"What d'you think the odds are?" asked David as he and Maddie climbed the stairs of the dead doctor's apartment building.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Hundreds, possibly thousands of doctors who specialize in the female arena in this town and someone decides to kill Dipesto's? What are the odds?"

"About the same as any other gynecologist, I'd imagine." She noticed him wince at the name, and smiled tauntingly. "You're uncomfortable with the profession aren't you? What bothers you more, the clinical aspect of it all or the thought that someone else has an annual pass?"

"I'm not bothered by it."

Maddie snorted. "Please."

"I'm not. It's integral part of feminine healthcare—I'm glad you girls take care of yourselves—ecstatic—but I don't really need to be acquainted with all the intimate details."

"Like the fact that gynecologists exist?" There was that flinch again. This case could actually be enjoyable.

He grumbled. "Something like that."

He came to an abrupt stop on the landing and sighed before turning to face her. "Look, we're just doing a favor for Dipesto. I'm not even convinced she hasn't invented this whole murder thing. Frankly, I find it highly unlikely that anyone would want to kill a gynecologist."

"Well, it's obvious you've never been in the stirrups," Maddie muttered, brushing past him to continue up the stairs.

Steele drove the Auburn with practiced ease, keeping one eye on Laura beside him.

She sifted through her notes with agitation. "It just makes no sense," she muttered to herself.

"Does it ever? In my experience, murder and mayhem tend to be inherently incomprehensible until a motive turns up. And even after a motive turns up, come to think of it."

"That's not what I mean. Of course the case doesn't make sense—we haven't started investigating yet. But what makes even less sense is why we're investigating it in the first place."

"We're private investigators, Laura. And it may come as a shock to you to learn that occasionally people actually hire private investigators to investigate things—mysteries, for one—murders, for another."

Laura glared at him, shaking her head. "Thank you for those startling pearls of wisdom, Mr. Steele. You managed to get right to the very crux of my confusion and clear it instantly with that wonderful way you have."

"All right—I'll bite. What is your confusion?"

"This case—it makes no sense. A doctor dies—unfortunate, but not surprising. He was nearing retirement, and if his mortgage didn't kill him, eventually his affection for fatty foods would. There's nothing to suggest any foul play—no marks on the body, nothing suspicious enough to warrant an autopsy or any further investigation on the part of the police. The funeral arrangements have all been made and calling hours are set for tomorrow at noon."

"Sounds pretty standard."

"Exactly. There's nothing suspicious here at all. Nothing to make anyone in a position of authority look twice. And yet today, Charlotte Gear walks into our office and asks us to prove her fiancé didn't kill the man. Why? No one suspects him—no one official even knows he exists—why bring him to anyone's attention if you think he might be connected to a murder?"

"Respect for the laws of your lovely country and an unfailing need to see justice done?"

She turned to him thoughtfully. "If you thought I'd murdered someone, would you tell the police? If no one in the world—no one but you, the person who knows me best—suspected a thing—would you give me up?"

He met her eyes briefly, distress written on his features, before tearing his gaze away from hers to focus back on the road.

She looked away and nodded. "That's what I thought."

He cleared his throat. "Well, you have to admit, Laura, I'm not the straightest arrow you've ever met. I take a much more interpretive approach to the law than most other individuals. And I'm absolutely convinced that anyone ushered from this world by your hand would desperately deserve it."

"Thank you. I think. The point is, bent or not, you don't turn in someone you care about on a hunch. You get proof, you investigate on your own before breathing a word to anyone, because actually speaking your darkest thoughts out loud makes the betrayal real.

"But Charlotte did none of that. No research, no personal snooping. Instead she hires us to do the snooping for her—betrayal without significant cause. It makes no sense. No one has a clue a murder may have been committed, let alone that her fiancé might have been involved. Not even our favorite Huck Finn of homicide has stuck his exceptionally inept nose into this file. It's almost as if—it's crazy, but it's almost as if she wants us to find something—something the police missed. It's almost as if she wants us to prove her fiancé is a murderer. That's crazy, isn't?"

Steele shrugged. "Not if she really thinks he might be guilty. But—"

"But if she did, she would have proof—we would have a starting place. We wouldn't be heading to the late doctor's apartment in the attempt to turn up some scrap of evidence to go on."

"Maybe all is not well in lovers' paradise. Maybe a false murder accusation is just her painfully twisted way of telling him the wedding's off."

"In that case, we shouldn't take this case."

"Why not? She's paying. So we find out the good doctor died of a coronary, and the fiancé was in the next state—well, she can still break up with him, and we get to collect our fee and put it towards a lovers' paradise of our own, eh?"

"The words ethics and moral obligation still hold no meaning for you, do they?"

"And if it turns out she's right, and he really did kill the doctor, what then? How ethical would it be to let a murderer go just because his fiancé wants to become an ex?"

Laura blinked at him, baffled. "How do you do that?"

He grinned at her. "Do what?"

"Turn all my arguments around until I have to agree with you based on my own logic."

He laughed and turned back to the road. "It's a skill. If it's any consolation, I often find myself agreeing with myself based on your logic, too."

"It's not."

"Well, I tried."

The rest of the ride was silent. Laura contemplated the case that didn't appear to exist, and Steele watched her, a question she'd asked niggling at the back of his mind.

He parked outside of the building and ran his fingers through his hair nervously. "Uh, Laura, when you asked earlier whether I'd turn you in—um…" He trailed off, at a loss.

Laura smiled and took pity on him. "I knew you wouldn't. And I haven't to date, if that's what's worrying you. And there's been ample evidence and cause for doubt over the years, believe me. But you're safe with me—whoever you are and whoever you've been, you're safe now."

He swallowed hard and nodded. "It's still something of a foreign concept."

"I know. Trust doesn't exactly come naturally to either of us. But you're still here, and I'm still here, so I guess we're going to have to get used to the idea."

He blinked at her, a slow smile spreading across his features. "You are an exceptional woman, Miss Holt."

She grinned and leaned forward to press a kiss to his welcoming lips. "I try, Mr. Steele."

"I'm going to check the bedroom."

David grinned. "Need any help with that?"

Maddie rolled her eyes. "Search the desk, Addison."

David watched her pass through the doorway, taking a well deserved moment to admire the view. God had out done himself the day he made those legs. He smirked as he turned back to the desk and its many drawers.

"Well, let me know if you need any pointers in there. That big four poster thing? Don't worry about it. I'll show you everything you need to know when we get home."

Even as the words left his mouth, he half heard the front door barely tremble against its frame.

"Addison—" Maddie's voice sounded exasperated, but her following lecture was cut off by his hurried whisper.

"Shhh."

She came to the doorway to look at him with concern. "What?"

"I think I heard something at the door. Stay there, Maddie."

She nodded and retreated back into the bedroom as David inched toward the door. It was definitely moving now, just shaking against the doorframe, almost too quietly to tell. He paused for a moment with his hand almost on the doorknob, before closing his fingers around it and yanking the door open.

There was a woman on the other side, shaking her head at a man kneeling in front of the doorknob's former location.

"I told you to try the knob first—you taught me that, for heaven's sake. But no, you just had to get pick happy. So you've been out of practice lately—so you're getting rusty? It's not like we're breaking into the Louvre."

The man picked himself off the floor with as much dignity as humanly possible under the circumstances. He straightened his already immaculate jacket and scowled back at her. "Please, don't remind me, Laura."

David's eyes flicked back and forth throughout this exchange, finally settling on the woman's face in disbelief. "Stats?"

Her head whipped around, and her eyes widened with shock and recognition. "Davy?"

"In the flesh."

Her face broke into a smile. "Davy Addison—my God, you haven't changed a bit."

He winced. "And here I was thinking I'd grown and matured over the years."

She snorted and patted his arm affectionately. "You? Never." She smiled up at him. "Do I get a hug?"

"Do I get to cop a feel?"

The man next to her started, a flash of irritation and pain flickering across his face before an expression of steely, calm nonchalance settled on his features, removing any hint of emotion below.

Laura ignored her stormy partner and laughed up at David. "No, but a hug and an explanation of what the heck you're doing here would be appreciated."

He smiled and hugged her gently. "We're going to need a reciprocal explanation, Stats."

"We?"

"David, I—" Maddie froze in the doorway to the bedroom, fury coming into her face.

David let go of Laura guiltily and tried to look apologetic. "Maddie, I know what it looks like—wait, why am I apologizing?"

But Maddie wasn't listening; she was already halfway past him and picking up speed. "You," she spat, waving an accusatory finger in Steele's direction. "What the hell are you doing here?"

To Laura's amazement, her partner's expression turned from blank to icy within an instant—not the white hot chill she sometimes found directed her way during their frequent arguments, but a true deep frost carried in on an arctic breeze.

"Why, Ms. Hayes—how delightful our paths should cross once again."

Laura looked to David. "They know each other?"

"Delightful? I'll show you delightful! You're going to be so delighted you're not going to be able to sit for a week, you overstuffed, miserable excuse for a human being!"

David's eyes widened. "I sure hope they know each other—that's her most intimate yelling tone."

"Oh, lovely talk for a lady, Madelyn."

"Lady? Lady! Oh, no mister. Lady implies that there's a gentleman involved, and I sure as hell don't see one in this room."

"You know, a guy could take that kinda personally." David grinned as Maddie's head whipped around, her eyes flashing. "On the other hand, you're clearly on a roll—please, don't let me stop you."

Steele defended himself. "I was a perfect gentleman."

"Oh, yes. I forgot. Sneaking out the back before desert is the coup de grace of all fine etiquette manuals. And you did it so well."

"I paid for everything—the champagne, the oysters, the filet mignon—"

"Wow—I'd go out with this guy." Laura snorted beside David as both combatants turned to stare at him. He amended is statement, "Only if you promise to sneak out the back though."

And they were back at each other's throats.

Finally Laura stepped in as the voice of reason. "All right—I said all right. That's enough!"

She placed a hand on Steele's arm and repeated herself quietly. "That's enough." Her eyes held his for one long moment until he nodded and the tension began to diffuse.

"Now whatever it is you two did to each other or didn't do—and no, I don't want the details—I'm sure it can wait until we're out of an apartment that belongs to a dead doctor. Agreed?"

David stepped in to back her up in the face of the other's stony silence. "Agreed."

"Thank you. I think the most pressing question is why the two of you are here—Davy, I didn't even know you'd ended up in LA."

"Time flies when you're—well… "

"I think introductions are in order all around," said Steele, icy demeanor thawing under the warmth of Laura's hand.

"All right," said Laura. "Mr. Steele, please meet David Addison. Davy—this is Remington Steele."

"Really? I'll be—the Remington Steele in the flesh. I believe you've already met the lovely Madelyn Hayes."

"I haven't had the pleasure," said Laura, offering the other woman her hand and smiling a touch too broadly to be sincere.

"Neither have I," muttered Steele, earning himself a foot stomping from Laura.

Maddie chose to ignore his comment, instead turning her full one hundred watt smile on Laura. "I'm sorry; I didn't quite catch your name."

"Laura Holt."

"She's Stats," David said at the same time.

Laura nodded at him and smiled. "Thank you, Davy. I work with Mr. Steele at Remington Steele Investigations. I take it the two of you have met before?"

"Unfortunately. You and David must have quite a past. Is that right, Davy?"

David shifted uncomfortably on his heels. "We moved in the same circles once, yeah."

"If by circles you mean we were in the same postal code once a very long time ago, then yes, we have a past," Laura added with a laugh.

"Which brings us to the present," Steele said, clearly wishing to skirt the issue of Laura's past with David Addison until privacy allowed. "What are the two of you doing in the home of our late, great gynecologist?"

David shuttered and Maddie arched one eyebrow at him in amusement before turning back to ignore Steele and address Laura.

"Miss Dipesto, our secretary at the Blue Moon Detective Agency was very distraught to find out her only gynecologist of twelve years had died. She's convinced he would never have departed from his duty without external assistance. We're simply investigating his death to set her mind at rest."

"Yeah, Dipesto's mind at rest is terrifying enough," David added under his breath.

"So you don't really have a client?"

"Just a slightly addled secretary of the rhyming persuasion. You?"

Laura looked at Steele and shrugged. "Our client walked in this morning and asked us to prove her fiancé didn't kill the doctor, which is interesting because the police seem to have dismissed the case even before they started looking for suspects."

"Do you think your secretary knows something she's not sharing?" Steele asked David.

"Dipesto? Not share information? Trust me—we can't shut her up. If she knew anything Maddie, me, and half the city of Los Angeles would know."

Steeled turned to Laura with a sigh. "It seems then that we have come no further."

Laura nodded. "We're going to have to search the apartment. I'm sure the two of you have much more pressing pursuits to devote your time to. We can finish up here and stop by later to put you're secretary's mind at ease."

David shrugged. "What d'ya say, Maddie. Knock off early?"

Maddie pursed her lips in disapproval. "David, how can you even think of going back to the office without an answer for poor Agnes? She'll worry herself sick. We owe it to Agnes to stay."

"Maddie, I know Stats—she's the best. If she's on the case, Agnes's mind can be put to rest, and you and I can move on to more pressing matters, guilt free. She's got this—and I for one would hate to stand in her way."

Half an hour after David and Maddie left, Laura and Steele began to turn up some promising information.

Steele sat at the desk, flicking through all the papers he could find. "Looks like he kept a copy of the books here as well as that the office. I can't speak for the other set, but these are as crooked as they come."

Laura came out of the bedroom to begin pacing. "Crooked books? Huh. I found some long blonde hairs in the bedroom and the bathroom—our doctor was single and grey. I think the mystery woman might be useful."

"Long, blonde hair—match anyone we've met recently?"

"Maddie Hayes? She was in there—but her hair is shorter than the strands I found."

"And the only other blonde we've run into today aside from Mildred?"

"Charlotte Gear. Now wouldn't that just be a coincidence. Of course she could accuse a man of murder if she was the one to give him the motive."

"There's a letter in here, too—well, a piece of a letter anyway:

My dearest darling,

After such a long time, to be reunited and our love rekindled…"

Steele whistled to himself. "Pretty steamy stuff."

Laura nodded thoughtfully and began pacing. "Mr. Steele, what if Charlie Gear was lying? What if Emily never had the affair, but Charlie did. We already suspect she was tiring of her fiancé; she could have rekindled her romance with our dead doctor in oder to send him off in a fit of jealousy."

Steele considered. "And when that didn't work she killed her lover and framed her fiancé for murder? All to avoid telling the poor man the wedding was off? Seems a bit over dramatic, don't you think, Laura?"

"Well, she said she always wanted to be an actress. It's farfetched, but it's all we've got."

"Mmm. Well, at the very least we should take these books back to Mildred. It seems far more likely that someone he swindled came back to return the favor. That's if anyone did help send him on his way to the great beyond in the first place. I've yet to be convinced."

Laura sighed. "We'll just have to order an autopsy ourselves, then. He had no family to speak of; the funeral's being arranged by his practice. You can drop me off there after we drop by Blue Moon—we should have the autopsy report in a couple of days or so."

Steele grinned. "Where's old Murphy when you need him, eh?"

David watched the numbers on the elevator change, feeling like each one came slower than the next.

"Remington Steele, huh? Christ, what a name. Might as well wear a sign on your back says 'I have more money, power, and good-looks than a sucker like you can ever hope to have." He looked over at his partner, who crossed her arms and pointedly ignored him.

David's eyes flicked back to the shifting numbers. "Still," he added with a smirk, "a kid named Remington must have had a hell of a time on the playground."

Maddie pursed her lips to hide a smile. "And I suppose that's some consolation?"

He shrugged. "So what if it is?"

This time Maddie smirked. "David Addison, I do believe you're jealous."

"So what if I am?"

"So nothing. I just wonder what of—the money? The power? The good-looks?"

"My looks are just fine."

She glanced at him briefly—just long enough to affirm his statement. Just fine, indeed…

"Or perhaps a little closer to home?" She fished a little deeper.

"You? I hate to break it to you, Blondie, but—"

"That Laura's a lovely woman, isn't she—Davy?"

"Stats? I guess—" A light dawned and David turned to look at her, a smug smirk growing on his face. "Oh-ho—now who's jealous?"