Chapter 36: Duplicities

Sunday, February 10

"Hello, love," Remington greeted as he settled back against the pillows.

"Hello, yourself, big guy," Laura smiled.

"Ah, Laura," he murmured appreciatively, "Should I assume such a reference means you're going to fulfill a fantasy of mine?"

"And what fantasy would that be?" she asked coyly.

"A little seduction via the phone lines?"

"Reach out and touch you, so to speak?" she teased.

"Mmmmm hmmmmm," he hummed appreciatively.

"And how would I do that?" she teased.

"In the words of that song I woke nearly daily to for a year, thanks to your pals Norm and Bud, 'Talk dirty to me'," he suggested in a rumbling voice.

"Diapers, dishes, laundry, jokes, feet—" He frowned, then when enlightenment came, barked a laugh.

"You're a cruel woman, Mrs. Steele," he accused, as she smiled, pleased with herself.

"Merely protecting you from yourself, Mr. Steele." The comment made a memory dance through his mind, drawing his lips upwards in a smile.

"Familiar words," he noted, reminding her of that day six year before.

"You're supposed to say that I'm everything he's supposed to be and more."

"If I said that, it would go to your head. Then you would cease to be what I just said you were."

"Thank you, Miss Holt… for protecting me from myself."

"Anytime, Mr. Steele."

"I never thought I'd miss DesCoine," she answered, thoughtfully.

"Bite your tongue, Laura."

"Well, it's true," she defended. "He never forced us into hiding."

"Merely planned for me to spend the rest of my days behind bars," he pointed out. "Unless of course, he secretly had a stimulating acid bath in mind for me." She frowned at the thought.

"I don't know if 'stimulating' is the word I choose to describe—"

"How's the babe?" She smiled and stroked a hand over her stomach.

"Baby Steele has been somersaulting against my bladder all day," she relayed.

"Truly good news," he grinned.

"It's not your bladder," she groused good naturedly.

"The girls?"

"Sound asleep, thanks in large part to Billie's promise to take them fishing tomorrow morning." Her fingers plucked absently at a button on her nightshirt of the evening. "Speaking of sleep, any idea how Jocelyn knew to pack what she did?" She'd found three of his shirts tucked into the second of her suitcases. While she'd never admit as much to him, when she'd found the Castoro files in the first suitcase and enough clothes to meet her needs, she hadn't even opened the second case until that morning. On the other end of the line, he tugged at an ear.

"I merely made a suggestion of a couple of items that should be included," he admitted.

"I thought that might be the case." She turned her face into the collar of his white dress shirt she was wearing and inhaled his scent. "Speaking of which, I was reading through the files tonight. In Clarissa's log, Mr. Steele, there are four individuals we need focus on identifying."

"Onto something, are you?"

"I'm not sure yet…"

Monday, February 11

"Alright, girls," Laura announced. "Teeth brushed, then we'll get ready to leave. The three of us and Grans are going to take a trip to town." Two pairs of eyes – one green and one blue – lit up, and two little heads nodded eagerly. In an instant, both girls were running out the door towards their cabin next door under the watchful eyes of Dozen and Tank who'd chosen to eat outside. "Thomas, are you sure you don't want to come with us?"

"I've several calls I need to make before it gets too late, and then, I believe, I'd like to take a long walk, commune with nature for a spell," Thomas declined.

"Alright. Then we'll see you in a few hours. Catherine, we'll leave in twenty minutes?" At Catherine's agreement, Laura followed the girls out the door.

Billie, as promised, had taken Sophia and Olivia fishing with her that morning, and the girls had returned bright eyed, rosy cheeked, and chattering excitedly about the small fish they'd hooked then set free during their adventure. Thomas, much as his son would have, had a hot, homemade leek, cheese and potato soup, accompanied by BLT's awaiting the children on their return. Stomachs full, it was time to turn their attention to a few errands in town.

Girls changed into one of the dresses, pairs of tights and matching shoes Catherine had given them, Laura had just finished pulling Olivia's hair back in a ponytail and turned her attention to Sophie.

"Well, Sophie girl, what's it to be today?" Wordlessly, Sophie reached out and fingered Laura's braid.

"A French braid? Like mine?" Sophie nodded, retaining her silence. "Alright, a French braid it is," she agreed, impulsively hugging the little girl, her heart melting when Sophie not only relaxed into her embrace, but snuggled into it.

The trip to town proved productive, and provided another unexpected surprise where Sophie was concerned. A trip to the library netted a brand new library card and several books to read the girls at bedtime. A trip to market filled the rear of the Explorer with groceries specified on Thomas's list. But it was at their last, scheduled stop of the day that the need for just one more was inspired: Olivia's new, albeit it temporary, dance school. As Laura had registered Olivia, Sophie had stood with nose pressed to the window which allowed parents to watch as their children took class. Tilting her head in thought, Laura observed the little blonde for several minutes before walking up behind her and toying her braid.

"Soph," she asked quietly, "Would you like to go to dance and tumbling classes, like Livvie does?" The little girl turned around, eyes wide and bright.

"Can I, please?" Unbeknownst to Laura, she'd been in dance and tumbling classes, before Castoro had put a stop to it, calling the classes 'a frivolous waste' of his money, threatening to cut the child off completely unless his support was used for 'only the necessary."

"May I, please," Laura corrected gently, then nodded. "Yes, of course you may." She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of the child's head. "I'll be right back."

After a recommendation from the dance studio employee on where to go, they'd returned to the cabins with library books, groceries, leotards, tights and ballet shoes in tow. By the time the girls had eaten, baths were taken, Livvie had received her nightly call from her Da, stories were read, and songs were sung, Laura was simply exhausted, yet still reached for the Castoro files and the notes contained within. She blinked her eyes open, instantly alert and surprised she'd dozed off, when the mobile phone lying next to her on the bed rang insistently.

"Hello," she greeted, as she answered it.

"Ah, Mrs. Steele, you disappointment me," Remington's rich voice traveled over the line. Her brow furrowed, as his comment left her confused.

"How did I do that?" she asked a bit sharply, as she tried to shake the residue of sleep away.

"Here I was, comforted by the thought of you awaiting with bated breath for my call, when, in fact, you were taking a kip." Her frown lifted and she laughed quietly.

"You have no proof I was doing any such thing, Mr. Steele, and your mere supposition wouldn't hold up under scrutiny."

"Ah, but you forget, love," he countered, "I've had years to familiarize myself with the sound of your lovely voice when first you rouse from sleep."

"Purely circumstantial," she argued.

"Yet, I believe any investigator worth a salt would place infinite value on a husband's intimate knowledge of his wife's voice when roused." He paused for effect. "Speaking of arousal, have—"

"I don't believe we were speaking of arousal," she cut in, smiling, already knowing where this conversation would shortly travel.

"Of course, we were," he admonished, humor threading his words. "How could we not be when I'm lying in bed," he glanced down at his lounge pant clad frame, and gave a mental shrug, "Not a stich of clothing to be found, and my intoxicating partner is whispering in my ear in that lovely… lilting… voice of hers?" he asked, adding a seductive undertone to his voice.

"Whispering in your ear? We must have a bad connection." She stifled her laugh as she could picture the look of exasperation on his face, as she shot down another attempt.

"Just a few seductive words, is that too much for a man to ask?" he tried again, a bemused smile playing on his lips.

"Couverture, Richart, Teuscher, Valrhona, Puccini Bomboni, Godiva—" she rattled off in her most seductive voice, while he at first frowned trying to figure out what, precisely, she was going on about and then laughed a disbelieving laugh when he put it together.

"Chocolate, Laura?"

"Is there anything in this world more seductive than chocolate?" she challenged.

"Well, a man might hope he'd rate higher in the art of seduction in his lover's estimation than a sweet confection," he retorted, feigning insult.

"A close second, Mr. Steele," she assured.

"A challenge it's to be then, hmmm?" he asked, drawing her laughter. "Now, how's Baby Steele this evening?" She tilted her head as she considered the question and focused on the baby, who seemed to kick in answer to the question.

"Restless."

"Missing her Da, is she?"

"He could be," she acknowledged, then yawned deeply. "I enrolled both girls in ballet and tumbling today."

"Both?" he asked, clearly surprised.

"You should have seen Sophie, Remington. She was entranced watching the class while I registered Olivia." She painted the scene for his visual imagination, then continued, "I asked if she wanted to take classes as well and she asked if she could." She shrugged a shoulder. "So I signed her up."

"It's never occurred to me that she might wish to…" he rubbed at his chin.

"Me either," she confessed. "But it's going to have to start occurring to both of us. The way she was watching those girls…" she shook her head. "I don't think this will be just something she does, as it is for Olivia. The look in her eyes…"

"We'll do better," he answered, determinedly. "Now, what's on deck for tomorrow?"

"Thomas and Catherine are going to spend the day with the girls while I do some research at the library," she told him, carefully choosing her words but answering honestly, all the same. "Where are we?"

"I've Burton and Celek sitting on Farrell and Hopkins. Nothing of interest to report from that end as of yet."

"And Brandon and Kiara?"

"Oversaw the first of the Finegold installations today. I'd like to keep them on that as long as possible," he supplied. "I must say, Mrs. Wolfe is to be commended on some impressive research."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"It appears we are not in search of a 'Robert' and a 'Phillip,' rather the surnames Roberts and Phillips. Partners out of narcotics. Phillips was investigated a decade back by Internal Affairs after a several packets of coke went missing after a bust." He raised his brows unseen. "One guess as to who he was reporting to then."

"Castoro," she breathed.

"On the nose, Mrs. Steele, on the nose. Thibodeaux has assigned a pair of his crew to tail them."

"I think an evening of dining at L'Orange for Bernice and Jason is in order."

"I'll make the arrangements," he agreed. "On to another couple of matters, one of Weasel's contacts may have a line on a former member of Westside who's willing to talk. I'll know more tomorrow, but, if so I'll be taking this on my own—"

"Not without Murphy," she stepped in before he could finish.

"Laura, if this happens, I can't go in there to speak with this bloke as Remington Steele," he tried to explain.

"I don't care if you speak to him as the Invisible Man, Mr. Steele," she answered firmly. "You don't go anywhere without backup. Do you understand?" she demanded, enunciating each of the last three words. He pulled a hand through his hair in frustration. She took his silence for the acquiescence it was, then sought to restore the peace. "Casa Malaga," she announced, then waited for him to catch up.

"What about it?" he at last asked, although his voice still belied his frustration.

"I can't get it out of my head," she shared. "I can see our family there." Irritation forgotten, he sat up in their bed in the Holmby Hills home and listened attentively. "The theater and the perfect chef's kitchen for you, the studio for us. I can see our children playing in that amazing pool, on the beach, on that playset in the yard… us, one day, teaching them how to play tennis. We'd have our privacy in the master, but the children would still be close enough that we could easily reach them when they need us."

"Are you saying you wish for us to purchase Casa Malaga?"

"No," she drew out the word. "I want to know how you feel about it, the house in Malibu. If we're 'going for the dream,' as you put it, it needs to be our decision, Remington, not mine."

"From a purely financial standpoint, the house in Malibu will increase more quickly in value, and be worth significantly more at the end of the day," he offered.

"And from the standpoint of our family?" she pressed.

"There's absolutely no compare," he answered. "In terms of the property itself, the layout of and finishes in the home, as well as the privacy the home affords, the Malibu property cannot begin to compare Casa Malaga. And the views. Ah, Laura, I can picture us lying in the hammock, watching the sun set over Bay as we listen to the waves lapping at the shore."

"Is that really where you see us?" she asked, worrying her lip as she feared he was simply ceding to her opinion.

"It is," he answered with quiet confidence. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to slow both pulse and the beating of her heart at the mere thought of the words she was about to utter.

"Then, if you find the time, call Meredith, and let's make it happen."

Tuesday, February 12

Murphy sat in the driver seat of the car, shaking his head as Remington attached the earring to his lobe.

"I have to say Steele, I might like this get up even more than seeing you in that straightjacket," Murphy laughed, referring to the time they'd broken into a hospital for the criminally insane to rescue Veronica Kirk. Remington slipped a piece of gum into his mouth, then smiled at the other detective.

"Should he have changed his mind about speaking with me, I certainly won't intimidate him going in there as Remington Steele," he pointed out, then easily transitioned into the Cockney accent and verbiage reserved for Johnny Todd. "But people tend ter give Johnny Todd whatever I' is 'e wants. Know what I mean?" Murphy gave him an impressed look.

"I can't help thinking if you'd shown up that day as Todd instead of Pearson, things may have turned out much differently," he mused.

"I would 'ave found a way ter win 'er over. A finer bird ders never been, and whatever i' took ter win 'er over would 'ave been well worf da effort. Nuff said, yeah?" This time Murphy roared with laughter.

"Yeah, enough said." He grew serious. "Alright, you're wired up. I doubt he searches you in a place like this," he nodded his head towards the truck stop down the road where Remington had agreed to meet the potential informant at. "I'll give you a sixty second lead, then will be coming in behind you." Remington have him a sharp nod, then climbed out of the car. Mounting the borrowed motorcycle he'd driven up from LA, he pulled on his helmet then turned the key. Peeling out of the parking lot, the back tire fishtailed before gaining purchase.

After his arrival, he'd easily spotted his prey: a nervous kid sitting in the rear booth of the restaurant. He swaggered toward the booth, chawing and snapping his gum.

"You Deamarius? Little P sent me." The kid looked around the restaurant and slumped down further in the booth.

"Yeah, man," he answered, nervously. "Sit down before you draw unwanted attention." Remington shrugged his shoulder and plopped down in the booth, slinging an arm over the back and propping up his feet on the vinyl seat. Kid can't be more than eighteen. Why he was shocked by this, he couldn't say. After all he'd been on the streets at a far younger age, and had been close, very close, to giving up, finding a group to run with, weary as he was at trying to survive the streets alone.

"You got infawmashun fer me?"

"Yo, why you wanna know what happened at Westside, anyways? This dude you chasing down is crazy, man."

"Bugger took somethin' impawtan ter me. No one takes from me and gets away wit' i'." Demarius looked at him as though he'd lost his mind.

"It's yo funeral, man. Whatever. So long as you got my money, I'll tell you what you wanna know."

"A few on da streets say Castoro was behind da Westside 'it. Why would 'e wan' ter do dat? Eh?"

"Man," the kid drew out the word. "Dude found out we was cooking crack and dealing it. We was sick of the motherfucker screwing us over. We lift the cars, strip them down or modify them, and he takes all our money." The kid wobbled his head. "Well, fuck that shit. We started a little side trade and were making bank," he stabbed a pair of fingers at the table top. "Castoro lost his shit when he found out. Three days later, we get hit."

"News said i' was a gang 'it," Remington pointed out.

"Too old, too light," he dismissed. "Nah, man, that was just an excuse. We'd been owin' those Hoovers some payback for jumping C-Cap's sister and everyone saying it was the who hit us let us take care of old business." Remington pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. Opening it up, his slid it across the table with a single finger.

"Any of dem, one of da ones dat shot yer place up?"

"Yeah. These three." Demarius pointed to Hopkins, Farrell and who they now knew to be Phillips. Remington folded back up the paper and put it back in his pocket before withdrawing ten, folded hundred-dollar bills and flicking it up between them.

"One more thing…" Remington added. "Names Paco and Eriberto mean anyting t' ya?"

"Paco? Never heard of him." Eyes on the money, he leaned back in his seat. "What's intel on Eriberto worth to you?" Remington fished two more hundred dollar bills out of his pocket and flashed them. "Eriberto, Big E, works over off forty-third running his game, but he ain't hooked up and no one gonna mess with him. He ain't nothin' but some chump running chicks."

Remington swung out of the booth and dropped the money on the table, tossing another twenty on top of it. "Get yerself somthun on me."

He strode out of the restaurant with Murphy close on his heels.

Laura pulled the Explorer into the drive in front of the cabin at three-ten. She'd have forty minutes to get the girls dressed, their hair done and into town for their first class. She eyed the motorcycle sitting in front of Thomas and Catherine's cabin with curiosity. Billie had shut down cabin rentals as long as they were staying there and they certainly weren't expecting any company.

When the door to Thomas's cabin swung open, and she saw the achingly familiar frame, she had to check the impulse to sprint into a run, feeling eminently foolish that such an impulse existed in the first place. Instead, she strolled towards him after a flip of her head.

"Hi," she greeted with a dimpled smile, tipping her head back to look up at him.

"A sight for sore eyes," he greeted, wrapping an arm around her waist then bending his head down to claim her lips. He reared his head back tasting his lips, while his eyes smiled. "Mmmm, yes, still as delectable as I recall," he murmured, before settling his lip over hers again. Her lips lifted in a smile under his when he hummed low in his throat. With a final touch of his lips to hers, he ended the kiss, but left his arm around her waist.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, rubbing a hand down then back up his arm, leaving it resting against his collarbone.

"I met with an informant less than a half-hour from here so thought…" He stroked the back of his fingers against her cheek.

"How long are you here for?" he looked at her regretfully.

"I need to be on the road in no more than twenty minutes if I don't wish to be navigating an unfamiliar road on an unfamiliar bike in the dark." Her brown eyes reflected her disappointment, but her face was carefully schooled into a composed mask. "Laura, it's time we speak with Sophie, show her the photos." She studied him at length.

"Alright. I'll see if Catherine wouldn't mind getting Olivia dressed for dance."

"It's already done. I dressed them myself a half hour back." She stepped out of his embrace and into the open doorway. Spying Sophie sitting on the couch with Catherine she called to her.

"Sophie, honey, can you come with me for a minute?" Dutifully, Sophie wiggled down to the couch and crossed the room to take Laura's extended hand. In silence, she and Remington escorted Sophie to Laura's cabin, then sat with her on the couch. As if sensing she had something to fear, Sophie tucked herself close to Laura's side.

Remington found himself suddenly tongue-tied, unable to be the one to open the child's wounds. He gave Laura a helpless look, his mouth opening and closing without a syllable spoken. Her shoulders slumped as she accepted it would have to be she to elicit the information they were seeking. She held out her hand to Remington, and once he placed the photo array in her hand, she dug deep to find the steel spine for which she was known.

"Sophie…" she stroked the little girl's head, "…Do you remember the night the bad men hurt your, Mommy?" Sophie shuddered visibly, and stuck a thumb into her mouth – something Laura only now realized she hadn't seen Sophie do in days. "Honey, I want you to look at some pictures. All I need you to do is point to the picture if you see either of the men who hurt Mommy, okay?" She looked at Remington when Sophie remained resolutely quiet, then sat the photo array on the little girl's lap.

The sight of those pictures was met by a keening wail. Remington's face pinched in distress as guilt assailed him for having a part in the child's upset.

"Sophie, show me. Show me who you're afraid of, baby," Laura cajoled, wrapping her arm tighter around the little girl. Slowly, Sophie moved a quaking hand then lay her finger against one of the images on the paper in front of her, before drawing a labored breath and beginning to sob. "Very good, Sophie. You're being very brave. Is there anyone else that was there that night?" Trembling and crying Sophie pointed to a second. No sooner had her finger landed on it than Remington was on his feet sweeping her up into his embrace. Wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his sides, she clung for dear life.

"At times like these, Laura, I have to wonder if we're any better than those we're after," he exclaimed, vehemently. She carefully rose to her feet, then tucked herself into the welcoming arm he opened for her.

"Then at times like these, we need choose to be better," she answered, tipping back her head, her eyes moving from his strained face to Sophie's distraught form. She lay a hand on Sophie's back and rubbed, soothingly. "You can tell William and Thibodeaux Sophie identified Farrell and Hopkins as the men who assaulted Clarissa, but that Sophie will neither be spoken to about this again, nor will she be testifying. For her, this is over."

"You understand Clarissa's killers will never answer for her death should we do that, yes?" Her hand hovered over the back of Sophie's head for a long second, then began to caress it.

"I think," she answered slowly, "Clarissa would protect Sophia's peace of mind over all else." He nodded his head rapidly, as she addressed Sophie directly. "Sophie, we're all done here. Do you still want to go to dance class?" Sophie's sobs hiccupped to a stop as the words registered, then she nodded against Remington's shoulder. "Then let's go wash your face, and I'll take you back to Granddad, Grans and Olivia while I speak with Livvie's Da. Okay?" At Sophie's second, answering nod, Remington carried her to the bathroom and set her on her feet.

In short order, Sophie's face had been washed, and Remington, with Laura walking at his side, had carried the youngster to the other cabin, passing her to his father, who looked at him with confused concern as the little girl clutched hold of him.

"Laura will explain later," Remington offered, as he plucked Olivia off the floor and embraced her, then followed with a buss to the cheek. "Ah, Livvie Bee, I'll see you again just two days from now, hmmm?" he promised, when her face crumpled and tears threatened at his goodbye. "No tears, a stor. Now give your Da a smile to take with him." She used all the resolve in her tiny body to force a weak smile on her lips. "That's my girl," he praised, pressing a final kiss to her forehead then setting her on her feet. He lay a hand on the top of her shiny, raven colored hair then turned and went outside lest he say sod it all, and stay right where he wished to be.

Outside the cabin, Laura awaited him, with her arms wrapped around herself and her hands rubbing at them.

"Did you find out anything useful this morning?" she asked, focusing on business rather than her own riotous emotions regarding the current status of her family. He drew a hand through his hair, followed her lead, summarizing what he'd learned about Castoro's involvement in the Westside hit.

"I don't see why Sophie would be needed, then, if Farrell and Hopkins will already face any of number of charges for Westside," she noted with relief.

"Not to mention the attempt on our lives," he added.

"Where do we stand on identifying Paco and Eriberto?" she inquired.

"Ah, yes. Nothing that I'm aware of on Paco. It would seem Eriberto, who goes by 'Big-E', is a pimp working somewhere on forty-third. According to our informant, he has no affiliation with any of the gangs." Her eyes lit up at the information.

"You have no idea how important that information is, Mr. Steele," she informed him, as she walked briskly towards the SUV where her briefcase was still inside.

"Done it again, have I?" he grinned.

"I think you have," she agreed, rifling through the papers contained within the briefcase. "On five different occasions in Clarissa's journal she made an entry that Roberts and Phillips were picking up product. I realized yesterday that there was a pattern to these pick-ups: they all occurred on the third Friday of August and February, and all took place in border towns." She paused as she rummaged through the papers, and finally finding the one she was looking for pulled it from the stack and handed it to him. "This morning, I did a newspaper search for any noteworthy events taking place in the towns Clarissa mentioned, in and around those dates. In August seventeenth of last year, near the border outside of Las Cruces, New Mexico, a box truck was pulled over. Eleven girls between the ages of fourteen and nineteen were found in the back of the truck, each of them claiming they'd been offered work in the States and it was their opportunity for a better life." Eyes still on the article she'd handed him, he glanced up at her through his lashes.

"They're trafficking women," he concluded, then amended, "Children actually."

"I think so," she agreed. "It's a practice whispered about but not often acknowledged: Young women promised entrance into the United States, as long as they agree to work for their 'benefactor' until their debt is paid off. Most believe they'll become a housekeeper or a Nanny, but instead they're turned out onto the streets." She was so excited by potentially blowing yet another of Castoro's operations sky-high that she failed to notice when his attention was caught by something on the paper. "You need to get in touch with William or Thibodeaux when you get back to LA. If we're right, there's not much time to prove it. This Friday, a pick up should be scheduled."

"I don't imagine Twin Pines has much of a library to speak of, eh?" She gave him a baffled look.

"No. It doesn't. Did you even hear what I said?"

"Yes, yes," he answered, flicking an impatient hand in her direction, as his temper rose. "Westfield. Thibodeaux. Friday. So, you found all this at the library?"

"At the library," she confirmed, her own impatience showing in her voice. "The matter at hand, Mr. Steele?"

"The Twin Pines library," he pursued, ignoring her admonishment. Her eyes widened slightly and her mouth clamped shut. Oh, God. In her zeal, she'd completely forgotten her omission during their conversation the evening before and it appeared it had just come to light. Yet, the fury flashing in his eyes was exactly why she hadn't disclosed the location of where she was going.

"Cal State, Fresno, actually." He gave a sharp nod of his head.

"I see." The muscle in his jaw twitched, and with one, last, disbelieving shake of his head, he strode with purpose towards the borrowed motorcycle. She followed behind him.

"Remington, it was just the library," she defended.

"And a few days ago, it was just a day at the beach," he shot back, as he pulled the helmet over his head.

"Oh, for God's sake!" she swore, her own temper threatening to erupt. "No one even knows we're here!" She threw up her hands, expressing her own frustration.

"The same could be said about our afternoon on the beach, couldn't it?" he challenged. He prepared to turn the key in the ignition, then gave it a second thought and turned to look at her. "My every instinct was telling me that Castoro would come after us. I asked… bloody well begged… that you take the children and leave. But could you do it? Not Laura Holt, who must stand and fight, bugger the price that may be extracted. And look what it nearly cost us!" he roared. Her eyes widened at what he'd implied.

"You think it's my fault," she breathed, thoroughly stunned at not only the words spoken, but the ire with which they'd been said. He shook his head and, looking away for several ticks of the second hand, rubbed at the back of his neck. When he looked back at her, she was blindsided by the look of utter resignation in his eyes. Only once before had he detached himself so thoroughly from her: during the days of her anger-fueled flirtation with Antony Roselli.

"I keep hoping one day it will change, that your vows to put us, our family, first won't be little more than lip service. But either you can't… or won't. Somewhere in that head of yours, you'll always find a reason, a justification… a 'just.' Perhaps it's time I accepted that Livvie and I… and now Sophie and soon our babe…" he gesticulated towards her stomach, "…will always come in a distant second to the latest mystery, the newest case… to the bloody Agency." She paled at the accusation and was rendered completely speechless. He saw the stark hurt in her eyes, and simply didn't have it in him to care, for this latest example of double standards and duplicity was one, far too many. "Tell Livvie I'll call her before she goes to bed." With that, he turned the key, gave the bike some gas, released the kickstand, and peeled out of the driveway, never looking back.

Laura watched his retreating back until he turned on the road and sped away. While he wouldn't abandon his promise to his little girl, where she, Laura, was concerned, he would be closed off to her. There would be no phone calls for her on this eve… and who knew how many more?