Steele had a plan, he assured Mildred; which might or might not be cause for concern. She wasn't sure. He explained it in bits and pieces, much as though he had not yet quite worked it all out himself, as they made their way to the garage where they had left Ada's car. It left her none the wiser, though the journey in itself was oddly informative. They took a long route, as Steele had done on his way to the motel; criss-crossing through sections of Los Angeles that Mildred had never seen, and taking a succession of mini-cab rides with decidedly disreputable looking drivers. Each seemed to know Steele by a different name, and none asked for payment, though one or two told him that he owed them a drink. When they finally reached the garage, Mildred was beginning to feel somewhat bewildered.

"Are you really sure we should be doing this, boss? You did say that you didn't want to move the body."

"I also said that circumstances might alter that. This way, the police find the body with the killers."

"True, but..."

"We know who the killers are now - but we have no proof, some witnesses who won't come forward, and a client who can't go to the police. We're not exactly drowning in options."

"Yes, but..."

"So it confuses the coroner a little."

"A little?!"

"Or a little more." He shrugged, waving one hand dismissively. "You found the killers, Mildred. Be proud of that. Now let's not let that little victory go to waste, hmm?"

"You're crazy." She sighed. "And so am I. I must be."

"Good. Then as one crazy to another - give me a hand with this tarpaulin, could you?" He was over at the far side of the workshop, away from Ada's car and its grim cargo. Brushing aside dangling cobwebs, and trying not to trip over scattered tools, she went over to join him. The tarpaulin covered one of the cars she had been suspicious of earlier; in this case quite a newish sedan. She gathered up the abandoned cloth as he set about examining the car's engine.

"You know what you're doing, boss?" she asked him. He nodded.

"More or less. Well... in a manner of speaking. All looks nice and shiny, anyway." He gestured at the engine as though for her approval, and she nodded mechanically.

"Lovely. Won't the battery be dead, though?"

"Probably. We'll jump-start it with Ada's car. That's working okay. Right..." He looked from one car to the other for a few moments, then opened the trunk of the sedan, and headed back over to the station-wagon. "If you dump that tarp over there, you should find some jump leads. I think."

"Okay chief." She did as he said, returning just as he guided the station-wagon alongside the sedan. He popped the hood before climbing out, and gestured towards both cars.

"Great. Hook them up then, could you? Unless you'd rather..."

"No thanks. I'll do the hooking, you can do the hefting." She busied herself with her task, trying to ignore the spectacle of her employer manhandling the stiffened body of Roy Groper out of one trunk and into the other. He chatted to the corpse as he moved it, encouraging it gently, and warning it to watch its head.

"Do you have to, boss?" For some reason she found his attitude oddly grim. He flashed her a brief smile as he went back to look for debris in the other trunk.

"Sorry. Force of habit."

"You have some interesting habits, you know that?"

"It has been mentioned on occasions, yes." He settled the body in the trunk of the sedan, and went back to look in the station-wagon. "Ah ha."

"A gun?"

"A gun." He held it up, carefully wrapped in his handkerchief. "I don't think we'd get great odds on this being the murder weapon."

"Sloppy," she suggested, checking over the leads one last time. He dropped the gun into the trunk alongside its victim, then shrugged.

"Oh, I don't know. They thought they were warning off potential witnesses, and getting the body and the murder weapon disposed of for them. They just didn't count on us." He slammed both trunks closed. "Well, what you say, Mildred. Ready?"

"For something, yes. I'm just not quite sure what." She smiled. "Actually, right now I feel like Doctor Frankenstein. If we jump-start the car, will we jump-start Roy, too?"

"Thanks the spirit, Mildred." He clapped her on the back, then slid behind the wheel of the sedan. "Now let her rip, and we'll get this show on the road."

"Okay boss." She did as he asked, and couldn't resist a slight cheer when the sedan's engine growled into life. "Maybe I can get a job as a mechanic if this all goes horribly wrong."

"I wouldn't go counting on getting much chance for a change of career if it does." He nodded at the station-wagon. "Shut that up, then get the workshop door."

"Right with you, chief." She scurried to do his bidding, locking the workshop door behind him again as he drove out into the forecourt. When she slid into the back seat of the sedan, she saw that he was wearing a chauffeur's cap. "Hey, nice touch. Where'd that come from?"

"It came with the car. I won it in a poker game some months back." He grinned at her in the rear-view mirror. "Where to, Miss Krebs?"

"The country club, James." She fished around in her pockets, eventually coming up with the gaudy piece of motel notepaper that bore the address of Marcus Gilles. "Or maybe here."

"Be there in a jiffy." He guided the car out onto the street. "Though if we get pulled over, I've never seen you or this car before."

"Very funny." She hesitated. "You sure about this plan, boss? I mean, it's getting late. Are they really going to let us in?"

"I think so. That's a pretty upmarket area that Gilles lives in. Status Symbol City, as it were. I don't think he's going to want to miss the chance of getting his name in print, and pictures of his house splashed all over a magazine." He shrugged, and she saw his eyes glinting briefly as he watched her in the rear-view mirror. "I've been doing this sort of thing since I was knee-high to a grasshopper, Mildred. It'll be fine."

"If you say so." It was all very well, she thought, having years of experience in risky plans. She just didn't like to ask him how many of those plans had failed.

xxxxxxxxxx

The Gilles house proved to be a large place, with a huge wrought iron gate guarded by a man in uniform. With the peak of his cap pulled down as low as he felt he could get away with, Steele leaned out of the driver's window, and spoke in a gruff voice, with a creditable American accent.

"Miss Honeysuckle Jones," he said, with a jerk of his thumb at the back of the car. "She's from Gardeners' Quarterly."

"I don't recognise the name." The guard checked a clipboard. "We don't usually let people in after five. You sure you've got the right day?"

"Hey, don't look at me, pal. I just pick 'em up and drop 'em off, you know?" Steele shrugged. "I can take her away again. Not me that's going to get into trouble about it."

"Yeah. Good point." The guard pulled a walkie-talkie from inside his jacket, and spoke into it. "Greg? Got a car here, with a reporter from one of those gardening magazines." He was answered by the tinny voice of one of his colleagues, though neither Steele nor Mildred could quite work out what this Greg was saying. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to be especially welcome. "I know," came the reply, "but you know what the boss is like about the gardens. If he loses out on getting all this stuff featured in some big magazine, he'll be furious for months. I don't want to be the one who sends this woman away." He nodded at whatever his friend was saying. "Yeah, sure. She'll meet you at the side door. Fine." He stowed the walkie-talkie away again, then went to the back door of the sedan. Mildred rolled down the window as regally as she could.

"Miss Jones?" he asked her. She nodded.

"Fine. Well, your driver can take you up to the house. You'll be met there by a man who'll take you inside, and we'll try to see if we can get you a talk with the boss. It's getting a bit late to see the gardens now."

"The primary visit is only ever for the interview. I like to get the feel of a place before I return with a photographer." Mildred smiled as warmly as she could manage, and hoped that she sounded convincing. "A man will meet me, you say?"

"That's right ma'am. Your driver will have to stay with the car. Sorry to be so brusque, but security is tight around here. That's the way the boss likes it."

"I quite understand. I visit a lot of grand houses. There are a lot of very rich people in Los Angeles who like their security." She smiled patiently, trying to appear as harmless as possible. "No doubt I'll see you on the way back out again."

"Sure, ma'am." Obviously pleased by her acceptance of the rules, he stepped back and waved the car on. The gates slid open, and Steele guided the car onwards up the drive.

"Show time," he said, as he opened the door for her. She climbed out, smoothing her clothes and trying to stay in character. There was no telling who might be watching.

"You think you can manage, boss?" she asked. He nodded.

"No trouble my end. Just try to play your part as best you can. I'll need a bit of time; and if you can get them to actually give you a tour, so much the better. I might be able to get a look around the house then."

"You don't need to, boss. Leave that for the police."

"We still don't actually have any proof that they killed old Roy, you know. If there's a safe somewhere inside, it might have something useful in it."

"This is no time for one of your sneak thief moments, chief." She sighed. "Don't take any risks. It's dangerous enough just being here."

"Yes Laura." He doffed his cap, back to being her chauffeur. "Good luck."

"You're the one who needs the luck. What if there are security cameras?"

"Act like you're supposed to be somewhere, and you can get away with murder." He raised an eyebrow. "In a manner of speaking. Trust me, it never fails."

"It might well do if you're wandering around with a dead body thrown over one shoulder," she pointed out. "Please be careful."

"I will. Now go on. I'll see you in a little while."

"I hope so." She drew in a deep breath, then turned away and marched off towards the house. He watched her as she was met at the door by a man in a dark suit, then he slid back into the car, and starting up the engine again, made as though to park it more neatly. This time when he turned the engine off, he was sure that the car was out of sight of the man on the gate, as well as a good number of the windows in the side of the house that was facing him. He gave a grateful pat to the large conifer hedge that was acting as his cover; then, hat firmly on his head, he went around to the front of the car, leant against it with his arms folded, and waited. He was more or less in view here, and he was sure that somebody would spare him the occasional glance, checking to see what he was doing. For a full five minutes he stood there, acting the part of a bored chauffeur; then performed a heart-felt sigh and wandered around the side of the car. Invisible now to most likely onlookers, he opened the trunk, slipped the gun into his pocket, then heaved out the corpse. Frozen into a curved position from the rigor, Groper was an awkward weight to carry.

"You should think about going on a diet," Steele told him, nearly losing his footing on the loose gravel of the drive. Groper seemed to grow heavier in reply, and it was a struggle to get the trunk closed again. "Now, where's the best place for you, hmm? I was planning on putting you in one of their cars, but that would be just a tad conspicuous. Any preferences?" He paused, glancing at the unresponsive form. "Oh be like that then. Just don't say I didn't try to make conversation." He skidded again, his centre of gravity badly affected by the dead-weight on his shoulder. "Blast. Don't take this personally, Roy, but you're lousy company. And something of an inconvenience. Where the bloody hell do I put you?" Looking left and right, he came to a sudden decision, and as carefully as he could, tipped the corpse over the hedge that bordered the drive. Clambering after it, he began to crawl along the ground with the dead man in tow.

"The forensics report on you is going to make fascinating reading," he muttered to the body as he heaved it along. Apparently this offended its policeman sensibilities, for it promptly snagged on the hedge. "Blast." He struggled to free it, and eventually had to tug hard. With the sound of tearing cloth it came free, and they were on their way again. A short time later they reached a wall.

"Ssh," Steele told his companion, then rose cautiously to his feet. There were several windows, one of which looked into a sort of sitting room. Expensive furniture stared back at him. Nobody was inside the room, but there was nowhere that suggested itself as a suitable hiding place for a corpse, so he sidled along to the next window instead. This showed a room much like the first, with old-fashioned prints on the walls, and heavy, floral print curtains. Again there was nobody inside, but this time the room boasted a large wooden chest. Steele looked from it back to Roy Groper.

"It'll be a tight fit," he admitted. "But at least you're not stretched out. Just give a minute with the window." He examined it carefully in case of alarms, then, happy that it was safe, gently slid it open. Somewhat harder was the task of manoeuvring his dead comrade through the discouragingly small space. He struggled particularly with the feet, then as gravity began to take over, the hardest problem of all proved to be preventing the body from going through the window too fast. It was a battle that gravity won, and with a heavy thud, Groper made his entrance into the house. Steele scrambled after, esperate to hide them both in case anybody had heard. Nobody came running though, and breathing once again, he hefted the corpse over to the chest.

"Much more of this, and I'm going to need a chiropractor," he muttered, thinking sorrowful thoughts of the lack of a Laura to give him a shoulder massage. He consoled himself with the thought that Ada might offer him one instead, then set to opening the chest. It was locked, but that was hardly an obstacle to him. After only a few seconds, he was lifting the lid. Assorted trinkets lay inside, but there was nothing especially large. Steele raised an appraising eyebrow. "It's not going to be very comfortable in there, mate," he told his companion. "You'll have to wriggle around a bit. Come on." He picked the body up again, and began to wrestle it into the chest. "Oh, come on. co-operate! I know it's not exactly a tailor-made coffin, but it shouldn't be for long." A sound caught his attention, and he froze. "Did you hear something?" When the sound came again, he redoubled his efforts to force the body into the trunk, managing it at last, and closing the lid. He was sure of the sounds now - people, coming closer, and for all he knew coming to this room. A second later he heard a voice right outside the door, and fancied that the doorhandle began to turn.

"Damn." He turned towards the window, remembering the gun at the last second, and whipping open the chest once more to toss it inside. Then he closed the lid, spun around, and sprinted for the window. There wasn't time to climb out, for the handle was turning properly now, so he slid behind one of the heavy curtains, and froze. Barely had he got himself into place when the door opened, and he heard the voices clearly.

"I've certainly got some pictures somewhere, Miss Jones. I had a series of photographs taken when the gardens were in the process of being landscaped. I think you'll find them rather interesting."

"Oh, I'm sure I will." Mildred seemed to be doing a good job of staying in character. Steele smiled to himself. Good old Mildred, always dependable. Now if he could just get back to the sedan before somebody noticed that he was no longer there. He didn't want to risk getting her into trouble as well as himself. He was thinking about trying to climb backwards out of the window whilst the others were busy looking at photographs, when somewhere behind him he heard the soft sound of a footstep. His heart raced, but even his quick and devious mind was no help to him now. A fraction of a second later, a heavy hand came down hard upon his shoulder. He found himself being hauled out from behind the curtain, his captive arm twisted painfully behind him.

"Boss?" There was a man outside the window, and he thrust his head and shoulders through it and into the room. Steele saw a tall, dark man standing several feet away, with Mildred by his side. Mildred, to her credit, masked her reaction well. "This guy was hiding behind the curtain, boss. I saw him when I was walking past." The man holding Steele began to clamber through the window, slowly and awkwardly, trying to keep his hold on his prisoner at the same time. He needn't have bothered, thought the detective ruefully. The man with Mildred had already pulled a large gun from some drawer or other, and was pointing it at the intruder. There was no way that Steele was arguing with that.

"He came with her," declared the man in the window, eventually thumping to the ground with enough force to make several ornaments rattle. Mildred let out a squeak.

"You mean he's a thief? The car company sent me out here with a thief?! I could have been killed! Mugged! Robbed and battered and thrown from the car!" She hurried to stand behind the man with the gun, trembling noticeably. "I feel quite faint."

"Calm yourself, Miss Jones." Her companion - who was, Steele was more or less sure - Marcus Gilles, guided her into a chair. "He's no thief."

"He's not?" Mildred wasn't entirely sure whether she should deliver that line with relief, or with trepidation. She certainly knew which she was actually feeling. "Then...?"

"His name is Remington Steele, and he's a private investigator. What is it that you were after, Mr Steele? I won't insult you by asking how you found me. I suppose I would have been disappointed if you hadn't."

"I don't suppose that I would have been." Steele felt himself being whirled around to face the wall, and frisked by his captor. Unsurprisingly the man came up empty. Steele offered him a regal smile, then turned back to Mildred and Gilles. Straightening his tie, he offered Mildred a short bow. "My apologies, Miss Jones. It was too good an opportunity to miss. I can assure you, though, that I had no intention of robbing you."

"I don't believe you. I've heard all about you private investigators. Sleazy good-for-nothings, all of you." She shrank back into her chair slightly, her manner so completely different to normal that Steele felt like cheering. Perhaps she should be allowed to do more investigative work. At times she seemed like a natural.

"Well, sleazy or not, you've saved me a lot of bother, Mr Steele. I'm grateful to you for coming." Gilles was all smiles. "I want to know where... where certain things are. A certain... rhododendron bush, of which we're both acquainted."

"Ah yes, the rhododendron bush." Steele smiled. "I have no idea where it is, I'm afraid."

"And I'm afraid that I know you to be lying." Gilles waved the gun. "Tell me."

"Oh, you know these rhododendron bushes. Always wandering off." Steele shrugged. "I really can't help you."

"Now that's a shame." Gilles shook his head sadly, as though to illustrate just what a shame it was. "Because I know your reputation, Mr Steele; and I intend to make sure that soon enough, everybody knows mine." He whirled, and with a swift, sharp movement, dragged Mildred to her feet, and pressed his gun against her head. "Tell me where it is, or Miss Jones here will be preceding you to the next life."

"Oh dear." Mildred had gone alarmingly pale. "Oh dear. Suddenly I don't feel at all well."

"You won't have to worry about that for long," Gilles told her. He waggled the gun at Steele for emphasis, and as it moved away from her skull, Mildred made her move. Legs collapsing under her, a brief whimper escaping her throat, she crumpled to the ground. Feeling like applauding, Steele followed her lead by driving his elbow hard into the stomach of the man behind him. The man wobbled, and using both of his hands at once, Steele punched him hard in the jaw, then as he began to fall, hit him again on the back of the head. The man dropped like a brick. Gilles laughed shortly.

"Very good. But I still have the gun."

"Ah." He hadn't forgotten it exactly, but it had escaped his mind for the moment. "I was going with the flow, as it were. Don't suppose you feel like dropping it? Sorting this out on more even terms?"

"I don't really think that you expect me to do that." Gilles stepped past Mildred, sprawled in an ungainly heap on the floor. She didn't move. "I've heard great things about you, Mr Steele - but you haven't proved so hard to beat after all. I was worried when I heard that the body might have passed into your hands. Now I'm not so concerned. If I kill you, there's a good chance that nobody will ever find it. And even if they do, I doubt they'll have any reason to suspect me and my men."

"You might be surprised." Steele was fairly sure that the police would search this place eventually, once Roy Groper failed to report in. The question was whether they would do that before the smell of the decomposing corpse made one of Gilles's staff look in the chest. Gilles just smiled.

"I doubt it. You're not all you're made out to be, Mr Steele."

"Very few people are," observed the detective. Behind Gilles, Mildred was climbing to her feet as slowly and as quietly as she could. She was looking around for a weapon, but nothing came immediately to hand.

"Doesn't matter now." Gilles's confidence was absolute. "The only question that remains is what to do with your body. A trip out into the desert, perhaps? I'm afraid I don't have any construction interests, so I can't go with the old classic of dumping you in the foundations."

"Pity. I always did have a fondness for the classics." Mildred was taking altogether too much time. Steele felt like shouting at her to get a move on. "So do I get a last request?"

"I don't think so. They take time. I don't like to waste time." He took a step forward, and carefully levelled the gun. Behind him, Mildred's eyes alighted at last upon an umbrella. As a weapon it was not up to much, but as a distraction it might just be the thing. Holding it rather like a golf club, she took up position behind Gilles, and with all the power she could muster, swung it into his back. He let out a cry of surprise and stumbled, the gun swinging wide from its aim, and Steele didn't waste the opportunity. What he lacked in size he had always made up for in speed, and he closed the distance between them in an instant. Here was a man with a gun, ready to kill both himself and Mildred, and this was hardly the time for Marquis of Queensbury rules. The fight was fast and brutal. Gilles was strong, and at some point on his rise up the ladder had probably seen more than one brawl; but Steele was cold and determined. His fists were almost relentless, and with the gun finally twisted from his opponent's grip, he knew that he had the upper hand. He knew that the second man could reawaken at any time, though - that at any moment somebody might walk in, or overhear the fight and come running. His only chance was to defeat Gilles as swiftly and completely as possible, and to ensure that he had no opportunity to call for help. Even so it seemed an age before Gilles's legs began to buckle, and Steele was able to back him up against the desk. The other man began to bend over backwards, the desk edge pressing against him.

"You're... more than... you look, Steele." His voice was a mere whisper. Steele's smile was hard and cruel.

"And you're finished." His voice, much to Mildred's surprise, was nothing like the one that she knew. This was harsher, rougher, and clearly Irish. Gilles smiled weakly, and one of his hands groped on the desk for a weapon. Mildred opened her mouth to call out a warning, but it proved unnecessary. Steele had seen the other man's actions, and with one last, powerful blow, he knocked the his opponent out. It was a punch that had clearly taken a lot from the detective, but even so he seemed about to follow it with another, to be sure. Mildred's eyes widened.

"Boss, he's had it."

"Huh?" Steele glanced over at her, blue eyes bright and hot. He looked a picture, his hair awry, his clothing bedraggled. Mildred put her own hand over his, tangled in Gilles's shirtfront.

"Leave him, boss." He let go then, and took a step back, reflexively straightening his torn shirt.

"Yeah. Right. We should... we should get out of here, before the other one wakes up."

"The other one looks pretty out of it too." She couldn't help looking at him a little differently. "You, er... you know how to hit, don't you chief."

"Yeah. More or less." He drew in a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was more or less back to normal. "Come on. We need to make ourselves scarce."

"How?"

"With a song in our hearts, Mildred." He flashed her a smile. "Never hesitate, never look unsure of yourself. We're going to walk right on out of here, get in the car and leave. Think you can do that?"

"No offence, boss, but you look like hell. I don't think you're walking out past those guards on the door."

"I wasn't planning to. This way." He headed towards the window, and she followed him, climbing out awkwardly. He swung himself out after her, his movements still agile despite his exhaustion; and when he jumped to the ground, he saw her watching him. It was a most off-putting level of scrutiny.

"Come on." It was a short distance back to the car; far shorter on foot than it had seemed on all fours. At any moment Mildred expected somebody to call out to them; for one of the guards to see them, and think that something was amiss. Nobody did. In no time at all, Steele was putting his chauffeur's cap back onto his head, and holding open her door. She climbed into the car, and Steele followed suit. If the guard was surprised that the chauffeur opened his window only a crack on the way out, he didn't show it, especially once the cheery Honeysuckle Jones opened her own window, and bade him a warm farewell. He was rather charmed, and opened the gates to let them pass. Nobody called to stop him; no alarms rang out; no cars came in speeding pursuit - though Mildred expected them to long after the house was far behind. Even when they were back in the motel, she didn't stop expecting somebody to come for them. Shut in his own room next door, the illustrious Mr Steele, that she had worshipped for so long, was no real comfort at all.

xxxxxxxxxx

It was late in the night when he emerged, though she was still awake. She was sitting by the window with a cup of tea, watching the nightlife go by. Steele wandered over to stand behind her chair, not speaking for several moments. She left it to him to break the silence, though. Somehow it seemed like his responsibility.

"I called the police," he said. "They've had an anonymous tip that Roy Groper is dead, and that his body is hidden in that house. Then they got a call from Remington Steele, just to cover our tracks a little. I don't know what'll come of it, but since Roy was investigating those people anyway, it won't look good for them. Anyway, we got Ada off the hook. I think."

"It might help if you'd turn in those thieves you met," she told him, aware that she sounded rather disapproving. She couldn't seem to help it. He shook his head, and she saw the movement reflected in the window. It was an odd reflection, she thought. Pale and tired, like a ghost standing behind her.

"Their evidence isn't going to count for much. Besides, they're nothing special. If you want to clear the streets of every small time hood in Los Angeles, Mildred, you'll be at it until Judgement Day. And I rather think that you'd have to have me arrested too."

"Yeah." She returned her attention to the tea. After a moment he came around beside her, and pulled over a chair to sit down.

"Are we alright?" He sounded worried, and startlingly young. He looked it too, she realised; with the polish of Steele gone; with the bruises and the messed up clothes. Like a kid, afraid that he was in trouble. "I know I've been a disappointment to you lately. Nothing's been quite the same since you found out the truth about Remington Steele, has it. But I thought..."

"We're okay." She couldn't have said anything else, even if they hadn't been okay. She cared about him too much, and always had. Sometimes she wondered, in her more reflective moments, if the children she had never had might have been something like him, and like Laura. Today, though... today she had seen that no daydream of hers had ever been more wide of the mark. She might feel like a mother at times, but this was nothing like her sons might have turned out. Not unless she had ever planned on dumping them in some Irish street, and leaving them to fend for themselves.

"You're sure?" He sounded so gentle, and so refined, and so different to the flash she had seen during his fight with Gilles. She smiled at him.

"I'm sure. Things are different now. I can handle that, you know. I don't deny that I was maybe a little happier with the idea of Remington Steele before I found out the truth about him. But I don't dislike the truth. It just takes a little getting used to, when the guy I think I know suddenly turns into somebody else right in front of me. And where have you been? I was..." She hesitated, not wanting to admit that she had been scared. He looked rueful.

"Sorry. I called the police, like I said, and that took some time. And I arranged for a friend to take care of Ada's car. She can report it stolen in the morning, and it'll be found burnt out on some wasteground not far from the garage. She said she didn't want to keep it, and she should be able to get some insurance money this way. And if Gilles and his men ever tell the police about the car, she's covered." He shrugged. "And then I called Laura. Needless to say, she's not greatly amused."

"Ah." There didn't seem to be much else to say in response to that. Steele smiled wryly.

"Exactly. Still, she's used to being mad at me. I think she rather enjoys it."

"Sorry boss. After all, it was me who brought this to you."

"Wasn't you in charge of the investigation, though, was it." He leaned back in his chair, staring out of the window. "Needless to say, she thinks that we went about it all wrong. Presumably if she'd been in charge, she'd have got the whole thing neatly wrapped up, with all the evidence that the police need. And a big shiny bow on top, just to finish the deal." He gestured vaguely in the air with one hand. "But I don't think we did such a bad job. Did we?"

"It's been a bit of a mess, chief. Let's be honest."

"Yeah..." He seemed subdued, and she frowned slightly.

"Something up?"

"Maybe." He shrugged, not looking at her for a moment. "It just didn't exactly turn out the way that I hoped, that's all. I mean, it was you who worked everything out. A few phone calls, a few favours from old friends. All I did was get myself beaten up for no good reason."

She smiled, his crestfallen expression rather endearing. "You did okay, boss. I'd certainly never have been able to break into Gilles' place and hide the body there."

"Oh, fine. So you do the investigating, and I do the breaking and entering. The great Remington Steele, always handy if you have a dead cop you want stuffed in a tea chest." He sighed. "Sorry. You were great, Mildred. You did really well today. I mean that."

"Thanks, boss."

"I'll see to it that Laura knows it too. You deserve the chance to do more investigative work."

"Thanks. Though I think I could do with a little less excitement on my next case. Less of the dead cop, if you don't mind."

"I'll see what I can do." He glanced sideways at her, and favoured her with a sudden, brilliant grin. "Still - it wasn't all that bad for our first attempt, right? I'll bet Laura and Murphy were all fingers and thumbs to begin with."

She couldn't help a small laugh. "They probably didn't ever drive around town with a dead cop in their trunk, trying to find somewhere to dump it. I bet they never tried to frame a crook, either."

"We didn't frame him. He was guilty. Or one of his employees was."

"Hmm. He's not going to be very happy, you know. And with no forensic evidence..."

He sighed. "Are you trying to rain on our parade, Mildred?

"Not totally." She laughed suddenly. "Sorry, boss. It's just not exactly how I thought my first big case would go - pretending to be a gardening journalist while you find somewhere to dump a dead body. And where did that name come from, anyway? Honeysuckle?!"

"I thought it was rather pretty." Her laugh brought a renewed smile to his face. "Oh, alright. So things didn't exactly run smoothly. There could, on reflection, have been one or two improvements. Next time we'll handle it differently."

"Next time?"

"Certainly. I think we know where we went wrong this time. A bit too much improvising, and not quite enough proper planning." He nodded decisively. "Yes, I think we can do a better job another time."

"Next time Miss Holt goes away, I think she's going to leave you locked in her closet while she's gone."

"Yes, you could have a point." He shook his head. "It's a sorry state of affairs when one's own employees show such little trust in one's abilities. And me a former CIA agent."

"Quite how you ever managed to convince people of that little deception..."

"I fooled you for long enough, Mildred Krebs." He jumped to his feet suddenly, and for a moment she thought that she had hurt his feelings. "Come on."

"Huh? Where to?"

"Night's still young. Well - more or less. I'm taking you out to dinner. We can pick up the Auburn on the way."

"Dinner? At this time of night?"

"Well we'll consider it a particularly extravagant breakfast, if you'd rather. You've earned it - and I still have quite a store of poker winnings. We should be back before Ada and the little fellow wake up, and then we can drop them off back home. What do you say?"

"I'd be delighted." She couldn't help but smile, warmed by his sudden rush of enthusiasm. "Though strikes me that the dinner conversation ought to be about getting our stories straight. The police are going to have a lot of questions."

"Oh, the police always do. Who's going to listen to some drug dealer with a dead cop hidden in his house? Gilles is smart enough not to cause trouble." He opened the door, dropping into a bow to usher her from the room. "Or so goes the theory. If you don't count the bruises, the ruined suit, and the possible concussion, I'm prepared to consider this one a rousing success." He frowned suddenly. "Speaking of which... you don't mind if we make a little detour, do you? I should probably get changed."

"Might be an idea. Although I might just have a better one."

"Oh?" He followed her down the path that led away from the motel, heading towards the road in search of a cab. She nodded.

"Forget the restaurant. I know a place where we can eat, and nobody will care a fig for what you're wearing. It's a bit low on champagne, but I think there's rather a good bottle of white wine in the fridge - and you can save those poker winnings to buy something nice for Miss Holt. Might be prudent."

"Are you suggesting that we go back to your place, Mildred?" He pretended to be scandalised. "Why, people will talk."

She laughed. "Not at this time of night, they won't. Where I live, everybody's in bed by now. They're nice sensible people. Like I used to be."

"Nice, sensible people." A cab drew up, and Steele swung open the back door, once again bowing her through. "Aren't you glad you met me?"

"Which one of you?" She climbed into the back of the cab and looked back at him; at almost the antithesis of everything she had once imagined Remington Steele to be. He raised an eyebrow, and she smiled. "More than you'll ever know, boss." She gestured for him to join her, and wondered if that was relief that showed, briefly, in the strangely lit blue eyes. "Now come on, I'm starving. Let's go eat."

THE END