a towel from the rack, Forrester tossed it at Murphy, who caught it easily. "I'll wait in the steam room," Forrester announced opening the door and disappearing into the white mist through it.
Murphy glanced down at the towel in his hand, and then slowly began to remove his clothes; silently promising that Steele was going to pay for this one.
****
Laura returned to the Rabbit, her face flushed with success. "You'll never guess what I found out," she told the waiting Murphy, not seeing his sullen expression. "The typewriter in Forrester's office is an IBM Selectric, just like Johnston said it would be," she told him, referring to the expert that Harry kept on retainer for such things. "I wasn't able to get a sample or inspect the type ball, though. We'll have to find some way to do that. Oh, and Forrester's mother is his receptionist. She's the one who reads most of the fan mail that's sent to the stars that Howard Forrester represents. And she doesn't like Racine Douglas at all. I think she's jealous of her son paying so much attention to another woman," Laura confided.
"Really?" Murphy questioned, not interested in her report. "Probably doesn't realize that her son's not interested in girls," he muttered as Laura put the key into the ignition to start the car.
"What was that?" she asked.
"Nothing. Just a little something I need to discuss with Steele," Murphy explained grimly.
"How'd it go?" Laura questioned. "Did Forrester have any ideas about who this mysterious stalker might be?"
"He suggested that it might be Racine's ex husband," Murphy said evenly.
Laura's eyes widened before she merged the car into traffic. "Ian Devlin? I think that's a stretch, don't you? I mean, *he* divorced *her*. *After* he had a torrid affair with that Spanish actress. After talking to his mother, I'm more certain than ever that Howard Forrester's our stalker."
Murphy sat back in the seat, shaking his head. "Believe me, Laura, he's not." He ignored Laura's confused frown. "Let's just get back to the office, okay?"
She looked disappointed. "I thought we were going to talk to Ian Devlin this afternoon?"
"Why don't you go talk to him?" Murphy suggested. "I have some things I need to check into at the office. You can drop me off on the way."
"Whatever you say," Laura agreed after giving Murphy a long look. "That is, if you think I'll be safe with Ian Devlin. He might be a total louse when it comes to how he treats women, but he's still damn good looking. Don't you think so?"
Murphy's response was immediate. "I've never really noticed. I don't go around noticing how good-looking other men are, Laura. Now, ask me about Racine Douglas or -"
Laura laughed. "I get the picture. But he is good looking," she repeated. "Tall, dark, blue eyed . . . " her voice trailed off as she sighed deeply.
"Be careful that you don't make Steele jealous," Murphy said. "Steele looks a bit like Devlin."
Laura grinned as though that thought had never crossed her mind. "You think so? Now why would I want to make Harry jealous, Murphy?" she questioned, but Murphy could see the look in her eyes.
"Laura, I was only kidding," he told her as she brought the Rabbit to a stop before Century City's twin towers. "Don't do something you'll regret."
Laura didn't respond, and Murphy rested his hands on the side of the car as he looked at her. "Laura, promise me you'll behave. Steele's on a case, remember? He has to spend time with Racine Douglas."
"Sauce for the goose," Laura said, putting the car into gear and speeding away, forcing Murphy to release the car and step back.
He watched it disappear into traffic, trying to shake off the feeling of impending disaster, before turning and entering the building behind him.
***
Mildred looked up as he entered the office. Seeing that he was alone, she frowned. "Where's Miss Holt?" she asked.
"Going to talk to Ian Devlin," Murphy supplied, carrying his gym bag into his office. Mildred followed him.
"Lucky her," Mildred sighed.
"Maybe. I'm worried that she might try and make Steele jealous," Murphy indicated.
"With Ian Devlin?" Mildred asked, eyes wide. "Oooo. Considering that the Boss doesn't think Devlin's talented *or* good-looking, that could be -" she seemed to notice that Murphy wasn't smiling and changed the subject, taking note of the gym bag that he'd tossed into a corner. "How did the meeting with Howard Forrester go?" she wanted to know.
"Oh, just- fine. Nothing new. Except that Forrester thinks that Devlin might have something to do with those letters."
Mildred frowned. "Is something wrong, Murphy?" she asked in her mothering voice that she used whenever she felt that she was needed in that capacity. "You don't seem like yourself."
He managed a grin. "I'm fine, Mildred," he quickly reassured her. This was between himself and Steele. No sense in getting others involved. "Did you have a chance to make those calls that I asked you to make?"
The older woman smiled. "Oh, yeah. And you're not gonna *believe* what I found out."
***
Laura hovered on the edge of the movie set, watching as the tall, dark haired man rehearsed an intimate dinner scene with his current co-star. Moving as though she belonged, a clipboard clasped to her chest, make shift name badge pinned to her shirt, her hair gathered loosely atop her head and thick rimmed glasses perched upon her nose, Laura wondered where she might be able to waylay Ian Devlin and speak to him alone. Glancing around, she spotted the dressing rooms, and leisurely moved toward them.
There, in black lettering, the nameplate read "Ian Devlin". While everyone else was focused on the intense love scene being played out on the soundstage, Laura slipped quickly and silently through that door and into Ian Devlin's dressing room.
There, she did a cursory search of the small space, trying her best not to disturb anything, before she heard the doorknob rattle and saw the door open. Thinking quickly, Laura leapt behind a rack of costumes.
She heard Ian Devlin's smooth English voice. "I refuse to keep working with that woman," he was saying. "If she continues at her current pace, there won't be any scenery left!"
"Ian-" another male voice responded, obviously attempting to calm the actor.
"Don't," Ian warned. "I want you go to that director and tell him that until that little-"
Laura managed to find a peephole that revealed a very angry Ian Devlin speaking to another man as the other man gasped. "Ian, really."
"As long as she continues to overact as she's doing," Ian finished, "I refuse to go back out onto that set."
"I'll see what I can do, Ian," the other man said, leaving the dressing room as Ian sat down before the mirror to examine his makeup.
He leaned forward, and Laura found her gaze meeting the reflection of his blue ones in the mirror. Slowly, Ian Devlin turned and came over to roll the rack of costumes away from Laura. "Well, well. What have we here?" he questioned.
Laura hoped that she didn't look as nervous as she felt. Her mouth was as dry as the Sahara, and she wasn't able to utter a word as Ian extended a hand to indicate that she should have a seat on the sofa against the far wall. Laura moved across the room on stiff legs until she could sit where he indicated, perching on the edge of the sofa, her mission temporarily forgotten.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, moving to sit beside her, his hand resting on the back of the sofa. He reached out with his other hand to touch the name badge that hung just above the swell of her left breast. "Laura Dalton. Directing intern," he read before that electric blue gaze lifted to her face again. "I don't recall seeing you on the set before."
"I-" Laura swallowed, took a deep breath. "I just started today. I'm really a huge fan of yours, Mr. Devlin. Just the idea of being on the same soundstage with you is - "
"Breathtaking?" Ian suggested. "But that still doesn't explain why you're here, in my dressing room," he noted.
"I wanted a chance to speak to you," Laura said. "Alone."
"To get an autograph?" Ian asked, and Laura felt her chest tighten with fear and uncertainty as he moved closer. He gently removed her glasses, placing them on a nearby table. "Or something more?" he finished, his lips now hovering close to hers.
Suddenly Laura wasn't so sure about going through with her plan to make Harry jealous. Yes, Ian Devlin was tall, dark and handsome, with blue eyes that most women would die for. Hell, he even had an English accent. But he was a pale reflection of Remington Harrison Steele. The burst of uncertainty sent Laura to her feet, putting the width of the room between herself and the actor.
Ian's surprise at her action turned into a predatory smile, rather like that of a panther, sizing up his prey as he sat there looking at her. Laura realized belatedly that he liked the pursuit, and knew that she had made a major strategic error. "I'm here to - to find out what makes Ian Devlin the man he is," Laura explained. "I'm not really a directing intern," she confessed.
"A reporter?" he asked, and Laura nearly denied his accusation, until she recalled that he had never been one to shun the press, especially tabloid press. He seemed to thrive on being in the limelight- even when that light wasn't especially flattering.
Laura shrugged, pretending to relax. "After a fashion. I'm a writer. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about your- ex-wife. Racine Douglas. I'm working on a tell-all bio of her."
"And you came to me because?"
"She won't talk to me about your marriage. I thought you might have some things that haven't been published that you might like to share," Laura suggested with a hopeful smile. "Things that would make sure the book sold."
Ian returned that smile, patting the sofa at his side. "I'll be more than glad to tell you whatever you want to know, Ms. Dalton. Now come and sit down."
***
"What I don't understand is why they didn't tell us about it," Mildred said to Murphy as they discussed what she'd found out as a result of his earlier call to her. They were in the reception area, Mildred at her desk, Murphy sitting on the far edge as they talked.
"I'm sure they had their reasons, Mildred," was Murphy's thoughtful response. "Not a word to either of them until they mention it, okay?" Seeing the older woman's disappointment, he gave her a look that he hoped told her that he was serious. "Okay?" he asked again.
Mildred frowned. "Okay. My lips are sealed. I won't say a word-" she looked past him to where Remington was entering the office. "Mr. Steele."
Murphy rose slowly and turned around to face his employer and friend. "Steele."
Remington paused momentarily, taking in Mildred's strangely expectant- and somehow disappointed expression, and Murphy's slightly belligerent air. Then he smiled. "Thought I'd pop in to see how things were going."
"Ms. Douglas isn't with you?" Mildred questioned, sounding only slightly disappointed.
"Her housekeeper is with her at the moment. Do you have that information on Ian Devlin?"
Mildred held out a sheet of paper. "He's a real nice guy. Publicly anyway," she added with a slight sneer. "I'm not sure I'm ever going to be able to watch his movies the same way again now, Boss," she sighed regretfully.
"One of the hazards of the business, Mildred," Remington nodded, glancing over the list of affairs and alleged affairs that she had given him. "Finding out more than we want to know about people. Tends to jade one's outlook, I'm afraid." Picking up the stack of message slips from her desk, he absently flipped through them without looking up. "How did your meeting with Howard go, Murphy?" There was one from Daniel that he would return later.
"Why don't we discuss it in your office, Steele?" Murphy suggested before turning and going through the doorway without waiting for an answer.
Remington took note of Mildred's surprised face, and leaned close to her. "Where's Laura, Mildred?" he asked in a quiet voice, hoping to have Laura join he and Murphy with a view to blunting some of Murphy's anger.
Mildred grimaced apologetically. "She's not here."
Frowning, Remington asked, "Where is she?"
"I think Mr. Michaels said something about her going to talk to Ian Devlin."
At the realization that Laura was with that Lothario, Remington turned on his heel and joined Murphy.
"Look, Steele," Murphy began, but Remington brushed his words aside.
"You let Laura go to see Ian Devlin alone?"
"You know Laura," Murphy replied. "Once she gets her mind wrapped around a case, there's no stopping her. I had some things to take care of here, and she didn't want to postpone meeting him." Murphy's grin seemed to be forced. "Said something about 'sauce for the goose' or something like that."
"Bloody hell," Remington sighed, sitting heavily in the conference area armchair. "I knew she was upset but I never thought she would - "
Murphy cut him off. "Laura's a big girl, Steele. She can take care of herself." He sat down on the sofa. "About the meeting with Forrester," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, "I think we can cross him off our list of suspects."
Remington's eyes met Murphy's, seeing the knowledge- and the anger in them. "You're right. I'm sorry, Murphy."
"You could have warned me," Murphy said.
"I would have if I'd known - but I didn't find out until your meeting was supposed to start. If I'd had any way to contact you, to give you a heads up about what you might be walking in to . . . " He paused, wincing. "Was it very bad?"
"Bad enough," Murphy said shortly, and then sighed as he sat back. "I've been through worse. Remember the Clarkson case a few years ago? When I had to go undercover as a bum for a week?" he asked with a reflective grin.
Remington smiled slightly at the memory of a grungy Murphy, wearing filthy, torn clothing, with a week's worth of bead on his face. "I remember."
"You know, just once I'd like to be the one to escort the movie star instead of pretending to be her agent's potential boyfriend."
"It's a deal," Remington agreed, holding out his hand. "Now, what did you find out from Howard Forrester during your ordeal?"
"Just that he seems to think that Devlin might have something to do with the notes. Laura went to Forrester's office and spoke with his receptionist- who just happens to be his mother- and discovered that the woman doesn't like Racine in the least. She also discovered that Forrester uses the same kind of typewriter that Johnston says was used."
"I can compare the letters with something that Forrester's sent to Racine," Remington nodded. "What else did Johnston say?"
"The paper is standard professional grade, no chance of tracing it. And there are a lot of those typewriters around. We're looking for one that has a ball that's missing the top serif on the lower case 'h' and the same one on the top of the small 'r'."
"Okay." Remington glanced at his watch. "I have to get back to Racine. I'm going to stop by the apartment and change- if Laura shows up, have her call me there. She and I need to talk," he declared, rising to his feet and heading toward the door.
"I imagine you do considering," Murphy began, and then stopped as though he'd changed his mind about what he was going to say.
"Considering what?" Remington questioned, pausing.
Murphy lifted his shoulders in a dismissive gesture. "Just everything that's happened. She'll be okay, Steele."
Remington gave a half smile. "I hope so. I'll leave Racine's number with Mildred in case you need to contact me with a lead."
"Sounds good."
****
Laura exited the elevator and moved toward Harry's apartment with a sigh of relief. After fending off an octopus, she needed a shower and a change of clothes before going back to the office. Since the apartment was closer than her house, she had decided to come here. Key in hand, Laura started to put it into the lock, and then stopped as her senses told her that something was wrong.
Carefully she withdrew the end of the key from the lock and inspected the edges of the door. There was nothing out of the ordinary, but Laura had learned to trust her instincts. The hair on the back of her neck was standing straight up- never a good sign. Laura stepped back, then went toward the end of the hallway, climbed out of the window and onto the fire escape.
***
At the other end of the hallway, the elevator doors opened to deliver Remington Steele onto the floor. He had fretted all the way back here about Laura being alone with Ian Devlin. From all that Racine had told him, Devlin was an unprincipled swine, with far more vices than virtues, who was perfectly capable of charming a woman into his clutches for less than savoury purposes.
Shaking his head, Remington chuckled as he took out his key. Murphy was right. Laura wasn't the kind of woman to fall into a man's bed that easily, he reminded himself. She was perfectly capable of fending off a man's unwanted advances.
That is, he amended as he paused, key poised to put into the lock, unless they weren't wholly unwanted. "Damn," he muttered, putting the key into the lock and turning it…