There was a sort of inevitability to the situation really. Somehow, no matter what he intended to do with his days, just lately Murphy always seemed to find himself sitting in a car with Laura, watching a building, and not really knowing a great deal about what was going on. Still - at least the blueberry pancakes had been nice, if a little difficult to eat in the car. Laura sipped at a paper cup full of coffee, and stared grimly out of the windscreen. Her eyes were narrowed, her mind clearly elsewhere. She hadn't spoken much since they had arrived at the museum; had just sat, and sipped at the coffee. She didn't speak when Steele eventually arrived, either, though her body tensed, and she swallowed a mouthful of coffee rather suddenly.
"You alright, Laura?" asked Murphy automatically. She put the coffee down on the dashboard, and leaned back in her seat with a glower.
"Fine."
"Right." He finished his own coffee and regarded her wordlessly for a moment. "What are we doing here?"
"Watching," she told him. He sighed.
"Yes. That bit I know."
"We can't go to the police."
"I know that, too."
"Well then." She sounded grouchy now. "We have to know what his plan is."
"So we're going to talk to him?"
"Not to him, no. Whoever it is in there that he's gone in to see. The curator perhaps, or some underpaid member of staff who's being bribed to tell him things. I don't know. I just plan to find out."
"And then?"
"And then I don't know, Murph." She rubbed her eyes with one hand, trying not to yawn. Neither of them had got nearly enough sleep the night before. Traditionally they spent the day after their anniversary scotch, pizza and paperwork sitting around in the office, usually finishing the paperwork and the pizza, and falling asleep at each other's desks.
"You shouldn't be here," he told her. "I can watch the museum. You should go home. Get some--"
"You think I want to rest?" She shook her head, still staring at the museum. There had been no sign of movement there since Steele had gone inside. "I have to know what's happening, Murphy. I have to. I have to be one stop ahead of everybody else. I won't let that worthless fraud take us down with him."
"The police probably won't catch him," pointed out Murphy, trying to make her feel better. "He's pretty good at avoiding them."
"True. But since we're not going to let him steal the jewels, it doesn't matter what the police do. It's up to us to stop him in his tracks. Before the robbery. Before the police find out a thing."
"So we follow him when he leaves here? Find out if he's working alone?"
"One of us does." She stared on out of the windscreen. "The other one has to go into the museum like I said, and talk to the--" She broke off, for at that moment Steele came out of the museum and started off down the street. He seemed to be in a hurry. Laura's demeanour changed instantly. "Something's wrong."
"I'll get after him." Murphy was already opening his car door, but Laura reached out to grab his hand, looking at him directly for the first time since they had arrived at the museum. Her eyes were oddly bright, and the expression on her face seemed strange.
"No." Her voice sounded odd, too. Strained and awkward. "I'll go. You see what's going on inside. Something must have happened, so be careful."
"If you're sure." He didn't like the idea of her going, when he had no idea what Steele might be up to, or what tricks he might pull if he realised that he was being followed - and by whom. Laura just nodded, stiffly and slowly.
"I'm sure." She got out of the car, eyes now upon Steele and nothing else. He was already almost out of sight, hurrying along without ever once looking left or right. Whatever his goal, he seemed as intent upon it as Laura was upon hers. Murphy watched her as she ran off after him, then shook his head and scowled.
"Damn you, Steele," he muttered at the buildings around him. But the man himself was Laura's problem now. Pushing them both as best he could to the back of his mind, he struck out for the museum. He was rather looking forward to speaking to whoever was inside.
He found a rather dour-looking doorman who, without speaking, and ignoring all Murphy's attempts to engage him in conversation, led him straight to the open door of the manager's office. There was a man inside, in an expensive but faintly rumpled suit, pacing up and down and casting anxious looks at the telephone. He looked up when Murphy appeared in the doorway, and relief, worry and suspicion flashed in a rush across his face.
"Another guest, sir," announced the doorman, before disappearing. He had no interest at all in Murphy or his reasons for being there, and clearly had no desire to find out what was going on. The manager smiled distractedly.
"I'm a little busy," he said. Murphy nodded.
"I'm sure you are. My name is Murphy Michaels. I'm a private investigator, Mr...?"
"Oban," filled in the manager. "James Oban. A private investigator, Mr Michaels?" For a second he looked hopeful. Murphy nodded.
"Yes sir. I'm here because I have reason so believe that somebody is going to steal the Trovian jewels."
"Oh." The manager's shoulder's slumped, and he sat down rather heavily at his desk. "That's why you're here. I'd hoped for a moment that Monsieur Trovian had sent you. I'm waiting for him to call now."
"You don't seem surprised." Murphy frowned at the top of Oban's head, all that he could see now that the suddenly sorrowful man had slumped down so much in his seat. Oban sighed, and looked up momentarily.
"No, not really. Who hired you, Mr Michaels?"
"Nobody. I just, er... heard some whispers. On the street. You have contacts in my line of work, and sometimes they come up with something interesting." He hesitated, certain that he had sounded far too much as though he had made it all up on the spot. Oban, though, didn't seem to notice; or maybe just didn't care.
"I see." He sighed again, and rubbed at his face with his hands. He seemed to be trying to wake himself up, as though from a bad dream. "Well the truth, Mr Michaels, although I probably shouldn't be telling you this, is that you're rather too late. I just got a call from Monsieur Trovian telling me that the truck carrying his collection of jewels was hijacked just outside of the city. The men travelling with the jewels were all killed, and as you can imagine, things are now rather fraught. The jewels are gone, there are insurance people to deal with, my museum has just lost a display that was intended to save us from closure, and four good men, two of whom I knew personally, are dead. I'm waiting for instructions, and for the inevitable Press and police onslaught, and quite frankly I don't know how to deal with any of it. And worst of all, I may well have been responsible."
"You?" Murphy's head was buzzing at the news of the theft, but he fought the urge to call Laura immediately. Oban nodded his head, looking sad and pale.
"There was a man here, asking questions. Too many perhaps. He claimed to be on Monsieur Trovian's staff, but Monsieur Trovian himself denies any knowledge of him. I'm a fool, and there's no telling how much of a mess I've made of things now."
"And this man. Was he the one that I saw leaving when I was on my way in here?" Trying to probe gently, and avoid arousing suspicion, Murphy asked the question carefully. "He seemed to be in a hurry."
"That's him. He ran out of here as soon as he heard the news. And presumably when he overheard me mention his name to Monsieur Trovian. I wasn't supposed to speak of him - for security reasons, he said - but I thought that since the jewels had gone... Anyway, he went off in a hurry, and it all looks pretty damning to me. Remington Steele. Who'd have thought it? Maybe he had money problems after all. I always did wonder why he disappeared from public life."
"Remington Steele?" Murphy could have hit something - although someone would have been a distinct preference. Steele had given that name? When he was planning a jewel robbery? Laura would be heartbroken, if that name was dragged down. Thinking fast, he frowned in a credible impersonation of surprise. "I don't understand. The man that I saw leaving here wasn't Steele. I just left Remington Steele three days ago in London. I know him personally."
"You... do?" Oban looked even more confused now than ever, which Murphy appreciated no end. Confusion was good. He could manipulate that. He nodded, and wished that he was better at lying, and at thinking up spur of the moment stories.
"Yes sir. But for some while now, Mr Steele has been worried about a man supposedly impersonating him. If you saw them together you'd see the difference, but apparently he's a good double otherwise. He uses that to get close to potential targets. So far we've been one step ahead of him, but it could be that this time he's actually succeeded. I'm sorry, Mr Oban."
"No. Not your fault. My fault. Probably." Oban looked up, a faint smile in his eyes. "Thankyou for coming here to warn me, Mr Michaels. It's appreciated."
"I'm sorry it was too late." Murphy wondered if he should ask a few more questions, but decided to leave it for now. Besides - too many questions might make the man suspicious. Bidding his farewells, he hurried off out of the museum. The story he had just heard bothered him greatly. Four men dead? Could Steele be behind that? He had never seemed he murdering kind before, but a lot could change in ten years, and Murphy had never really known him. Neither, for that matter, had Laura. Steele had always worn one mask or another. And now Laura was following him, alone, and he might be a killer. He fumbled quickly for his mobile, and called Laura's phone. An image of the sound of its ringing alerting Steele to her presence bothered his mind, but he had to warn her. A part of him knew that she wouldn't want to listen, or believe the possible danger, but he had to try. It was with great relief that he heard her voice at the other end. As quickly and as calmly as he could, he told her everything that he had learnt. It was up to her what she did with the information. All that he could do then was try to catch her up.
For her part, Laura wasn't sure what to make of the information. A truck heist, four men killed - it didn't sound like Steele to her, and it made no sense that he should be at the museum if he had plans to steal the jewels before they arrived there. She didn't even want to think about the killings, and how he might have been involved with that. Steele was no murderer - her Steele, anyway. But then her Steele had never existed. The Steele she had known hadn't really existed either, though in a sense she had got to know him well. Or thought that she had. And through it all, she had to remember the night he had left. The night that she had thought was the beginning of their life together, but which had turned out to be no such thing. He hadn't been the man she had known then, when he had disappeared out of her life for ten years, without a word. She watched him now, hurrying along ahead of her, clearly with some goal in mind. The news of the theft of the jewels had made him run off like this, heading so determinedly, so intently, for somewhere. That didn't sound like he was guilty. And yet still she couldn't be sure.
She followed him for what seemed like miles, though couldn't have been. Off the main concourse, off into the back streets that she saw so rarely, heading into a maze of old buildings and narrow roads. Steele seemed perfectly at home there, hurrying down side streets, slipping through short cuts, as though he had lived in Los Angeles every day of the last ten years, and knew it as well as any resident of its more off-beat quarter. To Laura there were no recognisable landmarks, and the streets might as well have been identical, but Steele clearly knew when he had reached his goal. In a place of iron railings and brownstone buildings, he slowed from his hurrying jog, and came to a standstill beside a clearly abandoned hotel. The doors and windows were boarded up, and by the look of things had been for some time. Not that this seemed to discourage Steele. Jumping onto the roof of an old blue car parked at the kerb, he leaped up onto the bottom rung of a rusted, dangling ladder. To Laura it looked like the sort of ancient fire escape that was considerably less safe than the fire itself, but Steele swung up it with an agility that she couldn't help admiring. Only when she remembering who was displaying it, did she wipe the smile from her face, and replace it with a glower. Confound Steele and his apparently still lingering charms. She watched him climb on up the fire escape, and eventually disappear inside a fourth floor window, then heaving a sigh and wishing that she had allocated this task to Murphy after all, she clambered up onto the roof of the car, took a deep breath, and jumped. It was a struggle to haul herself up onto the ladder, which annoyed her no end. Steele had made it look so easy. She tried to content herself with the thought that he was a thief, so at least her lack of agility came from the moral high ground, but it didn't make her feel all that much better. Catching her breath, and being as quiet as she could on the creaking old ladder, she began to climb on up.
The window that Steele had climbed through gave onto a large room, furnished, somewhat oddly, with expensive chairs, a leather-topped desk, and a large television set equipped with a distinctly out-dated video recorder. There was a lot of dust, suggesting that whatever this room - this bolt-hole - was, it hadn't been used in ten years at least. Steele was standing on the far side of the room, his back to the window, talking on a telephone. An old, chunky telephone - not even a cordless one, she noted. A place, then, that Steele had made for himself during the old days here in LA. A place where he could do business that he had not wanted Laura to know about, perhaps, or just a place to hide if ever things had become too hot for 'Remington Steele'. A place of relative comfort, hidden in an abandoned building. There were movie posters on the walls, she realised then; and a series of shelves stacked with video tapes. All classic movies, no doubt. The Humphrey Bogart and Cary Grant classics that he had always referenced, driving her to distraction in the process. Catching herself on the verge of another smile, she reverted it into a glower, and turned her attention instead to the ongoing phone call.
"No. No, it'll be okay, Lucy." She could only imagine who Lucy might be, though her brain immediately pictured her as some discouragingly beautiful blonde, with a wildly colourful past. Whoever she was, Steele obviously knew her well. "Yeah... Well I don't know. Maybe she decided to stop us from interfering. Grabbing the jewels before they ever get to the museum is as good a way as any. Anyway, I... No. No, stay put, for now at least, I... Well I'm sorry, I don't care about that. Keep the doors locked, stay away from the windows... Yes, and you know Eleanor Brock. She'll want to kill us anyway... I know, and I'm sorry, but I meant what I said when I made that promise... No, we haven't lost yet... I don't know yet. Not exactly. I'll get you those jewels, though... No, don't worry about that, I'll-- Yeah, I know." He sighed, and she watched his free hand go up to his face. He was rubbing his eyes, she knew, though she couldn't see it. She could hear the fatigue in his voice, too, and recognise it in his stance. Once upon a time she had known such signs well - the relaxing of his stiff, correct posture; the strengthening of his usually soft, almost inaudible Irish accent. His body language was different now, and his accent was different too, but still she found that she could detect the undercurrents. Apparently she still knew him better than she thought.
"Yes," he was saying, still talking to the mysterious Lucy at the other end of the telephone conversation. "It'll be okay... No, my cover as Trovian's man on the spot got blown. Oban checked up on me. It'll be alright though... No, really. I'm Remington Steele, remember? It'll be easy to make out that I was just telling white lies. Investigating the case from an unorthodox angle, you know. The police will be fine about it, if I run into them. Not that I'm planning to... Yes. Yes, exactly... There's nothing to tie me to anything shady... Yeah... Yeah, okay Lucy... Just keep your head down. I'll be in touch as soon as I can... Yes, and be ready to leave at a moment's notice... Sure. Okay, goodbye." He laughed faintly, at something that she said. "Something like that, yeah. Goodbye Lucy." With that he hung up. Laura watched him for a moment, standing there with his back to her, then climbed as quietly as she could into the room. He sighed, and she heard the faintest trace of laughter in the sound.
"Laura. I was wondering when you'd finally catch up." He had known? Her eyes widened, though she blanked her expression as quickly as she could, in readiness for when he turned around. She wouldn't let him see that she was surprised. "Did you hear much of the call?"
"Enough." There was venom in her voice. Anger and mistrust and resentment. "But if you think it's going to signpost your innocence, you're mistaken. You knew I was listening. You weren't exactly going to admit that you were behind that heist."
"True." He turned then, slowly, as though he suspected that she might be armed. "True. But you know that I was nowhere near that truck when the jewels went missing."
"Because that's a convincing alibi." It was disconcerting, being so close to him again. So many memories, good and bad. So much that they had shared, and so much that she had always wondered. He smile a slight, crooked smile.
"Fair enough. But you know that I'm not guilty."
"I do?" She did of course, but she didn't trust him anyway. She may have heard only one side of the telephone conversation, and she had missed its beginning as well - but it had seemed clear to her that he had had every intention of stealing the jewels. That he had come to Los Angeles for that reason, and that, whoever had stolen them instead, he planned now to take them from in turn. 'Not guilty' was hardly the phrase that she would have chosen. 'Not guilty of one particular charge,' perhaps; but guilty, instead, of several hundred others. Several thousand others. His smile grew a little, and he took a step around the desk towards her.
"It's been ten years, Laura. Hardly a lifetime. I haven't changed that much. Neither have you, incidentally. You look... You look magnificent." His smile was bigger now, and more confident. "Really. The years have been kind to you."
"Really." Her voice was icily cold. Kind to her? They hadn't felt kind, when she was alone at night, and wondering if there had ever been anything she could have done to make him stay. Wondering if it was anything she had done that had made him leave. They hadn't felt kind, all those mornings when she had looked at herself in the mirror, and seen herself growing a little older every day; every day, with its memories, its tricks and its tribulations. Its strains and its stresses. The days when she thought of him, and the days when she didn't, all adding up into ten year's worth of days, and lines, and the first sprinklings of grey that were beginning to show in her hair. None of it had felt especially kind. The years had seemed to like him rather more, though. There was grey in his hair too, and lines on his face - more, perhaps, than on her own. But they seemed to suit him more that she thought that they suited her. They took away the smoothness that she remembered his face displaying before. They added character and maturity and strength; a strength that was echoed in his tougher, stronger frame. She was sure that the years hadn't made her stronger. Harder, perhaps; but not tougher, more agile, more athletic, the way they seemed to have made him. How did he get to look so good? It wasn't fair. He was still smiling, though, little lines crinkling in the corners of his familiar blue eyes.
"I'm a born liar, Laura," he told her, his voice even and warm, and the same as she remembered it and different. So different. "But I'm not lying now. You look... wonderful. Beautiful." She didn't know how to respond to that. She didn't feel beautiful. She felt middle-aged, and nervous about how young and beautiful this 'Lucy' might turn out to be. She wasn't sure that she had ever thought of herself as beautiful, though Steele had made her feel that way in the past. Until the night he had run out on her, and left her doubting everything. She frowned then, and her eyes burned with sudden hatred.
"Don't give me that. You always knew exactly what to say, but you're not winning me over now. The only things that you think are beautiful are jewels. Other people's jewels. You're nothing but a thief, and don't try to pretend that isn't why you're here now. There's nothing else that would have brought you back to Los Angeles. If there had been, you'd have been back long ago."
"Yeah." He looked away then, eyes drifting off to the window. "Laura..."
"Don't." She spat the word out. "Just... don't. I don't want hear it. I don't want your lies and your excuses. I don't want your tricks. I don't want anything from you."
"Then why are you here?" His eyes were narrowed. "You didn't bring the police, you didn't bring a gun. All you brought was yourself, and you didn't even need to bring that. You could have sent Murphy."
"And had you beat him up again?"
"Murphy's tough. I didn't really hurt him." He had lowered his eyes at her comment, though, and she saw that she had stung him. That surprised her. He hadn't reacted when she had called him a thief, yet he didn't want her to think ill of him where Murphy was concerned. He knew how much Murphy meant to her, then; far more than any jewels could ever mean to anybody. Her own eyes narrowed.
"What's your point?"
"You came." He met her gaze evenly. "Why?"
"Why do you think?" It erupted out of her in a rush, then, although she didn't think that she had ever meant to raise the subject directly at all. "Ten years! You've been gone ten years, Steele! And damn it, I never wanted to call you that again. You left. I've spent ten years hating you, and even hating myself a whole lot of the time. Wondering, worrying. Thinking the worst and wishing it a lot of the time, too. And now you turn up, but not to find me, or to speak to me, or anything like that. No, you come back to steal some jewels. You and your accomplice. Well I wish I had brought a gun. A gun and some handcuffs, and the whole damn Los Angeles Police Department. Maybe an extradition warrant from that nice chief of police down in Acapulco."
He winced. "Laura..."
"Ten years, Steele."
"I know! Do you think I haven't noticed? Do you think I don't know what day it is today? I've felt every one of those years. I've thought about you so much. As much as I'd let myself. Laura, whatever you think of me, I never planned to leave you. I never meant for it to end the way that it did."
"So you improvised. Is that meant to make it any better?"
"You had Tony. He was outside when I left. He'd been trying to get hold of you all along, and don't think that I never noticed you wondering. You always had your eye on him. Something to fall back on, if I didn't pan out?"
Her eyes blazed. "That's uncalled for."
"I know. Though it's true. I left, yes. But I didn't leave you alone. I left you with a man waiting right outside the door, ready to take my place."
"And you really thought I'd turn to him!" Her voice was rising, uncontrollable. "If I'd wanted Tony, I'd have chosen Tony. You think I wanted to go to him then? Or even weeks later, or months later? You think, when I finally realised that you weren't coming back - even if he was still waiting - that I'd turn to him? That I'd ever give him the opportunity to say 'I told you so'?" I didn't want Tony. I never did."
"I'm sorry." He looked humbled, awkward. She looked away.
"I went to Murphy. Eventually. Murphy and his wife. He at least I knew would never say that he'd told me so. Even though he'd warned me about you more times that anyone. Never Tony. It was never Tony."
"Good old Murphy, hey. Good old trustworthy Murphy." He didn't sound bitter or hateful. He almost sounded grateful. She glared at him anyway.
"Yeah. Good old Murphy. The one I could always trust. Remember trust? Little thing, rather important. The one thing we never had. Dependable, honest Murphy. There's a few other adjectives you don't know so well."
"Ouch." He stared at the floor for a moment, then looked up. "I'm sorry, Laura. For whatever it's worth, and I'm guessing that's not a lot, I'm sorry. I didn't intend to run out on you. I didn't want to hurt you. I wish I'd never answered that bloody phone, although it wouldn't have made any difference in the long run. He'd have got to me eventually."
"He?"
"And however much it hurt when I left, think how much more it would have hurt if I'd left the morning after." He turned away, then turned back again, then sighed and let the words come in a - for him - weirdly straightforward tumble. "We got a lot of media attention at the end. A lot of people saw us. A lot of people all over the world, some of whom I'd hoped I'd left behind me. So I'm sorry, because at the end of the day it was my fault. Me and my past, and all the places I'd come from. He said he'd kill you if I didn't go to meet him. And I couldn't risk that. He wasn't the sort of man to play games with."
"Who?"
"Nobody you'd know. Fortunately. Just a... just a face, from the past. Someone I'd always wished I'd never met. He wanted me to do a job for him, and he knew just the way to make me do it. I didn't see that I had any choice, but I thought I could come back to you afterwards, and explain it all, and maybe have a chance to put everything right. Except that he wouldn't let me leave. And one job led to another, and another - and then I was wanted again, and he was dead, and everything was up in the air. I thought that I might still have a chance, with you--"
"But you didn't come back."
"No, I didn't. It was supposed to be so simple. A plane ride, a bottle of wine, a big apology. All smiles and sorries and flowers. But there was a reward, and somebody I thought was a friend turned out not to be."
"You were arrested?" The great Remington Steele - or whoever - arrested? She could hardly believe it. He nodded, and for a second there was a real hardness in his eyes.
"Prisons are different all over the world. I doubt I was in one of the worst. At any rate, it wasn't a lot of fun, and it was infernally secure, and I was going crazy thinking about you. I'd probably still be there, if I hadn't bribed a guard, but that took time, and careful work, and it was all a fight every step of the way. I was in there for more than a year before I finally managed to get out. And then I had to get out of the country, and the easiest route wasn't into the States. And by then... I'd been gone more than eighteen months. How was I going to go back to you then? It would have been hard enough before I was arrested, but afterwards seemed impossible. I didn't think you'd still be waiting. I didn't dare hope. It seemed easier not to find out, and I kept putting it off. You were always so... so different. So proper. That's not a criticism, Laura. It's a compliment, perhaps. But at any rate, you see the world differently to me, and you always did, and I didn't know how to face you. You've always disapproved of what I am, and I'd tried so hard to be somebody different for you. I'd kept trying, but I could never really be anybody except me. Without a name, or a family, or any of the other things that you seemed to need. I'd tried to be normal, and honest, but I kept going back. Somebody kept resetting the clock. I could never be what you wanted, Laura, and life kept showing me that. So in the end I never went back. I didn't know how."
"Until those jewels came along."
"Tony or no, I thought you'd be in Denver."
"That much I figured out." She sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. "But would it have mattered, if you'd known?"
"No. No, I had to come. I owed it to someone."
"Arthur Webb?" The name came back to her from the newspaper article, and he frowned, clearly surprised that she had heard of the man.
"Yes. I owe Arthur. He was murdered for those jewels. The last ones that he needed. I promised that I'd finish the job for him, and I intend to do it. You can call the police - here or in Acapulco - but it won't change anything. I'll get those jewels eventually, one way or another."
"Somehow I believe you. Even if I can't believe anything else that you say." She wandered over to one of the chairs and sat down. "Eleanor Brock. Is she the one who stole them? Who had those four men killed? I heard you mentioning her on the phone."
"Yeah." He looked subdued momentarily. "Yeah. She killed Arthur, too. She's a dangerous woman, and there's nothing she won't do. You should keep away from me, Laura. She wants me dead, and probably the only reason I'm not that way already is that she wants Arthur's widow dead as well. A clean sweep. I don't want you to get mixed up in that."
"If you're in town, I already am mixed up in it. Like I can turn my back now." She scowled. "Great. Ten years on, and you're still managing to screw up my life."
"It's a talent." He looked hesitant, as though he wasn't sure whether to attempt some kind of apology again, or if it might be safer just to keep playing the rôle of incorrigible troublemaker. He settled on silence, but he smiled at her, and his blue eyes shone, and she couldn't help hating him. Hating him because it was simpler than the other things that she was beginning to feel. His eyes lowered suddenly, as though he was suddenly worried that he might be going too far too fast. Ever the con-man, she couldn't help thinking; reading the signs, responding to his mark, adapting his play accordingly. He was looking awkward now though, and there was nothing smooth, nothing pre-rehearsed or glib about him. If anything he looked a little nervous.
"So what happens now?" he asked. She frowned.
"Now?"
"You've found me. What happens now?"
"Oh." It was a good point. What did happen now? He hadn't done anything yet, so she couldn't hand him over to the police - but then she couldn't really have done that anyway. Could she? In her heart of hearts she didn't believe that he would say anything about Steele if she did. Her secrets would, probably, stay safe. She met his gaze and held it - cold and sincere.
"I don't like jewel thieves in my city."
He sounded cautious then. "Meaning?"
"Meaning that you do whatever the hell you want. I don't care, and I don't want any part of it. But if you steal those jewels, I'll come after you, and so will the police. I won't miss the chance to put that collection back where it belongs. The recognition it would bring to the agency would be too good to miss. A finder's fee would look pretty good to our accountant, too.
"You'd come after me?" He sounded hurt, but she kept her eyes hard. She couldn't let him get to her. Whether or not she believed his story, whether or not she understood why he had never come back, she had no intention of letting down her defences now. Not after all the years she had spent building them up. She just nodded.
"Steal those jewels, and you'll go to prison."
"I made a promise, Laura."
"Oh, I know." Her voice was harder still, then. "You made promises to me, too, years ago. All kinds of promises. What makes this one so special, when you broke all the others?"
"Cold, Laura." He sounded gently reproachful, but she could see by his eyes that her words had found their mark. He did still have a conscience, then, even if it was pretty dusty from years of disuse. She glared.
"Cold? You better believe it. Steal those jewels, and you'll go to prison."
"I've been to prison." He was meeting her halfway, matching her challenge, though with a spark of gamesmanship rather than with any of her ice. "I'm not going back. Better to be dead."
"Yeah. Right." It sounded dramatic, and was meant to be - but she had seen Steele complain at getting a mark on his shirt; at having to walk rather than drive - or more often be driven. He wouldn't willingly take death over anything. But on the other hand, for a man who didn't like a hair out of place, or a mark on his clothes; a man who didn't like any way other than the easy way; he looked very natural in those jeans, in that shirt, streaked with rust from the fire escape; with that shadow of stubble on his jaw, and his hair barely tamed. So different. She couldn't stop her eyes narrowing. "You don't mean that?"
He smiled suddenly. "I don't know. Sounds good, though, doesn't it."
She scowled. "Did Humphrey Bogart say it?"
"Humphrey Bogart?" He feigned confusion. "Humphrey Bogart was never a jewel thief. Or an ex-con, that I remember."
"Never mind. Leave town, Steele. Harry. Don't come back."
"It's Steele. And no." He smiled - a gentle, warm, infuriating smile, that recalled so many similar ones, with her wanting to melt into his arms. She had resisted then, though. No reason she shouldn't now.
"It is not Steele. And I am not going to let you take those jewels, especially using his name to do it. You've got a name these days. Why do you still want to hijack his?"
"Because Harry Chalmers isn't a respected private detective whose name makes doors open." He flashed her a wry look. "And because we both know that it was never really my name anyway."
"Oh. I thought--" She broke off at the sound of a car horn down in the street below. "I thought I was the only one who was suspicious about that. You seemed so pleased with the idea."
"Yeah. Well it was a good story, and it gave me the chance to play at being a proper member of society. At trying to be what I thought I needed to be, for you. When I lost you, it rather ceased to be so important. Then when I ran into the real Harry Chalmers... everything changed, I suppose."
"The real one?"
"Yes. In County Fermanagh. He was fostered, and his name was changed years ago. Funny, but it turns out that whatever his pedigree, he's as normal as you. Compulsive lying and permanently itchy feet can't be anything to do with genes after all." The car horn sounded again, and he looked up. "It's not that I was looking for him. Daniel knew that I wouldn't check up on the facts; that's what made it such a neat story, with it being what we'd both always wanted. I just stumbled into the man one night in a little pub in the middle of nowhere. I was always good at Maths, and all those two and twos just kept making neat little fours. I didn't say anything to him, but he said a lot to me. Most of it without words."
"I'm sorry."
"For what? It was a story I never believed. A nice story, but not one that really mattered. It not like I've lost anything." The car horn blasted out once more, and he headed for the window. "It's Murphy. What the hell-?"
"I've been expecting him." She went over to the window, peering out into the street. Murphy was standing beside her car, leaning in through the window to beat up the horn at irregular intervals. She waved to him, and he waved back with obvious relief. "He's quite the bloodhound, you know."
"You have some kind of homing device?" Clearly he didn't believe in Murphy's amazing tracking skills. She had to smile.
"My mobile phone. Murphy and I don't like to take risks. Not anymore."
"Getting staid in your middle age?" It was a mild tease of a question, but she purposefully responded with something that she knew would hurt.
"No. We just don't have the murder, robbery and extortion magnet working alongside us now. We rather like it that way."
"Ouch." He stepped back from the window, clearly not enthralled by the prospect of watching Murphy climb towards them. Laura felt a burst of regret for having spoken so shortly. For a moment longer she watched Murphy, then she looked back inside the room. It looked darker after the brightness of the daylight, and Steele seemed darker still; an indistinct patch, with an invisible expression, his eyes apparently staring into nothingness. A car ride, so early in their relationship. He was upset at the death of a friend, and she was trying to choose a name for him. A name other than Steele, that she could use when they were alone. He had had that same expression on his face then - and she, of all things, had chosen to call him Harry that night. The feeling of regret deepened.
"I'm sorry," she heard herself saying. "About Harry Chalmers. The real one. I'm sorry you still don't know who you really are."
"I never did." He surprised her with a bright flash of a smile. "I never believed that Daniel's story was anything other than wishful thinking. Like I said, I haven't lost anything."
"All the same." She felt awkward, and wasn't sure why. "I'm sorry."
"Thankyou." As Steele spoke, Murphy's head appeared through the window, and the con-man's body language changed instantly. Laura saw it wash over him; the slamming down of barriers, the defences being readied. Murphy didn't see anything, but then he had eyes only for Laura.
"Are you alright?" He climbed into the room, taking her hand for a brief moment. She nodded.
"Fine. Everything's fine."
"No it's not." He shot a furious glance at Steele. "He's using Steele's name to go after jewels again. He's likely to take us down with him, so don't go letting him get to you like before. He'd bad news, Laura. He always was."
"Really bad." The sarcasm in Steele's voice was faint, but somehow all the stronger for that. "All your worst nightmares, hey Murph?"
"What a surprise. It's all a joke to you." Murphy took a threatening step towards Steele, but Laura interceded quickly. Suddenly she was no longer wistful and confused and uncertain. Suddenly she was a referee trying to make players calm down, or a mother trying to get her children to behave. Somehow the latter seemed more fitting. Murphy capitulated readily enough, though his eyes still snarled at Steele. He retreated to the window and sat down on the sill. It might have been a simple retreat, but the fact that it also served as a neat way of blocking the most obvious escape route wasn't missed by Laura or by Steele. "They know about him at the museum," he continued, clearly certain that he had to save Laura from herself. "By now the head curator will have given his description to the police."
"It doesn't matter." Laura might have been angry with Steele over that point, but she had overheard his comment to the mysterious Lucy, and could see the sense in what he had said. "He may be a fraud, but he's still Remington Steele. All he has to do is talk to the police, and they'll stop investigating him."
"He's not Remington Steele." Murphy looked disgusted. "He never was. Look, the manager of that museum was all ready to spread the word about him being a thief. About Steele being a thief. If he's spoken to the police, then that's exactly what he's going to have told them. And you know what that could mean for the agency."
"It doesn't matter." Steele tried to sound patient, for getting cross with Murphy now would certainly not help his case with Laura. "So I lied to old Oban. The police will buy that as a ruse to get me closer to the action to help solve the case. I haven't got the jewels. I didn't steal them--" His eyes darted over to Laura-- "yet. And they can't prove that I did."
"They can prove what they like." Murphy folded his arms. "And your stories won't buy you anything, 'Steele'. I had to think on my feet, and come up with something to stop your buddy Oban putting us all in hot water."
"What did you say?" Suddenly urgent, Steele halved the distance between them before coming to a sharp halt. Murphy smiled, though he didn't really seem to be enjoying the situation.
"I told him that Steele had a double. Some crook who's been trying to impersonate him. I told him that I know Mr Steele - the real Mr Steele - personally, and that he's still in Europe. So the police will be after you, and they won't believe that you were telling lies to help with your investigation. Because you don't have an investigation. Your cover's blown. Most of the police you used to deal with have moved on or retired, and you've changed enough from your old pictures ten years ago to be taken for an impersonator now. You'll be lucky to make it out of the country, with the police operation that'll be mounted to get a collection like that back where it belongs."
"Where it belongs is very much a matter for debate." Steele's voice was level, his eyes unreadable, though his body language suggested real tension. He drew in a deep breath. "Congratulations. It was a good story. Everybody loves a good evil double, running about the place and making things all dramatic."
"Yeah." Murphy's sense of triumph was short lived, especially with Laura in the room. "Well it wasn't intentional. Like I said, I had to think on my feet. I had to think about the business, and about Laura and me."
"We'd better go to the police." Laura felt tired, the long night catching up with her again. "Explain that it was a misunderstanding, and that you're the real Remington Steele."
"Are you kidding!" Murphy was scandalised. "He's no more the real Steele than I am!"
"Murph, come on." She reached out for his hand, and gave it a quick squeeze. "It wouldn't really be fair to let them arrest him. And besides, he doesn't have the jewels. Letting the police chase after him - however satisfying - will only divert their attention away from the real thief."
"Your concern is touching, Laura." Arching an eyebrow, Steele shot her a look that was part sarcastic rejoinder, and part genuine smile. For some reason it was growing harder to meet those smiles with a glare, and she lowered her eyes. She didn't need to be looking to know that he was now smiling more broadly than ever. Murphy sighed.
"He really didn't take the jewels!"
"Murphy..." Steele sounded hurt. "Four men killed? A truck heist? I ask you - would the great Remington Steele risk sullying his reputation in an operation like that?"
"The 'great Remington Steele' wouldn't, no. But then you are not the great Remington Steele. Try to remember that. Just occasionally."
"Oh for goodness sakes, you two." Laura rolled her eyes. It had to be fourteen years at least since she had last been in a room with the pair of them, but time had done nothing to calm their animosity. They were spitting sparks at each other just as though the fighting had never stopped. "You have to talk to the police." She hesitated, caught momentarily when she realised that she had been about to slip back into calling him 'Mr Steele'. He wasn't getting that. Compromising, she dropped the 'Mister'. "And Murphy and I better go too."
"Why do I have to go to the police?" Steele had a wary look about him. She glared.
"To tell them about Eleanor Brock. To stop the entire police department from wasting all their time looking for you."
"And also on the off chance that they might arrest you, and throw away the key," contributed Murphy, clearly unable to resist. Steele favoured him with a particularly withering glare.
"If I go to the police, I'll have to tell them how I know about Eleanor Brock. Which is by no means a simple story."
"You're Remington Steele. Tell them that you've been investigating her."
"You don't investigate Eleanor Brock. You discover her name, and then you wind up dead. It's a familiar pattern." He shook his head. "It won't work, Laura. I can tell the police about her, but they can't check the facts, or wire anyone for more information."
"Doesn't necessarily matter."
"Yes it does." He sighed. "We have to have a good story. If they don't believe it, then we're stuck in a far worse situation than we're in now. I can claim to be Steele, but they've already got reason to believe that I'm not. You insisting that I am can put you and Murphy into a pretty damn precarious position, and I don't really intend on doing that. If they don't believe it, and if they don't manage to track Brock down - which they won't - then they're left with the next best thing. Me, without a leg to stand on. Plus the two of you, looking like a right pair of lemons, apparently not even knowing whether or not I'm the real Remington Steele. It's a recipe for disaster."
"Damn." Murphy looked distinctly disgruntled. "I must be more tired than I thought, because that actually seemed to make real sense."
"But if you don't go to the police--" began Laura. Steele held up a hand to silence her.
"If I don't go to the police, you two stay out of trouble."
"And your friend Brock gets away." Laura shook her head. "No. Not after she's killed four men."
"She won't get away. Not scot-free, at any rate. There's no way I'm going to let her keep those jewels."
"I've already made it quite clear how I feel about you and those jewels." Laura was standing firm. "You steal them, you go to jail."
"Not if I don't steal them in this country." He was challenging her now, quite openly. "There's no alternative, Laura. I can't go to the police. They won't get her on their own."
"Then we get her." It didn't seem to have come to Laura in a flash; she seemed to have been considering it for some time. "Why not?"
"Because we don't do things like that anymore." Murphy sounded worried. "Damn it, Laura. Ten minutes back with this joker and you're talking about risking your life and capturing criminals again. We don't do that now."
"It would be great for the agency." She looked over at Murphy. "You know it would."
"Yeah, sure. Until You Know Who runs off with the jewels." He shook his head. "You know how I feel about this guy, Laura. How I always felt about him. He's a liar and a thief, and he can't be trusted. I shouldn't have to tell you that."
"You don't." She looked uncomfortable. "You don't. But this could work, Murphy. And if it does, we'll be turning away work. Once the papers get hold of the story of the theft, this is going to become high profile. It's bound to. There's already a story connected to those two brown diamonds because of Arthur Webb, and the rest of the collection is hardly uninteresting. We'd be the ones capturing the thief. It's perfect."
"It's lunacy." Murphy was grumbling, but she was sure that he would agree. He always did, in the end. Steele frowned, looking oddly thoughtful, eyes sizing up his two former colleagues.
"You're sure about this, Laura? Brock's a dangerous woman. She's not some dowdy old housewife who's cheating on her husband."
"You think that's all we do nowadays?" Her eyes flashed. "We can handle this. Tell him Murphy."
"Yeah." Steele grinned. "Tell him Murphy."
"It's nuts." Murphy wasn't in the mood to tell Steele anything except to shut up. "Absolute nuts. Laura..."
"On the other hand..." The smile fading away, seriousness apparently returning, Steele nodded. "It could work. We've got the perfect bait for her, and you can guarantee she'll have the jewels with her. Typical criminal mind. She doesn't trust anyone."
"Bait?" Laura frowned. "You?"
"You always did have a good deductive mind, Laura." He nodded. "Yes. Me. Eleanor Brock hates loose ends. She wants me dead. Given the chance, she'll kill me if she can, because she knows that I'll come after her for the jewels." He shrugged. "Well, and because... because she just wants me dead, really. Me and Lucille."
"And you think we can wait until she comes after you, and then grab her and the jewels?" Laura frowned. "It does sound like it could work."
"Work!" Murphy was aghast. "Laura, listen to yourself! You're talking about going after a murderer!"
"Come on, Murphy. Where's your spirit of adventure?" Standing up tall, the old body language there again, and the old voice; suddenly Steele was his old self again. Laura had to smile. Jeans and rust-covered shirt aside, he was just as she remembered him, and she almost laughed at the sudden peculiar joy of it. Murphy was less amused.
"My sense of adventure?"
"Yes. Fighting the bad guys, gathering up the boodle. Just like we used to do. We don't need the flatfoots."
"Flatfoots?" Murphy rolled his eyes. "Oh great. He's turning into an old Hollywood cliché again."
"Come on, Murph. The Three Musketeers! Holmes, Watson and... Well, maybe not that one."
"Holmes, Watson and Moriarty?" Murphy laughed. "Sounds about right to me."
"Yes, well, fair point." Eyes bright, the suddenly irrepressible Steele renewed his off-beat persuasion. "At any rate, that was us before, and it could be us now. Simon Templar, Monty, and the daring Patricia Holm!"
"They were jewel thieves," put in Murphy. Steele ignored him. Laura began to laugh.
"He could be right, Murph. Look, we can do this."
"Of course we can. You can have Eleanor Brock gift-wrapped for the Chief of Detectives before he's even marshalled his troops. What do you say?"
"I say that you're nuts. I say that he's only saying this because he stands a better chance of getting the jewels this way. Far better to get them from us than to go after a murderer on his own. How the hell can we trust this guy, really?"
Laura arched an eyebrow. "The ball is back in your court, Steele."
"Fine." He nodded. "Then I'll give you the same deal that I did once before. I won't touch them while they're your responsibility. I won't steal them from you."
"Just so that we're clear." She fixed him with an intense stare. "I plan to see that those jewels are returned to Jacques Trovian. Their rightful owner."
"Their rightful owner? The Honeymoon Diamonds belong to Arthur Webb. The rest of the collection..." He shrugged, with a rather degenerate grin. "It's up for grabs, shall we say."
"Whatever. If you don't steal them from us, that means you'd have to steal them from police custody." Murphy was smiling too now. "I'm happy with that. You don't stand a chance, and you'll be in custody right alongside them before you can say 'No bail'."
"Age has not improved your sense of humour, has it Murphy." Steele looked from one to the other of them. "Well?"
"I'm in." Murphy shrugged. "It's nuts, but I'm in. You are sure that she'll come after you though? You're only any good as bait if we're sure about that."
"She'll come. If I tell her where I am in the right way, she'll come. Chances are she wants Lucy too, or she'd have killed me last night. Either that or she wanted me alive to see her get hold of the jewels."
"Who is this Lucy?" asked Murphy. Steele smiled faintly.
"Lucille Webb. Widow of Arthur Webb, and a very special lady."
"Lucy..." Laura was confused. "But your accomplice is called Lucy. That person you were talking to when I got here. That was the widow of this jewel thief?"
"Yes." There was a certain note of fondness in Steele's voice. Laura was still frowning.
"But she must be old by now."
"Depends on your definition of the word. She's sixty-three." Sixty-three, tough as shoe leather, and always ready and able to take on the world. There was no thief like an old thief, as the old proverb didn't say. Unfortunately. "All of which leads me to a certain request."
"If it involves you being alone with the jewels, no." Laura folded her arms. "What is it?"
"It's Lucy. When you take Brock to the police, there's could be trouble. There's no telling what she'll say, and I want Lucy well out of the way before that happens. So when you get Brock, I want you to wait a few hours. Let Lucy get a head start, out of the country. It can't hurt. We can make sure that Brock is secure, and the jewels too. Just don't turn them in until the morning."
"We can't all decamp to my house for the night with a jewel thief and her loot." Laura shook her head. "No."
"We can make sure that she can't escape. Look, we take Lucy to the airport, we put her on an aeroplane, and we give her a sporting chance. She might not be able to get away later. You'll have your thief, and your accolades. Your jewels to return to their 'rightful' owner. I'm throwing away my own chance of getting those jewels for you, so that you can do this. It's not much to ask in return."
"He's got an angle, Laura." Murphy couldn't trust Steele no matter how heartfelt the plea. Steele shot him a brief look.
"She's a sixty-three year old woman. She can't hurt anyone, and she doesn't want to. You really want to see her taken into custody? I don't know what might happen to her then, and she's my responsibility. I owe her."
"If it's not safe for her to stay, it's not safe for you either," pointed out Laura. Steele shook his head.
"I'm not running out on this before Brock is in custody. You might need the help. I can stay away from the police, anyway. I've done it plenty of times before. I just don't know if Lucy is up to it. Laura, the minute the police get hold of Brock, she's going to start telling them all kinds of tales, and believe me, Lucy and I will not want to be within shooting distance of the police just then. Or for some time afterwards. We can use Murphy's story about me being an impostor to keep you out of trouble, but once that woman is in custody, I plan to follow Lucy out of town by the swiftest route possible." He shrugged, looking faintly dismissive. "I can always set things straight with the police another time. Regain my favourite alias. Provided none of them gets a good look at me now."
"Set things straight another time!" Murphy's eyes practically leaped from his head. "Like hell you will!" Steele just smirked at him, and he shook his head in disgust. "Let Brock get the pair of them, Laura. The police can pick her up for murder, then, and really throw the book at her."
"Murph..." Laura shot him an exasperated look. "Steele... damn it, I hate having to call you that... Yes, alright. We'll let her get away before we do anything." She held up a hand to forestall Murphy's complaints. "Just as long as you can promise me that she's not some criminal mastermind herself."
"Lucy? She's done a few burglaries in her time, but none in the last twenty years. Her arthritis rather gets in the way. Trust me, she's no Eleanor Brock."
"Somehow whenever you say 'trust me', that's the last thing I feel inclined to do." She sighed. "What's the plan? You said you had to let Brock know where you are in the right way."
"Yes." He nodded. "A few of those jewels are too well known. The blue diamonds, for instance. She'll want to off-load them before she goes back overseas, and there's only one fence I know of in the whole of this state who's likely to take them off her. Charlie Haymes. He's a jeweller who runs a grotty little place near here."
"And Brock knows about him?" asked Laura. Steele nodded.
"He's known to half the crooks in the jewel business. Doesn't matter how hot something is, he'll always take it off your hands."
"So you'll feed him false information?" He nodded.
"It won't be difficult. She'll come after me and Lucy, we'll grab her, and then you can hand her over to the authorities. Charlie too if necessary." He looked sorrowful. "I'll be sad to see him gone, but he's a slimy little toad when he wants to be, and he'll be falling over himself to betray me for a price. Serves him right."
"When will you speak to him?" asked Murphy. He was still not happy with the situation, but he was no longer going to argue. He could see that Laura had made up her mind. Steele shrugged, and glanced at his watch.
"No time like the present. I'll get down there now."
"Oh your own? Not likely." Murphy stood up, obviously intending to go along. Steele rolled his eyes.
"Murphy, much as I enjoy your company, it'll only lead to awkward questions. It's far better if I go alone. I'll go over to brief Lucy when I've finished."
"Bring her to my place. We might as well all get together." Laura scribbled her address on a piece of paper torn from a pad on the desk. Steele took it, glanced at it, then folded it up and slipped it into a pocket.
"Fine. But with the story Murphy gave to the police, you might have a house full of detectives in the next couple of hours. I can't risk coming to you while they might still be around."
"Then what...?"
"Here." He went over to one of the shelves, all but groaning under the weight of collected video tapes, and lifted down something covered in dust. It seemed to be a metal lantern; clearly solidly built, and apparently very old. He handed it to Laura, surprising her with its weight.
"What is it?" she asked. Up close it was clearly an antique; a beautiful piece of work. He smiled, the roguish tint in his eyes lighting them up and suggesting, as always, at a number of nefarious deeds.
"It's a smugglers' lamp. They used them to signal to each other back in the old days. You put that in your window; the one most visible from the road. If it's on, I'll know that the coast is clear, and that it's safe for Lucy and I to come on up. If the lamp is dark, I'll know that the police are still around. It's easy to light. You just need a match."
"Okay. I suppose." She looked down at it, admiring it for several moments, and deciding that it was best not to ask how he had come by it. "The police shouldn't have too much to say to me. With luck you won't have to wait long."
"Just be sure of what you have to tell them. Once the police have Brock, she's sure to tell them about me, and I don't want you tarred by that brush. As far as everybody is concerned, the only Steele in town is an impostor."
"Fine by me." Murphy's eyes were bright with the sparks of confrontation. Steele nodded.
"I thought it might be. Just keep on the ball, the pair of you."
"Oh, we will." Murphy was watching him with newly intense interest. "And while we're getting a good boost for our reputation, what exactly are you getting out of all this?" Steele hesitated.
"Getting rid of somebody who wants me dead isn't enough?" he asked after a moment. Murphy's glare deepened.
"How many people are there around the world who want you dead? That's no reason."
"Call it old times sake, then Murphy. Doing a favour for some friends." Steele's eyes grew distant. "Paying a little something back, perhaps." He shrugged. "Or perhaps the truth is that I'd rather not go after Brock alone. We all like shiny jewels, but they're far less fun when you're dead."
"Meaning you still have your eye on them."
"Meaning..." For a second Steele looked as though he might have been about to argue. Then he smiled suddenly, in a particularly devilish fashion. "Meaning that eyes and fingers are two different things." His eyes flickered back to Laura. "I'll be in touch. See yourselves out."
"Now hang on a minute--" Murphy was moving to block the way again, but Steele was already climbing out of the window. Murphy caught hold of his arm for a moment, as though wondering whether to prevent his leaving, but he reconsidered as soon as his eyes met with Steele's. For some reason that he couldn't understand, he saw something in those eyes that he trusted, and he let go of the arm. Steele smiled briefly and was gone.
"You okay Laura?" The question came automatically, even before Murphy had turned back to her. When he did turn, he wasn't sure what to make of the expression on her face.
"I'm okay." She smiled her bright, familiar smile. "Really. I mean, I still feel like I could cheerfully club him to death with the nearest blunt object, but I feel fine." She laughed slightly. "I always thought if I met him again I'd be a mess, but... I don't think I am."
"You don't sound too sure."
"No." She seemed hesitant all of a sudden, and Murphy gave her a hug, not entirely sure what else to do.
"I guess you must feel pretty weird." He was at something of a loss. "It's hardly been an ordinary morning." She laughed then, and he was glad.
"Ordinary? No, it hasn't been that."
"You want a drink? We've still got that scotch back at the office."
"No. Clear heads all round, I think." She headed for the window. "You can buy me some blueberry pancakes, though."
"And that's all you want?" He was dubious, worried that perhaps she was taking this rather too well. She merely smiled, a distant look just failing to be hidden by her otherwise confident eyes.
"There's lots of things I want, Murph. Let's just focus on the here and now, shall we?" She began to climb out of the window. Her step might have faltered as she climbed down the ladder; her mind might have wandered on the way down; but she didn't let herself dwell on all that had happened. She didn't let herself think about the man who was so suddenly back in her life. She had a crime to focus her mind upon first. A murderer to catch, and stolen jewels to recover. Only after that was dealt with could she see what her heart and mind really needed. Only then could she let herself come undone.