Laura stopped by the loft to freshen up, changing into Remington's favorite dress and the lingerie he had bought for her in London. Next, she swung by his apartment, where she put champagne in the fridge and made sure everything else was in order. Then later, as his plane was touching down at the airport, she located a nearby phone, called his favorite restaurant, and ordered a special dinner to be delivered to his place shortly.

She was very, very nervous as she waited for Remington to appear at the gate. Their week apart had dragged on forever, though they had talked every day. She had filled him on the events at the office and he had told her about Daniel and London. But talking to a cold piece of plastic and looking at a photograph just wasn't the same as being face to face with the real man; if anything, it made her feel empty inside.

With the exception of Remington's previous and unfortunate trip to London, the two of them had never been separated for more than a couple of days. And though the roses he had sent her every day were beautiful, they were still just impersonal flowers with gentle words written by an unfamiliar hand on cards he had never touched.

Though she desperately wanted him to return and had been counting the days, a part of her dreaded seeing him again. She couldn't help wondering if things would change between them now, and if they would, how?

She wasn't sure what she wanted anymore. On one hand, there was the Remington Steele she had came to love during their four years together - the enigmatic, debonair front man with thousands of angles and hundreds of facets; on the other hand, though, there was the man she had recently discovered in London - the vulnerable, gentle man who hadn't been afraid to display his feelings for her. Fearful that she couldn't have both of them, she was unable to decide which one she preferred.

The things she had discovered about him and about herself during their time together in London had frightened her. It had been so easy to succumb to his charms and lose control - and she didn't like being out of control. Her life had always been carefully laid out, but once again her Mr. Steele had put a crease into her plans.

In a way, the situation with Remington reminded her of an earlier problem she had once faced with Nero. Her midnight-black cat had liked taking naps on her business suits, which she had always laid out on the couch before going to bed. After having to iron several unworn suits, she had stopped taking them out of her closet in the evening and that had solved her problem. But she couldn't stop planning her life that easily.

Laura sighed, wishing desperately that her relationship with Remington would remain the same. But even as she made her wish, the engagement ring on her finger told her otherwise.

There wasn't a trace of beard on his face and the scent of cologne was fresh and unmistakably his. Laura smiled and said teasingly, "Mr. Steele, you didn't by any chance shave on the plane, did you?"

"Why, Laura, I couldn't face you with a day-old growth on my cheeks, now, could I?"

"I don't see you carrying any luggage - not even your toiletries."

"Well, I had to choose between holding my suitcase or holding you," he said, taking a step back. "And I definitely think I made the correct choice."

Laura noticed that another passenger - a short, portly brunette - was looking at them with a motherly smile. The luggage cart by her side held Remington's suitcase, as well as a large duffel bag and a sizeable shopping bag. He went to the woman and said, "Megan, you are an angel, dear. Thank you very much; thank you very much, indeed."

Laura smiled, realizing he had probably charmed a fellow passenger who was as far from his usual type as possible into lending him a helping hand. She expected him to just pick up his suitcase, but he grabbed the entire cart, instead.

"You've been busy. What is it?" she asked, pointing at the shapeless piece.

"You're a detective - detect."

"Not enough data," she informed him.

"Patience is one of you most endearing qualities, Miss Holt," he said gently. "In the same row with insatiable curiosity, I must add. But no matter; you'll find what it is out soon enough."

Changing tactics, Laura looked at the shopping bag. "You seem to be carrying a lot of toiletries," she said suspiciously.

"Actually, it's something for our Miss Krebs; I just didn't want to check it." Pausing, he added, "I trust I will see her tomorrow?"

"Don't worry, Mr. Steele," Laura assured him playfully. "You won't be seeing anyone but me until tomorrow. And since you seem to be so well prepared, you can have your welcome kiss in the Rabbit..." Slightly blushing, she added, "I mean, I did put the top up."

"The Rabbit? What happened to Fred?" Remington asked, surprised.

"Nothing. Tonight, it's just you and me, that's all."

Plastering a grin on his face, he asked, "Laura, you wouldn't by any chance be planning...?"

She stopped him in mid-sentence, saying, "Just a welcome kiss, Mr. Steele." Catching his questioning glance, she gave him a promising smile and added, "We can discuss the rest at your place."

Remington grabbed the cart with one arm, put his other arm around her shoulders and said, "Shall we, Miss Holt? I look forward to being properly welcomed as soon as possible."

The doorbell startled them, however, abruptly ending the kiss.

He came to his senses first, asking with a sly smile, "That wouldn't be our indispensable Miss Krebs, would it?"

Laura cleared her throat and said, "If it is, she is fired as of tomorrow. But, um, I think it's our dinner."

"Dinner?" asked, wiggling his eyebrow. "Somebody has superb timing."

"I thought you'd be hungry..."

"I am hungry," he said slowly, looking her in the eyes.

She was just about to say "The hell with the dinner..." when the doorbell buzzed again.

A few minutes later, Remington locked the door behind the delivery boy and uncertainly looked at the dinner, then at Laura.

Putting her arms on his shoulders, she suggested quietly, "Let's have dinner first. I have one of my business suits in your closet, so... the night is ours."

"Oh, just great!" she murmured, wrapping her arms tighter around him. "You know, your absence helped me realize how annoying you are."

"Oh?"

"Boy, did I miss you," she breathed out softly.

As he silently pulled her even closer and held her, she couldn't help noticing the far away look that suddenly appeared in his eyes. For some reason, that look scared her.

"Laura," he finally said. "I invited Daniel to visit me here."

"When is he coming?" she asked, a bit surprised by his apologetic tone.

"I don't know yet. As soon as he takes care of some urgent security contracts. I just thought it was something you should know."

"But, of course," she said. "He is your father." She paused briefly, then added reassuringly, "I am not afraid of him - not any more. I've finally learned to trust you."

"You have? Will you remember it in the morning?"

"Of course, I'll remember," she said angrily, trying to pull away. "Are you implying that I... that I would..."

He held her, asking, "Did you miss fighting with me, too?"

Upon seeing flickers of laughter in his eyes, her ire subsided as quickly as it had ignited. "You trapped me," she accused, snuggling up to him again. "That's not fair."

"I am a very devious, annoying person. Remember?"

"One week wasn't enough to forget that fact," she assured him. Then pausing again, she asked, "Do you want to change your name?"

He frowned briefly and then asked with a sly smile, "Are you suggesting I take yours? That we become Mrs. and Mr. Laura Holt, P.I.?"

Laura giggled, unable to resist him when he was smiling his lopsided, crooked smile. "Who would be Remington Steele, then?" she asked.

"I'll keep my maiden name for business purposes," he stated proudly, his expression almost serious. "I've grown rather attached to it, actually."

"You have, have you?" she asked gently. "Do you want to change it to your real name?"

"I don't have a real name," he pointed out.

"You can have one now. I mean, now that you have found out who you are..."

Gently tracing her cheek with his fingers, he said, "Laura, Daniel and I talked about it, but names mean very little to either of us. To him, I will always be Harry; he doesn't expect me to change my name."

Laura smiled, showing him her dimples. "It would be strange to think of you as of anything else," she admitted.

"Would it?"

"Uh-huh," she purred, reaching in for a kiss. When he let go of her and began to rise, she asked, "Where are you going?"

"We have an unfinished business, Miss Holt."

"I thought that tonight, all the business was to be conducted in your bedroom."

"You have a very dirty mind, my dear. I was talking about that bag you were so curious about a few hours ago," he retorted, returning with the duffel bag she'd seen earlier at the airport.

He pulled the zipper open and Laura saw a big stuffed animal. A huge stuffed animal, in fact.

"I thought you said you weren't the sort of man who would give a woman a teddy bear," she teased, hugging it.

"Laura, I am a changed man," Remington stated, mentally kicking himself for having ever made that statement, as well as for forgetting it when he had bought her gift. "Besides, where do you see a teddy bear?"

"It's a panda - a giant panda."

"See? Pandas are not bears," he said, grasping at straws.

"Yes, they are," Laura said, smiling. Then, looking at the bear again, she declared, "He looks like you."

"Soft and fluffy? Kissable and huggable?"

"Sunglasses and tuxedo. I'll keep him on my bed, where he'll be close by when you're not around."

"But, Laura, won't he be lonely, then?" he asked, wrapping his arm around her waist with a very suggestive smile.

Looking at the toy again, she quietly said, "We'll see."

It almost seemed to Remington that Laura's mood had darkened just a bit. But it was so slight, however, that he wondered if he had imagined. Finally, convincing himself it was probably nothing, he decided to let it go.

"Boss!" the older woman exclaimed, rising from her chair and hurrying toward him.

"Mildred, Mildred," he said, hugging her. "I missed you, too."

"Oh, Boss, I'm so glad..." Mildred said in a trembling voice.

"That makes two of us," he said quickly, trying to prevent her oncoming tears. Handing her the shopping bag Laura had seen at the airport, he said, "I see that Miss Holt took your ring, so you'll have to settle for my heart instead."

He watched with a smile as Mildred unwrapped a beautiful, heart-shaped porcelain vase. He stopped her attempts to thank him with a gentle "The pleasure is all mine" and then walked into his office, embarrassed by her display of affection.

Behind his back, Laura and Mildred exchanged conspiratorial looks.

Laura wrapped her arms around his waist and asked, "Are you okay?"

He looked at her and only nodded. A few moments later, he said, "I've never..."

"Is it the balloons?" she asked, thinking he was choked up because he'd never had any sort of a celebration as a child. "I'm sorry. We shouldn't have..."

"No," he said after he composed himself a bit. "They're wonderful. It's just that... It's everything... you, Mildred, this..."

Finally understanding, she put her arms on his shoulders and said quietly, "Welcome home, Mr. Steele."

They were about to kiss when the door opened with a loud bang.

"Mildred, is the intercom...?" Laura asked sharply, not even bothering to turn around.

Before she could say anything else, a familiar screeching voice interrupted her, saying, "You are a prize, Steele!"

Laura and Remington turned around at once.

"Keyes!" Remington exclaimed, instinctively trying to shield Laura from the man who had dared to hurt her.

"You are a real prize," Keyes repeated, obviously enjoying their embarrassment. "Even deportation can't keep you away for more than two weeks!"

Laura, who would not allow Remington to protect her, side-stepped him, and addressed their adversary, asking, "What have you done to Mildred?"

"Krebs?" Keyes asked with a dismissive shrug. "Haven't seen her. But tell me, Steele, what did you do to come back? Steal another passport? Blackmail the President? Seduce the Queen? All of the above?"

"I don't think that concerns you anymore," Remington said in a dangerously low voice.

"Everything you do concerns me, Steele!" Keyes snapped. "You are my business because you interfere with my business."

"I assure you Mr. Steele is in the country quite legally, so do us a favor and turn your energy toward more important matters," Laura said in an attempt to salvage the situation.

"And you, Holt," Keyes followed her advice too literally, turning his attention to her. "I thought you were a smart cookie."

"I'm flattered," she hissed.

Without missing a beat, Keyes continued, saying, "Smart enough to see through this guy. You're not such a bad detective, but what do you do? You were his second choice, after a hooker, but you run after him wagging your tail, just like a mutt following its master. What, you still hope he will make an honest woman out of you? Fat chance!"

"Keyes," Remington said, trying to keep his emotions in check. "Leave Miss Holt out of this and get out."

Laura put her hand on his arm, trying to calm him down.

"I will not give up, Steele," Keyes said, pointing his cigar at Remington, "I'll get to the bottom of things. I can smell blood. I will be the last thing you'll see in the evening and the first thing you'll see in the morning! You can run, but you can't hide!"

Having spoken his mind, he left, leaving behind the odor of cheap cigars and the ringing of screeching laughter.

"Mildred, where have you been?" Laura asked, slowly regaining her balance.

"Just went to the post office," Mildred answered with a shrug. "What was Keyes doing here?"

"He stopped by to express his congratulations on my prompt and safe return," Remington said evenly.

"That slime ball!" Mildred exclaimed, closing the door as she returned to the reception area.

Steele sighed and said with ill-hidden hope, "Laura, at the risk of being cruelly misinterpreted - please, can we cancel the contract with Vigilance Insurance?"

"I wish we could, Mr. Steele," Laura replied, still in a daze.

The luncheon had not been a total loss, however, as he had whiled away the afternoon daydreaming of the quiet evening at his place that he and Laura had already agreed upon. His train of thought was again gradually drifting toward the anticipated evening when he nearly crashed into a smiling Norman Keyes.

"Steele - or whoever you are! Still sticking around, I see!" the bald detective hollered in a disgustingly chipper voice.

"I work here, remember?" Remington said, trying to keep his emotions in check.

"How could I forget?" Keyes laughed. "Your work is my work."

"Well, in that case, I suggest you take the part of your work you have control over somewhere else. That stench you ooze attracts bugs."

"Hey, don't get delusion of grandeur; you don't own this building yet. Believe it or not, I didn't come here today to see you. I merely had some business to take care in the neighborhood."

"Does one of us have a reason to be having this conversation?" Remington inquired coldly.

"Don't you want to be around when I finally expose you as the fraud you are?"

"You've snapped, Keyes! Find yourself a nice padded cell before you hurt yourself."

"You know, Steele, I'm curious. That ring on Holt's finger - are you and Holt going through with that sham of a marriage in case something fishy turns up with your new British passport? Or are you getting something on the side?"

"It's none of your business. Get out of my sight - now!"

"You know, she's not a bad-looking broad in the right light. If you don't want her, I might have a go at her myself."

Grateful Laura wasn't around to listen to the nasty exchange, Remington collected whatever remained of his patience, clenched his fists, and said slowly, "Keyes, I am telling you for the last time - get out!"

"Or else what? Will you call security and tell them we were having a fight over your secretary?"

"Mr. Steele!"

Laura's voice made Remington jump. He turned around to see her walking toward him from the revolving lobby door.

"Ah, Miss Holt!" he said, his voice faltering as he tried to figure out whether she had heard Keyes' last remark. "I was just reminiscing with our colleague here. Pity he has to leave so soon."

"Soon, but not for long," the bald detective laughed. "See you around, Steele!"

"Do you have any ideas to go along with this suggestion?" she asked.

"Short of framing him myself?" he said with a hint of disgust.

"Are we that desperate already?"

"Who knows? Looks like either that or having him committed. Just imagine - Keyes sitting in a cell, repeating, `Remington Steele, Remington Steele'."

Laura giggled and suggested, "Perhaps he could share a cell with Blaylock."

"Can we prove he's criminally insane?"

"On second thought, let's just leave him be," she said playfully.

"Oh?"

"Can you imagine what would happen if he started repeating 'Richard Blaine' or 'Michael O'Leary' instead?"

"Good point," Remington agreed. "Let's not drive him crazier than he already is."

After spending several nights together, he noticed that she was hesitant to stay at his place. Without giving it much thought, he merely decided she was one of those women who preferred to be close to her own bedroom, wardrobe, and toiletries. He didn't care one way or the other, so the next few times they went out, he made sure the evening concluded at Laura's loft. Then, much to his surprise, he realized she was trying to come up with reasons to go to his place, instead.

To his disappointment, she never stayed the entire night, either. Several times, she even tried to slip unnoticed from his bedroom in the middle of a night, always saying afterwards that she hadn't wanted to wake him up, and none too pleased about him taking her home, but that was one thing he insisted on. After all, he was a gentleman, and had his own ego - if the woman was leaving him, the least he could do was to take her home.

Something was invariably building up between them, some invisible wall.

Remington loved the businesslike, no-nonsense Laura, but having experienced her other side in London, he missed it desperately. He wanted to find a way to bring the new Laura back, even if only on special occasions. And every morning when he woke up alone, longing to see her head on his pillow, he promised himself he would talk to her about it.

If he only knew where to start...

Then one day, the opportunity presented itself. After seeing a play just a few blocks from the loft, Remington had stayed overnight at Laura's. She was in the shower the next morning when the phone rang, so he picked it up.

"Laura Holt's residence, Steele here," he said. "Abigail? How are you? ... Fine, fine... Laura? She's in the shower... What am I doing here? ... I, um, came to pick Laura up... Sunday? ... Of course it's Sunday - that's why I came to pick her up... We're going to San Diego for a convention... I wouldn't dream of subjecting my most valuable associate to such a long drive on a weekend, now, would I? ... Late? ... Oh, too late to leave... No, it's not late... We only want to catch the afternoon speeches... Shower? No, I didn't say she was in a shower; I said she was in the bathroom... in the toilet... So many years in this wonderful country, and I still can't learn the language... Oh! Here she is!"

Saved by the sound of the bathroom door opening, Remington handed Laura the receiver, silently mouthing, "Convention in San Diego."

Under his scrutinizing glance, she picked up the receiver and said cheerfully, "Hello, Mother! ... Yes, the convention... I've been looking forward to it the entire week... Mr. Steele will be driving... No, Mother, of course not... I will call you tomorrow. Bye."

As she hung up, Laura could feel Remington's stare set on her back.

After a long pause, he said quietly, "I take it Frances doesn't know, either."

Laura finally turned to face him and lifted her eyes. Her face was bright red when she said, "No. Not yet."

"Because as soon as you tell them, our engagement will be final? Or because as soon as you say it, it becomes real?" he supplied. The flicker of fear in her eyes told him the latter was true - she was scared. "Laura, have you changed your mind?"

"You're imagining things!" she said, feigning ignorance.

"What's going on between us, eh?"

"What do you mean?"

"You won't let me work on cases, you won't stay at my place, you won't let me stay at yours, you won't like it when I take you home at night..."

"Well, don't you see what you're doing?" Laura retorted back.

"What?"

"You're manipulating me. You're always manipulating me. You tried to maneuver me into living with you, then you tried to stay at my place so you could show how inconvenient that could be for both of us. Then you insisted on taking me home to make me feel sorry for you, hoping that I would break down and stay with you for the night!"

"Laura, I haven't maneuvered you into living with me - I merely thought you were more comfortable staying at your place than at mine."

"But you still want me to live with you!"

Remington gaped. "Of course, I want you to live with me. Isn't that the general idea behind marriage?"

"That's not the point."

"What is, then?"

"I just need some time," she admitted slowly. "I need to get used to things... between us."

"Take it at your own pace?" he suggested.

She nodded.

"Those two days after I was deported made me realize how very much you mean to me. That following week in London was a dream come true, Laura; in spite of the fact that I was about to lose you, was the only time I really felt like I had you. In a way, it was the best week of my life... But I don't have you anymore, Laura. I don't have you, and we are just growing further and further apart. What's going on?"

"I don't know," she admitted slowly. "Somehow, things were different in London. I just need time to see how we fit together here." Looking at him apologetically, she said, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Heaving a sigh, he nodded and said, "Right... tomorrow."

As he picked up his coat to leave, she stopped him. Touching his arm, she gave him a reassuring kiss on the cheek. He raised his hand to touch her face, but hesitated for a moment and then abruptly left the loft.

But this day, it wasn't meant to be for the big letters on the front page read, "Phyllis Dietrichson's Kidnapper Apprehended; Money Still Missing." The headline itself wasn't what caught Remington's attention, however; rather, it was the accompanying photographs of Norman Keyes and a voluptuous young blonde.

He vaguely recalled the case, which had taken place while he had been in London. He really hadn't paid much attention to it at the time, since he had other things on his mind. But to the best of his memory, some rock singer had been kidnapped and upon receiving the ransom, the kidnapper had released her, unharmed. Neither the culprit nor the money had been recovered.

"I'm glad Keyes is keeping himself busy," Remington murmured as he began to read the story.

The first paragraph made him forget all about his tea. Apparently, their adversary had been arrested just last night in connection with the crime. The money hadn't been recovered yet and Keyes had claimed he had been framed, but while conducting a search at his place, the police had found the ten thousand dollars that were identified as a part of the ransom money.

Apparently, Remington Steele Investigations wouldn't have to worry about Norman Keyes for a while.

Giving the article no more than a cursory look, she said, "I know. I just got off the phone with Vigilance Insurance. They want us to find the money."

"What money?"

"The ransom money," she clarified.

"What does it have to do with the Vigilance Insurance?"

"Phyllis Dietrichson was insured against kidnapping to the amount of one point five million dollars. The money has not being recovered yet and Vigilance Insurance wants us to find it."

Remington sat down with a condemned look.

"I know," Laura agreed, looking at him. "I told them we didn't want to have anything to do with this case, but they were very insistent. Keyes was their top investigator and he can't very well investigate himself. And we do have a contract with them, remember?"

"Don't tell me you've taken the case," he pleaded.

"I had to," she confirmed.

Remington heaved a deep sigh.

"Well, it can't be all that bad, can it?" Laura asked defensively. "After all, Keyes is safely locked up. And if that's not enough, think 'finder's fee'."

"I just have a very bad feeling about this," he admitted.

"We can't back out now - I've already told them we'd take the case," she stated. "So the best way to dispense with it is to start as soon as possible. I'll ask Mildred to start looking for Keyes' hidden assets."

She rose from her chair, looking all business, and went into the reception area.

Going back to his office, tea, and morning paper, Remington realized that, once again, Laura was in change and he had been relegated to the background.

"There is nothing to think about yet," she stated, lifting her head from the documents she had been reading. "Mildred hasn't come up with the research. And though the police have been through his place with a fine-tooth comb, they haven't completed their report, either. We'll just have to wait."

"I have a feeling there is more to this case than meets the id," he admitted.

"How do you mean?"

"I've been thinking - why would Keyes investigate the kidnapping if he committed it in the first place? Why would he go talk to that singer if there was a chance, no matter how remote, that she'd recognize him? And why would he be so stupid as to keep the ransom money at home?"

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe he went insane. Whatever happened, I'm just glad he's permanently out of our hair."

"Laura, is that all you have to say?"

"Yes."

"Do you really think he did it?"

She pushed the folder back and looked at him in astonishment. Standing and taking a step toward him, she asked, "What makes you think he didn't? Phyllis recognized him, and the police found the money at his place."

"Yes, but he claims he was framed," Remington said defensively. "It just doesn't sound like him."

"Oh, it doesn't, does it?" she asked, raising her voice and propping her arms on her hips. "Kidnapping and assault? And how, may I ask, is it different from what he did to me? Need I remind you, Mr. Steele, I was drugged and kidnapped by that... that sleaze bag, and that's exactly how you ended up being deported?"

"But, Laura, that was personal. I mean, yes, the man is a slime ball, but he merely detained you for a couple of hours in order to get rid of me! I could wring his neck for what he did to you and I'd like to see him brought to justice as much as you would. But you must admit, no serious damage was done."

"Well, that's still kidnapping and assault," she reminded him. "What's the difference?"

"What happened to you was for revenge, not for ransom. It's different."

"Maybe it's different to you, but it's merely a technicality to me. I don't really care about the details, just as long as Keyes gets what he deserves. And since we don't have enough proof to turn him in for my kidnapping, I'll settle for him doing time for this one. To that end, the sooner we find the money, the sooner we can forget about him."

Remington took a step toward her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Laura," he said softly. "I dislike Keyes as much as you do, but do you think he should rot in jail for something he might not have done?"

Laura was silent for so long that Remington began to worry. Finally, she sighed and said, "I just don't want us to have anything to do with him, that's all."

"Neither do I. But in a bizarre sort of way, I feel as though I owe him - for finding both you and Daniel. Laura, if the scumbag did it, I won't lift a finger to help him. But if he didn't... I know how it feels to be framed." Pausing, he added with a lopsided grin, "Besides, if he didn't do it and we don't start looking elsewhere, we'll never find the money."

"Alright," Laura said in a very businesslike manner. "You've sold me."

"Good. How do we start?"

"You start. You wanted more training, so here is your first assignment. I'll assume Keyes has the money and start looking for it; you'll start looking for it, too, only you'll be assuming that Keyes is innocent. Collect your data, assemble your facts, and form your deductions. Just holler if you get stuck."

Having said that, Laura sat back into her chair and opened the manila folder, showing that the conversation was over.

"Where are you going, Boss?" she asked as he headed toward the glass doors.

"Jail."

"What?" she exclaimed, slightly rising from her chair.

"To talk to Norman Keyes."

"That hair ball?!"

"A hair ball, Mildred? Interesting description," Remington commented, lifting his eyebrow. "Inaccurate, but interesting."

The glass door behind him closed before Mildred could say anything.

"Mildred, did Mr. Steele just leave?" Laura asked, poking her head through her office door.

"Yes, he did. Miss Holt, is there a new development on Phyllis Dietrichson's kidnapping case? The boss asked me for a whole lot of information."

"No, Mildred. Mr. Steele is working on his aspect of the case and I'm working on mine."

"Oh, honey, are you sure that's such a good idea?"

"It'll be okay, Mildred. Now, I need you to do me a favor. Gal-to-gal, alright?"

"Okay, Miss Holt, just name it!"

"I knew I could count on you, Mildred. Whatever information you find for Mr. Steele, make me a copy - and make sure he doesn't know about it. And do the same with any information you get from him."

"What's going on? Oh, Miss Holt, you are going to..." Mildred paused, her spirit waning under Laura's cold stare.

"What, Mildred?"

The receptionist shivered, took a deep breath, and said decisively, "Last time you and the boss worked separately on a case was when you had that bet on Malta. I can't help wondering - you wouldn't be trying to get me to spy on him to win this one, would you?"

Laura sighed. "No, Mildred," she said sadly. "No bets. Mr. Steele is out to prove Norman Keyes was framed and I just don't trust Keyes - not even when he's in jail. I simply don't want Mr. Steele to get hurt."

As she returned to her office, Mildred slowly sat down in her chair, digesting the information. "Bats," she said to herself. "They're all bats."

Norman Keyes, never a sight for sore eyes, looked even worse than usual. He was older, paler, thinner, and had dark circles under his eyes.

"Steele?" he said, sitting down. "To what do I owe this honor? Did you find some time in your busy schedule to gloat, or do you hope I'll tell you where I stashed the money? If that's the case, don't waste your time - you won't find it anyway."

"Keyes, listen to me," Remington began.

"You know, Steele, if you hadn't been out of the country at the time, I would bet my life that you staged the entire thing just to get rid of me."

"You are betting your life," Remington said angrily. "And if you don't want to lose that bet, I suggest you shut up and listen." Receiving no reply, he went on. "I don't believe you had anything to do with the kidnapping and I'm willing to help you get out of this jam. It would be useful for us both if you tell me, plainly and simply, exactly what happened."

"You know, Steele, you are a prize," the older man laughed. "You waltz in here to tell me you want to help me when we both know I had you deported. Give me one good reason I should believe you."

"Let's just say my being deported helped me discover some of the finer things in life."

"Or maybe your being here will help you discover the missing money. Isn't that what this is all about, Steele?"

"I guess you're right," Remington said calmly, rising from his chair. "It was a waste of time to come here."

He was already at the door when the screeching voice behind him called, "Steele! Hey, Steele!"

Remington slowly turned around.

"Okay," Keyes said quietly. "I guess I don't have much of a choice. Regardless of what your motive is, you're all I've got. What do you want to know?"

"Just tell me your version," Remington said, sitting down again.

"Not much to tell," Keyes said, waving his hands. "It was obviously an inside job; that's what my nose told me from a start."

"Oh? How so?"

"Listen, Steele, I've been in this business longer than you have. Just two months before her kidnapping, Phyllis Dietrichson had an insurance contract drawn up - insured herself against injury, death, fire, flood, acts of God, loss of voice - as if she had any - and kidnapping with a ransom up to a million and a half. Two months later she's kidnapped, and the ransom is exactly a million and a half. Why not more? Or less? Because the kidnapper knew about the insurance."

"Couldn't it be somebody from Vigilance Insurance?"

"Yeah, and the police say that someone is me. Only it doesn't add up. I was already on the case before I got thrown in here. When I couldn't dig up anything, I went to talk to that Dietrichson broad. Got as far as her manager, who said she had a migraine and couldn't see me."

Keyes paused and Remington impatiently prompted, "And?"

"Maybe she couldn't see me, but apparently, she could hear me quite well. When she was released after the ransom was paid, she told the police she hadn't seen or heard the guy. But then after I questioned her manager, she suddenly recognized my voice as being that of the kidnaper. And the next thing I know, I'm being arrested. Now you tell me, is that fishy or what?"

"And since you know you didn't do it..." Remington supplied.

"Bingo. She must be in on it," Keyes finished. "She and her manager."

"Did your nose tell you that, too?"

"Laugh it up, but I know a crook when I see one."

"I'm sure you do. What about the money the police found at your place?"

"The ten grand? Is that what the papers said?" Keyes clarified.

Remington acknowledged him with a nod.

Keyes managed a crooked smile. "Then they left out the best part - it was packed in the bag that originally held the ransom money." He nervously patted his breast pocket, looking for a cigar that wasn't there and added in disgust, "As if I would be stupid enough to keep the bag."

"Anything else?" Remington asked after a short pause.

"No. Didn't have much time."

"Okay. If you have another startling conversation with your nose, let me know."

"How?"

"You have a defense attorney, don't you?" Remington asked, rising. "Ask him to call me."

He was leaving when Keyes called, "Hey, Steele. Thanks. And be careful - if you rub these guys the wrong way, they might just make it look like you were my accomplice."

"I was in London, remember?"

"I knew you'd thank me one day."

Remington left with the sound of screeching laughter still ringing in his ears. Despite the disgust he was feeling, he almost felt sorry for the man.

"Not yet, Boss," she replied. "What exactly am I looking for?"

"Money. A million and a half, to be exact."

"Boss, you don't really think Keyes just deposited it into his savings account, do you?"

"Keyes? Of course not, Mildred. Do you have Phyllis Dietrichson's phone number?"

"Here it is," she said, copying the number onto a memo slip. "But, Boss, what exactly am I looking for? And why this sudden interest in Keyes' recent cases? Do you think you'll find an accomplice?"

"An accomplice? No. I'm going to prove Keyes was framed and then find the real culprit and the money," he announced before retreating into his office. A moment later, however, he peeked through his office door and added, "And, Mildred, that's not for publication. Officially, we're only looking for the missing money for Vigilance Insurance."

"I don't know what's gonna happen when he finds out about Miss Holt," Mildred muttered to herself when the door closed, "but I surely don't want to be around when he does."

Much to his dismay, however, the star was in bed with a migraine. Quickly hiding his disappointment, he changed his tactic from seduction to honesty and integrity and began pumping Ms. Dietrichson's manager for information. Arthur Leach was a tall, heavy built man in his late thirties. He was dressed in a flowery shirt and black leather pants, which underlined his beer belly. Around his neck was a gold chain which would have made Johnny Todd proud. Mildred's research stated that he lived on the premises, but she could find no evidence of him having an affair with the singer; cohabitation seemed to be more of a convenient business arrangement than anything else.

Leach tersely informed him that Miss Dietrichson had told the police everything she knew and that she had nothing to add to her statement, but later he warmed up a bit and agreed to talk about the insurance. Unfortunately, he wasn't much help in that area, either, saying the entire package was the idea of the agent who had sold her the policy.

Remington could see why Keyes thought Leach was part of the scam. There was something slippery about him, as though he'd be more at ease in a bar or casino than he would in an elegant living room. Not that anyone would call the star's living room elegant, though; it was rather eclectic, filled with heavy smell of oriental essence, stuffed with expensive furniture and tacky paintings in heavy gilded frames that probably cost more than the paintings they held. Remington's artistic taste silently protested all the time he spent in that house.

Once outside, Remington took a deep breath to shake off the decorator's nightmare and phoned the insurance agent, whose number Mildred had thoughtfully provided. Then telling Fred to take him there, he settled back in his seat and thought about Keyes in his dirty jail cell.

Motioning for him to come inside, Ness said eagerly, "I do hope you find the money, Mr. Steele. If not, I can start looking for another job."

"But surely everybody understands this isn't your fault," Remington assured him as he took a seat on the lumpy couch.

"Yeah, yeah, tell it to my employers. I sell a policy and two months later the company has to pay - guess it figures that they'd start looking for a scapegoat, right? Do you know how many times I've cursed myself for ever looking up that singer's name?"

Remington looked around, noting that the apartment was just as seedy as its owner. Mr. Ness was obviously a man of very modest means. The scarcely furnished living room needed a thorough cleaning and the apartment building itself was not in one of the best parts of the city. Obviously, selling insurance policies wasn't exactly a bonanza.

"Why don't you tell me how you sold that policy," Remington suggested.

"There isn't much to tell, Mr. Steele. See, my work is worse than chasing ambulances. I look up people who can spare a couple of bucks and try to talk them into buying a policy."

"Tough way to make a living," Remington commented.

"Oh, you don't know half of it. I tell you, in that singer's case, making an appointment with her was harder than selling the actual insurance," Ness said with a laugh. "She has a real Cerberus working for her; it's a wonder anyone managed to snatch that dame."

Remington gave him a quick smile. "Didn't it seem strange to you that she wanted to be insured against kidnapping?"

"Stars are twisted, so who knows? But it's not really that unusual, though; I've heard of similar policies."

"Could she have possibly done it as a publicity stunt?"

"Nah," the little man said as he shook his head. "At first, I thought so, too, but then the company insisted that they keep the kidnapping clause a secret."

"That's certainly a reasonable measure."

"Too bad it didn't work, though," Ness commented, heaving a sigh. "The way I see it, the dame just doesn't know what to do with all that money, so she bought the whole enchilada. I sure hope you find the ransom, Mr. Steele."

"I'll do my best, Mr. Ness," Remington said, rising from the couch. "I'll do my best."

"So, Mildred, anything on Phyllis yet?" he asked, entering the office. "Any skeletons to rattle? Any trace of the ransom? Any devoured lovers, displeased audiences, hidden assets?"

"Nothing."

"Well, are you still looking?"

"She's got nothing, Boss," Mildred clarified. "She's completely tapped out. No money, no savings; like I said - nothing."

"Well, what about her albums, her... her concerts?"

"She's not nearly as popular as she used to be and it takes quite a lot to float her lifestyle - you should see her house!"

"As a matter of fact, I did... this afternoon," he informed her. "Well, then, how about near poverty as a motive? A hard-swindled million and a half should be enough for her to get by on."

Just then, Mildred placed a file on his desk.

"What's this?" he asked, picking it up and peeking into it.

"Vigilance Insurance's complete report. You know, financial situation, health records... but like I said, it's just odds and ends; nothing interesting."

"Keep digging, Mildred, there's got to be something. Is Miss Holt in the office?"

"No, she's gone."

"Taking the afternoon off, is she?" Remington said, trying to hide his disappointment.

"I believe she calls it 'legwork'," Mildred admonished.

"Ah. Where would you hide a million and a half, Mildred?"

"In my villa," she answered with a dismissive shrug, obviously not very interested in the conversation anymore.

"You don't have a villa," he pointed out.

"If I had a million and a half, I would have a villa, a country house, a stable, and a small yacht. Do you have a point, Boss?"

"Not really. Why?"

"It's kinda late, so I thought I'd just go home if there's nothing urgent here."

"Certainly."

He wished her good night, promised to lock up, and returned into his office. With Laura gone for the day, he could just as well just spend the evening there trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"It's hard to find a black cat in a dark room," he muttered to himself, "especially if it's not there."

He was about ready to admit that he simply didn't have enough information to solve the case. But somewhere in the back of his mind, however, was a nagging feeling that he had overlooked something rather obvious - and he had learned to trust his feelings. He wished he could talk things out with Laura, bounce ideas off of her and throw out with a movie reference or two. He couldn't do any of those things, however; this was his case and his pride was involved - and he had neither references to throw nor ideas to bounce, anyway.

Phyllis and her over-sized manager looked, sounded, and smelled guilty. Just as Mildred had said, the singer was going broke; royalties from her records hardly covered her vast expenses. The sole beneficiary of her life insurance policy was an older sister, who was a housewife with three children. Remington doubted the sisters had very much in common, but even if they did, the elder one hardly needed to be taken care of - her husband owned a pharmacy in London, Ohio and they seemed to have a comfortable life.

Years of living on the edge had taught Remington to smell a scam, but if he couldn't locate the missing money, his hunch was only that - a hunch. And the money could be hidden in thousands of places - in that tacky house he'd visited earlier, on a yacht (if Phyllis had any, which she didn't), in a bank vault rented in the name of an accomplice...

Remington sipped his coffee, cringed at the cold liquid, and put the cup away. He contemplated making another cup, but picked up the file on Walter Ness instead.

Apparently, the little agent had seen better times. He'd graduated from Twin Pines High School in Seattle, spent two years at a Jesuits' college, and had been selling insurance ever since. Remington shivered at the man's boring existence. At the time, though, his own existence didn't seem much more exciting. Here he was, spending a perfectly lovely evening in the office, poring over papers.

He heaved a sigh. When he had spent hours poring over architectural blueprints in the old days, it hadn't seemed so boring. Back then, he had always been sure there was a way to achieve his goal. He had been good at this sort of thing... but that was before he had met a lady dick who was immune to his charms, thus providing him with a different challenge.

Remington wearily rubbed his eyes. He had spent too long looking at the papers and the lines just wouldn't keep straight. All that gibberish - College of the Twin Jesuit... or was it Twin Pines? He wondered where he had heard of Twin Pines... Of course, Back to the Future, Michael J. Fox, Christopher Lloyd, Universal, 1985 - there was a Twin Pines something in that movie, as well as an annoying character that bore a slight resemblance to Norman Keyes.

He decided to call it a day. He was obviously stuck, and while he wasn't desperate enough to call for Laura's help, he hoped that Mildred could come up with something new on the singer and her manager in the morning.

As he rose from the carpet, he suddenly realized why Twin Pines sounded so familiar - Arthur Leach had also attended that high school. Remington pulled the file on him and compared the dates, not being the least surprised to see that the years were the same. Though the insurance agent looked older, he was actually several months younger than Leach.

Remington wished Laura were there so he could discuss things with her, so he rose and started pacing the carpet. He imagined her sitting on the edge of his desk, her legs crossed and her curiosity peaked, ready to blow his crazy idea to smithereens. If only she were really there, they could talk it out, improve it, and solve the case together.

"Picture this," he said to the invisible Laura. "There are these two former school mates, each one down on his luck. They meet and concoct a plan to swindle enough money to live comfortably ever after. They take in a singer who is almost broke, draw an insurance contract, play out a little kidnapping, and then collect the ransom. Then when somebody starts digging, they have the alleged victim get rid of the nuisance."

"Nice try," said the invisible Laura. "You're one little thing short from immortality; the missing piece is called proof. And it would be nice to find the money, too."

Remington sighed. Laura managed to be a wet blanket even when she wasn't there. She did have a point, though - without the money, his theory was no more than a work of fiction. In the morning, he would ask Mildred to run a more thorough check on Walter Ness to see if the man had any hidden assets.

Suddenly, he realized that Ness did have one important asset - and it wasn't even hidden. When his affairs had been in a better state, Ness had purchased a small fishing boat, which was now docked in one of the marinas in the bay area. Remington was acquainted with the place and knew that no one there would bat an eye if something were going on there as long as everything was done quietly. Not only would it be an excellent place to hide the money, but it would be an ideal place to hide a supposedly kidnapped singer!

He decided that the boat bore closer scrutiny. In the morning, he would still ask Mildred to check on Leach and Ness in case there was something he'd missed and will go take a look at the boat.

Remington wearily rose from the floor and started assembling the scattered papers. It was such a pity to put hours of research in one heap, though. "Well, if something's worth doing, it's worth doing right," he muttered.

Figuring that surely the ever-so-organized Miss Holt would have an abundance of supplies in her desk drawers, he went into her office in search of some paper clips. When he opened the top drawer, he froze. The papers in there were the same ones that were scattered all over his office floor. Not willing to believe his eyes, he pulled the stack from the drawer and went through it.

"So much for trust," he whispered as he realized that Laura had a copy of every single sheet of paper he had in his possession. Weakly, he sat down in her chair and buried his face in his hands.

She realized that she didn't want anything about her convenient, set-in-stone lifestyle to change, and she didn't really want him to change, either. She was afraid of the changes that lay ahead of them - afraid those changes would bring out the worst in both of them and eventually ruin their relationship. As a result of that fear, perhaps, she really was trying to push him away, both personally and professionally.

Since it was always hard for her to admit it when she was wrong, she decided to just let things cool down for a while and see what happened. But after nourishing that solution for an hour or so, she realized it was the same old ostrich-in-the-sand routine and decided to go and go talk to Remington. It was getting late, but she doubted he would be in bed yet. And even if he was - well, that might even be better.

Grabbing her purse, she left the loft and headed to Rossmore.

Suddenly Laura grew suspicious. Why would her Mr. Steele be leaving home at such hour? The days of him rushing off on a hot date were long gone, and he certainly wasn't headed in the direction of the office or her loft. That left her with two possibilities - either Remington was off to see one of his former friends or he was up to some late-night digging for their current case. Given his erratic driving and the fact that he had spent the day working on the case, the latter sounded more likely. He had found something suspicious and decided to investigate it - alone.

She cursed under her breath and accelerated the Rabbit to make the same green light the Auburn had passed less than a minute earlier.

Then, conceding that solving the case on his own would give him a strong advantage, he decided to pay a visit to Ness' boat as soon as possible. No one would notice a lone boat-burglar in the middle of the night, whereas there would be plenty of eyes and ears at the marina in the morning. Not to mention, it would be much more difficult to slip away unnoticed the next day if Laura was on to him.

After making a quick stop at his place to change into his "working clothes" and pick up a penlight, he angrily headed to the marina. He was determined to solve the case by the morning... and he couldn't wait to see the expression on Laura's face when she heard about it.

It took him a while to locate Ness' boat, the Harbor Master, which was docked at the far end of the marina. She was probably a nice nautical vehicle in her time, but the years and the lack of proper care had turned her into a wreck. Still, she was in a working condition and was still used for fishing.

Once on board, Remington took a quick look around the deck and went into the cabin, turning on his penlight. The scant interior was a perfect match to the shabby exterior. It was scarcely decorated and quite dirty, with walls that needed painting and a floor that needed a thorough scrubbing. Cringing, he started his search, eager to leave the cabin as soon as possible.

Searching the main room didn't bring any results, but in the bathroom, he hit what Laura would have called a "home run." There, in the medicine cabinet, was a hairbrush with long blond hair snuggled to it that matched the stray strands scattered about on the floor. Only an expert could positively match the hair with that of Phyllis Dietrichson, but one thing was obvious - a woman with long blond hair had been staying on board for quite some time, and not as a prisoner.

Suddenly grateful for the sloppy housekeeping, Remington decided to give the walls and floor a thorough examination. Careful not to make too much noise, he knocked on all of the panels, listening for hollow places. There was nothing unusual about the walls, but as soon as he moved on to the floorboards, his patience was rewarded - there was a hollow space beneath one of them. Taking out his penknife, he removed the board and discovered an opening large enough to hold an attaché case with room to spare.

The opening contained a plain cardboard box. Removing the lid, he heaved a happy sigh when he saw bundles of dollars, still neatly bundled in their bank wrappers. Making a not exactly an amateurish guess, he estimated there was approximately a million and a half dollars, sans the ten thousand used to frame Keyes. Quick counting confirmed that he was correct.

But now, what should he do with his findings? If he took the money and the brush to the police, he'd have a hell of a time trying to explain how he had obtained them. Obviously, that was out of question. Or he could leave everything as it was and make an anonymous phone call to the police, claiming that the ransom money and some important evidence was concealed onboard Walter Ness' boat, hence making sure the justice was served. Unfortunately, though, that plan also had a flaw - it ruled out his finder's fee, assuming the police would believe such a phone call in the first place.

Things had certainly been easier in his old days when he had simply taken what he had come for and left.

After some consideration, he decided to leave everything where it was, call the police, and tell them that he, Remington Steele, had just received a tip from one of his numerous informers, who naturally didn't want their name to be disclosed to the authorities. Even though the solution wouldn't prove Keyes' innocence, at least it would put the blame on somebody else.

Remington quickly replaced the money and the floorboard and left the cabin. As he stood in doorway, a movement on the deck caught his eye. He turned to see what it was and something heavy connected with the back of his head. The lights went out before he hit the deck.

Several little galaxies danced in front of his eyes for a moment, but he was too stunned to even wonder what piece of furniture he could've hit his head on in his own bedroom. When he groaned belatedly in response to the increasing pain in his head, he realized that something rough and very dry was in his mouth.

"He's coming to," a vaguely familiar male voice said behind him.

"Why do you care?" another male voice asked.

Remington blinked several times, trying to clear the fog. His eyes, now adjusted to the darkness, could see better in the dim light, but his brain was refusing to process the information. In his dazed state, he thought there were two strange men lurking about in his apartment.

"Artie, we can't just let him lie here," said the first voice.

When Remington blinked again, he recognized the meager interior of the Harbor Master's cabin.

"I don't see why not," Artie replied. "It won't be for very long, anyway."

"What are you going to do with him?" the first voice inquired.

"Use your head, Wally," Artie threatened. "He was here by himself for hell knows how long. Who knows what he found? I'm not about let him walk free. It's a good thing I decided not to wait until morning to get the money."

Now Remington recognized the overtones in Artie's voice and knew it belonged to Arthur Leach, the kidnapped singer's overweight, vulgar manager.

Meanwhile, Wally, who Remington surmised was Walter Ness, asked meekly, "Why do we have to kill him? Why can't we frame him like we did the other one? They're both dicks - we can say they were both in on it."

"For one thing," Artie admonished, "he's on to us, even if he didn't find the money. And for another, it's a miracle we pulled it off once. This stupid cow can't remember what she ate for breakfast; I had to make her rehearse what she was going to tell the police. We're lucky that most policemen wear pants instead of skirts and have hormones just like the rest of us men."

Looking around again at his surroundings, Remington knew he was lying on the dirty floor of Walter Ness' boat. When he tried to move again, he quickly realized that his arms and legs were not only stiff and cold, but tied together, and that the piece of cloth in his mouth was not a figment of his imagination.

Great, he thought, he couldn't even talk his way out of his predicament.

Or could he? Hoping against hope, he uttered a series of undistinguished sounds, thinking perhaps his kidnappers would remove his gag and see what he had to say.

"Here, Artie, he's trying to tell us something," said Ness, who was obviously the weaker link in the chain.

"Sure he is, only I don't care to hear it," came the lazy reply. "There is nothing he could say that we possibly need to hear, and I'm not gonna give him a chance to scream. Let's see if he can live his remaining hours with his trap shut."

Remington's heart sank. He struggled to untie his hands, but they had no circulation and he had difficulty moving them. The only thing his feeble attempt accomplished was a swift kick in the ribs with Artie's boot.

After a long pause, Ness said quietly, "But, Artie, you're talking about murder!"

"It's only murder if there's a body," Leach stated calmly. "Why do you think I brought this rock from the other end of the marina? Here, give me a hand, we need to tie that cord around it."

Remington heard a rumble, the swishing of a cord, and then a loud thump.

Ness asked again, "What are you going to do?"

"We," Leach corrected. "We are going to take this guy for a ride, find someplace quiet, and then send him for a swim with this stone around his pretty neck. Now, start this boat before somebody sees us."

"Not yet."

"Why not?"

"Because if anyone sees us taking off now, they'll be suspicious. But if we wait a couple of hours, whoever sees us will assume we're going on a fishing trip."

"Now you're talking," Leach stated proudly. "Okay, we'll wait. Our guest is not going anywhere."

His train of thought then moved to Laura, and in his mind's eye, he saw Laura smiling... Laura angry... Laura laughing at his jokes... Laura gently looking at him when they were alone, stroking the hair on his chest... It was a sad case of poetic justice, wasn't it? He had been after her for four years and now that they were closer than ever, he was going to lose her again.

With some satisfaction, it occurred to him that if he disappeared without a trace, at least she wouldn't believe he had simply run off. Quickly, however, his feeling of satisfaction turned into one of horror - not only wouldn't she believe it, but she would start digging and eventually step into the same trap he had.

He groaned and closed his eyes, desperately wishing there was some way to warn her.

Remington opened his eyes, realizing he had probably been unconscious.

"Must be the wind or something," Ness said uncertainly.

"I think we better go check on it. You stay and make sure Houdini here doesn't move," Leach said, leaving the cabin.

For a minute, everything was quiet; then there was another thud, followed quickly by the sound of loud footsteps, an outburst of swearing, and the half-stifled scream of a female.

Leach's voice said menacingly, "You try that again, sweetheart, and I'll blow your brains out."

Several moments later, Arthur Leach returned, pushing Laura in front of him and holding a gun to her temple.

"Look what I found," he said angrily. "Quick, Wally, tie her hands and find a rag to gag her with; this cat bit me."

"Do we need another rock now?"

"Nah, one should be enough for both," Leach stated.

As he watched Ness tie Laura, Remington nearly wailed, but his pride and the dirty rag in his mouth prevented him. Until now, he had harbored the hope that Laura would be unharmed. He strained his hands in another attempt to undo the ropes, knowing full well it was hopeless - he couldn't feel his fingers, much less use them. He didn't know what he could do, but he desperately tried to think of something.

Leach's boot crashed his shoulder, turning him onto his back and pressing his tied wrists into the floor. "Stay still and behave yourself," he said menacingly. "She's your broad, isn't she? Don't make me hurt her."

With a violent kick, he sent Remington face down on the floor. Unable to even see Laura, he concentrated instead on her predicament. What had she being doing at the marina? Had she followed him from his apartment or even from the Agency, perhaps? Or had she decided to investigate on her own, walking into the same trap her had walked into earlier?

When Ness finished securing Laura's arms, he began searching her pockets. "Look what I found!" he exclaimed shortly. "The key to my boat!"

"She must've been planning to detain us," said Leach.

"No one messes with my boat!" Ness shot angrily as he pushed Laura away, causing her to trip over Remington's leg and fall in a corner.

Now that Remington could finally look at her again, he saw that she was wearing the same clothes she had been wearing earlier in the day. That meant she had been following him, as she would never have attempted a break-in while wearing a light gray skirt, a white blouse, and high-heeled shoes. She looked haggard and tired, her hair was tousled, and one cheek was flaming red, probably from Leach's blow. And strangely enough, she looked calm.

Catching his stare, she winked at him. Unsure if what he had seen was really a wink, his eyes grew wider.

Just then, a loud voice outside the cabin said, "Harbor Master! This is the police! Come out with your hands above your heads!"

"Damn! What are we going to do now?" Ness asked shakily.

"We're gonna get out of here," Leach spit out as he bent over, cut the cord on Remington's ankles, and kicked him with his boot. "Hey, you two, get up!" he ordered. "You're going with us."

"Harbor Master! This is the police! Come out with your hands above your heads!"

Pulled up by Leach and Ness, Remington groggily rose on his feet and then immediately slid back down, his head spinning and his legs asleep.

"Artie, he can't walk. I told you not to tie him that tight!" Ness declared.

"And I told you not to wait till dawn! Now what?"

"Harbor Master! This is your last warning! Come out with your hands above your heads!"

"We'll take just the girl with us," Leach spit out. "Get up!"

A boot once again connected with the small of Remington's back. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as his two captors left the cabin, using Laura as a shield and holding a gun to her head.

He once again tried to get up and stretch his legs to get rid of the thousands of little needles pricking them, but as soon as he lifted his head, he had to lower it again as his dull headache morphed into a sharp one. Though he was frantic, the only thing he could do was lie on the dirty floor and listen to what was going on outside.

He heard Leach yell, "Let us through or we'll kill her!"

Then a voice, amplified by a megaphone, said, "Let them through."

For a while, everything was quiet. Then a man screamed and there was the sound of a scuffle, followed quickly by the sound of footsteps and then a shot.

Remington's heart sank. Desperate to see for himself what had happened, he struggled once again to rise.

Before he could succeed, however, he heard heavy steps and then a low male voice said, "Geez, Mr. Steele, let me undo those ropes."

He felt the cord on his wrists being cut and then the policeman, a black, middle-aged man, gently helped him sit up after removing the gag.

Remington tried to ask about Laura, but his tongue was asleep.

"Don't mention it," the policeman said with a nod. "It's that lady assistant of yours you should be thanking - she called and said you were being held prisoner here."

There was a rumbling sound outside on the deck and then they heard Laura's voice insisting, "I must get inside, Detective!"

In mere seconds, she appeared in the doorway of the cabin, looking even more haggard, more disheveled, and more worried than before.

"Oh, my God, look at you!" she exclaimed, kneeling down in front of Remington.

She put her hands on his shoulders and peered into his face as he tried to adjust to the situation. Then she abruptly pressed her lips over his mouth.

He gently pulled away, spit out some lint that was stuck to his tongue, and slurred apologetically, "Nothing personal."

Then she finally smiled. "I was so worried when I saw those two hit you. I was afraid they would decide to kill you while I was waiting for the police."

"So you decided to take the matter into your own hands," he supplied. "God, Laura, when I heard that shot outside... How did you get away?"

"I, uh, stomped on that guy's foot and got loose while he was screaming," she admitted.

"You - what? Oh, I will never complain about you stomping on my feet," he promised. "You need all the practice you can get."

As Laura gently ran her fingers through his hair, he cringed as her fingers involuntarily grazed his wound.

She jerked her hand away and helped him on his feet, saying, "Come on. We need to get you to a doctor."

"I don't need a doctor," he protested meekly. "It's nothing; just a scratch."

"It's not a scratch - you have a goose egg; you should be examined for concussion."

"Okay, so it's a scratch and a goose egg," he said, irritated, as he finally managed to regain his balance. "Stop fussing around; you're making my head spin."

"I am not fussing around," she admonished. "And it's that concussion that's making your head spin. You're lucky to be alive, you know! And just what did you think you were doing? What are you going to say if the police ask what you were doing on that boat in the first place?"

"Laura, I was working on a case - my case," he reminded her.

"You don't do things like that alone!" she kept fuming. "You are not..."

Realizing he wasn't listening, she stopped in mid-sentence, her gaze following his to the far corner of the cabin where a large stone lay, neatly circled several times with a nylon cord. Her hands involuntarily clutched his shoulders as he gulped.

With some effort, he took his stare off the menacing sight and pleaded quietly, "Let's just go outside."

Once outside, Laura insisted that the paramedics summoned by the police treat the bump on Remington's head. Too week to protest, he didn't even complain. When the detective in charge of the case asked them to accompany him to the police station to answer some questions for his report, Laura persuaded him that, in light of Mr. Steele's condition, it would be better if he proceeded with his initial inquiry then and there. Detective Barton decided there was no harm in that - after all, it would be no problem locating one of the Los Angeles' most famous detectives if more information was needed later.

The sun was already rising over the city by the time Laura drove him to his apartment on Rossmore. Remington had been forbidden to drive in his condition and, if the truth were told, he didn't feel fit to do anything at all. He was sick, tired, and dizzy, and though the dull headache had ebbed a little, it was still aching.

But even worse than his physical ailments was the emotional ache he felt at the knowledge that he had failed to accomplish his objective. He had solved the case to Vigilance Insurance's satisfaction, the money had been recovered, and the police were even convinced that Keyes had been framed by the real culprits, but without Laura's intervention, he would have been dead by now.

"Come on," Laura said, interrupting his train of thought. "You're home."

Business as usual, Remington thought, put off by the way she switched from mother hen to associate. After sharing a silent ride in the elevator, he watched quietly as she turned down his bed, brought him a pitcher of water from the kitchen, and fussed far too much.

Finally, she leaned in and gave him a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, saying, "I'll take the couch."

"Laura," he said nervously as he took her arm. "Not that I wasn't glad to see you or didn't appreciate your timing, but what were you doing at the marina?"

Laura's expression told him just how much she dreaded answering his question. "I saw your car and followed it," she reluctantly admitted. When he kept his eyes locked with hers, she added defensively, "I wanted to talk to you!"

"And what exactly stopped you from talking to me when I first arrived at the marina?"

"Your car was empty when I got there..." she said hesitantly. "... and I didn't know where you'd gone."

They both knew she was lying.

"I found copies of the research Mildred did for me in your desk drawer," he said, looking her straight in the eyes. "Is that why you followed me?"

Laura's expressions went from surprise to denial to sheer anger in a split second. "I don't believe it!" she charged. "You've been going through my things!"

"I was looking for a paper clip!" he retorted.

Unable to respond, she looked down.

Pausing, he continued, "I had intended to show you what I'd learned so we could check out the boat together... but then I found the copies."

"I was worried about you," she finally admitted. "I shouldn't have made you work on this case alone... we are a team..."

"Laura, I will never be more than a figurehead as long as you treat me as one. We can only be a team if we treat each other as equals. Think about it. Just... think about it."

He knew Laura was already in her office, but he hadn't seen her yet. He knew he had to face her, but he was unsure of what to say to her after the events of the past two days. Even though she had stayed in his apartment until late afternoon, they had avoided talking to each other. She had awakened him from time to time to check on him and had even cooked him a light and surprisingly good lunch, but most of the day had been spent in silence.

When he heard the door from the reception open without as much as a knock, he welcomed the interruption.

"What is it, Mildred?" he asked, still staring into the window.

Hearing no reply, he turned around and came face-to-face with the man who had been the catalyst to all his problems.

Never one to waste time on pleasantries, Keyes shoved him a bunch of painfully familiar little books across his desk and said, "I have something for you, Steele."

With a sinking feeling of disaster, Remington looked at the items in his suddenly clumsy hands. He didn't even have to open them to know what was inside each one - Michael O'Leary, Ireland, Douglas Quintain, England...

"What are these?" he asked in a coarse voice, giving each copy of his old five passports a cursory glance.

"Your passports, of course," Keyes laughed. "All I would have to do is call the police and tell them a story about their owner - a guy with mysterioso past - and you are as good as gone."

"I don't know what are you talking about," Remington said. "I would never have cheap fakes like these..."

"Come on, Steele. You don't think an honest guy like me could afford to pay for state-of-art forgeries, do you? They may be cheap, but they'd get the job done."

Keyes had hired a forger to create copies of his old passports in an effort to gain leverage over him, Remington realized. He swallowed hard, wondering if the obnoxious investigator would be satisfied if he just up and offered to leave the country. Laura would be devastated, but the alternative seemed worse.

"You know, you are a very lucky man, Steele," Keyes continued. "I was arrested on my way to pick those up. Just a few more hours and the police would have been very interested in going over some of the finer points of your past."

"Keyes, just leave Miss Holt out of it," Remington pleaded.

"You know, Steele, there is one thing that puzzles me," Keyes said, pretending he hadn't heard a word Remington had said. "What happened to your old passports? You know, the real fakes? I searched your apartment with a fine-tooth comb, but I couldn't find them anywhere."

Keyes' confession jogged Remington's memory. Indeed, soon after he returned from England, it looked as though somebody had been in his flat. But when nothing appeared to be missing, he hadn't given the incident another thought.

"I don't have them anymore," he admitted grimly.

"Well, you do now."

"Listen, Keyes," Remington started in low voice. "You do what you have to do. All I ask is that you don't touch Miss Holt..."

"No, you listen, Steele," Keyes said, pointing his finger at him. "You are a threat to me because you interfere with my business. But... I owe you one. God knows why you helped me; if I were you, I wouldn't have. This doesn't mean the hunt is over, but it will be fair play from now on. Just remember this - if you slip, I'll be there watching."

Keyes slapped Remington on the arm as more peals of screeching laughter filled the office. "Keep those - just consider them a... memento..." he said. Then winking, he added, "And, uh... don't worry about Holt; she's not the one I'm after."

With yet another laugh, Remington's bald adversary turned and left the room.

After doing a lot of soul-searching, she realized that, deep down, maybe she had never really wanted him to become a detective in his own right - that she had never wanted him to become her equal and possibly even exceed her. After all, if he became a gifted detective, he might not need her anymore... and he might... go away. Unable to bear the thought that some day Remington Steele wouldn't need the woman behind the man, she had subconsciously made sure it would never happen.

Maybe it was the time she disposed of that short leash she had been hiding from everyone and learned to trust her own feelings. Maybe it was time for the two of them to build a relationship based not on guarantees for the future, but rather on the fact that they wanted to be with each other and no one else.

Laura shivered at the perspective of explaining everything to Remington - possibly even apologizing to him. She knew he wouldn't gloat, but it still wasn't something she was looking forward to doing. Gathering her courage, she walked over to the connecting door into his office, but the sound of painfully familiar laughter stopped her and the hair on the back of her neck stood straight up.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the connecting door and looked inside. To her surprise, Keyes was nowhere to be seen, but Remington was standing in the middle of his office, holding something in his hands.

The sound of the door opening drew his attention, but didn't completely snap him out of his reverie. He looked at Laura, still at loss.

"Was that Norman Keyes I just heard?" she asked, poking her head through the door.

Not wanting to scare her, he made an effort to compose himself. Giving her a lopsided grin, he asked, "Care to light a little bonfire tonight, Miss Holt?"

"Oh, no, not another issue of Bedside Babes," she groaned.

"No, but these items do have pictures."

"What items?" she asked, indicating the leather booklets in his hands.

"They're a thank-you gift from Norman Keyes."

He gave Laura the passports and the sudden paleness of her face told him she understood what they meant.

"He told me it'd be fair play from now on," he said, trying to reassure her.

Still holding the passports, she wrapped her arms around Remington's shoulders and whispered, "I came so close to losing you, and I don't want that to happen ever again."

"You won't," he promised.

Shaking her head, she clarified, saying, "What I mean is... I don't want my independence if it means loosing you."

He hugged her in response and she knew he understood. "You won't lose me," he promised again.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," she whispered suddenly, burying her face in his chest.

He held her tightly and lowered his head to her cheek, saying, "It's my fault, too. We'll learn together, as a team."

She nodded and said, "I talked to Frances... she invited us to dinner next Saturday."

He gave her a light kiss and they just stood, bodies molded into one another, two people who didn't need words to understand each other.

Finally Remington asked, "So, where shall we burn those? Your place or mine?"

"How about if we save them - and burn them at our place?" Laura suggested.

"Sounds wonderful - just as long as it doesn't have three flights of stairs."

The sparkles in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. She smiled in response and was about to playfully punch him in the shoulder when he grabbed her wrists, sending the passports fly across the room.

The End