Disclaimer: It doesn't take a detective to figure out that I don't own Remington Steele, or anything associated with the show. I'm just a fan who felt like writing. That's it!

This story is set in the middle of the fourth season, after Mr. Steele recovers from "Santa Claus is Coming to Steele."

It was a beautiful morning in Los Angeles. The sun shown brightly in the sky and even at 6:00 am the bustle of the city could already be heard mingling with lilting birdsong.

Laura wanted to shoot them all.

"Oh…" she moaned, punching off her alarm with slightly more force than was necessary. She fought the urge to stifle the day with a pillow to her face, and yawned. She and Mr. Steele had been following a case the night before that took them until "the wee small hours of the morning." Laura laughed – in one short, staccato burst – as she remembered Mr. Steele's rendition of the song while Fred drove them both home.

I'll have to give Fred the rest of the week off, she thought. After last night, he deserves it. She stretched slowly and stood. I wish I could have the week off… She shook her head as she imagined Mr. Steele's reaction to such a suggestion. No doubt he would recommend a return trip to San Diego, or some such place, all in the name of relaxation. That is, if her admission of exhaustion didn't cause him to have a heart attack first!

But Laura was tired. She had been working nearly non-stop for years now. She loved to keep busy, but found that part of her just wanted to take a break. Not a long one, but for once she would love to be able to take a vacation without a case intruding! Crime seemed to follow the two of them around, and she had begun to wonder if it was her luck or his that never seemed to give them a moment's peace.

Running a hand over her face, Laura sighed and went to her closet. Deciding to forego the usual pantsuit, she picked out a dress to wear, laid it across her bed, and headed for the bathroom. She was just about to turn on the shower when a loud crash disturbed her peace.

She froze. Two voices drifted in from the closed door.

"Laura Holt? We know you're here." It was a deep voice. She imagined the man was slightly overweight.

"Why don't you make things easier for yourself, and come quietly?" This man was younger than the first, and likely in better shape. She heard them begin to search her loft.

Laura tensed. She locked the bathroom door, cringing at the slight clicking of the handle as she did so. Thirty seconds later, she heard one of the men test the door.

"Hey," he called out to his partner, "It's locked."

Laura gently unlocked the handle again, knowing the men were probably armed, and that bullets could easily penetrate the door. At least this way, she hoped to generate some confusion and possibly throw the men off guard. Her eyes fell on the fingernail file she had left on the counter, and she grabbed it; her muscles tense.

Sure enough the second man – the younger of the two – came a moment later, and twisted the handle. Laura flattened herself against the wall behind the door as it began to open. She fought to calm her breathing as she stood there, waiting.

It only opened a few inches before the second man said, "Must've been your imagination. Come on – she's not here. We'll have to tell the boss to go to plan B."

Laura felt relief wash over her as the men turned away. She began to cautiously lean forward to peer around the corner, when the bathroom door was suddenly kicked in. The edge of it caught her forehead, and the force of the blow slammed her head back against the wall behind her. Laura felt herself falling as everything slowly faded to black…

Hope you enjoy the cliffhanger! I hope to have more posted soon.

As this is my first Remington Steele fic, I would – of course – appreciate reviews!