Chapter 13

Remington picked up the phone in his suite at the Bentley, the swank, five-star hotel where he'd been staying the past four nights since his arrival in Genoa. Despite the opulence of his surroundings, unlike the years he'd spent globetrotting, the hotel's numerous amenities held no appeal. Much to his consternation, he longed for his kitchen, his telly, his bed. With very few changes across the years, he'd turned the flat into his own, and had discovered there was something to be said for knowing where you'd sleep that evening… and the next and the next and the next. He'd come to look forward to it, to rely on it… to appreciate it.

Much as he'd come to see the life he'd been living the past three years as his own.

He shook away the thought and reached for the phone again. Time to move on, Steele, old sport, he reminded himself for he umpteenth time since he'd departed LA beneath the shadow of the night. He punched in a phone number long ago memorized, then waited for the call to be answered.

"Good morning to you," a woman's voice offered over the line. He chuckled to himself. After all these years, Daniel's housekeeper still refused to answer the phone with the customary 'hello'.

"Good morning to you, as well, Mary, darling. I need to have a word with Daniel. Is he about?" He listened as Mary gasped on the other end of the line.

"Harry? Is that you, lad?" He chuckled warmly, having many years before accepted he'd always be a 'lad' in Mary's eyes.

"Never could sneak anything past you, could I?" he teased.

"Why, Harry, as I live and breathe! Thought you'd fallen off the ends of the earth, I had," the elderly housekeeper scolded him as only she could. "Believed Daniel was telling tall tales again, I did, when he said you were off playing a fancy, schmancy detective in America."

"No, no, that's all true enough. Is Daniel in residence?"

"Not due back from his villa for another week or so. Says London winters are too hard on him these days." She clucked her tongue, disapprovingly.

"I'll ring him up there, then," Remington replied.

"Harry, you need to stop 'round for a visit one of these days." He answered, in part, with a dry laugh.

"As it happens, my schedule is fairly open these days. I may just do that. Take care, Mary."

He hung up the phone then retrieved his address book from his overnight case. Looking up the number, he picked up the reciever and dialed again.

"Allo?" Daniel's voice came over the line.

"Hello, Daniel," Remington answered.

"Harry, dear boy. To what do I owe the honor?" Daniel's voice boomed. At his home in Cannes, he picked up his drink, and walked outside to stand on the terrace.

"I need your help, Daniel…"

Remington sounded a wry laugh, as he peered out the window of the car, and recalled what Daniel had once said of his dream home in the South of France.

"Next stop: a modest villa in the South of France where I can spend my declining years watching bikini bottoms frolic across the Mediterranean."

"A modest villa, wasn't it?" Remington remarked as he climbed out of the sleek, black Porsche.

Daniel had picked him up at the airport in St. Tropez, as they'd planned, then had driven them nearly two hours east to his home in Pointe-Croisette, located only few minutes outside of Cannes. Daniel considered the house before them.

"In comparison to some of our summer homes, at least," Daniel dismissed, then smiled at Remington. "You know how much I do enjoy entertaining."

"Mmmm," Remington hummed his agreement, "That I do." He stepped inside after Daniel swung open the door and indicated the younger man should precede him. Remington whistled low. "It certainly meet your standards."

White marble floors gleamed in the sunlight cast off by the wall of windows that seemed to span the length of the western facing home, offering stunning vista's of the Mediterranean and house scattered hillside just beyond. While Remington assimilated to the new surroundings, Daniel strolled into the open dining room to pour them each a scotch.

"Nice view," he complimented, with a nod of his head, accepting the glass Daniel handed him. Daniel's smile had a mischevious glint about it.

"You've no idea just how stunning it is, my boy, but I'm sure you'll discover that for yourself," Daniel laughed, rocking back on his heels.

"Dare I ask?"

"Five suites above, one here on the main level. You can choose from any of the rooms above, save the one Gwen is currently occupying on the far right." Remington choked on a mouthful of scotch.

"Gwen?!" he sputtered. "As in Reggie Whitewood's cousin Gwen?" He recovered quickly, as he cleared his throat, and managed to weave an air of bemusement into his voice. "I've never known you to… partake of a woman's delights…" he offered, with a pair of raised brows for his mentor, "…for more than a few days."

"I haven't sipped from that particular well in some time," Daniel laughed. "Conniving though Gwen may be, I don't mind offering her a bit of hospitality when she passes through. Her exploits can be… entertaining." He raised his own brows at Remington. "Should you be interested in dipping your toes in that pool, it's fine by me," he assured, giving Remington a slap on the shoulder for good measure. "Harry, go," he ordered, waving a hand towards the stairs. "Select a room. Unpack. When you're done, we'll have a couple drinks, and enjoy a few rounds of billiards."

In other words, there was a talk to be had. Nevertheless, Remington gave a nod of his head, then left the house to retrieve his luggage from the car. Daniel's shrewd eyes followed his protégé out the door, before he turned and stepped out on the balcony.

He'd lay odds the inimitable Miss Holt was somehow at fault for this. What had she gotten Harry into this time? he wondered. His eyes narrowed on Remington's back as he traveled up the stairs with his bags. No, he corrected himself, his narrowed eyes on Remington's retreating form, It was more than that.

When Harry had reached out to him for a hand, he'd been annoyingly tight lipped. He needed a decoy to throw whomever might be following him of his track. In exchange, the chap who posed on him would be given a healthy sum to line his pockets along with an all expense paid, five-star holiday in Dublin and London. Elsewise, he'd shared no more than he'd like to come visit for a spell, should Daniel have the room.

He'd taken care that Harry not see his concern reflected on his face when he'd stepped out of the gate at the airport. The boy looked like he'd been to hell and back – face drawn, skin palid, eyes dull, the strain around them apparent. He'd seen Harry in such a state but once before, when he'd believed that conniving schemer, Anna Simpson, to be dead, and that the fault for that lay at least partially with him. But, even then, he hadn't looked quite so bad as this. Then, his anger with the forces who'd condemned him to this fate emanated from him, even as his grief swirled aroud him. But the young man who'd emerged from that passageway? He looked like a man who'd resigned himself to his fate.

If anyone would know that look, it was Daniel, for the same man had stared back at him in the mirror for every morning, each night, for thirty years.

And, so far as he knew, only a the loss of a woman could be the cause of it.

Yes, he'd lay odds Miss Holt was at the center of it all. The only question was… how?

By the time Remington arrived in the game parlor, he'd chosen his room, unpacked, showered and changed, although he hadn't bothered to shave. He drew his hand through his still damp hair then accepted the snifter of fine, aged port that Daniel offered him. Daniel's sharp eyes had taken notice of the tell, although the smile on his face, in his eyes, never faltered.

"Shall we make this a bit more interesting?" the older man suggested. "Nine ball. Say… twenty quid a point?"

"Make it fifty, and you're on," Remington upped the ante. Daniel cocked a brow in answer to the challenge.

"Fifty it is," he agreed.

Two-and-a-half hours, and one empty decanter of aged port later, Daniel was grinning even as his pockets were being fleeced by the man bent over table, determining the best shot. Harry's game had grown more refined over the years, more skilled, and he played with greater finesse. Clearly, his life in LA hadn't been all about the drudgery of work, for his protégé had been practicing. Out from beneath his partner's watchful eye, he amended with some certainty, as he couldn't envision the uptight Linda in the type of establishment Harry most likely frequented.

Which reminded him…

"So, my boy, how is Linda these days?" Remington's blue eyes darted upward to look at Daniel, then away. He pointed his cue at the far right pocket.

"Seven ball, corner pocket," he announced.

"Should I expect her to appear on my doorstep at any moment, come to collect her Mr. Steele?" Remington stroked the ball with the cue, banking the seven in the corner pocket while lining the cue ball up nicely for the eight.

"I shouldn't think so," he answered, flashing Daniel a wide smile, although his eyes leveled a warning on Daniel that the subject he was considering discussing was firmly off limits. Having seen the warning, Daniel's smile merely grew larger.

"Don't tell me you and Linda have parted ways?" he probed. His brows lifted upon seen the muscle in Remington's jaw twitch. Well, isn't this an unexpected turn of events, he mused. Harry free of Linda's clutches at long last. In the back of his head, he began to sort through the catalog of cons he and Harry had drawn up over the years and never acted on.

"Eight ball, left corner," Remington called.

"Well, that could only mean one of two things," Daniel pondered aloud. "Either little Linda finallly allowed you to soil her pristine linens, satisfying your curiosity…." The eight ball dropped neatly in the pocket. Remington focused on the nine ball while chalking the tip of his cue. Daniel dismissed the idea. "Or you finally realized she was doing nothing more than stringing you along, and you've, at long last, cut those ties." A pair of angry, blue eyes snapped in his direction.

"Leave it alone, Daniel," he warned, keeping his tone intentionally neutral. Daniel took a long drink of his port, continuing to study the young man before him.

"Nine ball, side pocket." The yellow and white striped ball dropped into the side pocket, as the cue ball reversed course, stopping in the center of the table. What's a hundred-and-fifty more, Daniel shrugged.

"That's thirty-five points, at fifty a quid—"

"Hmmmm, yes, so it would seem. I'm good for it in the morning." Remington waved him off.

"Keep it on account. I'm sure there'll be a great deal of wagering going on while I'm here," Downing the last two sips of his drink, Remington set the empty snifter down on the table . "I believe I'll retire for the evening," he announced with a nod of his head.

He stopped in the doorway, and pressed a finger against his lips, considering his words. Several seconds ticked by before he leaned his back against the door jamb, staring straight ahead at nothing.

"You never did get Laura and I quite right, Daniel," he said, pensively. "Not everything is an elaborate ruse or a conquest to be had. Sometimes… just sometimes… a man is fortunate enough to discover something so rare… so infinitely appealing… that he is willing to go all in should the other player not quit the table." Nodding his head slowly, he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away. "Goodnight, Daniel."

Daniel's surprise was evident on his face, as he watched the younger man depart the room. When Remington was no longer in sight, Daniel turned his eyes to his snifter, examining the amber liquid as though it might answer the questions suddenly troubling him.