LAPD Homicide Detective Lt. James Jarvis watched from the sidewalk as the search continued in the rubble for any sign of life. When he'd first arrived on the scene, after hearing the call come in over his radio, he had removed his jacket and joined in the effort to shift chunks of concrete, brick and twisted metal. But a fireman had insisted that it was a job for professionals, and that they weren't yet sure that more explosions wouldn't occur, sending the frustrated policeman to the sidewalk.
Jarvis refused to accept that Steele or Laura Holt might have been killed in the explosion, and his gaze strayed to the middle aged man leaning on the hood of a car, also watching the hellish scene as it played out.
Howard Forester's arrival had confirmed the statement of the person who had called in the report of the explosion- that private detective Remington Steele had been in the building when it had happened. When questioned as to his involvement, Forester had simply stated that Steele had been seeing his client, Racine Douglas, and he was here as her agent, because she was upset and concerned about her friend.
Jarvis didn't buy it for a second, but he'd been more concerned about finding Steele and Laura to question the agent further. Now seemed as good a time as any, he decided, and made his way over to the other man. "Mr. Forester," he said with a nod.
"They still haven't found anything, have they, Lieutenant?" Forester asked.
"Not yet." Both men knew that the longer this went on, the slimmer the chances that either of them were uninjured or alive.
"How long has it been?" Forester asked, frowning as he glanced at his watch. "I know Steele left the premiere reception around nine-"
"And Miss Douglas' chauffer called in a report about the explosion at nine-fifteen," Jarvis finished. "It's been nearly six hours."
Howard Forester ran a hand over his tired features. "I suppose I should call Racine, let her know that there's no news-" he straightened as if to move off, but stopped as Jarvis spoke again.
"Uh, Mr. Forester, -" but Jarvis' question was forestalled by the approach of Harvey Bates, an explosives expert with the bomb squad.
"Lieutenant, I have a report for you now," Bates said.
"Took you long enough," Jarvis muttered. "What did you find?"
"It wasn't a gas explosion. The gas has been turned of in the place since sometime last year when the import company that owned it went bankrupt."
"So it *was* a bomb," Jarvis commented.
"More than one," Bates informed him, nodding toward the ruins. "From what I can tell, a series of bombs, set to go off in sequence. The way this place collapsed in on itself with little collateral damage- except for the car in the back alley- it was planned."
"You mean, like when they dynamite a high rise and it implodes?" Jarvis questioned.
"Yeah. Whoever did this knew what they were doing, Lieutenant."
"Thanks."
Howard Forester frowned. "Lt. Jarvis," he began, "I think its' time that I-"
Jarvis' attention was caught by something going on inside the building- or what was left of it, anyway. One of the firemen was holding up his hand, yelling for people to be quiet and listen. "Excuse me, Mr. Forester," he said, moving forward, climbing over debris to approach the fireman.
Jarvis paused, listening as well, as he thought he heard something.
A low-pitched "thud" repeated itself over and over, as if someone were hitting concrete against concrete. The fireman looked up at Jarvis. "You hear that?" he asked, needing confirmation from someone else.
"Yeah. Where's it coming *from* is the question," Jarvis said, remaining still, continuing to listen, trying to get his bearings.
"Over here!" another fireman called out from nearby, and grabbed at a chunk of concrete, tossing it aside.
Within moments, Jarvis found himself smiling from ear to ear as Laura Holt and Remington Steele were dug out of the rubble, having taken shelter in a wooden packing crate that had miraculously held up to the explosion's aftermath.
"Ah, Jimmy," Remington said as soon as he made sure Laura was free. "Nice to see a familiar face."
"Didn't think I'd let you disappear on me, did you, Steele?" Jarvis questioned, "I don't like unanswered questions," he added, falling back on the old jokes. Remington had never been certain how much the police detective knew about his background, and had always managed to evade Jarvis' questions on the subject. He took Laura's arm to help her out of the rubble. "Are you okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine," Laura told him, her dirt-streaked face still turned toward Remington. "I think he needs some help, though. His foot-"
"Nonsense," Remington insisted, straightening what was left of his dirty, torn tuxedo as he pulled himself to his feet. "See? Hardly a scratch." He might have pulled it off, if he hadn't tried to take a step and wasn't able to stop the wince of pain that darkened his handsome face. "On the other hand -"
"Paramedics!" Jarvis yelled as Laura's gaze found the white car sitting behind what remained of the building.
"My car!" she cried, seeing the holes in the fabric roof and the huge dent in the hood.
Remington managed to follow her gaze. "There, there, Laura," he said in a comforting tone, wincing slightly as the paramedic examined his foot and ankle. "I'm sure insurance will take care of it. In the meantime, we'll just have to - "
"What happened, Steele?" Jarvis asked, interrupting. "How did you two end up in a warehouse that someone decided to turn into a pile of rubble?"
Laura's worry about the Rabbit faded as she recalled the case. "We were trying to find a stalker," she told Jarvis.
"A case?" Jarvis asked, frowning at Remington. "Sounds more like something for the police, not Remington Steele."
Remington gave Laura a look of warning. "A- sensitive case, Jimmy," he said. "The client didn't want any of the publicity that would have come with police involvement."
"Obviously you found the stalker," Jarvis noted, indicating the debris surrounding them.
"Thanks to Laura," Remington said, and Laura smiled.
"I was only following your lead," she insisted.
"Ah, but your instincts lead you to the resolution," Remington replied.
The paramedic looked up. "I don't think it's broken," he said of the ankle, "but it needs to be x-rayed."
Jarvis ignored the man's words as he focused on Steele and Laura Holt. "I'm glad you two have this mutual admiration society, but I need some answers. The last thing this city needs is a crazy bomber out running around."
"I don't think he's going to go on a rampage," Remington assured Jarvis. "This was directly wholly at Laura and me. Sinc he no doubt believes that he was successful, I wouldn't worry too much more about it."
"You don't have to answer to my bosses," Jarvis told him. "Now what's the story on this stalker?"
"The guy's crazy, Jarvis," Laura said. "He has this room in his basement with pictures of his obsession lining the walls. He's got it set up with these doors that won't open from the inside, and there's a secret passageway into the basement- " her eyes widened. "Murphy! He was there when we left the basement- he'd fallen down the stairs." She looked at Remington. "We have to find some way in there to save him."
"We will," Remington said as the paramedics assisted him over the bricks and onto the sidewalk, where Howard Forester met them with a look of relief on his face.
"Thank goodness you and Miss Holt are okay, Mr. Steele."
Remington looked at Howard as the paramedic opened the back door of the ambulance. "Howard?" He looked around. "What are you doing here?"
"When Jack came back and told us what happened, Racine insisted that I-"
"Where's Racine?" Laura wanted to know, interrupting his explanation.
"I- left her with Jack," Howard stammered, as Remington turned to look at Laura. "He offered, and was there, and- why?"
"Jack Gianelli is the one who's been stalking her," Remington said, batting the paramedic away in his attempts to get him into the ambulance.
"Mr. Steele," the man insisted. "Your ankle-"
"Just put one of those elastic bandages on it," Remington ordered, his tone urgent. "I'll be fine."
"What about Murphy?" Laura questioned.
"Where is he and I'll send a car out to get him," Jarvis offered, writing down the address Laura gave him.
"There's a secret tunnel into the basement from the back of the house. It was built during Prohibition -"
"I'm on it," Jarvis promised, then looked at Remington as the paramedic finished wrapping his ankle and held out a release form for him to sign. "You need help?"
"We'll take care of it," Remington assured him.
"Call if you change your mind," Jarvis offered, and then moved toward his car, already talking on a hand held radio.
Remington stood and took a step, wincing as he did. "See?" he lied, "Good as new." Another step, another wince, and he smiled tightly at Laura, beckoning her to come closer. "I think I could use a bit of support."
Laura slipped under his arm and supported him as they went toward Howard's Cadillac. "You should have told me, Mr. Steele," Howard insisted, getting behind the steering wheel and starting the engine.
"I didn't have any proof," Remington declared, sitting back against he leather seat, trying to ignore the throbbing in his ankle. "Just some vague suspicions. And I told *you* to stay with her," he reminded the other man.
"I know. I just hope she's alright," Howard said, gripping the steering wheel tighter as he turned a corner.
***
The house didn't look like anything out of the ordinary, Jarvis thought as he approached it. Just an older house in an older part of the city, Jarvis thought as he sent some uniformed officers to the back before he knocked on the front door.
There was no response to the knock, but Jarvis hadn't really expected one. Another knock. "Police! Open up!"
This time, after a beat, Jarvis held his gun at ready, and then nodded at a uniformed officer, who broke the door open so that they could enter. It was evident that the house was empty, and Jarvis put his gun back into its holster as he approached the door that most likely opened into the basement that Laura had mentioned earlier.
He tried to open it, but it was secured from inside. An examination revealed that while the door *appeared* to be a standard wooden door, it was actually solid metal with a veneer of wood attached.
One of the uniformed officers entered the room. "Found something out back, Lieutenant," he announced.
Jarvis turned to another officer. "Stay here. Keep an eye on that door."
"Yes sir."
Jarvis followed Patterson out of the house to a detached garage that opened into the alley. Patterson took him into the building through a side door, where he went still upon seeing the brown Ford. "Let me guess. Registration says it belongs to Murphy Michaels."
"That's right," Patterson nodded.
Jarvis looked around. "If I were a bootlegger, I'd want the entrance to the tunnel in a place where I wouldn't be seen while I was loading or unloading." His look included the others. "I want this place searched. No stone left unturned. We're looking for an entrance that leads into the basement of the house. And I'll bet my shield that it's in here somewhere."
***
The beach house was dark. That was the first thing that Remington noticed.
"And the limo is gone," Howard noted aloud with a worried groan. "Damn." He fumbled with the house keys as Laura supported Remington to the door. Once the door was open, Howard ran inside. "Racine?!" he called, heading toward the hallway which lead to her bedroom.
Remington grabbed an umbrella from the stand beside the door, using it as a cane as he and Laura followed at a slower pace to find Howard sitting on the edge of the unmade bed. "She's gone," he said unnecessarily.
The sliding doors of the closet were open, and several items of clothing hung out of the drawers of a chest against the wall.
Laura moved to the bedside table, where a china cup and saucer sat. She reached out to pick up the cup, then stopped and reached over to pull the handkerchief from the pocket of Howard's tuxedo. "Need to borrow this, Mr. Forester," she explained, then used the cloth to pick up the cup and sniff the interior.
"What is it, Laura?" Remington questioned, suddenly aware that his own tux was in less than stellar condition. His tailor was *not* going to be pleased.
Laura carried the cup over to him. "I'm not sure." Holding it out toward him, she waited for him to take a sniff. "Well?"
"It wasn't only tea," he announced.
"What do you mean?" Howard asked, looking at them.
"It appears that Gianelli drugged Racine with something in her tea," Remington explained.
"Oh, Lord. Where are they?" Howard wondered.
"Passports," Laura said as the idea popped into her head.
Howard rose from the bed and opened the top dresser drawer, shuffling through the contents before exhaling deeply. "It's gone." He looked at Remington. "He couldn't possibly get her out of the country, could he?"
"Anything's possible," Remington noted.
Howard sat heavily on the edge of the bed again. "If he hurts her-" he began, burying his head in his hands.
"I don't think she's in any real danger," Laura said. "I got the impression that Gianelli just wants to take care of her. To protect her from people who want to hurt her or take advantage of her."
Remington nodded in agreement. "You seemed to be the only person that he trusted with her," he told Howard. Placing a hand on the other man's drooping shoulder, Remington suggested, "Why don't you home, Howard?"
Howard looked up at him, ready to refuse the idea outright. "Home? I can't just-"
"Howard, you hired us to protect Racine. Admittedly, we might have - stumbled a bit in that endeavour, but believe me, it's best if you allow us to do our job and find her."
"The police are involved now," Howard pointed out.
"Buck up, old man," Remington said as Howard rose from the bed. "Think of all the publicity you'll get from this. A kidnapping tends to have a sympathetic effect on the public's perception."
"As long as you find her, Mr. Steele," Howard said, leading them out of the house to his car. "You'll keep me informed?"
"Every moment," Remington promised, pulling the car door open.
Once the taillights of Howard's car faded, Remington turned to Laura, finally noticing her expression. "What?" he asked.
"How are we going to get back to town?" she asked. "I need to find out about Murphy-"
Remington smiled at her and returned to the house leaning heavily on the umbrella, where he picked up the telephone and dialed a number. "Fred, old man. Steele here . . . yes, well, you know what they say about the rumors of my death - Where did you hear about-?" Remington winced. "Mildred? . . . Ah, Lt. Jarvis. I should have known . . . I know it's late, but do you think you could pick Miss Holt and myself up?" He smiled and gave Fred the address. "Don't dally, Fred. We have a client to locate." He hung up, and then dialed again as he told Laura, "Jarvis called Mildred to tell her about the explosion and that we were inside the building. She's probably sitting there worried sick-" he stopped as the telephone began to ring. And ring. And ring. Frowning, he hung up. "She's not there."
"Maybe she's at the office," Laura suggested. "This is all my fault," she sighed as he dialed the office number.
Remington watched Laura wander toward the glass that overlooked the deck and the ocean beyond as he held the phone to his ear. "Hello?" he said eagerly when someone answered, only to realize that it was the answering service, which quickly informed him that Ms. Krebs hadn't checked in all evening. Hanging up, he looked at Laura, who was standing at the glass, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Using the makeshift walking stick, Remington joined her there. "How is it your fault?" he asked, placing his free hand on her shoulder.
"I ran off on my own," she told him. "Tried to play hero instead of letting Murphy know what I'd found out so he could go with me as my back up. Now, Murphy's missing, we were almost killed, our client's been kidnapped -"
He dropped a kiss onto the top of her head. "And why did you do that?" he asked.
Laura rested her forehead against the glass. "Because Mildred and Murphy knew about what - happened."
"You mean our - detour in Las Vegas?" Remington suggested.
He felt her sigh. "If they know, how long can we keep it quiet?"
"I think they can be trusted to keep the secret," Remington pointed out.
Laura turned to look at him, a wry smile on her face. "Mildred? The first time she sees Daniel or my mother, you *know* she'll let it *slip*. She won't mean to, but-"
"I still don't understand what our being married has to do with any of this," Remington said quietly.
Laura's eyes fell to his chest. "I wanted to prove to everyone that I really *am* a good private detective. So that they wouldn't be able to say that I - that you- "
Remington understood at last and lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Laura, you're a very gifted detective. I wouldn't have hired you if I thought otherwise- no matter how much being around you affected me. You're intuitive. You have a knack for getting to the heart of a matter better than anyone I've ever known. And if *anyone* says any differently, you point them in my direction so that I can set them straight, eh?"
He lowered his head, intending to capture her lips with his, only to stop halfway to his goal when they heard the sound of a car horn outside.
"Fred's here," Laura told him, sounding as disappointed as he was. "Why don't we finish this in the limo?" she suggested, taking his hand in hers. "At least you can sit down."
Remington shook his head as he followed her from the house and into the car. "I left out another adjective that describes you," he said, causing her to pause halfway into the back of the car, her expression curious. "Irrepressible."
***
Murphy returned to the main room of the cellar, his eyes on the door at the top of the stairs. He thought he had heard someone trying to open it from the well-appointed bedroom that he'd discovered and been searching. He had also found a door at the far end of the hallway, hidden in darkness, securely locked.
Standing at the bottom of the stairs, Murphy listened again, but nothing disturbed the silence except the sound of his own breathing.
He sat down on the bottom step, wondering when Gianelli might return- and how he could get the upper hand once he did. Suddenly, a sound echoed through the hallway- from the direction of the door, and Murphy knew he was out of time.
Thinking quickly, he pulled the string on the light, plunging the room into darkness. He picked up the chair and held it above his head, ready to attack whoever came down that hallway.
"Hello in there!" a voice called out, and Murphy thought he saw the beams of flashlights in the darkness. Thinking that it might be a trick, Murphy remained where he was.
"LAPD!" the voice called again. "Murphy? You in here?"
Recognizing the voice, Murphy dropped the chair to the floor with a clatter and went to the bottom of the stairs, where he turned the light on again- only to find himself staring down the barrels of several police revolvers. "Hey!" he said, raising his hands and backing away.
"It's okay, guys," Jimmy Jarvis said, pushing through the officers. Shaking his head, he gave Murphy a half grin. "You okay?"
Murphy took a deep breath, sitting down on the steps as the door at the top opened and another officer appeared.
"We got it, Lieutenant," he told Jarvis, who nodded and waved, his attention on Murphy.
"I am now. What took you guys so long?"
"Had to wake up someone from the security company the installed the doors to get one of them open," Jarvis explained, then looked around the room and told the officers, "I want every square inch of this place searched. Maybe the guy left something that told us where they might have gone."
"They?" Murphy questioned.
"Steele and Laura called a few minutes ago. Apparently this Gianelli character kidnapped Racine Douglas."
"Damn!" Murphy cursed. His eyes cleared as he recalled something else that Jarvis had said. "Then Laura's okay."
Jarvis gave Murphy a sympathetic look, a look between two men who both knew they didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell with the Laura Holt as long as Steele was in the picture. "Yeah. Gianelli tried to finish them off, but, as usual, Steele's luck held and they survived. When they got to Miss Douglas' house in Malibu, she and the chauffer were gone. Laura seems to think he drugged her."
"Hard to take an unconscious woman anywhere public," Murphy pointed out.
"That's why we need to see if there's anything here that might give us a clue," Jarvis returned.
"I thought you were in homicide?" Murphy asked.
"Gianelli's wanted for the attempted murder of Remington Steele and Laura Holt," Jarvis said smoothly. "So it's still my case."
"You need me around here, or can I go? I need to catch up with them, compare notes."
"I think we can handle it," Jarvis said. "Go on. Your car's in the garage out back."
"Thanks, Jimmy," Murphy said, patting the detective on the back.
"Just doing my job," Jarvis pointed out. "Get out of here. Last thing we need is a ham-handed PI getting in the way," he said with a grin to take the sting out of his words.
***
Mildred stopped pacing the moment she saw him enter the terminal, a small case in his hand. She stood stock still as he came toward her, his eyes searching hers. "No word yet?" he asked, dropping the case to pull her into his arms for a quick embrace before releasing to look into her eyes.
She shook her head. "Not before I left the house," she told him. "Lt. Jarvis said that he'd let me know if they found-" she couldn't continue. Couldn't bring herself to say the words.
"He's alive, Mildred," Daniel Chalmers declared in a firm tone. "Believe me, I'd know if something had happened to Harry. My son is alive." He picked up his case and placed an arm around her shoulders as he turned her toward the exit.
Mildred noticed a man pushing a wheelchair through the terminal as a Skycap followed with their luggage. The woman was wearing a hat pulled low over her face, but not low enough to hide the sunglasses that covered her eyes.
Daniel, noticing her distraction, looked down at her. "What's wrong, Mildred?" he asked, his gaze following hers.
"I'm not sure," she told him. "There's something- familiar about them." She glanced at the man, who was being greeted by a man wearing a pilot's uniform.
As they passed, Mildred heard the man saying, "We have to be out of here on time. Will we be on time?"
The pilot nodded as he answered, his voice thick with an Hispanic accent. "Everything is on schedule, senor." Glancing at the woman, he asked, "Are you sure that your wife is going to be all right?"
"She just needs some rest," the man said, reaching down to make sure the scarf that half-obscured the woman's face was in place. "She's been working too hard. She's exhausted."
"Then a trip to Buenos Ares is just the thing," the pilot said. "Sunshine, beaches. She'll be herself in no time," he assured the man as they moved away.
"Mildred," Daniel said again, frowning.
"I'm sorry, Daniel," Mildred said, turning her attention back to him. "Let's go. My car's just outside."
TBC…