Groper's house was as ordinary as Steele had been expecting; a simple, plain building, with a small, unfenced yard, in which a vague stab had been made at growing some rosebushes. The security was a little tighter than was normal for a domestic house, but given that its owner had been a policeman, that wasn't a great surprise. Steele broke in without too much difficulty, and gave the place a cursory look around. Small kitchen, apparently with nothing exciting hidden in the freezer or the microwave; medium-sized front room, with an old television that didn't look like it got watched much, and a scattering of books on a slightly sagging shelf. Steele looked through them all, mindful of a hundred and one detective movies - but none had anything slipped between the pages, and none had been hollowed out to make secret compartments. The first letters of the titles didn't seem to spell anything out, either, unless it was in some fiendish code. Even he had to admit that his imagination might be working overtime with that one.
It was much the same story upstairs - a small bathroom, annoyingly devoid of hidden clues; and a bedroom that didn't appear to have so much as one secret panel in the walls, or trapdoor beneath the bed. The carpet hadn't been lifted in ages, there was nothing hidden beneath the mattress, and there was nothing slipped inside the hems of the curtains. Steele sat down on a chair beside the bed, and sighed. There was nothing for it - he was going to have to attempt a Laura-style search, and be thorough. It was a depressing prospect, but if his favourite searching places proved fruitless, what else could he do? So he carefully checked all of the drawers - in, behind and underneath - and gave all the socks an experimental shake. Having already checked the cistern and the laundry basket, and made sure that nothing had been slipped behind the medicine cabinet or the mirror, he didn't bother checking the bathroom again, and instead went back downstairs. He was nearly down when he realised that the door was open a crack, moving slightly in the breeze from outside. Hadn't he shut it? It wasn't like him to leave a door open, and announce his entry to the world. Very slowly, very quietly, he took one more step down the stairs, to try to get a look into the front room. The sound of a gun hammer cocking made him freeze in his tracks.
"So what do we have here?" A local accent, tempered just slightly with a hint of Mexican. That at least didn't match in his mind with the three men who had waylaid him earlier. He turned his head, and saw a man coming into view from beside the staircase. He was in his late forties, rumpled and slightly overweight, wearing a cheap suit and carrying an old gun. Definitely not one of the men from earlier, then. Steele wasn't sure if that was entirely a good thing, but he was glad anyway.
"My name is Case. Johnny Case." He smiled ingenuously. "Professional plant-waterer, you know? I come in when people are away, make sure their houseplants are okay. I feed pets too, if you're ever interested in--"
"Shut up." The man reached over, grabbing Steele's wrist and hauling him down the last few steps. "You're Remington Steele. You think we don't know that?"
"We?" Extricating his wrist from the other man's grip, Steele felt his heart sink. As if on cue, two more men emerged from the front room. "Ah. I see."
"We were going to go looking for you at your office later," the man with the gun informed him. "But this is as good a place as any to ask a few questions. What did you do with the body?"
"Suddenly everybody wants the body." Steele eyed the gun, not at all happy with his proximity to it. "Why do you want it?"
"I'm asking the questions." It was always rather insulting to be confronted with clichés, but it wasn't generally such a good idea to mention that. Steele nodded slowly.
"Okay... but can I at least know why there are so many people after this blasted corpse? You're not working with the three rather better dressed gentlemen who chatted with me earlier, are you."
"They're looking for the body too?" The man with the gun shot a look back at his two confederates, and Steele, taking advantage of his distraction, edged a little way towards the door. The man responded by punching him hard in the stomach.
"You stay there," he muttered. Half-slumped against the wall, Steele didn't have a great deal of choice.
"Do you think he's alone?" asked one of the other men. Steele considered claiming that he had half a dozen accomplices upstairs, but in the event didn't bother. The man with the gun looked him up and down.
"He's alone. Why would he bring other people here? Besides, we'd have heard them the way that we heard him." He caught Steele by the collar and pushed him towards the front room. "Somebody shut that front door. I don't want anybody to know that we're here."
"What do we do next?" asked one of his companions. He was younger, thinner, somewhat harassed-looking. None of these men were giving the impression of being serious criminals, and Steele began to feel himself on surer ground. As he was pushed into the front room, he made a show of straightening his jacket, and sitting down on the nearest chair. He crossed his legs then, and regarded the men with coolly thoughtful eyes.
"You're out of your depth, aren't you." It was pure guesswork on his part, but if there was one thing that Laura had always complimented him on as a detective, it was his instincts. Returning from shutting the front door, the third member of the gang blinked uncertainly.
"No," he answered, not sounding in the least convincing. Steele smiled slightly.
"Come on. There are three men with a very good tailor and a much more up to date arsenal than yours who are also looking for the body. You're not in the same league as them, and we all know it. So what happened? Did you get caught up in something with them, and they stiffed you? Left you high and dry with a dead cop on your hands?"
"Shut up." The man with the gun made as though to strike Steele, but apparently thought the better of it. "What do you know, anyway."
"More than you might think." Or, more truthfully, absolutely nothing at all. "Ada said that only a friend could have got hold of the spare set of keys for her car; so one of you is a friend of hers. And even though I've not known her for very long, she doesn't strike me as the kind of person to go around making friends with murderers. And if you don't mind me saying it, you don't exactly look like you're the killing type."
"We're not." The second man sat down rather heavily in a nearby chair, his shoulders suddenly slumped. "I suppose you'd call us thieves. Not hugely successful ones if we're honest."
"Shut up," the third man told him, but his companion shook his head.
"What's the point? We might as well talk. Can't get us any deeper in trouble, can it. We were shifting some stolen goods. Nothing special, but enough to make us a little money. Ada is always out during the day, so we took her car. It was the right size. But when we were at the warehouse where the stuff was hidden, we heard..." He exchanged a look with his fellows. "I'm not sure what we heard. They were talking about drugs, I think, and then they accused one of the people with them of being an undercover policeman. They shot him. That was when we ran, but they chased us. We got away, but it took a long time to lose them, and we were late getting the car back." He looked rather sorry. "Poor Ada. She must have wondered what had happened to it. Anyway, we all went home and tried to pretend that everything was alright. They must have done something to trace the car, though. I saw them putting the body in the trunk, when I was on my way round to see Ada." He looked sheepish. "I was going to apologise for taking the car. When I saw what was happening, I thought maybe if I waited until they were gone, I could take the car and think about what to do next, but then Ada took it, and there wasn't another opportunity after that. And then you took it."
"Yes, I did." Steele shook his head slowly. "And you came here to try to find out more about the dead man, I suppose. You're just digging yourselves in deeper, you know. If you'd come clean to begin with..."
"Told the whole story? Hardly." The larger of the three men, the one with the gun, waved the weapon with sudden emphasis. "Another conviction, and I go down for life. You think I'm going to risk that? I'd have to tell the police what I was doing there. We all would. They might be grateful to us, but I don't plan on taking the risk over how grateful."
"Besides," added the other member of the group - the nervous-looking one - "I want to know why they put the body in the trunk. A warning, maybe. A threat, sure. But what if it's something more? Like a frame-up?"
"Could be." Steele nodded slowly. "The murder weapon is probably in the car somewhere."
"Exactly." The man with the gun was looking steadily more determined. "So we have to know where the body is. Where the car is."
"They're safe. Nobody is going to find either of them in a hurry." The garage had been bought under one of his many aliases, so even if the three men he had met earlier tried to investigate Remington Steele more thoroughly, they shouldn't find any mention of the place. "There are other things worrying me just at the moment."
"That's very nice for you." The gun was tapped against the side of his head. "We have more pressing concerns. I want to search that car."
"I already searched it. Unless they had time to start taking things apart to hide it, the only place a weapon can be is in the trunk. It's safe for the time being. What interests me, is if they left the body in the car to keep you lot quiet, why are they looking for it themselves now?"
"Doesn't make much sense," commented one of the gang. Steele made a mental note to try to put some names to faces. It was rather annoying not knowing who any of these people were. He nodded slowly.
"True. But they tried to beat its location out of me earlier. If they're so sure that the trail leads to you, what are they so worried about?"
"Maybe things are getting hot for them?" asked one of the men. Steele nicknamed him Stan. He was fairly tall and thin, so it could almost work. That made the fatter one with the gun a reasonable Ollie.
"Could be," he conceded. "If they thought he had some evidence against them, and they checked this place out and didn't find anything, they might have wanted to check him over again. Clumsy, though, not to have done all that before dumping the body."
"Maybe they didn't think about it before," suggested the last of the group. He didn't have glasses, which ruled out Harold as a nickname. Buster quite suited him, though. "Not everybody's a famous investigator with some sort of super brain."
"Ah... no. No, that's true." Steele flashed him what he hoped was a modest and super-brained smile. "And you could be right. Either way, they certainly seem eager to get it back."
"So are we," interjected Ollie, beginning to look forceful again. Steele offered him a calming smile.
"Gentlemen, please. Your story adds up. I'm quite prepared to accept that the three thugs who waylaid me earlier are the real villains of the piece, so why the continued hostilities? We've just worked out the case together. We're colleagues. So how about a little trust?"
"What do you mean?" asked Stan. Steele shrugged, keeping up the easy smile, the easy tone of voice, the relaxed body language that spoke of a man in his element. A detective at the height of his powers, doing as he always did.
"If you go messing about with that body, you might wind up implicating yourselves. Forensic samples, that sort of thing. Things the police can check against their records. Let me deal with this. Remington Steele doesn't have criminal convictions hanging over his head, and half the local police force is eating out of my hand. I'll see to it that you don't take the fall. I only want the people who killed Roy Groper and roughed me up. I'm not going to go grassing up a group of small-time thieves."
"So you say," sneered Ollie. Steele eyed him with just the right air of hurt pride.
"Remington Steele's word is his bond. You have nothing to fear from me, gentlemen. Besides, I've always had a... sort of affinity, shall we say, for men such as yourselves. Eking out a living on the wrong side of the law. Ducking and diving, taking a little here, a little there. As far as I'm concerned, you can go back to doing what you've always done. Just as long as you don't use Ada's car anymore."
"Sounds fair to me," offered Buster. Ollie shook his head.
"I don't like it. We've got no reason to trust this man. Look at him. Expensive clothes, fancy car. Why should he let us get away with anything?"
"Because I was hired to investigate a dead body. I've done that. I'm not interested in you." Steele rose to his feet, slowly and smoothly, holding his hands away from his body. "Those three men are going to come after you eventually, you know. Why not let the Remington Steele Detective Agency get rid of them? Them, and the body. A clean sweep."
"Makes sense," said Stan. Ollie rolled his eyes.
"So it's two against one. Yes, alright. So we trust him. But we know you, Mr Steele. We can soon find out all about the people who work for you, and where you all live. If you betray us..."
"Yes yes yes. Kneecaps and that sort of thing. I know the drill, gentlemen. So do we have a deal?"
"Yes," said Buster. Ollie muttered something under his breath.
"Tell us where the body is," suggested Stan. Steele hesitated. Being the only person who knew where poor old Roy Groper was hidden was his only trump card, and it was knowledge that he didn't want to share. He shook his head.
"What you don't know, you can't tell," he said in the end. He was expecting an argument, but Ollie actually nodded.
"Fair enough," he said, apparently deciding that this made sense. Steele almost grinned. It was always good to find that he had said the right thing. That was far from being a regular occurrence when wearing the mantle of Remington Steele. He nodded.
"I'm glad that we see things the same way."
"Sure." Ollie's eyes narrowed. "But we will be in touch, Steele. Sooner or later."
"Of course you will. Er... how will you be in touch, exactly?"
"You'll find out." Ollie looked him straight in the eyes for a second, his expression hard and meaningful. "And we'll be expecting answers, Mister Steele. Results. Understand?"
"Completely, dear fellow. Completely." He offered a hesitant smile, wondering if there was any chance of the hand of friendship being extended any further. "And if I want to contact you?"
"You won't need to. We're going to leave here in a minute, and you're not going to try to follow us. Understood?"
"I have no desire to follow you." He meant it. He had far more pressing matters on his mind, and the last thing that he needed was something else to worry about. Ollie just smiled, and nodded.
"Glad to hear it," he said - and with a sudden, fast movement that Steele had no chance to counter, he lashed out with the gun. It connected with a solid, painful thump, and the world blurred. Damn, thought Steele, as the floor rushed up to meet him. Shortly afterwards, everything was black.
xxxxxxxxxx
It was several hours later when he arrived at the motel. Mildred was on the telephone, and it was Ada who let him in. Tired, battered and bedraggled, he wandered over the threshold looking distinctly less than happy. Mildred hung up straight away.
"Boss! What on Earth...?!"
"You name it, Mildred." He wandered over to the bed, and flopped down onto it. "This has not been one of my better days."
"I didn't hear the car." She took in his clearly exhausted state, and practically boggled. "You didn't walk here?"
"Not only here, Mildred, but backwards and forwards over what seemed like half the city." He sighed, and forced himself to sit up. "There seemed to be altogether too much interest in me. The car is hardly inconspicuous. I thought it best to leave it behind, and... and zigzag."
"Zigzag?"
"Zigzag. Profusely. I have zigged, and I have zagged. Here, there and everywhere, until my shoes were almost ready to abandon me in protest. I am, in short, not entirely overjoyed."
"I'll put the kettle on." She was halfway to it when she stopped and looked back. "Or maybe the mini-bar would be a better idea?"
"I appreciate the sentiment, Mildred." He flashed her a warm smile. "Best not though, hey." She nodded, and switched the kettle on, before turning back towards him.
"So what else happened, chief? You look like you tried to fight King Kong. And that's not the same shirt you were wearing this morning, is it?"
"Is it that obvious?" He glanced down at himself automatically, then clambered off the bed, and headed for the bathroom in search of a mirror. A second later he reappeared, looking rueful. "I've looked better, haven't I."
"Frequently. Trouble?"
"Large amounts of it, and in both cases travelling in threes." He sat down on the edge of the bed, and sighed. "On the upside, I've sort of cracked the case. Or part of it. Sort of. Except the figuring out was mostly done by a gang of thieves I ran into, but we don't have to tell Laura that bit, do we?"
"I..." She had to smile. "Time out, boss, okay? Why don't you try explaining things in words that actually make some sense." The kettle clicked off, and she gestured towards it. "Tea or coffee?"
"Yeah. Thanks." He frowned suddenly. "My apologies, Ada. I usually make more of an effort to look my best in front of clients."
"I quite understand, Mr Steele." She smiled sympathetically. "I just hope that I haven't caused you too much trouble."
"Not at all. Not at all. What's a day in the life of an international supersleuth if it doesn't have a little peril in it, hey? Where's, er... the little fellow?"
"Ramon is next door. Mildred got us three adjoining rooms. He's watching television."
"Good. I'm sorry to be inconvenient, but it's probably best if he doesn't go outside."
"I understand." She looked from one to the other of the detectives, then stood up. "I'll leave you two alone to talk. Why don't I order us a pizza or something? You must be hungry, Mr Steele."
"I am, yes. Pizza, hmm?" He frowned, but the smile was as polite and as genuine as ever. "Very well. Thankyou." Ada nodded and left for one of the adjoining rooms, and Mildred stifled a smile.
"Pizza, boss?"
"I've eaten far worse. Has that kettle boiled yet?"
"Yes." She waggled two tins at him - one marked 'coffee', and the other marked 'tea'. "I was hoping for a decision." He had gone over to the window, obviously on the look out for possible threats, and no longer seemed to be paying attention. "Never mind. So what happened today?"
"I went to the office, and ran into three men. Serious types. Tailored suits, bad attitudes. Career criminals. They wanted the body."
"I see." She made an executive decision, and brewed him a cup of tea. "Doesn't look like they were very happy about your answer."
"Not really, no. Then I went to Roy Groper's house, and I ran into another three men. Definitely not in the same league. No tailored suits for starters."
"Clothing aside..."
"They were amateurs, nothing more. They had some stolen goods to pick up earlier today, and thought it would be okay to borrow Ada's car to carry everything in. Seems they saw Groper's murder and only just got away in time."
"And the body was dumped in what the killers' thought was their car." Mildred nodded. "Makes a certain sort of weird sense."
"And they're convinced that something in the car will tie the murder to them." He rubbed his head, where Ollie had hit him with the gun. "I did think that we'd come to some sort of understanding. Anyway, they're not the type to be dissuaded, and they have access to a far better bush telegraph than we do." He seemed to notice the tea for the first time, and drank some. "I haven't come up with a sensible reason why the killers want the body back, though. They seemed happy enough to get rid of it to start with."
She smiled at that. "For a guy who loves his own legend, you don't seem to have a very good grasp of its effect on other people. Your name puts real fear into a lot of people, boss. Or Remington Steele's name does, anyway."
"You wound me, Mildred."
"I doubt it." Her smile grew more fond. "It's the truth though, chief. They heard that Remington Steele had the car, and the body, and they wanted to get it back, fast. It's one thing to dump a body where only some small-time thieves can find it, or maybe the police - but it's another to have the Remington Steele Detective Agency looking it over. They must think that you'd pin the murder on them."
He raised an eyebrow. "I wish I knew how."
"Still determined not to give Miss Holt a call?"
"Still standing firm, Mildred, yes. Or nearly firm. Slightly tenderised, possibly."
"You should see a doctor."
"Oh, it's nothing." He sat back down on the bed, badly disguising the wince that passed involuntarily across his face.
"Boss..."
"Aches and pains. A few bruises. Don't fuss."
"I'm not fussing, I'm caring." She shook her head. "Sorry. Seems to be some sort of mother hen instinct coming out. I'll try to fight it."
"It's appreciated, in a roundabout sort of way." He stifled a yawn, and she shook her head in exasperation.
"Here, let me take that mug. Now you go into the bathroom and have a shower. By the time you've finished, the pizza will probably be here."
"Okay boss." He stood up, but paused halfway to the bathroom. "Some chief investigator I am. I didn't think to ask about what you've been doing. Did you find anything out?"
"One or two things, yes. We'll talk about them over the pizza."
He nodded "Fine. In a few minutes, then. And I'll be sure to wash behind my ears."
"Glad to hear it." He vanished into the bathroom, and after a few minutes she heard the sound of the water beginning to run. Ada came back into the room a few minutes later. Through the adjoining door, Mildred could see young Ramon sitting cross-legged on the bed, watching cartoons. She smiled at the sight, and Ada blushed.
"I feel like a bad mother. He's watched TV all day, and he should probably be in bed by now."
"It's a holiday for him. Don't worry about it." Mildred waved her to a chair. "Pizza on the way?"
"They said they'd be here in a few minutes. I rang the manager here first, and asked for a takeaway place close by." She looked around. "Where is Mr Steele?"
"Cleaning up. He likes to look his best."
"Somebody should tell him that the rumpled look suits him." Ada laughed softly, shooting a guilty look through the door, as though to be sure that her son couldn't hear her. "But I suppose he doesn't date clients."
"I shouldn't think he has any personal rules against it." Mildred smiled fondly to herself. "He's sort of already spoken for, though."
"Really? I had no idea. I thought that the two of you were--"
"Not me!" Mildred had to laugh. "I'm not sure exactly what my relationship is with him these days, but it certainly isn't that. No, there's another woman who works with us. I think they're together. Or sometimes they are, anyway. It can be a bit difficult to keep track."
"They say that all the best ones are already taken." Ada shrugged. "Oh well. Still, he did look a bit bruised. If he needs any nursing, I'm happy to oblige."
Mildred laughed again. "Fair enough. I'll point him at you if he asks for medical assistance. Here. Help me straighten things out, could you? If we put the bedside table more in the middle of the room, we could use it as a table. How many chairs have we got?"
"Two in here. I'll bring the two in from my room." She hurried off, returning with two chairs, then helped Mildred to manoeuvre the ungainly beside table away from the wall. "Here, let's have one of the pillowcases as a tablecloth."
"Very good. Picnicking 101?"
"I've done a lot of making do. And it's nice to try to make things look good sometimes. Even if it's just me and Ramon in a bedsit." She looked towards the bathroom door. "I suppose Mr Steele is more used to silver cutlery, and caviar hor d'oeuvres."
"Don't be so sure." Hiding a smile, Mildred went over to the window. "Now where's that pizza guy? I'm pretty hungry myself."
"It shouldn't be long. I'll get Ramon to wash up a bit."
"Good luck with that." Left alone, Mildred paced up and down by the window, doing her best to look out for anybody who might be watching the place. She didn't see anything suspicious, and when the pizza came, she went out to meet the delivery boy, hoping for a better look around. She still couldn't see anything.
"Looking out for trouble?" asked Ada, meeting her at the door. Mildred nodded, though she didn't elaborate. Ramon wasn't listening, but there didn't seem to be any point in risking alarming the boy. Instead they abandoned the subject, and took the pizza inside. There was a six-pack of Coke bottles as well, and Ada set about opening four of them with a makeshift bottle opener. Mildred knocked on the bathroom door.
"Boss?"
"Come in, Mildred." The sound of running water had stopped, and when she opened the door she found Steele already half-dressed. His shirt hung undone, displaying a fine collection of bruises, but she decided not to mention them. There was no sense in fussing over somebody who was determined not to be mothered.
"Food's here, boss," she told him. He flashed her a huge grin.
"Mildred, you are, as ever, a beacon of all that is fine and good." He buttoned his shirt, attempting to smooth out some of the wrinkles in it. "Blast. I look a mess."
"Ada says that the rumpled look suits you, if that's any help."
"Really?" He frowned at his reflection in the mirror. "Well, I'll take her word for it. Where does she stand on the battered look?"
"I didn't ask. But since we're on the subject, that's quite a bruise you've got on the side of your head."
"Yes, I know. He touched it gingerly. "Had an argument with a gun. It looks worse than it is, though."
"I'll take your word for it. But rather you than me." She watched him towelling his wet hair, and had to smile. He had an endearing ability to look ten years younger than he was, which didn't do much for her determination to fight the mother hen instinct. He caught sight of the smile, and raised a questioning eyebrow.
"What?"
"Nothing. You ready?"
"I'm not sure." He tossed the towel to one side, and made an attempt at raking his hair into place with his fingers. "What do you say? Do I pass muster?"
"It's a motel room, not the Ritz. I don't think there's a dress code." She looked him up and down anyway, and nodded. "You look fine. Now come on. We've got Coke as well as pizza."
"Oh be still my beating heart." He gestured for her to go before him, as he busied himself with his tie; and somehow, by the time they were through the door, he had managed to perform a complete transformation. The clothing and the hair might have been rumpled, but with his impeccable manners on display, he might just as well have been dressed in a brand new three piece suit. Somehow he even managed to eat the pizza without making a mess.
"You had something to tell me, Mildred," he said at last, whilst sipping Coke from the bottle with all the finesse that he might have employed to drink the finest champagne from a crystal goblet. Mildred could see that Ada was utterly charmed, and had to fight away a smile.
"Sure, boss." She wiped her fingers on a paper napkin. "Checking up on Ada's neighbours didn't seem to be getting me anywhere, so I decided to change tactics. Since the police wouldn't tell me anything about Roy Groper, I tried calling a friend - somebody who still has access to a computer. Old friend from the IRS actually. He got me the names and addresses of some of Roy's neighbours, and I spoke to a few of them."
"Good thinking, Mildred. And?"
"Well, I called a lovely couple who live just down the road from our guy. They weren't too happy about talking at first, until I said I was his sister. They told me after that that he's been going backwards and forwards a lot lately at odd times. They know him pretty well as it turns out. He helps them with their garden sometimes, so they know all about him being a cop. I sort of said that I was one too, and they really got chatty then. The husband used to be on the force, way back in the sixties or something. He'd worked out that Groper was working undercover."
"Well if the neighbours know his life story, no wonder the bad guys were able to figure it out." Steele shook his head. "Sorry. Carry on."
"Turns out this old guy likes to play at good neighbours, and he didn't like the look of some of the people who were coming and going at Groper's place. Well-dressed types, and he seemed pretty sure they were armed. Makes you wonder just how closely he watches his neighbours, but I guess if it helps us we shouldn't be too judgmental. Anyway, he took their license plate number."
"Nosy neighbours be praised." Steele flashed his associate an appreciative grin. "You're a marvel, Mildred. Every firm should have one of you."
"Thanks, chief, but that's not the end of it. I didn't want to go to the police with something like that, so I got back to my old friend, and he got onto an old friend, and... well, there was quite a chain in the end. There's a lot of bored secretaries in the States, and it seems like half of them used to work for the government. Anyway, the end result was this." She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket, and waved it in the air like a trophy. "The car is registered to a Marcus Gilles. He doesn't have any convictions, but by the look of things that's not through lack of trying on the police's part. I don't have much of a description, but I do have his address."
"Mildred, you're an absolute star." He went over to collect the piece of paper, which was a virulent shade of pink, and bore the motel's name in white at the top. "I think that's our next move decided, then." He frowned, clearly thoughtful. "Probably."
"Our next move?" queried Mildred. Steele winced.
"Ah. Well when I say--"
"Oh no you don't. We're supposed to be a team on this one. Solving the case together, you said." She folded her arms and looked determined, and Steele sighed.
"Fine. But just the two of us. I'm not turning this into a family outing."
"That's quite alright, Mr Steele. I have no desire to go anywhere near this man Gilles." Ada glanced over at Ramon, now engaged in offering his pizza to a gargantuan house spider. "I have other things to worry about."
"Of course." He nodded slowly. "You have to understand, though, that neither of you can leave this place. There's no reason to suppose that you won't be safe here, but I won't have you taking any chances. You stay inside. Order any food you want by phone, and charge it all to the office. I'm sorry to be insistent, but I can't be sure how much our friends out there know."
"That's fine, Mr Steele. Really. But please, you must promise me that you'll be careful. If anything were to happen, I--"
"Nothing is going to happen, sweetheart. Don't you go worrying about us." With a bright smile due partly to a desire to put Ada's worries to rest, and partly to her own real enthusiasm, Mildred turned to Steele. "Come on, boss. We've got work to do."
"Yes..." He didn't look wildly delighted by the situation, and gestured around at the remains of the pizza. "In a little while, hey. Think of your digestion, Mildred."
"I'm too busy thinking about you changing your mind." She finished her Coke, watching him carefully all the while. "You're not going to change your mind, are you."
"No." He looked faintly regretful, but the smile that he sent her way was genuine enough. "We're in this together. But this could get dangerous, Mildred. You're going to have to follow my lead. Do what I say, and don't argue, okay?"
"Sure, chief." She raised her empty bottle in a sort of salute, her face a bright, beaming mass of smiles. He had to smile in return - it would have been impossible not to. All the same, he felt uncomfortable. Mildred was hardly a field agent.
"I'm sure there will be no danger," said Ada, clearly picking up on his concerns, and attempting to lessen them. He nodded, mindful of the fact that she didn't want to feel that she was putting them at risk on her behalf.
"You're right. Everything will be fine, of course." He returned Mildred's Coke bottle salute at last, still smiling in his usual cheerful fashion. She didn't know the darker side of his personality well enough to recognise the look in his eyes, though; the gleam that was most certainly not a smile. Laura might have seen it, and known what it meant; but not Mildred. Whatever he had said in front of the others, Steele was expecting trouble; and no matter how sure he was that Mildred could take care of herself, he couldn't picture her by his side if it came to a fight. Mildred had only ever really seen the side of him that was Remington Steele. He wasn't sure that he ever wanted her to see what else lay behind that masquerade.
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