Steele Investments
Part 4
by Melinda
 
 
"The man in the alley," Laura began, having chosen her phrasing for the sake of diplomacy since 'the man you shot' had elicited a visible wince from her sensitive Mr. Steele the first and only time she had used the phrase.
 
"Laura, really, it's not necessary to mince words." The pair stood outside the entryway of 1230 Thrush Street, a rundown commercial building in a seedy neighborhood of East LA. They both wore black from head to toe: their standard uniform for after-hours break-ins.
 
"Did you get a good look at him?" Laura held a penlight aimed at the lock, standing lookout while he worked, crouched down in order to better manipulate the lockpicks.
 
"No, unfortunately, I was too busy trying to save my own skin." There was an audible click and he stood, reaching out to grab the handle with a gloved hand. He held the door open for Laura.
 
"Well, in the morning I'll just visit the morgue and see if he's been identified," she said, slipping inside.
 
"Smashing idea." He followed her inside, taking the time to turn the deadbolt, securing the door.
 
Laura waited for him, venturing only a few feet down the long narrow hallway. To either side the doors of various small businesses bore signs ranging from "Crawfield Accounting Services" to "Paris Massage--Be Cool. Get Massaged Regularly."
 
"Feeling sore, Laura? Have I ever mentioned how clever I am with my hands?" His voice lilted in her ear, creating warmth in her abdomen and a funny palpitation of her heart. Laura closed her eyes for a second and sank into his natural seduction, leaning into the heat of his torso against her back. His fingers curled invitingly over her shoulders.
 
"All the time," Laura reprimanded, jumpstarting her wits, turning and delivering a playful swat to his arm. Laura was not about to become distracted--not in the middle of such an important case--not with so much hanging in the balance.
 
He laughed, unabashed, and made his way down the hall, locating Suite 110 in short order. "Locked," he announced, trying the knob.
 
"Mr. Steele, if you would?"
 
"Of course." He made it through the second lock in shorter time than it had taken to jimmy the first. "Cheap lock," he commented, giving the round knob a twist 'n' shove as he rose. The door swung inward to reveal a small office, no more than ten feet by ten feet.
 
"Something of a closet," Laura observed, peering in. "No windows." She located the light switch and turned it on the second that the door shut behind them, revealing an interior no more appealing for the dim yellowish illumination of a one-hundred-watt bulb.
 
They spread out in order to cover the room--she to the right, he to the left--operating in what had become a familiar pattern of investigation. Laura was not sure when it had happened: that they had begun coordinating and cooperating without any discussion or plan.
 
"Will the autopsy report be ready by tomorrow?" he asked, inspecting a row of filing cabinets along the wall.
 
Laura shook her head. "I doubt it," she said, reaching a cluttered metal desk. She sank into an ancient brown leather chair that creaked, inspecting the piles of papers with interest.
 
Then she gave an awkward, pained little laugh that caused him to look up from the open drawer. His brow arched in silent query.
 
"Oh, it's nothing. I was just thinking--and it occurred to me why I don't know how long it takes for an autopsy report to be ready."
 
"Murphy, hmm." He did not ask; he knew. "The man had a singular talent; I'll grant him that."
 
"I understand why he left," Laura said, inanely because it was not the topic of the conversation revealing what was foremost in her thoughts. "It will be a great career opportunity for him," she babbled.
 
"Murphy didn't leave for a career opportunity, Laura," he said, sounding preoccupied. He had his hands wrapped around one of the cabinets and had begun to shove it to the right. "He left because of you."
 
It was an unintentional jab. Laura felt water fill up her eyes. Quite unexpectedly, loss jabbed at her chest with its knife blade, and she had to blink hard to stop the tears, reigning in her grief with a hard yank.
 
Reaching out, she grabbed for a Kleenex and came up instead with a fistful of papers. She had no awareness of his moving, but suddenly found him beside her, offering his bandanna--a strip of black cotton that he carried for those times when there might be cameras.
 
"I'm sorry," he said. "I only meant that it was obvious you didn't return Murphy's feelings--and it can be quite daunting for a man to realize that his affections can never be truly returned. Your commitment to the agency is formidable."
 
"Thanks," Laura said, sniffing as she accepted the offering. He nodded and said nothing as she dabbed at her eyes, a silence for which she was grateful. It was not easy hearing him say what her mother had said so many times before, but with slightly different words. She was married to her career. Men did not want to compete with a job for a woman's attention.
 
"Look at this," Laura said, holding up a piece of letterhead that she'd snatched off the desk. The letterhead read: Steele Investments--a subsidiary of Remington Steele Investigations.
 
"It appears that someone has been misusing my good name," her companion declared, displeased and disagreeable.
 
"Whoever's behind this--they're going to be sorry when I get through with them!" Laura declared, attacking the desk with renewed vigor. Her tears were gone as swiftly as they had come, leaving seething indignation in its wake. That anyone would dare steal the name--endanger the very reputation--of her agency!!!
 
Her search turned up a Rolodex and accounting ledgers, far more data than she could possibly analyze with a quick flip-through. The books especially would take time to study before they revealed their secrets.
 
The Rolodex, though, provided a list of familiar names, a few that Laura recognized immediately: former clients, addresses, phone numbers, even birthdates. It was the sort of information that only someone who had access to the agency's files could gain.
 
A hard glittering suspicion grew in her gut, and Laura turned to look for him, recalling all too vividly all of Murphy's dire predictions and paranoia about the supposedly reformed conman. It was unfair and irrational, but there was always some hard, holdout part of her that could never wholly trust him.
 
Was he behind this? Had she made it so easy for him?
 
The subject of her suspicion had located a floor safe. He crouched over the dial combination lock with his head titled to the side, listening intently as his nimble fingers spun the dial.
 
It was too easily opened. Either he was extremely talented--or he already knew the combination, and this was all an act.
 
"What's inside?" Laura asked. Her words were clipped. He seemed to think nothing of the hard edge of anger in her tone, assuming that it stemmed from discovering that the agency's name was being misused.
 
"Some cash, treasury notes," he inventoried. "Ah, a safety deposit key!" He lifted the key out, leaving behind the currency, and Laura struggled to school her features as he returned to her. She failed.
 
"Laura, is something wrong?" he asked, finally noticing her expression, taken aback. He smiled uncertainly and peered at her with those deep blue eyes. Her heart melted, and she felt not only stupid but guilty for once again assuming the worst about him.
 
"Our customers are on this Rolodex," Laura blurted out, indicating the device. A great weight lifted off her with the admission, freeing her to negotiate the path of reason again.
 
He looked at her hard, eyes narrowed, lips pursed, and Laura knew what he was thinking without being told. It must be difficult for him, constantly coming up against her mistrust and suspicion. Abruptly, she was terrified that she was her own worst enemy, driving him away, driving everyone that she cared about away, including Bernice and Murphy.
 
"We'll figure this out, eh?" He reached out and gripped her fingers, giving a gentle squeeze. His blue eyes were gleaming. "Or my name isn't Remington Steele."
 
"Oh!" Laura's breath exploded from her in a burst of exhalation, and she realized that she had been holding it. She took a swing at his shoulder. "You!"
 
With a laugh, he dodged her playful punch.
 
To Part 5
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