"Please, bring your new accomplice along; we're most anxious to meet with her."

"Accomplice?" Laura shoved the card into her pocket, stormed to the reception area, and demanded, "Where is he?"

Bernice, to whom the question was addressed for the lack of other audience, raised her head from the typewriter and shrugged, "Gone."

"Did he say where?"

"Does he ever? It's Friday afternoon. For him after lunch is already overtime." As Laura started walking toward her office, the receptionist added, "But now that you mentioned it - he did say something about the possibility of being late on Monday - whatever he meant by that."

"He did, did he?" Laura bristled. "Well, you can tell the late Mr. Steele..." she broke off with annoyance. "Never mind." Her body language slipped instinctively into the form of a question. "What do you think he's up to this time?"

"The devil only knows. But I'd say 'no good' should cover it."

"If anyone should ask, I'm gone for the weekend."

With a parting wave, Bernice shot her a knowing look. "Have fun!"

A new Mercedes drove down a country road; trees on both sides provided welcome shade shielding the sun that was still high over the horizon. The driver, a stocky man with the remains of what once had been a heap of dark brown hair and a mustache almost large enough to compensate for the loss, was addressing the question to the man beside him - the man whom the newspaper-reading, TV-watching population of Los Angeles now identified with the name of Remington Steele.

"Oh, about three or four years, I should think," he replied after a momentary hesitation. "We haven't gathered since Robert sold that house in Italy."

"Right, right. Such a lovely place; I miss it sometimes." The driver spoke in a low, guttural voice with a thick French accent.

With a slight shrug at the idea of missing something that's already gone, the younger man replied, "Ah, Pierre, but Los Angeles has its advantages."

Pierre was distinctly unimpressed. "I like Europe. Oh, but I forgot - you live in Los Angeles these days, don't you?" It was a rhetorical question, as less than an hour earlier the driver had picked up his traveling companion at his apartment. "How does one truly live in such a place?" Pierre held up a restraining hand. "Don't answer, Michel. I'm an old man and it would only depress me. But tell me, what happened to your car, then? I hope there hasn't been an accident."

"Oh, no, no," Remington assured him quickly. "Nothing like that. I gave the chauffeur the weekend off. No sense in dragging the poor fellow all the way up there; he'd want to spend some time with the wife and kiddies." Which undoubtedly Fred would, he mused. If he had them.

"Not to mention his absence will make this reunion more... intimate," Pierre suggested with a sly smile.

Remington Steele only smiled in response.

The two men stepped out of the car to be greeted by their host, a tall, meager man in his sixties. As they shook hands, he added, "No Miss Holt?"

"Sadly, no," Remington gave Howard a polite smile. "Couldn't be helped; last-minute thing in Marseille."

"Oh, come now. You can't lie to your friends! What bad manners! Surely you didn't think somebody might steal her from you."

"Steal? Steal what? Are you talking business already?" A tall, shapely blonde chirped in, walking toward them through the front door.

"Nicole!" After kisses were exchanged, the Frenchman explained, "We want to know why Michel didn't bring his..."

"Associate?" Remington supplied quickly.

"That's not the word I was looking for," Pierre rebuked.

"Mark?" Nicole suggested, giving Remington a trying look. The look he gave her back caused her enthusiasm to wilt slightly.

"His petite amie along. Howard thinks he's afraid we may steal her."

"Nonsense," Nicole stated with confidence. "Michael wouldn't insult his friends. She must be old and ugly." She slightly straightened her shoulders to accentuate perfectly shaped breasts.

"On the contrary," Remington intervened, "Miss Holt is quite 'collectible' - but, ah, we have a purely professional relationship."

"Professional relationship with a woman? Nonsense! Glad to see you, my friends," another guest said, joining them. He was the perfect picture of a law-abiding citizen - average height, medium build, a face nobody would look at twice. But though these professionally enviable features were his fortune, their plainness was also his sore spot, for which he tried to compensate by an occasional bout of bragging.

"Ah! Phil!"

"It may be nonsense for you but I've had perfectly professional relationships with quite a few men," Nicole pouted.

Pierre remarked, "So have a lot of women - but the men usually meet them on street corners." He amended rather hastily so as not to cause offense. "Bien sur, our Nicole doesn't bestow her affections so easily."

"I have other tricks up my sleeve."

"My dear, that's why you're the only woman around here," Phil replied with a slight bow in her direction. "It's very simple, really. Michael didn't bring Miss Holt because she doesn't know. Does she, Michael?"

"Of course, she does," Remington said quickly. And after a short pause added, "Within reason."

A slight embarrassed silence fell on the close circle of old friends and accomplices, all bound by lives of tempered confidences and half truths, all aware from their own bitter experience of the difficulties in dealing with the outside world. Phil pursed his lips, feeling sorry for hitting that close to home. Finally, Pierre asked, "So, are we waiting for somebody else?"

Thankful for the change of subject, Howard started explaining, "Charles and Robert couldn't make it this time..."

"Neither can Daniel," Remington supplied quickly, glad to be back in familiar waters.

"I didn't bring swimming trunks," Remington answered politely, looking down at Nicole. She was reclining in the hot tub, topless, her head positioned just right to make sure her strawberry blond hair was safely out of the water.

"You know I don't mind. I'm sure others won't, either."

"I'm afraid I do. Can't get sunburned - sensitive skin."

"I could put some lotion on you," she suggested with an inviting smile. "Remember how we used to do it in Nice?"

"It was a long time ago," he pointed out softly.

"What a thoughtless waste of a leading question," she purred coquettishly. "You're supposed to say, 'How could I forget?'"

His manner seemed diffident. "Why don't you join me ashore?"

Her smile dimmed slightly. Still, not changing the playful tone of her voice, she said, "Well, if the lazy bum doesn't come to the mountain..." and outstretched her hand.

He pulled her up and helped wrap her in a towel.

"So, Michael, how have you been?"

"Oh, splendid, splendid. You?"

"Fine. I'm married, you know."

"Congratulations! Have I met the lucky guy?"

"Met him? You introduced us."

"I did?" "But of course. Remember Hong Kong? The priceless jade statue we sold to a crazy collector? The poor fellow just didn't know what to do with his money."

"And you...?"

"...Helped him. Putting it all in a bank vault just seemed so... wasteful." Nicole fiddled with a medium-sized rock on her ring finger.

"Yes, but marrying a mark? What if he ever finds out the statue is a fake?"

"Oh dear, he'd be crushed. Fortunately, it was stolen a month after the wedding. Such a tragedy."

"How very thoughtful of you." He gave her an appreciative smile.

"Can't have anything unforeseen break up the happy family," she replied with a smile of her own. "But you know what? The crook insured it for over twice what he paid us."

He raised an ironic eyebrow. "And you thought you'd married an amateur. Apparently crime does pay in certain circles."

"His or ours?" she winked at him.

"At least you're keeping it in the family."

"I hope it was my last crime. There are better ways to make money."

"I see."

Nicole adjusted her towel as if trying to cover up. "He's a nice man," she said softly.

"You deserve one," Remington's tone was soft, too.

"Thank you." With a gentle smile, she gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. "You don't look like you've done badly, either. So, is there somebody special in your life?"

"Well, you know me..." he gave her a vague smile.

"Yes, I know you."

"What happened to Robert?" he asked quietly.

"He had a coronary. Nothing too serious, but enough to prevent him from coming, of course."

"He's eight years older than I am."

"We're all getting there."

"So we are."

They kept silent for a while and Pierre asked again, "And what about Charles?"

Howard didn't answer immediately. "Let's just say we won't see him for a while."

"Let's hope we won't have to."

After another pause Howard asked, "Do you ever think of retiring?"

"And doing what? Painting rich men's faces on copies of old masters? Quelle horreur!"

"You're an artist; can't you just paint?"

"Hélas! I can paint as Gauguin, as Rembrandt, as Titian, but there is no Pierre Grammont. When it comes to other artists, I can repeat every stroke. I know their use of color, of material... When it comes to my own paintings - trust me, they're worthless."

"That bad?"

"I can fake everyone but myself." Grammont punctuated the statement with a Gallic shrug.

"Sorry, old friend."

"Don't be. When has a small fortune ever been paid for a Pierre Grammont?" After a beat, he clarified, "Signed that way, of course."

"Gauguin suits you much better."

"And what suits you, mon vieux?"

"Not retirement. Who knew boredom came in so few flavors?"

"Our Michel seems to have found another way to amuse himself," Pierre commented, glancing toward the pool.

"Do you really think so?"

"You think his detective agency is just another scheme?"

"With him, who can tell? Why do you think he came alone, though?"

"Knowing him, certainly not because she's old and ugly. Phil is probably right; you don't think she knows, do you?"

"Would you tell somebody?"

"If I ever found a woman whom I could tell everything, would I come here alone today?"

"Monroe!" Remington rose to greet the tall black man coming toward him. "Fashionably late, as ever. I was beginning to wonder."

"If I'd be able to make it? How could I miss it? Someone has to lend wit and charm to the proceedings."

"Oh, indeed. I'm more than happy to be of service."

"My friend, I think you stole my line!"

"Occupational hazard." Remington winked at Monroe.

"Yours or mine?" he winked back and turned his attention to the blonde. "My, my, my, if it isn't Nicole...! It's been so long ago! Nice, wasn't it?"

"Glad to see not all the memories have faded," she pouted prettily in Remington's direction. "What a great time we had, the three of us!" Nicole gave Monroe a broad smile and removed her eyeglasses to reveal sparkling green eyes. The water hadn't ruined her make-up.

"Yes, we did. And you're the best chemin-de-fer player I've ever encountered. It's just not the same without you."

"No, it's not," Remington said quietly. It hadn't been the same for both of them since a certain incident that had occurred a short while later in Barbados... Never mind that; reunions were to remember good things.

Listening to their chitchat, he reclined in the pool chair and closed his eyes. He'd contemplated inviting Laura. It would have been wonderful to spend the entire weekend with her, no work, no cases, no Murphy to protect her, no clients to be protected from him. He was sure Laura wouldn't refuse - if not because of his irresistible personality then because of the remote chance to learn something about him.

That wasn't why he'd decided against it. From their short history together Laura already knew he'd often left the letter of the law unread. That was all she could learn here - his friends might know quite a lot about him but they'd never provide her with any dangerous specifics.

He remembered Howard's suggestion and chuckled to himself. He certainly wasn't afraid his friends would try to make a pass at Laura. From outside they might seem an odd assembly but they very well could be the only people in the world he could ever trust - with anything.

But that was why he didn't want Laura along this weekend. The people who gathered here today came because they wanted to be themselves in the company of those who were like them. They didn't have to pretend; as much as they could trust a living soul, they could trust each other. Within this small circle, each knew that they would never be disowned, as long as they stuck to their own code of honor. Not the kind of friends, perhaps, who'd visit a friend in jail but certainly not the kind who'd turn away after one got out. He just didn't think Laura would understand.

It was the mandatory part of every reunion. Everybody knew the rules but they liked to hear them again. Before the reunion officially began, the guests could call each other whatever names they'd used before. At the introduction, which was usually conducted before dinner, over aperitifs, each stated the name they wished to be referred to this time. Any other information was strictly optional but names were important - not only because some may not want their old ones to be remembered, but also because they'd crossed paths enough that names had become a very fluid and hardly consistent commodity. Introductions restored order to chaos and also made the opening act official, and after the opening ceremony other names were forbidden for the entire length of the reunion.

Pierre was the first to introduce himself. "Pierre Grammont. Artist and art expert. I believe everybody here knows me, so I'll spare you the details."

"Nicole Wong Ton," the blonde chimed in. She stated her real name on purpose - not only to raise a couple of eyebrows but also to show her friends one potential mark was now to be considered off limits.

"Remington Steele..."

There were other rules as well. Possible hatchets, if any, had to be buried, and preferably permanently. Those guests who'd had a falling out in the past were not welcome unless they could put in a pleasant appearance during the reunion. Remington knew that in the past the rule had helped preserve the peace more than once. It had also helped repair a few broken relationships.

"And now, my friends, let the reunion begin."

"And nobody will even be able to tell the difference," Howard smiled.

Pierre gave him a reproaching look.

"Of course," Howard smiled at his own silly statement. "But doesn't it trouble you to know your painting is now subjected to the same fate?"

"It does, my friend," Pierre admitted with a false sigh. "But it won't be the first one, and besides, I was well-compensated for the moral damage."

A few laughs followed the end of his story. Turning a particularly arrogant and greedy client into a mark was a theme that, though familiar, never lost its appeal.

"My turn," Nicole said. She told the same story she'd told Remington by the pool, adding a few details for those who weren't familiar with the history of the statue she and "Michael" had sold to her future husband.

"Refill?" Howard asked her when she finished.

"Yes, please."

He poured some brandy into her nearly empty snifter, straightened, and said, "I think I'll express the opinion of all present in saying Nicole has won the best con game tonight, fair and square."

"Absolutely," Remington agreed wholeheartedly. "And the best prize, too."

"I'd say," Howard chuckled.

"The prize is hard to argue," seemingly pleased, Nicole fiddled with one of her diamond earrings, "But we've yet to listen to our Mister Remington Steele. He's a big shot in the crime-battling world these days, and I'm dying to know how he pulled this one off."

"Oh, come now," Remington said, "Change of profession can hardly be considered a con."

"It can when you have to persuade the police department, the newspapers, and the entire population of Los Angeles," Nicole said.

"Well, come to think of it, he does have years of criminal experience," Monroe added, either trying to help his friend or to topple him.

"Come on, Mister Steele, fess up."

"All right," Remington agreed. "Most of you remember that some time ago the rare South African gems, Royal Lavulite, were on a promotional tour of the States."

"That's what I love about you, darling," Nicole said with admiration. "No job is ever too big."

"Thank you." He bowed slightly in her direction, seemingly pleased. "Now, the Remington Steele Detective Agency was in charge of protecting the gems in Los Angeles."

"I thought you were going to tell us how you became Remington Steele," Howard tried to clarify.

A knock at the front door interrupted Remington's story.

"I'll get it," he said as he was the only one standing; after the dinner Howard had let the help go.

"Hope I'm not late," Laura said with a pleasant smile. If he didn't know her that well, he might believe it, too.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was invited." Laura held out the card.

"Where did you get that?"

"I'm a detective, remember? Will you get my bag, please?" With the same pleasant smile Laura walked past him.

"My wastebasket," Remington muttered, opening the trunk of her Rabbit.

"It's getting late," he heard Howard say as he entered the living room. "Such a pity you hadn't been able to join us earlier."

Remington understood. It would be one thing if he'd brought her with him today. Showing up when he obviously hadn't been expecting her was another thing entirely. His friends didn't know how to behave in her presence.

"Absolutely," he agreed, relieved the confrontation between his past and his present could be postponed. "It's time to retire. And in the morning, when I've had the chance to brief Miss Holt on the events of the day..."

"No, no, don't let me interrupt," Laura said quickly. "Please, go on with whatever you were doing. I'm not tired at all."

"Amazing stamina - traveling all day and still fresh as a daisy."

"Polar flights are second nature to me, sir."

"In that case, shall we continue?"

"By all means."

"Then it's your con."

"My... con?"

"Certainly," Remington stated. "You were invited; surely you read the invitation."

"Just the part that called me an accomplice," she muttered under her breath.

"That should've given you the idea."

"Just a minute," she grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side, whispering angrily, "What do your friends think I am?"

"Actually," Pierre called from his chair, "we're playing the best con game and it would be an honor if you could contribute one. Everybody here is dying to find out how you managed to create a world-famous detective out of thin air and maintain his presence for quite some time."

"That is your best con, isn't it?" Remington half-asked, half-stated.

Laura hesitated. It most certainly was, but she wondered how prudent it was to talk about it around all these people.

"Actually, I think we can slightly alter the rules, considering Miss Holt's... background," Howard interjected. "Nobody says a person's best con can't be one they solved."

"Absolutely," Phil agreed, perhaps a little too quickly. "We could all learn something from Laura, couldn't we?"

Laura considered the options. Successful con job scenarios were kept under wraps by the police, and for a good reason - they were hard to come up with and yet harder to solve. Providing somebody with a ready-made scenario didn't seem a wise idea. Oh well, it looked like her Remington Steele had already given them the highlights anyway... She glanced around at the rapt assembly and took a deep breath, hoping there was honor among thieves.

"I've always loved excitement..."

"Too bad it can't be considered the winner," Nicole said, looking none too saddened.

"Why not?" Phil eyed her in surprise. "It may not be as profitable as some others but it's certainly a masterpiece."

"Nicole is right," Howard said. "It can't be considered a winner; not after Laura was found out."

"That's true," Phil agreed.

"How about calling it a tie this time?" Pierre suggested. "It's not the game but the participation that matters and I, for one, think that tonight we had a very stimulating, invigorating evening. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to retire." He stood up and with a slight bow in Laura's direction said, "It's been a real pleasure meeting you, my dear."

"Likewise," Howard added. "You're going to add a great deal to this weekend."

Everybody else stood up, getting ready to leave.

"Maybe tomorrow Laura will oblige us in sharing more of her professional experiences," Nicole said, moving close to Remington.

"I wouldn't want you to find out I sent up some of your friends," Laura said sharply. She was beginning to dislike the blonde. Was it because she was the only woman in that strange assembly or because of the looks she had been casting toward Steele?

"Can't think of anybody in that predicament," Nicole shrugged.

"Maybe tomorrow Laura will change her mind if we manage to earn her trust," Monroe intercepted, casually positioning himself between Nicole and Remington. The latter gave him a quick appreciative glance.

"We've all practiced the, ah, gentle art of persuasion," Phil avowed. "Professionally speaking. If we can't earn Laura's trust, then who can?"

"Good question," Remington muttered to himself, quickly removing his foot from under Laura's heel. Catching her elbow as she nearly lost her balance, he said with sidelong gallantry, "Miss Holt, allow me to take you to your room."

"Care to explain any of that?"

"No, not really."

That wasn't the response Laura had expected. She had been prepared to face long explanations that had nothing to do with the truth, which she'd have to wring from him as she always had, and here he was, standing in front of her, with a smug smile on his face, waiting for her to digest the denial, obviously enjoying the pause.

"I found the invitation in your office. The invitation that called me an accomplice!" she charged.

"Did you happen to read the address on that card?" Remington asked dryly.

"The... what? What does that have to do with anything?"

"The card was sent to my home address. It invited me to meet with my friends on my free time..."

"When isn't your time free?" Laura sniped.

"Beside the point," he said impatiently. "It asked me to bring my accomplice. My throwing it in the office waste basket doesn't mean you have the right to read it."

"It does when it endangers the reputation of my agency."

"What made you think it did?" His voice was too calm but Laura didn't notice.

"They're your friends."

"Exactly. Do me a favor and keep that in mind."

"Every one of those people out there is a..."

"A what?" he challenged.

"Never mind." She finally let go of him and stalked toward her room.

He caught her, pressing her against the same wall. "Before saying anything else about my friends you may want to remember who nearly won the best con tonight."

She swallowed and looked at his neck, at the tender spot over his collar that she wanted to squeeze almost as often as she wanted to kiss.

"I did not!"

"No, you didn't. But not for the lack of trying."

She winced. "I only created Remington Steele to attract clients!" Unimpressed, he cocked an eyebrow at her rather self-serving spin. Feeling the moral highground shift beneath her feet, she protested, "God, things were a lot easier until you showed up!"

"Judging by the increasing number of clients, they're a lot better now." He proudly adjusted his tie, making Laura's hands curl into fists.

"Wouldn't you call it a little late for a business meeting?" They both jumped at the sound of Monroe's voice however, however, Laura's stifled sigh of relief didn't escape Remington's attention.

"We never close," he said without missing a beat.

"So I see. And you're just making sure your business partner is comfortable for the night."

"I thought you and Nicole were going to talk over the good old times," Remington said pointedly.

"My friend, are you aware that her husband owns a collection of antique weapons, which he keeps in perfect working condition?" Monroe asked, lowering his voice, but keeping it loud enough so Laura could hear him, too.

"Gives a man pause, doesn't it?" They gave each other a knowing smile. With a slight bow toward Laura, Monroe said, "If you need anything, my room is just down the hall. Don't hesitate to knock."

"Thank you," Laura said with a half-suppressed smile, but as soon as Monroe turned around her face grew serious again. "I see one really shouldn't leave anything unattended around here."

"In that case, maybe you should spend the night in my room," Remington suggested quickly before her playful mood was completely gone.

"I'll be fine, thank you very much."

"I wasn't worrying about you."

One eyebrow quirked in disappointment. "That makes one of us."

"I'm sure you'll manage. Don't forget to lock the door."

"You haven't had the time to observe the living accommodations but I hope it doesn't come as a complete surprise to you that bedroom doors in this house don't have locks."

"Why not?"

"One of the rules imposed on these reunions - we wouldn't want to show our mistrust by locking our valuables."

"Interesting custom."

"Besides, what good would locks do anyway?"

"Figures." Laura threw her hands in the air. "Then you'll just have to prop something heavy against the door."

"I think I'll manage," he repeated her very words with a tone that suddenly made her wonder just how, actually. "If you need help moving heavy furniture, don't hesitate to call Monroe. Good night."

She clenched her teeth and turned on her heel, but before she could disappear into her room he caught her arm, leaned down and breathed into her ear, "Miss Holt..."

She stilled, expectant.

"When the card mentioned an accomplice - what made you think it was you?"

He adjusted the hair displaced by the gust of wind created by the door slamming in his face, grinned, and continued down the hall. Sometimes he wasn't sure what he enjoyed more - courting Laura or sparring with her. It was such a delightful combination!

Meanwhile, he and Monroe had a lot to talk about.

The End