Chapter 10: A Minor Turn of Events

"Laura, jump!" Remington yelled.

So far the Rabbit had remained on all four tires but only a half dozen yards or so further and the slope they were descending pitched off into open air. Operating on instinct alone, both released their seat belts and shoving open the doors, dove towards the ground. They grunted audibly as their bodies rolled and bounced down the slope. Laura, grasping at anything she could, finally managed to grab onto a protruding root and came to a jarring stop with a groan. Remington continued rolling end over end, his body slamming into the trunk of a tree, mere feet from the drop off. With an "oompf" at the impact, his breath knocked out of him, he lay still.

"Remington!" she screamed his name, scanning the trees and overgrowth for him while skittering to her feet. "Mr. Steele, okay?" Panic began to set in when he didn't answer according to their agreement and she couldn't find him in the surrounding vegetation. A sob of relief bubbling up from her throat when she finally spotted him. Grabbing iron willed hold over her emotions, by the time she reached him she was the icy calm he so often described her as being. Kneeling beside him, she ran her hands over his arms and shoulders then grasped him by his cheeks. "Remington," she said quietly, then more sharply with a couple of stinging pats to a cheek when he remained unconscious, "Mr. Steele!" Groaning, he swatted at her hand, trying to shove it away.

"I realize you're a bit miffed with me at the moment, but do you really think physical violence is the answer, Mrs. Steele?" he ground out, while working his jaw and stretching his back and neck as he pushed up into a sitting position.

"You wouldn't wake up. I suppose you have a better idea?" she bit out, her anxiety peeking through the calm façade she'd briefly displayed while he was unconscious. Snatching his handkerchief from his pocket she pressed down on the laceration on his forehead. He sucked in a hard breath and attempted to shove her hand away.

"Nurse Ratchet is it?" he groused. She grimaced at the name, then took a deep calming breath and tried again, this time with a softer touch.

"Sorry, I'm just—"

"I know." He pulled her hand away from his head and gave it a squeeze. "No time for that at the moment. It'll be fully dark soon. We'd better make our way up to the road where we might be seen… unless we plan to sleep out here amongst the wildlife this evening with nary a blanket to wrap up in." Frowning she stood and moved cautiously towards the edge of the drop-off. "Laura, be careful," he told her in a pained voice as he pushed himself to his feet, following after her.

They peered over the edge together at the wreckage below.

"Well, love," he said pensively while scratching at the side of his nose, "As much as I've looked forward to hearing the rabbit's dead, this is not quite what I had in mind."

"My car," she lamented, drawing out the second word in sorrow. Stretching an arm around her back, his hand soothed up and down her arm.

"I don't see it rising from the ashes this time," he told her, confirming what she already knew.

"But we've been through so much to—"

"Dad's not going to believe this!" a voice from the road above called out to them. Both their backs stiffened.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Laura ground out between gnashed teeth as they turned in tandem and looked up to the top of the ravine to see Minor DesCoines peering down at them.

"I'd say it's good to see you again," Remington called back, "But I'd rather hoped you'd gone the way of bell bottoms, platform shoes and discos, or, at the very least, your lunatic father."

"Still as acerbic as ever, I see, Mr. Steele. It must say it's not a very attractive trait," she scolded.

"One might say the same of unbalanced children bent on murder," he retorted.

"I'm hardly a child any longer. As for unbalanced? I assure you, I'm as sane as you. Wishing to see you dead does not equate to insanity."

"I suppose we'll have to agree to disagree," he replied with a disbelieving shake of his head.

"Why Mildred?" Laura demanded to know. "Your father's issue is with Mr. Steele and I."

"Just like yourself, Miss Holt, she had to get involved where she wasn't welcome. I was disappointed to learn she survived. Apparently, she's as lucky as the two of you. But you know what they say about luck…" Remington and Laura glanced at one another when Minor disappeared from sight. A scant few seconds later, she returned in view. "It has to run out sometime. That time's now." She shifted, revealing the rifle she'd concealed next to her leg.

"Move!" Remington shouted at Laura, grabbing her hand and running for the cover of the nearby trees. A bullet ricocheted off the ground only inches from his shoe. "Get down, get down!" Diving, they each took shelter behind a tree.

"Now what?" Laura hissed.

"I've no idea. I'll keep her occupied. See if you can find a way for us out of this shooting gallery. Just..." He leveled a worried look on her. She gave him an emphatic nod of understanding.

"Keep your head low, Mr. Steele," she advised. "I've grown rather attached to it. On three. One… two… three!"

"Miss Holt and I were quite troubled to hear the Major faced some health issues," he called to Minor, while peeking his head out from behind the tree, flattening himself against the trunk of the tree when a piece of bark where his head had been flew. Wide eye and laying a hand against each of his cheeks, he stole a glance towards Laura who was three trees down now. He dared to look around the tree again. "Yes, yes, terribly concerned. It would be a shame if one less lunatic were running about in the world." The bark on the tree splintered again, sending him behind it. "Ah, damn," he cussed, sucking in a sharp breath as a piece of debris cut through suit jacket and shirt to bury itself in his arm, setting it on fire.

"How very crass of you, Mr. Steele, to wish a man dead," Minor snarled. He popped out on the opposite side of the tree this time.

"A bit pot, kettle, there, don't you think, given what's transpiring here, eh?" he challenged, ducking again, then diving to the next tree. He scanned his surroundings searching for his partner.

"Three trees down then look behind you. There's a path we can work with," Laura's voice came from somewhere in the woods. "I'll distract her, just get here."

Searching around her feet, she came up with a few good size rocks. She pitched one over to near the tree Remington had first used for cover. Minor drew the rifle in the direction of the sound and triggered off a round. Two trees closer to where Laura had indicated, Remington called out to the woman again.

"You'd think a father would wish his a daughter a good life, instead of encouraging her into taking up residence in an adjoining cell!" he taunted. Minor turned and aimed at him again. He could feel the heat of the bullet as it skimmed past tree and ear.

"My father is a good man, Mr. Steele! You took everything that mattered to him! Some would call this justice." Just as he was about to look around the tree again, another retort of the gun sounded and the bullet lodged itself firmly in the trunk.

"Your father was a thief, a murderer and if anyone is responsible for Lily's death, it's him," Laura shouted from somewhere in the brush, just before two bushes far to Remington's left made a sudden movement. With a scream of utter fury, Minor aimed the rifle at the bushes, and pulled the trigger. Remington dove to the final tree and seeing the slight opening behind it, slid through.

"Get down, get down," Laura urged in a whisper, her hands on his shoulder urging his head down below the brush line. "Look," she pointed at what could loosely be regarded as a path, "If we follow it, I think we should be able to get to the car." He gave her a look suggesting she'd lost her mind.

"Laura, do I need to remind you, the car's not what could be considered remotely road worthy even if we do get to it?" She cocked her brows at him.

"The phone," she reminded him. "Maybe we should get moving before our 'friend' catches up?" she suggested, shoving at his arm. He drew in a sharp breath with a hiss then expelled a colorful expletive. Feeling warm, sticky moisture under her hand, she withdrew it to see blood coating her palm. "What happened to you?"

"Bullet missed, tree didn't," he supplied, drolly.

"Well, no time for that now. There's a first aid kit in the trunk of the car. We'll deal with it then. Come along, Mr. Steele," she said, grabbing at his arm again without thought.

"Laura, a little care please," he growled, yanking his arm away, following behind her as she slid on her bottom down the embankment in front of them.

"It's just a cut," she dismissed breezily, slowly making her way downwards.

"Easy for you to say. It's not you with a tree limb embedded in your arm," he retorted drily. "Ah, my tailor's going to have my head for this. He's already made dire predictions on the future of our association should I destroy another of his creations."

"So, you'll find another tailor," she shrugged. He came to a stop behind her.

"Find another?" he sputtered, before moving again. "One does not just 'find another' haberdasher. It took me near on half of a decade to find the one I use in London, nearly three years here in LA to find one who is merely better than adequate!"

"I'm sure you'll survive. Brooks Brother makes a fine suit," she pointed out. At the base of the steep decline, she stood and began to walk the next portion of the route.

"Brooks Brother!" he huffed. "There are times I think you don't know me at all."

"Oh, I know you well enough that I'm not at all surprised to find you whining about a suit as we're skirting down the side of a canyon wall while a deranged woman hopes to put an end to our lives," she disagreed. He came to a stop again, narrowing his eyes at her back.

"Remington Steele does not whine," he informed her snootily. She looked back over her shoulder at him.

"Well, he's doing a remarkably good imitation of it right now," she riposted.

"So, easy to criticize when one's managed to walk away with nary a scratch," he shot back with a frown.

They hiked in silence for several minutes.

"We might want to pick up pace a bit," she suggested, looking up at the darkening sky.

"Where you go…" he answered by way of agreement.

His strides matched her own as she sprinted into a well-paced jog. Fifteen minutes later, the Rabbit came into view. The car was on its side, little more than a pile of crinkled metal.

"Damn," Laura mumbled under her breath, grateful for the dim light left by nightfall as it concealed the moistness in her eyes.

"Laura?" Remington spoke her name, his concern clear and the question unmistakable. She shook her head. Of course, he would have realized in only that single word that she'd been shaken.

"Later." She waved a hand at him. "I promise, I'll tell you later. Let's just get ourselves out of this mess first, okay?" She took a deep breath and letting it out slowly, regained her cool composure. "I'll try the phone if you wouldn't mind getting my emergency kit and the blankets from out of the trunk."

"Of course," he readily agreed, although watchful blue eyes remained on her. Picking up the car phone, she said a small prayer of thanksgiving that it was still in working order. She dialed in a number and hit send. Once she provided the Malibu PD with a general location, she hung up the phone then searched the car for her purse, unsurprised when she couldn't find it given the condition of the Rabbit. Who knew how many times it had toppled end-over-end and with the roof down? She lifted a hand to her brow and rubbed as the costs, far more than financial, continued to mount.

"The MPD are sending a couple of patrol cars in the direction of where I think we went off the road. I told them we'd make ourselves as visible as possible. Can you help me gather some brush to get a fire going?"

"Do you really feel that's wise given our own little Carol Nelson might be out there just waiting for the opportunity to send us into the great beyond?" Laura drew her head back, shaking it while giving him a puzzled look.

"Carol Nelson? What are you—" She stood up and plunked her hands on her hips studying him at length. "Exactly how hard did you hit your head?"

"King of the Underworld, Humphrey Bogart, Kay Francis, Warner Bros, 1939. A woman bent on revenge makes plans to trap her nemesis, blind him, then send him to his just dues." He shrugged his shoulders. "A loose interpretation, I'll give you that, but the determination is the same." She threw up her hands in vexation and let out a puff of air.

"Why do I ask?" she mumbled, removing the car's registration from the glove box, then plucking a flashlight from the emergency kit, set about gathering brush and sticks to start a fire. "A little help?" she requested, looking over her shoulder at him.

"What?... Of course. Of course. All you had to do was ask." At her growl, he grinned.

In short order, they had a fire blazing, and two of the four flares Laura had in her emergency kit lit. Sitting nearby, she withdrew the first aid kit.

"Alright. Strip. Let's see it," she ordered.

"Really, Laura," he pretended shock at the suggestion. "Do you really believe now is the time or the place? I mean any number of—"

"Remington," she ground out warningly. He held up his hands.

"Sorry, sorry. Just trying to have a bit of fun with you." He slipped off his suit jacket, wincing a little in the process, then turned to look at her when he heard her sudden intake of breath, her eyes riveted on the gash in his shirt at his upper arm, both the sleeve and his side soaked with blood. Then, as was her way, he watched her face blank before irritation set it.

"Why didn't you say something?" she bit out, her hands moving to unbutton his shirt and pull it out from under his pants before pulling it off.

"I believe I made mention of a tree limb impaled in my arm," he noted drily.

"You couldn't have just said 'I'm hurt'?" she snapped as her finger explored the large sliver of wood protruding from his outer bicep. He sighed at length.

"Would it have mattered? We still would've needed to make our escape from DesCoines' pernicious prodigy." She could only shake her head at him.

"Like it or not, Mr. Steele, there's an ER visit in your future." She wasn't willing to risk removing the shard and leaving anything behind, plus it was clear he'd need stitches in the wound. She helped him back into his shirt then turned her attention to the wound on his forehead.

She hadn't finished fully clearing the dried blood from the wound when the lights of several patrol cars danced in a kaleidoscope of colors around them.

"Let's hope the Malibu PD are less persnickety about our endeavors than the LAPD," he noted in an undertone as they stood to greet the arriving officers. Forty-five minutes later and thoroughly questioned, a report was filed with the MPD pertaining to a hit and run, assailant unknown. Laura had received a beleaguered look from Remington when she cut him off before he could identify Minor DesCoines as the perpetrator.

For now, the answer to why that was, would have to wait.