September 4, 1990 – 2 years, 10 months old

"My sashell, Mommy," Olivia cried out, as she tried to scramble back into the Jeep to retrieve it.

"'Satch-ell', sweetie," Laura corrected, then eased Olivia away from the Jeep and reached into the bag seat for it. Handing it to her young daughter, the pair turned to find Remington studying the school before them while rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Olivia had been adamant: she didn't want a backpack to take to 'pwe-school' but a 'bag like mommies.' Laura, Bernice, Jocelyn, Frances and Mildred had searched for weeks trying for that coveted satchel, which were once so common for little girls to carry to school, to no avail. Then, one night, as Laura was trying to get off the phone with her mother, using the satchel search as an excuse, it was Abigail who was the victor: She still had Laura's satchel from her elementary school days up in the attic. Would she like it? The answer had been a resounding 'yes', the idea of her daughter carrying her now vintage bag to school with her holding undeniable sentimental appeal.

As hard as it had been to find that bag, it didn't even approach the difficulty involved in convincing Remington it was time to cut the ties and send his little girl off to preschool. His arguments against the idea had ranged from 'She's to young' and 'Don't you think she'll spend enough of her childhood in school, already?' to 'She's never been apart from us, Lau-ra.' He'd lost every argument waged, because at the end of the day, Olivia had reached an age when she needed more than days at the Agency could offer her.

Thus, there they stood, on this sunny morning, before the Good Shepard school, where Olivia would attend from preschool through eighth grade. One of the oldest schools in the Los Angeles area, the Beverly Hills parochial school was also the cream of the crop, offering a strong curriculum in both core subjects and catechism, as well as outstanding instruction in arts, music and language. They'd visited a half dozen schools before selecting Good Shepard and she was confident in their decision.

"C'mon, Mommy," Olivia insisted, giving her mother's hand a tug. Although her father was reticent about her starting school, his daughter was jittery with excitement. Laura reached out and rubbed her husband's arm.

"Let's not ruin this day for her, huh?" she urged. Dropping his hand from his face, he drew in a long breath, let it out slowly, then nodded his head.

While most parents, particularly mothers, worried their child's first day of school would be met with angst and tears, neither Remington nor Laura needed to worry such would be the case with their daughter. The instant they opened the door to her assigned classroom, she darted through the doorway and ran up to the first little girl she saw.

"I'm Livvie," she announced, confidently. "What's your name?" The other little girl with caramel-colored skin and large, expressive brown eyes, gave Livvie a tooth grin.

"I'm Nikki," her new playmate introduced herself. "We have fishies! Wanna go see 'em?"

"Okay!" Livvie eagerly agreed, dropping satchel and lunchbox on the floor and running off, her new friend's hand held in hers.

Laura patiently pick both up, then the Steele's stood back to observe the classroom and their daughter. When the teacher suggested it was time for all parents to leave so the children could begin their morning routine, Laura called Livvie to them to exchange goodbyes.

"Bye, Mommy. Bye Da!" She cheerfully kissed them both on the cheek, gave them a speedy hug, then raced back off across the room to wriggle into a tiny chair at a small table. Remington watched it all unfold while rubbing at his face again. Laura's hand on his upper arm guided him from the room, his thoughts occupied as they walked to the Jeep. He didn't speak until they'd been driving several minutes.

"It's a mistake, Laura," he finally announced. She slanted her eyes out the window of the driver's side window and rolled her eyes. She'd known it was coming, now to find the patience to see it through.

"Oh?"

"Did you see that room? It was utter chaos," he gesticulated with his hand, "The children running amok everywhere."

"I saw nothing out of the ordinary for the first day of school," she countered, then thought to add, "First week, even."

"And that alleged teacher?" He puffed out a short breath. "She's little more than a child herself."

"She's twenty-five, only a year younger than I was when you and I first met," she told him, pointedly. "She has a bachelor's degree in early childhood education, is working towards her masters, and is highly regarded by the staff."

"Yes, because if a teacher were incompetent, the staff would volunteer that information," he scoffed. "Any number of deranged individuals could walk through the front doors of

that school and abscond with our child, Laura!"

"You've lost your mind, Mr. Steele," she accused, her restraint ebbing. "Olivia is perfectly safe. The classroom's fine, the teacher's fine, the school is fine. And as far as I know, there's not a map in existence on which the location of our child's school is marked."

"Still—" She held up a hand at him.

"We're done discussing this."

"But—"

"I mean it, Remington." Crossing his arms, he turned and stared out the passenger window, sulking.

Laura growled aloud, as she slammed down the receiver of the phone.

"I'm going to wring his neck!" she declared, furiously, as she picked back up the receiver and called the car phone in the M3. No answer. Then the Porsche. The same. Then the house. More of the same. The limo. Nothing different. For fifty minutes, she dialed, redialed, then dialed again.

With a final slam of the receiver, she surged to her feet, grabbed her purse and briefcase, then stormed out the door of the Agency as Bernice's curious eyes followed her.

"Whatever he's done this time, I wouldn't want to be him when she finds him."

Remington reached in through the limo window and handed Fred a fifty.

"Go have yourself a nice steak on me, Fred. Two hours should do it."

"Yes, Mr. Steele." Fred eyed the fifty in his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Steele." Remington stood up, and reached for Olivia's hands, then thought better of it. Leaning back down, he handed Fred another fifty.

"And Fred, don't worry about answering the phone."

"What phone, sir?" With a conspiratorial grin, Remington stood, slapped the top of the limo twice, then turned towards Venice pier with his daughter.

"Awwwww," Remington groaned, as Fred turned the limo into the driveway of their Holmby Hills home. The Jeep was parked to the left of the carport. Not a good sign… not a good sign, at all.

"Mommy's home!" Olivia chortled with glee.

"Mmmm. So, I see," he answered, giving her hair a fond stroke of his hand.

They'd waited at the school for Laura for more than half an hour. He'd suspected… no, had known… she'd somehow found out about his little gambit. Still he'd hoped.

The door to the house swung open, as he helped Olivia from the limo.

"Hello, Fred," she waved to their driver. Fred grimaced, interpreting the overly effusive greeting for what it was: His boss had gotten him in hot water with his other boss.

"Mrs. Steele." Her head swiveled to her husband.

"Mommy!" Olivia squealed, charging towards Laura as soon as Remington put her down on her feet.

"Hello, darling," she called to him in a voice as sweet as saccharine. He visibly flinched, before drawing a hand through his hair.

"We goed to the Pier, Mommy!" Olivia announced, flinging herself into her mother's arms. Laura lifted her up easily.

"You did?!" Laura feigned excitement for her little girl's sake, forgoing correcting her for a change.

"Uh-huh." Tilting her head to the side, she lifted her brows at her little girl.

"And here I thought you were in school," she commented, looking over Livvie's shoulder with a pair of narrowed eyes at her husband. He cringed.

"I was. Da gotted me before nap."

"And filled you up on cotton candy and hotdogs, I imagine?" she asked, as she turned and walked through the front door with their daughter, he following slowly behind with unconcealed dread.

"Uh-huh," Livvie confirmed.

"Alright, Livvie Bee. You can tell me all about your day," she sat her little girl down on her feet, and tapped her on the nose with a single finger, "After we brush your teeth and wash your hands. Go upstairs. I'll be right up to help you."

"Okay, Mommy," Olivia agreed with a smile, then turned and ran up the stairs under Laura's watchful eyes. At the sound of the door closing behind her, she turned on her heel and faced her husband, who already had two hands held up, palms facing towards her, in self-defense.

"Now, Laura, let's not go making more out of this than there is," he bade. She lifted a pair of brows at him, and gave him a stiff smile as she stepped to him and reached for his loosened tie, fingering it.

"Of course not, darling." He made no attempt to hide his reaction to her words, his face contorting with trepidation. She was the only person on the planet who knew how he felt about that particular endearment, and for her to use it now…

"Laura, I—"

"Was just worried about our daughter, right?" she asked, her voice reasonable… too reasonable. The brown eyes that gazed him were far too friendly. He knew that. He knew. Yet he still couldn't quash the sudden spark of hope that surged through him.

"Yes, yes. Precisely," he agreed, a tad too eagerly. Her smile widened.

"You just wanted to be sure she was…" Her fingers worked his tie, straightening the knot, "…Happy."

"Safe, even," he dared to add. She widened her eyes, nodded slowly, as she fingered the now perfectly positioned tie.

"And you simply needed some time alone with her to be sure that she did." She slid the knot of the tie upward, tweaking it as she did so.

"Yes, yes. So, you do understand," he grinned. She swayed her head and pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"Which is why you snatched our daughter from her school…" The tie was getting a bit more snug than he cared for, but he wisely thought now was not the time to criticize, "…and didn't answer my dozens of calls." The tie continued to get incrementally tighter, and he swallowed hard because of both the tie and his growing panic "…and instructed Fred not to answer it as well." With compromised circulation imminent, he changed his mind on the timing of what might be viewed as criticism.

"Laura, love," he rasped, "Not to nit-pick, but my tie is getting a bit snug." She tilted her head at him.

"Oh, I'm sorry…" she loosened it slightly, and he heaved a sigh, his lips tilting upwards in the beginning of a smile "…darling…" That smile fled. She gave the tie a hard yank, and he swore spots appeared before his eyes. "If you ever pull a stunt like this again, Remington Steele, you'll wish that it was a tie around your neck!"

With those final words, she stormed up the stairs, as he worked feverishly to loosen the garrote around his neck.

Point made.