Chapter 12: Deceptions

Friday, June 6, 1986

By the week 'anniversary' of the attack on Remington, he'd decided it was high time to take command over his own life again. To that end, he demanded an end to the drugs, immediate removal of the IV and banishment of his nursing staff, who had been incredibly kind and helpful, but really, enough was enough. He'd only begrudgingly agreed to Townsend's continued checks at Laura's insistence, but that was the only concession he'd allow.

Laura. His decision was made in large part because of her. In the five days since they'd arrived at Daniel's she'd been an abiding partner – on a personal level – leaving his side only on that first day when she'd gone to London to deliver Lombard's requested paperwork and to put her credit card to good use, buying what seemed – to him – an entire wardrobe, to get her through her duration of her stay this time around. She'd forced aside the compulsion to investigate the attack on him and Keyes' murder, for his sake. She'd endured his mood swings with surprisingly good humor, although he'd gotten the what-for a time or two when he'd taken things too far.

But what he'd keep with him until his last days was that she'd chosen him: Him over the Agency; him over LA; him over the cases that were almost certainly gnawing at her.

She'd.

Chosen.

Him.

And, following her lead as he so often had done since first they'd met, he'd chosen her. She'd be driven mad if she had to sit about much longer and whether he felt quite up to it or not, it was time to get back on his feet again. By the weekend's conclusion, he vowed, he'd be an abiding partner at her side – on a professional level – aches and pains be damned.

To that end, he decided a lengthy walk in Daniel's garden with a certain lovely detective at his side was exactly what the doctor ordered… even as she voiced her concern.

"You don't want to overtax yourself," she warned the first time, not ten minutes after they began their walk.

"Doing too much could set you back…" came the second warning, several minutes later as he directed them down a path with manicured hedges that stood taller than he.

"A maze?!" she asked, flabbergasted, when they took a forth turn in half as many minutes.

"Mmmm. From what Daniel has said, his father was fascinated with mazes and spent near on half a decade designing this one, assuring there were a couple of pleasant surprises awaiting those who navigated it," Remington shared.

"I thought you only 'suspected' this was Daniel's family home," she remarked aloud. He opened his mouth to reply, closed it again, then offered her an apologetic smile while making another series of turns.

"I suppose it's still my first instincts to guard Daniel's secrets with as much dedication as I do my own," he admitted. She let the deception slide as she was much more concerned with the pallor had face had taken on.

"I'm not going to be able to carry you up those stairs, and I doubt Milton will be of much assistance," she finally huffed a handful of turns later. In the back of her head, she realized they better hope he could lead them back out, because she hadn't been paying attention to the various changes of direction, focused as she was on him.

"Not too much further, Laura, and we'll have a rest, I give you my word," he promised.

A trio of turns later and that vow was kept. Laura's eyes widened as they stepped out of the maze into a small, landscaped clearing. A pergola draped with wisteria vines looked out over a small pond, replete with a quartet of ducks leaving ripples on the glass surface of the water as they paddled around. Beneath the Pergola, a pair of heavily cushioned loungers invited guests to stay and enjoy the serenity for a while.

"It's beautiful," she complimented as she took in the surroundings. A soft smile lifted her lips as a hand sidled around her waist to lay against her stomach.

"Stunning," he whispered next to her ear, before dropping a kiss on the shoulder left bare by her sleeveless silk blouse. She turned in his one-armed embrace and, cocking her head slightly, examined his still too-pale face.

"You need to rest for a little while," she advised in quiet tone, befitting their surroundings, as she brushed a lock of hair back off his forehead. He leaned into her hand, and eased his left arm up. Ignoring the discomfort, he palmed her cheek.

"What I need…" he remarked solemnly, with a pointed lift of his brows "…is this." He leaned in and touched his lips to hers. She was slow to respond as she mentally reviewed where the worst of his injuries pained him. Carefully wending her left arm around his back and laying her right hand on his shoulder, she pressed upwards on her toes, sealing her lips more firmly to his.

I need this, too, she admitted to herself, as he hummed his approval against her lips. Stepping in closer, his hand slid from her cheek to cup the back of her neck. When he subtly stiffened, she slipped away.

"Let's sit down," she suggested. He groaned his complaint, for posterity's sake, but the truth was, his meager energy had waned some time ago. Gingerly, he seated himself. Once he was reclined comfortably- or at least as comfortably as he could be – she sat down next to him. "Does the maze go all the way around the pond?" she wondered aloud. The observation made him grin: She was, without a doubt, the most astute people he'd ever known.

"Mmm," he confirmed with a hum, "But it is only revealed the way we came. All other routes are double hedged so it can't be seen."

"Daniel's father put a lot of thought into this. I'm impressed," she commented, sincerely. "And I have to wonder if Daniel didn't inherit from his father his flair for the dramatic."

"A family trait, I think," Remington pondered. "The manor, much like this maze, holds its share of surprises, contributed to by past generations. But," he commented with the lift of a single brow, "I think that flair for the dramatic is where any similarity between Daniel and his father begins and ends." She had to carefully school her expression so her surprise didn't show. Remington seldom shared any information about Daniel and might scurry away from doing so now if she showed too much curiosity.

"Oh?"

"Daniel's father – much like his grandfather before – was a financial advisor and solicitor of some renown. The way Daniel tells it, if you were to give his father a pound, he could turn it into a thousand virtually overnight… and would help you keep it should vultures begin to circle."

"Daniel's father an attorney," Laura mused. "Who'd have thought?"

"Boggles the mind, eh?" he chuckled. "If Tildy's tales are to be believed, the man was a miser, hoarding nearly every penny earned—"

"Daniel certainly didn't follow in his footsteps there, either," she noted ruefully. The remark earned another chuckle.

"You didn't let me finish," he scolded lightly. "Except in the areas of education – and I believe I am living proof Daniel felt the same in that regard – and the lavish parties he and Daniel's mother threw. To hear Tildy tell it, a party might last the entirety of a week."

"A week?!" Her horrified tone amused him.

"Not everyone possesses your compulsive need to keep their nose to the grindstone, Laura," he jested.

"I mean, how is that even possible? It's been my…" she pressed a hand to her chest "…experience that most parties naturally fizzle after several hours. A week?!"

"Think of it more as a week long event," he suggested, "With hunts, picnics on the lawns, high teas and men squired away in smoke filled rooms playing cards late into the night." His imagination ran away with him. "All of leading up to the grand finale: A ball… or maybe a masque." He slanted his eyes towards her and grinned, conspiratorially. "I've always thought a good party – tasteful, of course - would breathe life into the old place."

"Daniel doesn't throw… events… such as his parents?" she asked with curiosity.

"Wouldn't even hear of it," he confirmed, with emphasis upon each word.

"I can't say that I blame him. Parties such as you describe sound—"

"Enticing?" he jumped in to offer.

"Exhausting," she concluded emphatically.

"That's what I love about you, Laura," he commented, dryly, "A good time is exhausting but work is invigorating."

"Someone has to pay the bills while you dance the night away, Mr. Steele," she retorted, cheekily. He flashed his sexy little smile at her.

"I'm looking forward to the time we can…" he waggled his brows "…dance the night away again."

"It has been a while since you've whirled me around the dance floor," she considered aloud, with a tap of a finger against her lips, feigning she'd not understood the innuendo. His lips twitched with amusement.

"I had in mind somewhere much more private for such a worthy occasion, but you know me, Laura: Always willing to give these little whims of yours a go." A surprised laugh bubbled past her lips and with a shake of her head, she looked away from him and out over the pond. "Thank you, by the way." The comment drew her gaze back to him again and she slightly cocked her head, considering him.

"For what?"

"For staying with me these last days. I know it hasn't been easy for you leaving the investigations to the good Inspector as you have."

"You're right, it hasn't been," she admitted, then tempered the words with a small smile. "You would have done the same for me."

His only acknowledgment of the truth of that statement was to take her hand in his. Absently, as the silence lingered, he brushed his thumb back-and-forth over the rings settled at the base of her finger. That she wore his ring – tangible proof of what they were to one another - left him positively chuffed. It had taken four long years and a bloody lot of work on his part to earn the right to lay claim to her for himself.

A laugh twitched at his lips as he began to mentally take wagers on how long it might take to get her to the altar. No doubt it would take a good deal of charm and ingenuity on his part to ease her in that direction. Any other woman in his past and he'd have found himself being dragged down that aisle as quickly as possible, lest he might change his mind and bolt. But not Laura Holt. Humorous thought, that: The man who'd once eschewed any form of commitment being left as the one who'd have to do the luring.

"Remington!"

Startled from his thoughts, his head snapped up and he regarded Laura with a questioning look.

"Did you hear anything I said?" she queried. He cast an apologetic look her way.

"Sorry, woolgathering. You were saying?"

"Have you given any thought to the women in your past who would have reason to or be capable of seeking this type of revenge?" He scowled and releasing her hand, dragged his hand over his mouth.

"Lau-ra…" drew out her name with unhappiness. She hadn't brought up the subject in days. Silly of him to hope she'd decided to leave it alone

"You can't keep avoiding the question, Mr. Steele," she told him in that I-am-being-oh-so-reasonable tone of hers that always, without fail, chafed.

"You'll have to forgive me if don't wish to discuss past assignations with you, Lau-ra," he huffed then crossed his arms, ignoring the twang in his left ribs for his efforts.

"Oh, for God's sake," she muttered. "Try to remember I'm more…" she swept a hand in front of herself in emphasis "…than aware that list of 'past assignations' is as long as it is varied." She held up her hands and shook her head. "I don't care. Now, who might you have angered enough to seek this kind of revenge?" He surged to his feet, drawing a sharp breath in when his various aches and pains reminded him why that was a foolish impulse.

"That's just it, I don't know!" he retorted with exasperation. "A few years ago I would have said not a one, but…" he flicked a hand in her direction "…pffft."

"You mean Anna," she surmised. His jaw twitched at mention of the woman's name.

"Not just her, but thanks to the likes of Millicent and Margaret, I've come to realize I can be a remarkably poor judge of character when it comes to the fairer sex."

"I'm flattered," she drew out the words, drily. A smile flitted across his face, as he slowly lowered himself to sit on the end of the lounger, then shifted slightly to face her.

"Anna and Felicia were the only two women with whom I spent more than a passing moment with, Laura," he shared, resignedly. "Felicia's never hidden she's only out for Felicia. I don't think I need to tell you I was wholly unprepared for the reality of who Anna is." She moved closer.

"I know," she replied, quietly, then strove to change the tone of the conversation. "Well, as much as I hate to admit this," she added in a wry tone, "I don't think Felicia is behind this. She can't very well try to lure you into her bed if you're dead."

"Or use a bit of blackmail when she requires my skills to get her out of trouble," he added with a lift of his brow. She made a face, expressing her distaste.

"Yes," she agreed, pensively. Unfortunately, given Felicia was well aware he wasn't Remington Steele, she'd always have grounds to pull out that card – a fact that annoyed Laura, to no end. "So, I guess for now, we're left with whatever Daniel is up to and our mutual past," she summarized. "I have Mildred working on all known associates and relatives of everyone who may have a grudge against us, from the Palermo Brothers to the miners." He nodded his head, as her eyes skimmed over his face again. He was still too pale in her opinion, and the strain around his eyes and the stiffness with which he held himself spoke volumes. "Come on, lay back down," she urged. "You need to rest before we start our hike back to the house."

"Only if you join me," he returned. Fact was, he was more than a little bored with all the 'resting' he'd been doing the last week.

"I think that can be arranged," she agreed, scooting back on the lounger, then waiting for him to join her. Once he was settled, she lay down on her side, resting her head carefully on his shoulder and an arm over his stomach. He shifted slightly towards her, then lay his arm over her hip. With a sigh of discontent, he closed his eyes.

"I miss holding you, Laura," he grumbled. She tipped back her head and peered at him.

"You are holding me," she pointed out.

"Not the way I wish to," he groused further, without opening his eyes. She gave his stomach a placating rub.

"Your sutures come out in two days and you're already further along than Townsend expected," she reminded. He peeked open his eyes, gingerly lifting his left arm to stroke his thumb over the wound on her forehead.

"You're certainly looking more like yourself. I don't think this will be even noticeable in the matter of a couple months," he noted. Her own stitches had come out that morning and the bruises had faded to a pale yellow.

"I'm not concerned either way," she answered honestly. She'd never been vain, a virtue that, by his own admission, couldn't be extended to himself.

"Mmmm," he hummed, appreciatively, dropping a kiss on her forehead. She gave him a quick smile before directing her gaze out over the pond, her fingers absently stroking his stomach. It wasn't long before his eyes grew heavy.

"What other surprises?"

"Hmmm?" Nearly asleep, he hadn't fully registered the question.

"You said the manor much like this maze holds its surprises. What surprises?" His eyes never open, but a grin split his face.

"What was it you once said to me?" He feigned consideration then, with eyes still closed, lifted his brows. "Ahhh, yes…"

"You're the detective… detect."

A breathy note of laughter crossed her lips at his flippant remark. But rather than respond, she shook her head in silence.

Tonight, Mr. Steele, I intend to do exactly that…

Remington hadn't done much more than catnap, but that brief forty-five minutes had been enough to restore him. Determined to keep his vow to be back on his feet by weekend's end, he'd stubbornly insisted that they complete the maze. He was as tired as if he'd competed in one of Laura's triathlons by the time they'd arrived at the house, but he felt one step closer to his goal… and it did this man's heart good to feel a bit accomplished.

But a bit of pride could only carry a man so long, and when he eyed the stairs that he'd need to traverse to reach the bedroom beyond, another bit of wisdom befell him…

Pride cometh before a fall.

And he suspected any attempt to navigate those stairs at the moment might well land him right on his arse. A bit of subterfuge then.

"Uh, Laura, I was thinking we might enjoy tea in the sunroom. It's such a beautiful day, it would be a shame to waste the light." She eyed him suspiciously.

"Alright," she drew out the word. "Go sit down and I'll see what I can do."

They separated, she continuing straight down the hall while he turned right towards the sunroom. When he was certain he was alone, he allowed his shoulders to sag. Ridiculous, he silently lamented. He'd rallied from any number of beatings in past years, perhaps a bit sore, but back on his feet in less than a day. Making mention of that to Laura had already netted him a…

"You're not a teenager any longer, Mr. Steele," and a pat on the leg.

Pffffttttttt. A man searches for a few tender words and is served up, instead, with reminders of his age.

When he arrived in the living room, two rooms away from the sunroom, his head swiveled in the general direction of the kitchen. The tea would take a spell and so would he.

Wearily, he sunk down on a chair to catch his breath.

Laura found Tildy bustling around the kitchen, muttering to herself under her breath.

"Can I help with anything, Tilly?" she immediately volunteered. Tilly jumped then spun around on her heel to face Laura, while pressing a hand against her check.

"You scared me near to death, Miss," the old woman laughed, a bit embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," Laura apologized immediately, "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Don't be worrying yourself, Miss," Tilly dismissed. "It's my own fault, preoccupied as I am with news Master Daniel's lady friend will be staying for a spell. Lady!" She said the word with disdain. "I'm here to tell you now, that woman is no lady. A gold-digger, that's what she is. You can take my word on it." As if suddenly recalling to whom she was speaking, she wiped her hands nervously against her apron. "My apologies for speaking out of turn, Miss." Laura help up a hand while shaking her head.

"No need to apologize, Tilly," she dismissed this time. "I've met some of Daniel's associates and they're not exactly my cup of tea either. Speaking of which, if I won't be in your way, I told Harry I'd make us a pot of tea."

"I have a pot waiting on Master Daniel and his guest. I'll just make Harry and you a cuppa, there's more than enough to go 'round," Tilly replied, already collecting cups and saucers and setting them on a silver tray. "Dinner will be served in two hours," she offered as she poured the tea, then setting the pot back on the stove, she added a plate holding a selection of small pastries. "I thought Harry might need to restore his energy after your walk," she explained.

"You spoil him," Laura noted with a smile.

"I've always had a soft spot for the boy, even when he was little more than a ruffian. But don't be telling him I said that," Tilly warned, with a waggle of his finger. "He'll think he has me wrapped around his little finger, if you do."

"Oh, I understand, believe me," Laura laughed.

"Now, where will you and Harry be taking your tea? In your room?"

"In the sunroom, actually. But you don't have to—"

"I can't have you serving yourself with Master Daniel wandering about," Tilly waved her off. "I'll be along momentarily." Laura hesitated, then nodded her agreement. While she had no issue standing up to Daniel on Tilly's behalf, she didn't wish to be the cause of Tilly's discomfort should Daniel say something.

"Daniel's very fortunate to have you, Tilly."

"I appreciate you saying so. Now, go on with you, Miss. I'll be straight along."

With a smile, Laura departed.

Remington drew in a deep breath then slowly rose to his feet. Unless he wanted Laura catching him needing a breather between the front door and the sunroom, he couldn't afford to dawdle any longer. He puffed several times. Absent the morphine and muscle relaxants, he would swear he could feel every crack, fracture, contusion and suture. Perhaps, he considered as he rambled his way towards the sunroom, he'd dismissed his medical team too soon, then immediately shook off the notion. As long as he was dependent on the medication to ease his discomfort he'd be of no use to Laura, investigation wise, at least. No, a couple Tylenol and a bit of sit down would have to do. One way or other—

"Michael, darling," a familiar voice oozed when he stepped into the sunroom. His head turned in the direction from where the greeting had come.

"Felicia!" he exclaimed, genuinely shocked to find her standing there – not because she wasn't in the habit of suddenly popping up, but that she was here, at Daniel's, at all. The single word was all the invitation she needed, and before he could blink she'd looped her arms around his neck, her hands cupping the back of his head.

"I came the minute I heard!" A single lift of a brow indicated his disbelief.

"Overwhelmed with concern, were you?" he asked drily. She gave him a coy smile and drew a hand through his hair.

"Now, Michael, you can't very well be upset with me when you've been such a naughty boy, now can you?" she proposed.

"Oh? And what, exactly, is it that I've done?" he asked, curious as to where she was headed with this.

"Why, imagine how I felt when I learned you'd been in London for weeks and had never attempted to get word to me that you were here," she pouted prettily.

"Devastated, I'm sure."

"Positively crushed. I suppose you'll just have to make it up to me."

Felicia pounced, sealing her lips to his…

Laura's lips parted in surprise when she stepped into the room.

You have got to be kidding me!

Plopping her hands on her hips, she watched the scene play out."Positively crushed. I suppose you'll just have to make it up to me."

She plopped her hands on her hips when the other woman tugged Remington's head forward. He flinched at the sudden movement, before grasping Felicia's waist and putting space between them.

"Felicia," Remington growled the warning. She acted oblivious, stepping in to kiss him again. From across the room where she watched, tapping a foot now, Laura rolled her eyes. He reared his head back, avoiding her lips.

"Haven't we been down this road before?" he reminded, the woman whose hand was stroking his neck, her fingers playing in his hair.

"You act like you're hardly happy to see me at all," she sulked. Losing her patience, Laura finally spoke.

"Don't mind me…"

Remington cringed, while Felicia grinned like a cat who'd just caught the canary.

"I never do," she retorted smoothly.

"Laura, this isn't—" Laura held up a hand to stop him.

"No explanations necessary, Mr. Steele," she answered in a deceptively casual tone that elicited another pained look from Remington as he extricated himself from Felicia's embrace.

"Ah, Felicia, I see you've found Harry," Daniel commented jovially as he entered the room. In a instant, Remington summed up the situation and he didn't like it at all. His eyes narrowed and his jaw twitched with irritation.

"I wasn't aware I was lost, Daniel," he retorted.

"Some might argue you've been missing for years," Daniel countered smoothly. Laura's spine stiffened and her lips thinned at what was meant to be an insult to her. "Wouldn't you agree, Tilly?"

"Finally found himself, is what I'd say," Tildy disagreed, as she entered crossed the room with the tea. Remington stood a little taller at her words.

"Thank you, Tildy."

"Our tea's arrived, my dear," Daniel announced, laying a hand on Felicia's waist.

"This is not for you," Tilly informed him, with a bit of impertinence. "It's for Harry and the Miss. I'll be serving tea on the terrace for you, as you asked."

"Nonsense," Daniel waved her off, then looked at Remington with a challenge in his eyes. "It would be poor manners on my part to ignore one guest in favor of another. Don't you agree, Harry?" Remington's jaw twitched again and he stood in stony silence.

"We'd love to join you," Laura stepped in, holding a steady gaze on Remington when he looked at her. "Wouldn't we, Mr. Steele?" His jaw twitched again but he pasted a smile on his face.

"A pleasure…"

"Laura, I promise you," Remington protested his innocence as soon as the bedroom door closed behind him, "I had no idea—"

"I believe you," Laura assured before he finished. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she leaned over to remove a shoe and looked up at him through her lashes. "It's a game, Mr. Steele." She paused as she reached for other shoe, and looked up, pensively. "Actually, it reminds me of that movie in a way." He perked up.

"What movie?" he asked quickly. It truly touched him that she'd made it a point to pay a bit more attention when he'd discuss cinema with her.

"You know the one. A kills B because he really wants C dead but—"

"The ABC Murders," he offered with no little disappointment. "An Agatha Christy novel. It was never made into a movie."

"Oh," she shrugged. "The point is there are two games afoot here. He wants us to believe Felicia is here to either seduce you or to convince me you are incapable of commitment. If that happens to bring about the demise of our personal relationship, it's merely an added bonus. But it's all a diversion. He wants our focus on his scheme with Felicia instead of on whatever it is he's really up to." Wearily, he sat down on the bed next to her and rubbed at the back of his neck.

"To think I once enjoyed all these schemes," he muttered, drawing her eyes.

"You don't now?" It was an interesting thought.

"Let's just say, I've developed a certain affinity for knowing what's going on in my own life rather than having to figure it out," he groused. A smile tickled her lips.

"Don't tell me you, of all people, are saying honesty is the best policy." He gave her a playful smile in exchange.

"Well… I wouldn't go that far." She rolled her eyes as he scooted back on the bed to stretch out. Ahhh, blessed relief.

"God forbid," she remarked, drily, then turned to look down at him. "It's time to figure out what Daniel is up to, Mr. Steele." He couldn't disagree.

"How do you propose we do that?"

"I don't know just yet…" she answered, pensively…

It had been a lie, of course. Laura had known exactly what needed to be done and that having Remington tagging along wasn't an option. He'd been tired and sore after their first walk of the afternoon and, as she'd predicted he would be, he was exhausted and in pain by the end of the second. He needed his rest more than she needed a partner on this midnight foray.

Stubborn man that he was, although he hadn't fought the idea of an early night, he'd adamantly refused anything but a pair of Tylenol to help with the pain. It had taken over an hour for him to finally get comfortable enough to fall asleep and she lay there for another twenty minutes after to assure he wouldn't stir when she left. If anything positive had come out of the awkward afternoon tea, she mulled, it was learning of Daniel and Felicia's plans for the evening: Dinner followed by an evening of gambling at a private club. Her eyes slanted to the alarm clock on the bedside table. 12:13. Even if Daniel and Felicia made an early evening of it, she should still have time to search his room before they returned.

Climbing soundlessly out of the bed, she walked on silent feet to the closet Remington had designated as hers, reemerging wrapped in her robe. While she had no intention of getting caught, if she were she didn't intend to run. What would be the point? With a final check on the man slumbering on the bed she plucked the flashlight out of the nightstand drawer where she'd stashed it, then slipped from the room.

Daniel's room had been left unlocked, shockingly… Or maybe not so surprising after all, given every person currently residing in this house was more than capable of getting around a locked door with ease. She was struck by how… impersonal… his personal quarters were, lacking framed pictures of families, knickknacks with personal meaning, or a book lying on a nightstand. Even Remington – who was surprisingly minimalistic when it came to his condo's interior – had personalized his new home almost immediately upon moving in, displaying a couple of treasured pieces of art, hanging his framed movie posters and installing a small selection of books in his bedroom.

Dismissing the thought, she started her search in the closet, coming up empty handed, then moved to the nightstands with the same end result. Slowly panning the flashlight around the room, the beam settled on the tall bachelor's chest. The first two drawers yielded no secrets. But the third?

It might not bode well for any of them….

Laura was sitting in a chair at the dining room table when the sound of the front door opening was followed by laughter, heralding the arrival of Daniel and Felicia. Standing, she squared her shoulders and tipped up her chin, prepared to do battle then stepped into the doorway where she could be fully seen.

"We need to talk," she announced, coolly. Two heads turned, both Daniel and Felicia surprised to discover they weren't alone. Laura rested her eye on Daniel, ignoring the other woman. "Alone," she added, pointedly.

"Too much drama for me," Felicia announced snootily. "I'll just get ready for bed while you and Lisa chat." Brushing her lips, against Daniel's cheek, she glided away, dramatically removing her cape as she ascended the stairs.

"What do you have on your mind, Linda?" Daniel inquired, smoothly, as though Laura greeting him at the door and demanding an audience was an every evening occurrence. He followed her into the dining room, when she turned on a heel without answering. She flipped on the light switch then waved an arm imperiously towards the dining room table "You have more pills than a drugstore," she indicted. Daniel eyed the various white-lidded, amber colored bottles with disdain.

"Leave it to Linda to dig until she comes up with all the morbid little details," he replied, frigidly. In spite of herself, her heart went out to him. She stepped closer.

"I know you and I have had a… strained… relationship at best—" she began in a quiet voice.

"We've always been vying for the same object," he noted, aloud. She resisted the urge to point out that Remington was an object but a man who chose the life he wanted.

"Why don't we take off the gloves?" she suggested. "And talk truth for a change."

"I don't like the truth," he retorted. "I've spent my whole life dancing around its edges. You want the truth?" Scooping up several of the bottles, he dropped them and they clattered against the table. "Here it is. I'll take fantasy any day."

"I'm sorry," Laura offered, sincerely.

"No need. Harry will finally be yours. Irrevocably. Even a consummate artist at deception can't outfox the Grim Reaper." Her eyes widened at the implications of what he said. "That satisfy your thirst for the truth?" he asked, bitterly. As happened on a rare occasion, she was left speechless. Eyes dropping to her hand, she opted to address the second surprise that drawer in Daniel's bedroom had secreted.

"I found something else," she told him. Drawing in a breath, she raised her hand, then opened the cover of the pocket watch. Strands of "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling" wafted into the room.

"Pretty tune," Daniel commented.

"What are you doing with it?" she pursued.

"A meaningless bauble," he brushed off. Her lips clamped together as she fought to hold her temper, then she tried again.

"It belonged to the Earl of Claridge. He meant it to go to his son." A smirk toyed with the corners of Daniel's mouth.

"But it was stolen before his son could receive it," he reminded, off handedly.

"Then it came to Mr. Steele with a note which said 'Your father always wanted you to have this'," Laura recalled for him. "Signed Patrick O'Rourke."

"The thief gave it to O'Rourke," Daniel explained.

"To give it to the thief's son?"

"A father wants to leave some legacy to his children. No matter how small." Alarm bells began to sound, urging her to retreat… now. But she was unable to.

"You still haven't told me what this is doing among your belongings." Daniel laughed, wryly, and turned away.

"I'm afraid I stole it. Again."

"You're the thief?" she questioned, disbelievingly. He eyed her critically.

"You've uncovered quite a Pandora's box, Laura. As difficult as it may be to believe, the man you call Remington Steele… is my son," he finally confessed.

An awkward silence fell between them as Laura stared at him, then at the open pocket watch in her hands. Lifting her head, she studied his face. Her chin tipped imperceptibly upwards.

"You're lying," she announced with finality.