Disclaimer: You and I both know I don't own the characters. However, you now know I do own my characters, Gracie, Luke, and Michael.
A/N: Okay, so I'm really nervous because this is my first Remington Steele story. The point I'm trying to get across, I suppose, is this. Please, please, please review and tell me how I'm doing! Thanks!
Prologue
Eleven year old Grace Holt, better known to close friends and family as Gracie stepped outside the house, accidentally slamming the screen door behind her. It seemed the calm before the storm, she decided, pretending that she was a storm chaser ready to pull out a camera and chase the dark and ominous clouds looming overhead. She plopped down on the front steps and let the wind blow her dark brown hair from side to side to frame her face, not caring if her new blue shorts and yellow shirt were mussed. She reached into the book bag she carried next to her and pulled out a large sketchbook. Papers were scattered everywhere, but then, organization had never been one of her best qualities.
As she opened the sketchbook, a gift from her mother for her ninth birthday, she flipped the pages and glanced at previous works. There were some pages of her younger brother Luke, some of her parents together, and some of nature, but the ones that were most interesting by far were of the Man. After a day of searching the dusty attic in their seemingly ancient house, Gracie came upon a single, crumpled half photograph of a man with a woman's arm draped around him. She had taken the treasure with the sixth sense that the woman was her mother, but she had never gathered up enough courage to come out and ask. And besides, the picture was torn in half.
The Man was very handsome, what with the same features as Gracie: dark, silky hair and deep, sea blue eyes. In addition, after careful examination in the mirror, she deemed her mouth and nose to be identical to his as well. Though Gracie knew not the man's identity, she found him a wonderful subject. The picture always left her with the feeling that he was truly happy with the woman next to him, maybe even in love with her.
Her pen and pencil seemed to float across the paper as she drew him in different positions. She drew him holding the hand of a young girl, rocking a baby in an oak rocking chair, taking pictures of a woman, and selecting a gorgeous grand piano like the one in her living room, which Gracie practiced on at least four days a week. She knew the man had to be important for his picture to be kept and stored in the attic. Her mother only went up there when she seemed sad, which was usually a specific day in May, and that day, she would look at all the old pictures and mementos of her life a long time ago. Her imagination had worked furiously the day she had found it, and when she speculated on it, Gracie decided it could possibly be her missing father.
Not that she felt deprived. Her stepfather Michael wasn't a terrible dad, but her mother and stepfather had been separated for over a year and besides that, the pre-teen was truly curious about her biological father.
As large raindrops began to fall from the sky, Gracie ran up the steps and climbed on the porch swing. She continued to sketch from the picture, this time with herself resting comfortably on his lap and her mother on his other side. They were on a swing much like her white one and all were wearing the same solemn look. When the young lady finally finished, she looked it over in triumph, then ran inside to show it to the only person she could.
"Luke," she yelled as she trudged up the maroon-carpeted stairs and through his door. She dodged the toys strewn on the floor with a forgivable nature; after all, he was only seven, and jumped on his bed next to where he sat playing with transformers and Superman.
"What?" he asked in a tone revealing he was annoyed.
"Here, look. Whatcha think?" she asked as she thrust it into his lap with the same tone of voice he had used.
He picked it up and let his eyes wander quickly over it. "It's good," he said, his voice now filled with admiration for his older sister. "How come I can't draw like you?"
She shrugged. "I dunno. Know where mom's at?"
"She's making dinner in the kitchen," he said, making a face before turning back to his toys.
After a brief stop in her room to toss her sketchbook and book bag on her bed, Gracie trooped down the stairs to find her mother in the kitchen. "Mom, are you actually making dinner tonight?" she asked, wrinkling her nose at the pasty spaghetti sauce and crunchy noodles.
"Yes, I am," Laura Holt answered, feigning a frown but knowing it wouldn't last. "But I believe we're eating out tonight," she answered as she dumped the entire pan into the garbage bin.
Gracie pulled up a stool and rested her arms comfortably on the counter. "Where's Patricia?"
"I gave her the night off."
"So are you like…gonna try again?"
"Um, no," Laura answered as she glanced at her daughter. Though she saw her daughter everyday, not a second passed that Laura couldn't see pieces of Gracie's father. Breaking the thought, she said, "Go tell Luke to put…never mind. Just go wait outside for us while I get him."
Laura tossed the towel playfully at her child's porcelain face, then kissed her forehead and went upstairs. Always, well, almost always one to follow orders, she jumped off the stool and started to go outside. But the thought of not taking her sketchbook when she usually took it everywhere…it was too tempting, so Gracie ran to get it quickly and then waited outside while Laura tried to convince Luke to stop playing upstairs.
It had already stopped raining by the time Gracie went outside, but there was still a slight chill in the air. However, it wasn't enough to raise the hair on the back of the girl's neck and arms as it was doing at the very moment. She immediately sensed something was very wrong as warning bells went off in her head. Gracie turned to go back inside, but she stopped in her tracks when she was met with a pair of smiling Irish eyes…
