Chapter 27: Everything

Surprisingly, Jarvis hustled Laura straight into his office as soon as she arrived, anxious himself to wrap up the work day. Within thirty minutes her statement was made and signed. As she rose to leave, she chewed at her bottom lip uncertainly, before giving a sharp nod of her head in answer to her internal questions.

"Detective Jarvis, if you don't mind, I'd like to speak with Roselli for a few minutes." Jarvis looked at her, caught off guard at the request.

"I'd think you'd want nothing to do with him after all he's put you and Steele through," he commented thoughtfully. "Are you sure that's wise, Miss Holt?" She shrugged.

"I think I've more than earned the right to inform him, in person, that this is the end of the line for him where Mr. Steele and I are concerned. Don't you?" she demanded to know, her brow furrowed with annoyance. Jarvis held up both hands at her.

"I didn't say you couldn't, I asked if you thought it was wise. What would Steele think?" She winced at the question, admitting that he would more than likely be furious when she told him.

"I've had years of dealing with Mr. Steele's… irritation… with some of my decisions, Detective. But that's the point. It's not your decision to make or his. It's mine. And I'd like to speak with the man," she insisted in a voice that brooked no argument. Jarvis lifted his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head.

"You can't say I don't know to get out your way when you're determined to do something," he relented. Pointing a finger in her direction, he amended, "But only five minutes, Miss Holt. Visiting hours are over and I don't want the jail rioting because other inmates view Roselli as receiving special treatment." He opened the door and escorted her from his office as he spoke.

"I'm sure five minutes will be more than sufficient," she agreed, with a regal nod of her head.

Jarvis stopped at a desk positioned next to a door where a lone officer sat.

"Andrews, have Roselli brought to the visiting area. I'll escort Miss Holt in myself." Andrews promptly picked up the phone, calling back into the jail to make the arrangement. Jarvis led Laura through the door, then down a long hall, before they turned to their left and entered a long, empty room that featured chairs on one side of a partition of glass, where an equal number of chairs were lined up on the other side. Dividers could be found approximately every four feet, and a phone hung on each side of the glass in the makeshift cubicles. Jarvis ushered her into the first of the cubicles then backed up to stand a respectable distance away to allow her privacy.

She watched impassively as an officer led Roselli into the other side of the room. Her eyes calmly raked across his face, noting his blackened eyes, swollen cheek bones, split lip, taped nose and that he held himself stiffly as he shuffled towards where she sat. The look of hatred that flashed briefly through his eyes was so stunning in its intensity that she had to suppress the gasp before it passed her lips. Just as quickly, it disappeared to be replaced by that smarmy smile he seemed to reserve for her.

She picked up the phone and waited for him to do the same.

"I'm so glad you came, Laura," he began. "You've gotta tell them that this is all a big misunder—" Her disbelieving laugh and brisk shake of her head, was accompanied by a hand held up towards him.

"Don't even bother, Tony," she bit out. "I'm not here to visit, to engage in small talk, or even to play your little games." His lip curled upward at both her words and her sharp tone.

"Proud of your husband's…" he sneered the last word "handiwork?" She rolled her eyes upward and carelessly flicked a hand at him.

"If you're hoping for sympathy, even pity, you'll have to look somewhere else," she told him dismissively. "You won't find any with me. You tried to have Remington killed in London. You helped frame him in Mexico for Keyes alleged murder. You've since made threats against his life… again. You've bugged our homes and office, put transmitters on our cars." She took a deep breath, trying to control the anger that had begun to rage as she ticked off the man's offenses against she and Remington. "You've twice… twice now… battered me."

"Laura, I'm sorry. You know I'd never hurt you, not intentional—"

"Enough!" she demanded, her voice harsh, matching the fury in her eyes, the tightly controlled anger in her face. "No more. No more lies. No more surprise appearances. No more following us. No more flowers, or notes or phone calls. No more photographs. No more invading our privacy. No more trying to tear us apart." Her hand lifted to rub a brow. "I'm going to say it only one more time. I love my husband and have known since the day we met that there would be no one but him in my life, ever again. Our marriage is real, and its everything that I have ever dreamed we could have with one another. There is no place for you in our lives. There never was, and there never will be."

His face had darkened with anger throughout her speech, and now he laughed, almost maniacally at her. "I've told you before, Laura, he won't have you. I'm not giving up."

She slapped her hand down on the small ledge in front of her hard enough that the glass of shook and sparks of heat lit up her palm. "Listen to me, Roselli," she shouted angrily. "I'm done. Remington and I are both done. When the INS arrives to put you on that plane to Germany, we'll drop the charges… conditionally. If you ever contact us or come near us again, we'll refile every… single… charge. We'll make sure you're fired. We'll work with the Mexican authorities to gather the proof needed that will assure your conviction for the solicitation of murder in Norman Keyes death. We'll find the proof that you set up Remington to be killed in London. We'll bury you so far and so deep in criminal charges, that you will never see the light of day again. Am I making myself clear?!"

"Crystal," he sneered, then leaned forward in his chair so far that his forehead nearly touched the glass between them. "Now, let me make myself clear. He won't have you."

Closing her eyes, she shook her head and took a deep breath before looking at the man again, then couldn't suppress the disgusted laugh that bubbled up from inside.

"Jarvis," she called, "I'm done here." Standing, she leaned forward to stare Roselli straight in his eyes. "The rest of your life, Tony. Take a look around you when you're taken back to your cell. Because if you come anywhere near us again, I promise… I promise… that will be your view until the day you draw your last breath." Turning, she walked as gracefully as she possibly could, with the boot clonking on the floor beneath it, and left the visiting area without ever taking so much as a look back.


Closing the door to the apartment behind her, Laura took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She'd argued with herself throughout her ride home from the LAPD, and mind made up, prepared for the fight she was quite certain would be taking place shortly. She considered not telling Remington of her conversation with Roselli. After all, it was unlikely he'd ever find out about it, unless the news came from her. But, somehow, that felt like a betrayal. They'd worked hard on communication and honesty in their relationship since he'd returned from London, and to hide this from him would damage those efforts. Better to tell him and deal with the inevitable backlash, than to keep it a secret and have it always between us, she reminded herself again.

Her resolve nearly broke when she entered the kitchen and saw her husband dressed in a pair of black jeans with a black, red and white checked shirt, left untucked and partially unbuttoned. Her mouth began to water and not due to the delicious smells emanating from the oven and stove. Damn, she lamented. Her body had reacted viscerally to the sight of him, vibrating with need. She wanted nothing more than to slip her hands up under those shirt tails, and run them from stomach to chest over his warm, taut, skin… to let her fingertips trail through the silky, black hair that covered him there.

Forcibly tamping down her need – thank God I've had almost four years of practice at that – she hoisted herself up to sit on the counter of the island, nicking a glazed green bean from the plates he'd already begun to fill. After taking the time to pull the pan of roasted lemon pepper chicken from the oven and to set it on the island nearby, Remington turned bright blue, affection filled eyes on his wife. He tasted her lips briefly, then unable to help himself, immediately leaned in to taste them again. Smacking his lips together with pleasure, he welcomed her home.

"All go well?" he asked.

"Report's all filed," she answered truthfully, while avoiding the topic of Roselli for the moment. "Did you find anything in the office?"

"Mmmmm," he hummed, while serving the chicken onto their plates. "Behind the curtains in both of our offices, the coffee maker in the breakroom, in the flowers in the reception area, and bugs in all our phones. I dare say, our privacy is now restored," he grinned at her.

"Good," she answered, then briefly hesitated before looking at him slyly from under her lashes. Here goes nothing. Taking a deep breath, she spoke the words. "I saw Roselli."

"Hmmmm," he hummed in acknowledgment, as he moved to the sink to clean the roasting pan. "How did that go?" She stared at his back as though he'd suddenly taken leave of his senses.

"F-f-fine," she stumbled. Giving a little shake of her head, she spoke again. "I made it clear that if he doesn't steer clear of us from here forward, I'll do whatever I can to make sure he spends the rest of his life behind bars." Confession over with, she sat back and waited for the explosion.

"I imagine he took that well, eh?" he inquired, as he dried the pan by hand and set it back in the cabinet from which it had come. Her brows furrowed, his reaction – or lack of one – thoroughly flummoxing her.

"About as you might expect," she confirmed. Her eyes followed him as he picked up their plates and carried them into the dining room.

He turned back to her, raising his brows expectantly once he set the plates down. Laughing low in his throat, he returned to the kitchen, and clasping his hands about her waist, lifted her down. "Care to join me? Dinner? Food? Sustenance?" His voice lowered, as a single finger traced her jawline. "Fuel for whatever fires may be stoked this evening?" He smiled when she trembled slightly, her imagination flaming to life at the words, his touch.

Giving in to the urge that had seized her when she first saw him a few minutes before, she slipped her hands under his shirt. Nipping at her bottom lip, she closed her eyes while her fingers explored the warmth of his stomach then chest. This time, it was he that trembled under her touch, at the heat in her sultry brown eyes when she opened them. With a great deal of willpower, he carefully extracted her hands, pressing his lips against the back of each.

"Food first, love. Can't have you petering out from hunger in the middle of the…" he brushed his lips against hers, "…festivities later, now can we? And if I know you at all, Mrs. Steele, I'd wager you've not eaten since breakfast this morning." She frowned slightly, trying to remember. Not that she'd admit he was right, of course.

"It smells wonderful," she said instead. He laughed knowingly, as he held out her chair for her.

They ate, at first in relative silence, while she grew increasingly uncomfortable, wondering when, precisely, he'd bring up her visit with Roselli. His hand reached across the table on occasion to brush his fingers against the back of her hand, stoking the fires that had flared to life as soon as she'd seen him in the kitchen when she came home. She glanced at him with uncertainty several times before finally sitting down her fork and approaching the topic head on.

"Alright, I can't take it any longer. Let me have it," she told him resignedly. He raised a brow at her as he took another bite of his food.

"What, exactly, am I to 'let you have'?" he asked, curiosity lighting his eyes.

"We both know you're not happy about my seeing Roselli…" He shrugged a shoulder.

"I'd have preferred that you not," he agreed, taking another bite of food while keeping his eyes on her.

"You're not angry?" Her brow furrowed, expressing her confusion. He sighed and set his fork down.

"Laura, we've been together going on half a decade now. Do you honestly believe that I didn't know before you ever took your first step out the Agency doors that you'd be unable to deny yourself the opportunity to have the final word with Roselli?" he queried.

"But you're not angry?" she tried again. Like Remington, there were still certain nuances of married life that continued to escape her.

"Did you place yourself at risk?" She shook her head.

"That's all I've ever asked of you, Laura. If I demanded anything more, it would simply be a dare for you to do otherwise," he pointed out, not for the first time in recent months. He pursed his lips, deciding to try another approach. "Are you upset with me for my, er… conversation… with the man?" She mulled the question only briefly.

"No," she answered easily, picking up her fork and resuming her meal. "I knew that if you ended up face-to-face with the man, you'd carry through on your promise to him in Cannes. Even if I'd been there, I couldn't have stopped you. You wouldn't have allowed him putting his hands on me again to go unanswered."

"Precisely. Being married doesn't change who we are. It only perhaps lends more weight to our…" he searched to for the right word, "…concerns… opinions… on certain matters." He shrugged. His general ease with the entire matter had her flashing her dimples at him. Taking a final, definitive bite of her food, she stood.

"Mr. Steele, I think I'd like that bath now." His eyes met hers. Taking in their molten brown depths and the flush already coloring her skin, he slowly set his fork back down on the table.

"Mmmmm, I can see that, Mrs. Steele." Standing, he gathered her in his arms, and kissed her softly, before giving her a smack on the fanny, drawing a laugh from her. "Why don't you get the bath ready, while I clean up out here and pour us a couple of glasses of wine?"

Grabbing the collar of his shirt, she pulled him down and gave him a long, lusty kiss. "Sounds like a plan," she agreed when she released him, grinning at his shortness of breath, the darkening of his eyes. Pleased with herself, she slipped from his arms and walked to the bedroom, leaving him shaking his head and smiling. Passionate, indeed, he laughed to himself.

It was clear when he entered the bathroom that his enticing wife had an evening of seduction in mind. The lights of the bathroom were off and candles burned throughout the room. She'd set up the small boom box she normally took to the beach on the bathroom counter and soft music played low. His eyes traveled the length of her body, a body wrapped in one of his silk robes. She undressed him slowly, pressing her lips against, touching, each bared piece of flesh until he was breathing heavily. Only then did she let his robe slither off of her shoulders and drop to the ground. Stepping into the tub, she leaned back then held out a hand, having him stretch out between her legs and recline against her. They limited their conversation to small talk, interspersed with frequent kisses as she ran a soapy wash cloth over his skin. When she sat the wash cloth aside and began pressing kisses down his neck, suckling the skin of his shoulder, then lathing it with her tongue even as her hands stroked his chest and stomach, Remington tried to shift her so that he could exchange exquisite ministrations of the same kind with her. He felt her shake her head behind him.

"I want you in our bed," Laura murmured next to his ear. "I want every inch of you available…" she drew her fingers lightly up his body from waist to shoulder, smiling as she felt his body quake, "…to touch, to make love to." He groaned his agreement deep in the throat.

They adjourned to the bedroom after toweling off and she lost herself in his body, and he in her touch. When she straddled him hips to take him inside, she moaned softly and his eyes widened as he watched the brief flash of pain cross her face. Only then did he remember her injured ankle and he wondered how long it had been hurting her, as she'd touched, stroked, kissed his body endlessly. His hands reached to still her hips, and he carefully rolled them over until he perched above her on his elbows. He pressed his lips against her forehead, even as she tried to roll them again.

"You're hurting," he whispered. She shook her head, nudging at his shoulders.

"I'll be fine," she told him, her lips seeking skin and nudging him again.

"'Fine,'" he stole a kiss, "will never be an acceptable descriptor of our love making," he disagreed as he palmed a breast, his thumb circling its sensitive peak. "Exquisitely passionate…" his lips and tongue wandered from freckle-to-freckle, down the column of her neck to her shoulders "… earth moving… heart stopping… breath taking… awe inspiring… achingly wonderful…" he leaned forward to claim her lips, kissing her with an infinite tenderness that left her humming. Resting on his elbows, he thumbed her cheeks, even as her hips pressed against his, telling him what she wanted.

"Rem…" she softly pled, her amber eyes lit with a mesmerizing mix of love, passion, need. His back arched as her fingers feathered down his back, pressing his heat against hers.

"We'll be taking this slow, love," he stole a kiss from her lips before his lips wandered from cheek to brow to jaw, "Very… very… slow," he half-promised, half-warned, as flexed his hips to enter her.

"Slow is good," she murmured, her fingers wandered through his hair, across his shoulders, down his back, anywhere they could feel his flesh under them. "Very, very good," she amended breathily, as he slipped all the way inside.

"My God, babe," he whispered against her neck, as her muscles tightened around him. "It's everything…"


Sated, exhausted, and freshly showered, her head lay on his lap as her finger traced the lines of his hand.

"One down, one to go, eh?" Remington pondered. Tilting her head back, she looked at him questioningly. "We've disposed of Roselli, but we've still no idea who's twice now attempted to take us out." She frowned slightly, before returning her focus to his hand.

"Not to mention Mildred, more than likely," she noted quietly. He hummed his agreement. "Married life certainly hasn't been dull so far, has it?" she wondered aloud. He chuckled at her observation. His fingers trailed through her hair.

"Never thought for moment that it would be with you," he smiled.

"Murder…"she shook her head.

"Blackmail…" he provided in a much lighter tone.

"Threats of deportation…" she added, with a quirk of her lips.

"A jail break…"

"Espionage…"

"Obsession…"

"Traveling the globe…"

"A second wedding overlooking the Aegean…"

"A castle in Ireland…"

"Lord and Lady Steele…" Laughter bubble across her lips at the thought of their English titles.

"A new home…" Nudging her off of his lap, he slid down to his back, taking her into his arms.

"Our home." He bussed the top of her head. "I couldn't ask for anything more."

"Nothing?"

"Well, maybe a couple of somethings," he amended. She stilled the hand that had been stroking his side. Did he really just say that? She decided to test the waters.

"A couple?" she asked, peeking up at him through her lashes. He nodded, bussing her on the head again.

"One day, just not quite yet." She nodded her agreement.

"One day," she agreed aloud on a yawn. Her fingers tangled in the hair of his chest until her hand settled over his heart. She closed her eyes, concentrating on its steady thrum. "For now, I just want this…the two of us. It's…" her groggy mind searched for the word.

"Everything," he provided quietly, repeating his words from earlier in the evening. One hand stroked the length of her arm, as the other soothed the silk of her hair. She pressed her lips against his chest.

"Everything," she agreed. On a soft sigh, she sank into sleep, Remington following shortly after.


The phone rang shortly after 1 a.m. Laura wriggled her way closer to Remington in her sleep as he reached for the phone.

"Steele, here," he mumbled, voice sluggish from sleep.

"Mr. Steele, Josh Meyerson. Sorry to call so late but I thought you'd want to know immediately." Remington's eyes snapped fully open.

"Know what?" His mind raced away with him, wondering how he'd explain to Laura that Roselli had inadvertently been released from jail and was on the loose once more.

"A little over an hour ago, I personally watched a couple of agents with the INS accompany Roselli on a plane bound for New York. Once they arrive there, he'll be placed on a flight for Frankfurt. He's gone, Mr. Steele." Remington rubbed at his face with a hand.

"I appreciate you keeping us informed," he told the attorney, unable to think of anything more suitable.

"It's my pleasure. Good night, Mr. Steele."

Remington hung up the phone and snuggled back down into the bed with his wife. The tips of Laura's fingers rubbing against his chest told him she'd awakened.

"What did Meyerson want at this hour?" she asked sleepily.

He rolled to his side, taking her with him, then spooned around her warmth. Gathering her tight against him, he pressed his lips against her cheek.

"He's gone, Laura. Meyerson watch the INS escort him onto a plane an hour ago. He'll be out of the country soon." She nodded against his chest, her hand seeking his that lay against her stomach. Twining their fingers together, she pressed her lips against their joined hands then tucked them between her breasts.

"Happy belated anniversary, Mr. Steele?" She whispered the only words she could think of, as the relief settled over her. He nuzzled her head with his chin.

"Happy belated anniversary, Miss Holt," he agreed. One down, one to go, he reminded himself again, as he drifted back to sleep.