Chapter 17

Laura stepped out of the rental car and stared at the beachfront home before her. She had no idea why she would have expected anything less after having visited Daniel's residence in London, but for some reason a small cottage, beach adjacent had been what she'd envisioned, not a home that from the outside suggested it could hold her old house two, if not three, times over.

It was mind boggling that this type of wealth could be achieved through cons, stings and trickery.

And gave rise to some thought provoking questions.

"Harry is one of a kind. A true… artist."

From the beginning, she'd acknowledged Mr. Steele's talent, the extent of his knowledge which seemed unlimited when it came to art, jewels, security systems…

She laughed softly.

…And movies.

Most definitely the movies.

In fact, she'd always been of the opinion that Daniel believed 'Harry's' skills surpassed his own, and that had been the inspiration behind his multiple attempts to 'reclaim' his protégé. 'One of a kind.' 'An artist.' Descriptions of her Mr. Steele from Daniel's tongue had only supported her beliefs.

But if that were true, and Daniel lived like...

This...

What kind of wastrel had Remington been that he'd landed in LA without much more than a couple pieces of luggage filled with clothes? Sure, he liked tailored clothing, Italian shoes, silk shirts, fine wines and even better food, but even those extravagances wouldn't have been able to consume to kind of wealth Daniel's homes suggested.

She shook off the thought, accepted that she was merely avoiding the inevitable…

Knocking on that door.

She turned and looked at the car… her means of escape.

What had made her believe she could do this?

She'd hurt him… deeply, at that. He had no idea that she hadn't been able to go through with it… Westfield… because of him. He had no idea that she loved him, had for a long, long time. And, with good cause, he wouldn't trust only her word on either, for she'd impeached her veracity by leaving him for another man.

She hadn't even had the time to fully gather her thoughts on the other matter. Closing her eyes she stroked a hand over her stomach.

And wouldn't be able to, until she knew if they could repair the serious tear in the fabric of their relationship… or if he'd have any interest, whatsoever, in trying.

Which, of course, she wouldn't know until…

With new resolve, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Five long strides later, she pressed her index finger against the doorbell.

Then straightened her back, tilted up her chin and adopted the icy calm façade for which Remington had once coined a phrase.

"Alright, Chalmers, where is he?" Laura demanded to know when the front door swung open.

"Linda?" Daniel drew out her name, scrunching his face comically, as though caught stunned and unaware, by her appearance. "What on earth are you doing here? For that matter, how did you know where here is?"

"I'm a detective… Remember?" she asked, shortly. "Where is Mr… Harry? He and I need to have a little chat."

"Harry?" he elongated the word again, drawing her suspicion. "Whatever gave you the idea he's here, my dear? Why I haven't seen Harry since our little escapade trying to pass him off as the Duke of Ruther—" His words were caught short when she pushed past him and marched into the house.

"Mr. Steele?" she called out before addressing the man that had closed the door and followed her inside. "I have it on good authority that he's been with you the last several weeks." She stepped into the living room, and looked around.

"Misplaced your Remington Steele, have you?" he chuckled, as though the idea amused him. "Did the shackles slip?" She looked over her shoulder with narrowd eyes, then dismissed him as she walked towards the open terrace doors.

"The choice to stay was always his own," she replied coolly, as she took a step onto the terrace, finding it empty.

"That you've no idea where Harry is seems to suggest he has determined his time with you has come to an end, wouldn't you say?" He was ill-prepared for the stark hurt he saw flash across her face, before the cool mask of detachment fell back into place. He'd always enjoyed their witty, if combative, tete-a-tetes, slinging a barb here and there. The woman had always appeared impervious to insult. If anything the barbs piqued that fascinating temper of hers. Clearly, whatever it was that had Harry tied up in knots had the ability to wound her as well. In his mind, her reaction was further justification for continuing this little gambit of his. "Either way, I can assure you I'm quite alone," he informed her, stepping between her and the entrance to the kitchen. Winding an arm around her waist, he guided her back in the direction of the front door. "Should I hear from Harry, I'll be certain to mention you stopped by." She neatly stepped out of the frame of his arm, and spun in the direction of the kitchen again. He made a show of grabbing for her and missing.

"Aha!" she exclaimed. "I've never attributed gluttony to your long list of vices, Mr. Chalmers." A finger pointed to the two large filet mignons, lying seasoned on the plate before her.

"Uh, yes. I mean no. Cancelled date, much to my dismay," he explained, sweeping the plate off the counter and setting it in the refrigerator. "Lovely woman, too." He raised a pair of brows at Laura as he closed the door to the fridge. "First cousin to a Countess whose jewelry collection is considered amongst the most impressive on the Continent." Her eyes narrowed on him again.

Just what is he trying to drag Mr. Steele into now?

"Terrible, terrible disappointment, her cancelling as she did." With a hand on her waist, he escorted her towards the front door. "In fact, I'd just decided a night of baccarat is what I needed to cure my ills." He swung open the front door. "I'll be certain to let Harry know you've popped by should I hear from him." Mouth agape, she stepped outside. "I really must be going now, should I not wish to be late. It's been a pleasure, Linda, as always." She turned around just in time to watch the door shut in her face.

Then sputtered in indignation as she stalked towards the rental car.

She didn't know who Chalmers thought he was putting one over on, but it wasn't her. Whether Remington was there or not, he had been… very, very recently, the smell of his cologne still lingering in the air. Climbing into the subcompact car, she slammed the door behind herself and stared intently at the house before her.

Whether Remington didn't want to see her, or Chalmers didn't want her stealing away his star pupil, was inconsequential. What was that business about the Countess? Was he – even worse, were they – planning a heist, a con? There was no way of knowing unless she got into that house and looked around.

Daniel wasn't going to drag Remington back into the life. Not on her watch.

Her eyes fell on the silver Mercedes parked next to her in the drive and a plan came together in her mind. Turning the key in the ignition, she backed out of the driveway. Her drive to the house had confirmed there was only one way off the beachfront road Daniel's house was located upon. Two blocks away, she did a u-turn, and parked her car between two others. Reaching into the backseat, she picked up her fedora, then plunked it on her head. Sliding down in her seat, she watched the road.

Chalmers had to leave sometime, after all.

An hour-and-a-half later, Daniel smirked as he drove the Mercedes past Laura's parked car.

He knew she wouldn't be able to resist that little tidbit about the Countess he'd allowed to 'slip.' Had intentionally left her sitting there, stewing, for a spell. So long as the woman believed he intended to drag Harry into one of his 'tawdry' schemes, she wouldn't be able to resist sticking around to foil whatever plans Daniel had in mind.

Which gave she and Harry time to work things through.

And in the meantime? Well, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to have a bit of fun with the woman, now could he?

At the end of the road, he turned the Mercedes around, then drove back towards his home, parking a few doors down. With a glance at his watch, he decided fifteen minutes would serve nicely.