Chapter 23: Manipulations and Falsehoods
Laura watched as an older sedan followed her into the parking lot at the building where Meyerson's offices were ensconced. With a shake of her head, she alighted from her car. Apparently, her husband had managed to redirect Monroe's man to the office, as the car had followed her from there. With a sigh, she recalled her reluctant agreement to allow Remington at least this much peace of mind. Still, it simply rubbed her wrong to allow a car to follow her, when years of experience had taught her to hit the gas and evade.
She found Remington cooling his heels outside the doors to Meyerson's office. When he leaned down to press a kiss to her lips, she smoothly turned her head away. His lips caught the side of her head, and earned her a pinched look from her husband.
"Still a bit miffed, I see," he noted.
"Oh, more than 'a bit'," she answered blithely.
Looking heavenwards, he said a small prayer for patience. It was one thing to have Laura's temper directed towards him when it was well-earned, quite another when he was in the right and in his opinion, this situation was most definitely the latter. His hold on his own temper was iffy, at best, right now, and he hoped that they could both convey the portrait of the happily married couple to Meyerson when they met with him shortly, and that neither would set the other's temper off. At the end of the day, he held little hope in either regard.
After checking-in with the receptionist, he sat down heavily in the seat next to her. The silence lingered, thick and unwelcoming. He glanced at her taking notice of the prim way she sat: back ramrod straight, shoulders back, and hands clutching the purse in her lap. Rubbing his neck, he pondered what to do. After long minutes passed, he sighed deeply, and knowing he was likely about to infuriate his petulant partner, grabbed her hand and pulled her from her seat.
"We'll be right outside, should Mr. Meyerson be ready to meet," he informed the receptionist, who nodded knowingly at him, only drawing another sigh from him. To give his wife credit, she didn't drag her feet or require him to literally drag her from the office, but went willingly.
The second the door closed behind them, she spun around, ire sparking in her eyes.
"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded to know. He slowly closed in on her, until she stood against the wall. Leaning on an arm, he moved close enough that he could speak in a bare whisper.
"I realize, Miss Holt, that you are intent on making it patently clear that you are displeased with me. However, might I suggest that this isn't necessarily the best of times. We hardly present the portrait of wedded bliss, and we're expecting that man in there to cite we are exactly that to the INS," he suggested in a deceptively calm voice. His own temper was peaking by now.
She tilted her chin up, the portrait of stubbornness. He closed his eyes and blew out a deep, slow breath.
"Laura," he drew out her name, the tones of a soft plea threading through it. That caught her attention and she looked up, and seeing the strain, the worry on his face, let out a breath of her own, relaxing against the wall. She lay a hand against his chest, wordlessly assuring him all would be fine, and felt some of his tension flow away from his body.
"You're right. Now's not the time," she relented, then followed that up with a warning. "But don't think we won't discuss this when we get home."
"I'd expect nothing less," he agreed. He bussed her on the forehead. "Thank you," he told her in quiet sincerity.
"You're welcome. Let's get this over with, hmmmm?" With another buss to the top of her head and a brisk nod, he followed behind her into the office a hand on the small of her back.
Upon re-entering the reception area, they were immediately directed back to Meyerson's office. As in the last two times they'd met, Meyerson stood to hold out a hand to the couple.
"Seems to be getting a habit," Remington remarked. "Might be more enjoyable to make thrice weekly lunch dates at this point, eh?" Meyerson chuckled at his remark as the three of them sat.
"Before we begin," Meyerson started, nodding towards the envelopes and flowers lying now on his desk, "I'm assuming these are from Roselli as well?"
"We can only presume. We haven't opened any of the envelopes as of yet, but I believe the dahlia's speak for themselves," Remington answered in the affirmative.
"Any contact beyond these?" Meyerson inquired further, while picking up the envelopes and looking them over.
"A phone call." This time it was Laura who answered.
"Do you mind?" Meyerson asked, raising his brows towards the couple, then looking pointedly at the letter opener held in hand.
"Not at all," she assured him.
"The content of that call?" he further probed as he slit open the first envelope. She glanced at Remington, then returned her gaze to Meyerson.
"He asked if I had a nice trip… a 'last hurrah' before I rid myself of Remington," she answered tightly.
"Had you been on a trip?" She nodded, then realizing he was focusing on the contents of the envelope answered aloud.
"We'd come home from a short vacation a few hours before," she confirmed. This time it was he that nodded as he read the contents of the final envelope. Looking up, he addressed them both.
"Any reason you haven't opened these?"
Laura and Remington shared a look, each asking the other silently, why? Looking back at Meyerson, she raised both her hands and then dropped them. Remington shrugged one shoulder at the attorney, acknowledging he had no explanation as well.
"Would you like to know?" he pressed. Laura looked to her husband again, who raised his brows at her.
"Sure, why not," she agreed without enthusiasm. He picked up the first piece of paper.
"'How does it feel to know that your so-called husband sees you as second best to a hooker?" Laura flinched as the words hit home. Remington swiftly claimed her hand in his own, soothing his thumb over her palm, even as his skin flushed from anger.
"'What kind of man barters for a green card for himself, but not to keep criminal charges from being pressed against his wife? A man who is only using her. Wake up, Laura.'" Laura's hand clutched Remington's a little tighter.
"'A housekeeper from the Wilshire Marquis has sworn out a statement that she walked in on your husband and Shannon knocking boots. He cheated on you not even a week after you were married. You deserve better, Laura.'" Her hand went limp under his at the words.
"Enough," Remington insisted quietly, directing a glare at the attorney. Meyerson either didn't hear or simply chose to ignore him, he wasn't sure which, but continued on to the fourth and final note.
"'Mark my words, the minute he gets that green card, he'll leave you, Laura. You deserve better than a man treating you like little more than a whore.'" He felt the tremor in her hand before she yanked it away from his. Folding both her hands primly in her lap, he watched as the walls went up and the shutters closed. She looked at Meyerson with a carefully schooled blank look, while Remington's glare grew darker.
"Pretty powerful words," Meyerson noted. "Strong. Some might say filled with anger, even hate. Not at all the poems or flowery words I was expecting."
"The man's not prone to prose, but to manipulation and falsehoods in order to get what he wants," Remington commented, voice frigid. "Forgive me for appearing impatient, but we were under the assumption that you'd requested our presence here this morning to share, as opposed to… collect, information."
"You'd be correct in that assumption," Meyerson acknowledged, his eyes alighting on Laura again then back on Remington.
"Shall we get on with it then?" Remington asked with edge to his voice.
"Yes, of course." Picking up a piece of paper from the corner of his desk, he extended it to Remington. "In a nutshell, an official letter from MI5 stating any and all work Roselli performed for them was during the course of a temporary assignment last year and all ties with Roselli have since been severed."
"Given he was just working within the bowels of MI5 five short months ago, they seem… eager… to deny that association," Remington observed.
"Yes, I found that of interest myself," Meyerson agreed. "However, putting that aside, I do believe the solution to your problem with Roselli is close at hand." Laura sat up straighter at these words, engaging now in the conversation.
"How is that?" she asked.
"I reached out to one of my contacts at the INS after you departed on Thursday, gave a brief summary of the information you'd shared with me, and suggested it would be in the INS's best interest that he and someone holding a good deal of authority meet with me Friday."
"And?" she pressed.
"After presenting the information you'd shared, viewing the videotape and a not so subtle reminder of the incident in Mexico City in the INS offices there, I was informed Friday afternoon that Roselli is being recalled from his vacation in order to be reassigned to the Frankfurt offices, to work on a project in conjunction with the USCIS to aid potential emigrants with gaining admittance to the United States." Meyerson sat back in his chair, a pleased look on his face.
"He's being transferred," Laura mumbled.
"With the understanding that any further contact with you or Mr. Steele will result in his immediate termination," Meyerson added.
"How long?" Remington demanded to know.
"As I said, he is on leave and they were trying to make contact with him. They fully expect he'll be leaving Los Angeles prior to week's end. I have also secured their assurance that as soon as he has departed I'll be informed, so that we can confirm."
"You'll let us know as soon as you receive word?" he pressed further.
"I will. And, if you don't mind my sharing these notes as well, perhaps we can turn up the heat under the INS a little more." Remington looked to Laura, who agreed with a curt nod. Standing, he offered his hand to Meyerson.
"Thank you, again, for your assistance. The quicker Roselli's gone from our lives, the better." Meyerson clasped his hand in his.
"This should have never have happened in the first place. As I said previously, dealing with the INS is strenuous enough, without a rogue agent hounding you."
Laura stood as well and gave Meyerson a graceful nod of her head. "Thank you, we appreciate all you've done."
"It's been my pleasure, Mrs. Steele. Don't worry. A few more days and those notes and flowers will just become a bad memory." Unknowingly, she shook her head at him.
"I hope you're right," was all she had to offer.
The newlyweds left Meyerson's office and traveled wordlessly to the elevator. The silence prolonged, thickened as the lift traveled downwards. Remington stood, hands in his pockets, regarding Laura, trying to get a read on where her mind was at, but she was locked down tight. When the doors slid open, she half-heartedly skimmed a kiss against his cheek.
"I'm going back to the office. I'll see you at home," she told him distractedly, then moved to walk away and leave him to his own devices. His hand reached out and gently grabbed her arm. She turned to look at him quizzically.
"Laura, we need to talk about it," he implored quietly. She gave him a detached smile.
"There's no need," she told him calmly. "As you said, manipulations and falsehoods… Roselli's specialties." His heart stumbled seeing the dull look in her eyes, feeling like they'd suddenly catapulted back to those days immediately after she'd found him trying to wed Clarissa.
"Laura-" he beseeched quietly, only to be cut off.
"I'm fine," she told him, her voice rising with the falsehood. Quashing her ever rising anxiety, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "We're fine," she assured him. "I just want to go check in on Mildred. She shouldn't be back so soon. She should have most of the names checked out by the time I get back. I'll be home soon. We can go over what she finds then." Seeing the strain on his face, and hating that she had nothing to offer to alleviate it, she held out the only olive branch she could think of. "I'd like to go for a run later. Maybe you'll join me? A rematch?"
He could only nod at her then watch as she walked away.