Remington Steele never could watch the rows of televisions that lined the wall of the gym. Laura had always admonished him on his inability to multi-task, especially as she would effortlessly track down leads on a case while taking their daughter to soccer practice, but he would counter that quality was more important that quantity. "I thought you appreciated my devotion and single mindedness," he would tease, "I remember in Ireland when…"
She would shoot him a look that should have been angry, but her sly smile gave away her true feelings. It had been over 21 years since their impromptu marriage, and yet he had yet to experience a moment of regret. There was no seven-year-itch, or even seventeen year itch. Just the realization of the life he had always wanted as a child. He finally had his dream family.
It was as he thought about how lucky he was that the image on one of the television screens caught his eye. It was one of those tabloid news shows with camera thrust into the faces of celebrities. He didn't want to call them actors, since that seemed to sully the names of the great screen icons of the golden age of cinema. No, these were talentless faces that would be replaced next year by new models of equally dubious distinction.
That was the moment that he realized the talentless face that currently held the screen was his 20 year old daughter who was wearing a dress so short that she must have bought it in the children's department. Remington Steele was about to fall off the end of the tredmill when he quickly lept up and pushed the emergency stop button.
"She has that effect on people," the man on the machine next to his piped up and he pointed at the television screen. "Did you see that Maxim with her on the cover? I had to buy a few copies of it so that I didn't wear one out."
"Do you know what they're saying about her," he asked, trying to pretend he hadn't heard the man's previous comment.
"There's a rumor about a sex tape coming out with her and… well, I guess it could be anyone really."
Steele sighed deeply. "Thanks," he said as he tapped the stop button on the other man's treadmill, causing him to lurch forward and lose his footing. Remington smiled slightly at the image of the guy who had been leering at his daughter flat on the ground, but ultimately it was hollow. After all, his only child seemed to thrive off having the attention of men. It hadn't always been that way. In fact, for most of her life she had been something of a tomboy who was more comfortable climbing trees and throwing punches then wearing makeup and preening for the cameras. But at some point that had all changed, and he found himself more likely to see her in the tabloids than at the dinner table. He wanted nothing more than to take her and lock her away until she came to her senses, but she was an adult, and there wasn't much he could do except sit by and watch her ruin her life.
But, he told himself as he grabbed his cell phone, he didn't have to do it silently.
"Sabrina Holt Steele," he said gravely into his cell phone, "We need to talk."
/
Sometimes Laura had to struggle to remember how this had all started. The day that she created Remington Steele was perfectly clear in her mind, but it seemed like it had happened to someone else. The desperation and fear that motivated her then had long dissipated. These days she wasn't interested in proving to the world that she didn't need anyone else. She was happy leaving the danger and dirt of detective work to the number of associates that Remington Steele investigations had gained through the years. She'd come in every day to supervise the case work and offer her advise. Mostly though, she'd just sit in the office she shared with her husband and worked on maintaining the mythos they had created. Appointments with high profile politicos, meetings to get new clients, and the endless parade of journalists who wanted to have Remington Steele's opinion on any news story that had a crime element.
She shuffled through the papers on their desk, letting her eyes linger on the collection of family photos that stared back at her. Her and Remington Steele's second wedding, the real one, they had planned after their return from Ashford castle. A picture of Sabrina in her cap and gown at graduation. And, her favorite, the picture of newborn Sabrina being held by her father.
Laura had been unconscious when the picture was taken. While her pregnancy had been completely uneventful the delivery had been touch and go as the doctors struggled to save Mother and child. The last thing remembered before she had passed out was two orderly pulling Remington from the room as he tried to fight them off and stay with her. An hour later Sabrina was stabilized and Laura was still in critical condition. Nobody knew if she was going to make it, and it was clear from the picture that her husband had been crying. His face was unshaven, eyes bloodshot and puffy. But as he held his newborn daughter there was an image of peace that radiated from him. The man who had spent his life running away from responsibilities was now happily tied down to the women in his life.
When Laura was stable the next day she held her daughter in her arms while Remington sat on the bed holding her. The perfect picture of a family, but there was an unspoken heaviness in the air. "I'm sorry," Laura finally said.
He knew the reason for her apology but he waved it off. "Don't be sorry. I'm just happy that you're okay. I couldn't care less about having more children."
"Be honest. You aren't disappointed you're not going to have a son to carry on your name?"
He chuckled, "It's your name, remember?" She laughed; sometimes she forgot that he wasn't really Remington Steele. "Speaking of names, what are we going to call her?"
"I'm up for suggestions," Laura said, "but I'm not naming her after some movie. So you can forget about having a little Scarlett O'Hara Steele or Holly Golightly Steele or…"
"How about Sabrina?" he suggested.
"Isn't that a movie?" Laura pondered. He shook his head, assuredly.
"No, it's from a poem by Milton."
"Sabrina Steele," she repeated a few times, "It's perfect." It really was perfect, so much so that eight months later when Laura discovered the name also was a title of an Audrey Hepburn movie she didn't demand they change it.
"Mrs. Steele," the intercom buzzed, "There's someone here to see you."
"I don't think I had an appointment until 10."
"No," Anna, the receptionist whispered, "He's with Interpol. He says it's important."
Laura tapped her fingers on the desk, "Well, if it's that important send him in."
When the door opened there was an impeccably dressed young man with light brown hair and a wide smile. "Good Morning Mrs. Steele," he said in a clipped British accent, "I hope I'm not intruding on anything."
"Always glad to help out Interpol," she said warmly while slyly sizing him up. He couldn't be older than 25, too young to be handing his own cases. "I do need to see some identification."
"Of course," he handed her what appeared to be a perfectly legitimate badge and card. But looks could be deceiving. She motioned for him to take a seat while she sat behind the desk, quickly pulling typing his name into the computer and relaxing when it verified his story.
"Well, Agent Chambers, how can we help you today?"
He leaned forward, flashing her a smile. "I've heard that your agency is quite adept at matters involving art theft." For a moment her eyes widened, but she quickly controlled it.
"I mean in stopping art theft," he corrected, "Security and the rest of it."
"Of course. Yes, we do have quite a bit of experience when it comes to security. But usually it's art museums and collectors who are looking for out services. Not Interpol."
"Well, this is a complicated case," he admitted. His eyes caught on one of the pictures on her desk. "I'm sorry, but who is that girl with you. She looks so familiar."
"My daughter works as a model," Laura explained, annoyance clear in her voice. She loved her daughter, but she had hoped that someone with Sabrina's brains and abilities wouldn't be using her looks to get by. It was annoying to think that after she had tried so hard to be respected as a woman in a man's world, her child seemed intent on being nothing more than a pretty face. "You've probably seen her through that."
"I'm sure that's it." He chuckled to himself as he began explaining his reason for being here.
/
"No thanks," Sabrina told herself as she saw her father's name on her phone's caller id. It wasn't even 10 AM yet, and she didn't believe in dealing with disappointment before lunchtime. And there was no doubt that the conversation with her father will be filled with disappointment.
Collapsing back on her sleigh bed, she let her hair fall into her face to block the sunshine seeping in through the sheer drapes. As much as she wanted to sleep she knew it was impossible. She was booked for two interviews before noon and then a photo shoot in the afternoon. Not to mention she still needed to squeeze in a trip to the gym and a fitting for her Golden Globes gown. On top of it she still was going to have to deal with the fallout from the sex tape rumors, which had seemed like a good idea at the time. Those were her famous last words. There was another sit down with her parents coming in her future, she could feel it, and it filled her with dread. No, today wasn't going to be pretty. So it was nice to take a few moments lying under the covers and pretending that it was all a dream.
The phone kept ringing and she picked it up, not even opening her eyes. "Steele here," she muttered. There was a pause as she listened to the man on the other side of the conversation. "I really don't have time today, unless it is important." She chuckled at his answer, "I know, with you it's always important. I'll meet you at the office, just give me a half hour."
/
Laura heard the office door slam shut and smiled at her husband, but only for a moment. He wasn't in another expensive suit, but a pair of shorts and a white t-shirt. "What's wrong?"
"Sabrina," he grumbled, "Do you know what she's gone and got herself into now?"
"Probably nothing she can't handle. What are you doing dressed like that?"
He kept pacing back and forth, like a caged animal. "I'm at the gym…"
"Dr. Harris will be glad to hear that. Now if you'd just go on that low fat diet."
"…and I look up and our daughter is dressed like some type of… cheap floozy…"
Laura rolled her eyes, "I don't believe it. Sabrina would never dress cheaply. An expensive floozy maybe."
"... and everyone is talking about some tape being leaked on the internet. And I swear to God, Laura, I'll kill whoever the bastard is that…" He kicked the wall and immediately regretted it.
"Calm Down," she said, helping him to the couch. Sitting next to him she took her hand is his and took a deep breath. "Now, have you asked Sabrina about any of this?"
"No."
"So, you're just working off rumors and gossip? That sounds like a great plan." Laura kissed his cheek softly. "There's no point in worrying about something that probably isn't true."
"When did you become so logical?" he asked, relaxing slightly. "I just feel like we're losing her. I don't even recognize her anymore. I just wonder what we did wrong?"
Laura couldn't think of anything to say, so she changed the subject. "You know what will cheer you up? Planning a heist."
"Yes, larceny does always make me feel better. But it always seemed to get you upset? Have I finally corrupted you, sweet?" He kissed her gently and she luxuriated in it for a moment, wishing it was time to go home.
"It's for a case," she said as she pulled away, "Interpol wants us to steal a painting."
"Really. That's odd. I've always found their take on theft to be depressingly similar to your own."
"We're stealing it from a thief," she explained. "They know who has the painting, but he's some diplomat and they can't use the regular legal channels to get it from him. And so it comes down to us. If you think you can still manage."
"What are you implying?"
"Well," she teased, "We are both getting older. Maybe it's time to hang up the catsuit."
"Never," he said, kissing her again. "Besides, you look so good in it."
/
Sabrina looked like her mother, lanky with honey colored hair and slight frame. But her entire demeanor, from her devil-may-care attitude and the slight smile that always played on her lips… that was strictly from her father. She also had his eyes; not just their color but the ability to wall off true feelings behind them. You never really knew what she was thinking, although she also had her mother's temper, so chances are that she'd tell you anything on her mind. The Steele's had joked on more than one occasion that Sabrina was the perfect mix of all their best, and worst, qualities.
She walked into the office without any greeting to the receoptinst. They all knew her here. Without even knocking she let herself into the back office and sat down on the plush couch against the wall. He watched her behind the desk for a moment before sighing loudly.
"A sex tape?" he asked "Really?"
She shrugged as if she was bored by the whole conversation. "I do have a reputation to retain. You wouldn't want people thinking I'd gotten boring in my old age."
He couldn't help but laugh at her bravado. "You're 20. That's hardly old."
"By 20 my father had worked as an assassin and overthrown dictatorships. At least if you believe the myth of the great Remington Steele." She shook her head, as if trying to erase her thoughts, "Don't worry. It isn't real. I started the rumor to explain why I was going to skip Sundance. I need to keep a low profile the next few weeks, so…"
"I don't follow. Won't this make you even bigger news?"
"This is just step one. Next I start a story that I'm checking into a spiritual retreat in Sri-Lanka. While they're all in the jungles looking for me I'll be here working on the case." She pointed at the dossier in front of him.
"It's always business for you, isn't it Sabrina?" He walked to her and gently passed off the file folders. Immediately she began pouring through them, reading each word carefully until they were committed to memory.
Tony Roselli couldn't help but stare at her. She really did look just like her mother, he thought, as he began explaining the mission to her.
/