Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Steele

Note: This story is set in season three, between "Let's Steele a Plot" and "Gourmet Steele." I try to cleave close to canon, so readers should approach this in the context of the situation between Steele and Laura on the show during this period.

CHAPTER 1

At 8:55 am, Laura breezed into the offices of Remington Steele Investigations with exaggerated cheerfulness. "Good morning, Mildred!" she chirped, pausing to sniff the fresh carnation in the vase on the receptionist's desk.

"Good morning, Miss Holt." Mildred handed Laura the morning's mail. "Your first appointment is with a Mr. Edward Poole at 10:15."

Laura shuffled through the stack of envelopes. The usual assortment of bills and junk mail. "Thank you, Mildred. Let me know when Mr. Steele gets in." She started for her office.

"Mr. Steele is already in this morning, Miss Holt."

Laura pivoted on her heel and cast a glance at the closed door to Steele's office. "Really?" She glanced at her watch. "That's a first." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What is he up to, Mildred? If he's meeting with a client without me-"

"Oh, nothing like that, Miss Holt. He came in about 8:15 to get started on that paperwork you asked him to take care of yesterday." Noting Laura's raised eyebrow, she continued, "He really is trying very hard, Miss Holt."

"About time." Laura pursed her lips deliberately, trying to suppress the slight smile that tugged at her mouth as she imagined Mr. Steele floundering amid a sea of case reports and budget spreadsheets. She'd give him another half hour of toiling at the detail work he so despised, then reward him with a reprieve: a cup of hot tea and discussion of the week's caseload. Laura knew he'd be chomping at the bit to get into the "action" — which would not, of course, include the sort of routine legwork that every case entailed. She did a quick mental inventory of the current client list, considering which he might find most engaging. The least she could do was keep him reasonably happy with his role at the agency, since she couldn't give him what he really wanted.

As if reading her mind, Mildred said, "Oh, Miss Holt. I hate the way things are between you two these days."

"I know, Mildred." Laura answered. "Believe me, I understand that things are a little … awkward … right now. But it really is for the best. Don't worry. Once we've moved through this, er, transition period, things will run a lot more smoothly around here." She offered the secretary what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "In fact, it's already getting easier every day," she lied, as brightly as she could muster.

Laura maintained her chipper demeanor all the way to her own office, then closed the door, sat down at her small desk and sighed. She'd admit to herself, if to no one else, that maintaining the strictly business stipulations of the Cannes Agreement was more difficult than she'd expected. Difficult — but necessary.

If only she weren't so … itchy. Curse the man, getting her hooked on his kisses and caresses over the past two years. My God, she was feeling so deprived she'd even lost her head over that pompous boor, Butch Beamis! She blushed to think of how she'd thrown herself at the man. Any other time, she'd have given the jerk a swift kick to the assets when he made a fast grab. Laura was almost glad of the few times she and Mr. Steele had slipped into old habits: a brief clinch on a bed in England, a couple of kisses in Ireland. It may have prolonged the process of letting go, but at least they took the edge off. Hair of the dog that bit you, Laura smirked.

Laura distracted herself with prep work for her 10:15 meeting. Routine stuff, no more than an afternoon's legwork. Steele wouldn't be interested in this one. Still, she'd pull him in to give the client that personal Steele touch that always dazzled 'em. As she picked up the phone to dial his extension, a sudden commotion in the lobby caught her ear. She got up and opened her door to see what was going on, and noticed Mr. Steele pop his head out of his office at the same time. They exchanged puzzled glances, then turned their attention to the lobby, where a stout, expensively dressed older woman was engaged in animated conversation with Mildred.

"I tell you, I simply must see Mr. Steele!" she was saying. "I'm sure he'd want to get this news personally."

"As I said, Mr. Steele is in conference and cannot be disturbed," a visibly irked Mildred responded.

"It's quite all right, Mildred," Steele said, stepping out of his office. He crossed to the woman, took her hand and kissed it: a signature move. "Mrs. Peabody! Delightful to see you again!"

The woman melted like a Hershey bar on a hot sidewalk. "Oh, Mr. Steele!" she fluttered. "I'm so pleased to see you again!"

Steele turned to Laura as she moved to join them. "Mrs. Peabody–"

"Please, call me Marian."

He smiled. "Marian, this is my associate, Laura Holt. Laura, Mrs. Pea– Marian … is a doyenne of the Beverly Hills Country Club. She is the extraordinarily gifted driving force behind the club's charitable efforts."

The matron beamed. "Thank you, Mr. Steele."

"Call me Remington."

She giggled like a schoolgirl. "All right, Remington. But of course none of our efforts would be successful without the generous support of members like you." She paused to allow Steele to bow slightly in acknowledgement of the compliment. Laura resisted the impulse to roll her eyes.

"I suspect you know why I'm here, Remington," Marian continued.

"On the contrary, dear lady," he answered. "As delighted as I am to see you, I don't know …" He trailed off as a sudden thought seemed to hit him. His eyes opened wide and a broad smile erupted on his handsome face. "Wait a minute! You don't mean …?"

"Yes! Congratulations!" She clicked open her Gucci handbag, fished inside and pulled out an envelope. "You are the grand prize winner of our raffle: A cruise for two on the maiden voyage of Festival Cruise Line's new ship, the Fiesta!"

Laura and Mildred gasped in unison. "You won a cruise?" Laura sputtered.

"So it would appear, Laura." Steele plucked the envelope from Marian's fingers and deftly tucked it in his inside jacket pocket. "I'd completely forgotten about this. Naturally, I wasn't looking to win. I was just happy to support the very worthy cause of … of … er …"

"Polo lessons for underprivileged youth," Marian supplied, clutching his arm. "It's going to be a wonderful adventure! Half a dozen couples from the club will also be sailing – my Martin and I have a stateroom reserved ourselves."

Laura decided it was time to step in. "Um … when is this cruise, Mrs. Peabody?"

"Next week. I suspect the head of the Remington Steele Agency will be able to get the time off." She winked up at him. "Five glorious days and four glamorous nights on board the most elegant, luxurious ship ever to sail the Caribbean."

"Sounds wonderful." Laura offered the woman a polite smile. "Mr. Steele, might I have a word?"

"I'll let you get back to your important work," Mrs. Peabody said. She gave Steele's arm a squeeze. "I'm so looking forward to getting to know you better on board," —she batted her eyes at him — "Remington!"

As she sashayed out of the office, Laura snagged her partner's elbow and steered him into her office. "You're a lucky man, Mr. Steele," she said, closing the door behind them. "Of course, it would have been nice to have a bit of notice. I promised a couple of potential clients you would meet with them personally next week. Now I'll have to reschedule, if I can't convince them to accept me instead."

Steele sat on the edge of Laura's desk, folded his arms and beamed at her. "First of all, Laura, I could hardly have known in advance that I'd win this trip. And secondly, you will have to reschedule those meetings anyway, because you're coming with me."

"I most certainly am not. I have a business to run, Mr. Steele."

He reached into his pocket, pulled out the envelope and waved it in front of her face. "Tickets for two, Miss Holt. Balmy tropical breezes. Exotic ports of call. Excitement and adventure. All-you-can-eat buffets!"

"You're forgetting our agreement, Mr. Steele. Five days in the Caribbean doesn't sound like a professional trip."

"Ah, but it could be, Laura! Think of all the well-heeled business contacts we could make over shrimp cocktails in the captain's dining room?"

Laura wavered. "I just can't see closing the office for a week …"

"Mildred can hold down the fort. No case work, of course, but she can man the phones and keep the lights on." He watched a familiar little furrow form between her eyes, a sign that she was torn. "Of course, if you really don't feel you can spare the time, I can go myself. I'm sure you trust me to represent the interests of Remington Steele Investigations without your supervision."

Laura shook her head and sighed, perfectly aware of what he was doing. She leaned over her desk and punched a button on the phone.

"Yes, Miss Holt?" came Mildred's voice from the machine.

"Clear my and Mr. Steele's schedules for next week. It seems we'll be out of the office."

She answered Steele's broad grin with a shake of her head. "Anchors away, Mr. Steele."