And Tennessee
Hennessey tootled the flute
And the music was
something grand;
A credit to old
Ireland was McNamara's Band.
She was startled when a
male voice suddenly joined in with her soprano on the
chorus:
Ba Ba Ba Boom, Ba
ba ba boom;
Ba Ba Ba Boom, Ba ba
ba boom...
Remington was standing
beside her, his blue eyes laughing. She reached for him... and he was
gone, like a thief in the night.
Feeling a chill, Laura
quickly hugged herself in an effort to get warm and returned to the
living room. She picked up the lighter, intending to start a fire in
the fireplace, but then changed her mind. It wasn't her body that was
chilled, she realized, but rather her heart. Slowly, she sank down
onto the plush carpet beside the couch, hugging her knees and burying
her face.
"Mr. Steele, where are
you?" she asked, her trembling voice echoing through the empty
apartment.
"Why, Laura, don't you
know by now that I'm not going anywhere?" Remington's voice
asked.
Immediately alert, Laura
looked up, her eyes falling upon her mystery man, who was now sitting
beside her in front of the fireplace. He reached over to touch her
cheek, but then paused as the telephone rang. When it rang a second
time, he vanished as quickly as he had appeared.
"Wait!" Laura pleaded,
her fingers grasping at nothing but air. "Don't go!"
Realizing the moment was
gone, she quickly stood up and hurried to answer the phone, praying
the whole way that it was Remington.
"Miss Holt?" Mildred's
voice asked. "Have you heard anything from the boss yet?"
Laura could have sworn
she heard the faint sound of Remington's laughter. Shaking her head,
she smiled. Leave it to Mildred to interrupt a romantic interlude
between them even when they weren't even together!
"No, Mildred. He hasn't
called," Laura assured her.
"I tried to call several
times, but the line was busy."
"I was making a few
calls. You know, the emergency room, the morgue..."
"Oh, Miss Holt," Mildred
said nervously. "You don't really think it's come to that, do
you?"
"No, Mildred, I don't
think it's come to that," Laura explained. "But now at least I know
he's *not* there... At least, not yet."
"You really gonna stay
there all night?"
"Yes. I'll just dig up a
pair of Mr. Steele's pajamas and some blankets and camp out here on
the couch."
"I wish there was
something I could do."
"Just pray he has a good
explanation, Mildred," Laura said. "Because if he doesn't, I'm going
to break both his legs."
"Oh, you don't mean
that, honey... Do you?"
"Ask me in the
morning."
"I'm sure things will
look better then, Miss Holt," Mildred assured her.
"Good night, Mildred,"
Laura said.
She hung up the phone
before Mildred could even say good bye. Then picking up one of the
couch pillows, she hugged it to her chest and sighed.
A few minutes later, she
stood and walked into Remington's bedroom. Rummaging through his
dresser drawers, she located a dark pair of silky pajamas and quickly
changed. Then walking across the room to his mirrored closet, she
opened both doors. Spotting some blankets and a pillow on a top
shelf, she pulled them down and headed back into the living room.
After a brief stop in the doorway, however, she turned and walked
over to the bed, exchanging her pillow for Remington's. Then picking
up his over-sized Humphrey Bogart book from the bedside table, she
relinquished his room to the darkness.
* * * * * * * * * * *
*
Between making numerous
phone calls and getting better acquainted with Humphrey Bogart, Laura
got little sleep that night. What sleep she did get was disrupted by
nightmares. She was actually relieved when daylight began peeping
through the balcony drapes. After dressing in the same clothes she'd
worn to the mystery dinner theater the previous evening, she called a
cab and headed to her loft for a quick invigorating shower. She had a
feeling it was going to be a rough day, and she would need all the
help she could get.
* * * * * * * * * * *
*
If Wednesday had been a
bad day, then Thursday was an absolute nightmare. The good news was
that Remington had been seen the night before; the bad news was that
he had apparently gambled away the Agency during an all-night poker
game with the man who was currently redecorating the offices. At
least, that's what their alleged new boss, Harry Cranston,
claimed.
Laura had wanted to kick
their new acquaintance out on his ear--and she would have, too, if he
hadn't produced a promissory note signed by Mr. Steele himself. In
actuality, it wasn't even Mr. Steele's agency to sign away in the
first place, but to prove it, she would have to come clean about her
little charade and admit her deception to the world. If push came to
shove, she wouldn't hesitate to take that step, but first she'd
consider her other options.
Her first course of
action was to prove that Remington's signature on the promissory note
had been forged. It certainly looked like the real thing, but Laura
was convinced it was a fake. She had Mildred put in a call to Reuben
Saltzman, the Agency lawyer; surely he could do something to disprove
Cranston's claim.
Every instinct in
Laura's body told her that Remington was innocent. For one thing,
except for that time during the Peppler case when he was trying to
flush out the killer, she had never seen him drunk; it simply wasn't
his style. And for another thing, he would never have stood her up to
play poker with the likes of Cranston. They had been planning their
evening at the mystery dinner theater for a month, and he had been
looking forward to it.
As much as it scared her
to admit it, the only explanation was that something had happened to
him. In all likelihood, he had been injured or perhaps even
kidnapped. Heaven knows the Agency had made its share of enemies over
the years. But as bad as each of those scenarios were, they were both
preferable to the alternative, which Laura refused to even consider.
Remington simply couldn't be dead...It was better to believe he had
signed the note than to believe he was dead...better to believe he
had betrayed her than to believe he was lying lifeless in an alley
somewhere...better to believe he had callously gambled away her
Agency than to believe he was in the morgue beneath a white sheet,
his blue eyes closed forever...
Deciding she simply
couldn't stand idly by and watch as Cranston carted off the office
furniture, Laura grabbed her purse and left. Mildred called after
her, but she didn't answer. She couldn't answer; she couldn't bear to
have Mildred hear the fear in her voice.
* * * * * * * * * * *
*
Laura left no stone
unturned in her search for Remington Steele, even going so far as to
hunt down Weasel and enlist his help. She even considered calling
Daniel, but finally decided he was too far away to do anything more
than worry. Finally, after deciding she'd been up every blind alley
within a sixty mile radius of the Agency, she called it a day and
drove to her loft. She considered returning to Remington's apartment
for the night, but decided there were too many ghosts
there.
Normally she climbed the
three flights of stairs to her loft with boundless enthusiasm, but
tonight she was barely able to take them in slow motion.
"I'm surprised at you,
Laura," a male voice said.
Laura turned her head
and saw Remington standing beside her, shaking his head.
"*I* could take these
stairs faster than this!" he declared.
She closed her eyes and
shook her head in an effort to clear her mind, and when she opened
her eyes again, he was gone.
When she finally reached
her door and unlocked the padlock, she was out of breath. Leaning
against the door, she sighed, wondering how she could get through yet
another night of uncertainty and fear.
"Just put one foot in
front of the other, Miss Holt," she heard Remington say.
"One foot in front of
the other," she repeated as she took off her shoes and headed to her
sleeping area. "One foot in front of the other..."
Gathering her night
clothes, she walked into the bathroom and attempted to drown her
fears and frustrations with a hot shower.
* * * * * * * * * * *
*
As Laura slowly wandered
through her loft, she quickly discovered that it was just as haunted
by the presence of Remington Steele as was his apartment. When her
house had been destroyed two years ago, it had been Remington who
helped her set up housekeeping in her newly converted loft. He had
tried his best to talk her out living there, referring to it as
'filthy warehouse with the single luxury feature of a toilet,' but
she was determined. The novelty of it had appealed to her sense of
adventure, and it seemed to her the perfect place for a new
beginning.
Once he had finally
accepted that she was bound and determined to live there, however, he
had thrown himself into the project of helping her furnish it. Laura
had never dreamed that shopping for furniture, linens, pots and pans
could be such fun. But then, she'd never before done it with
Remington Steele. She found herself smiling at the memory of the two
of them bouncing around on half the mattresses in LA, 'testing the
springs,' as he had called it.
She remembered how
disappointed she had been upon learning it would be two weeks before
the rental company would have the manpower to complete preparations
on her loft. Staying with Remington the first night after the
explosion had turned out to be a blessing, but she wouldn't have felt
comfortable staying there for two weeks while the work on her loft
was completed. She had finally decided that as long as she had a bed
and a working bathroom, she would just camp out on her own
floor.
Thanks to Mr. Steele's
resourcefulness, however, that hadn't been necessary. At his
insistence, the two of them had spent the day shopping for household
items while Mildred held down the fort. Laura could still remember
her shock at the end of the day when, loaded down with packages and
carry-out, Remington had pushed aside the loft's heavy door and she
had stepped inside her sparkling new home.
The already wonderful
surprise had become even more special when she learned later that
Remington had contacted the rental agent and made the arrangements
himself for the clean up crew himself. Her eyes grew misty even now
as she thought of her mystery man walking into Wallace's mission and
offering work to a handful of down-on-their-luck men. No one could
ever accuse Remington Steele of forgetting where he came from, and it
was one of the many things she loved about him. It was his
remembrance of those bitter days that had caused him to become the
empathetic, caring individual she knew today.
Laura walked over to her
most prized possession and ran her hand across its smooth finish. The
piano's rich black color reminded her of Remington's luxurious hair,
while its keys reminded her of his radiant smile which never failed
to make her heart flutter. She slowly lowered herself onto the bench
and stared upwards for a few seconds. Then shaking her head and
smiling, she began to play Chopin's Prelude #4 in D Minor. She had
learned later that Remington had been standing beneath her window,
listening, when she had first it played on that memorable night so
long ago. Now, as the tears filled her eyes and clouded her vision,
she prayed that he would once again have the chance to hear her
play.
* * * * * * * * * * *
*
Laura had never been
happier to see Remington than she was when he finally staggered into
the Agency late Friday morning. It didn't even matter than he was
unshaven, unkempt, unwashed and unfocused; he had never looked
better. Without giving it a second thought, she had flown straight
into his arms and thrown her arms around his neck. Just the night
before, she had feared she might never have the chance to do that
again, and as a result, she was reluctant to release her hold on
him.
As it turned out,
Remington knew even less about what was going on than she and Mildred
did. But that didn't deter Laura; it merely made her more determined
to get to the bottom of the situation. As far as she was concerned,
Harry Cranston was already dead meat.
* * * * * * * * * * *
*
Mildred had been home
from her undercover assignment with Remington less than two hours
when she received a frantic phone from Laura. It seemed that he had
been caught at the scene of a major diamond heist and was now in
jail. Realizing Laura was in no condition to drive, Mildred insisted
on picking her up, refusing to take no for an answer.
Laura was waiting
outside her apartment building when Mildred pulled up and stopped.
She insisted she was alright, but Mildred knew better; she knew Laura
only bit her fingernails when things were at their bleakest. When the
older woman tried to assure her that the Agency would bounce back,
Laura almost took her head off, exclaiming, "I don't care about the
the Agency, Mildred; I care about the man!" Not knowing what to say
to that, Mildred said nothing.
Reuben arrived at the
jail shortly after they did. Mildred noticed he seemed even more
fidgety than normal, if that was possible, but she really didn't have
time to ponder it. After being informed that Remington could have
only one visitor, they were left alone to decide among themselves
which of them it would be. With no discussion, Mildred insisted it
should be Laura and began hustling her in the direction of the
interrogation rooms.
What happened next came
as a total surprise to all three of them. Laura Holt, intrepid
investigator extraordinaire, suffered a panic attack. Not a mild
twinge of fear, but a full-blown, spit-in-the-sky,
'somebody-help-me-I-can't-breathe!' panic attack. Looking at Mildred
with terror filled eyes, she quickly excused herself and hurried off
in the direction of the ladies room.
Having worked for the
IRS Fraud Squad, Mildred knew a panic attack when she saw one.
Telling Reuben to move it or lose it, she not-so-gently shoved him
through the door which lead to the interrogation rooms. Then taking a
deep breath, she headed with purpose to the ladies room and prepared
for major damage control.
Laura was standing
before the mirror and clutching the sink with white knuckles, looking
for all the world like a frightened deer caught in the headlights.
Mildred had never seen her like this, and as a result, was unsure how
to approach the situation. Fortunately, though, it didn't take her
long to settle on a tactic.
After disappearing into
the nearest stall, she marched up to Laura and handed her a wad of
tissue. "Blow," she instructed in a no-nonsense manner which left no
room for argument.
Laura did as she was
told and quickly disposed of the soggy tissue in a nearby trash
can.
Mildred, never one to
beat around the bush, went straight to the heart of the matter,
asking, "What happened to the woman who told me just yesterday that
you have to put faith in people?"
"I don't know," Laura
admitted. "I think she just caved. I just... I just couldn't face
him. "
Mildred paused for a
moment as she gathered her thoughts. "Miss Holt, by any chance did
you consider the possibility, however fleetingly, that Mr. Steele
might have had something to do with the robbery?"
Mildred could tell from
the haunted look in Laura's eyes that she had hit the nail on the
head. Putting her hands on Laura's shoulders, she said, "Miss Holt,
fear gets the better of us all sometimes. When it does, you just kick
it in the teeth and forge ahead."
"Oh, Mildred, I know
he's innocent of all of this... I do. I hate myself for thinking
otherwise, even for a second. But..."
"Hon, there are no
buts..." Mildred began.
"It's not him I have
doubts about now, Mildred... It's me," Laura confessed. "How can I
face him after I let him down just now? He's going to realize I
didn't want to see him--What's he going to think of me?"
"He'll merely think
you're human; nothing more, nothing less," the older woman assured
her. "Besides, maybe it's better that Reuben went in anyway. After
all, his judgment won't be clouded by a lot of emotional
baggage."
Mildred was rewarded
with a slight but sincere smile as Laura said, "Thank you, Mildred,
for helping me find my backbone."
"Oh, it was there all
the time, Hon; you just needed someone to remind you where it
was."
As Laura squared her
shoulders and looked her squarely in the eye, Mildred was relieved to
see that the fire had returned to the younger woman's
gaze.
"Mildred," she said,
sounding like her old self once again, "we're going to get to the
bottom of this. After all, one man's theft is another man's
justice."
"That sounds like one of
Mr. Steele's movie quotes," Mildred said with a laugh.
Laura grinned. "Hawkeye
Pierce, actually. M*A*S*H. CBS-TV."
"Mr. Steele would be
proud."
"Okay," Laura said,
slapping her hands together for emphasis. "Let's blow this ladies'
room and get to work."
"I'm right behind you,
Miss Holt. Those dirt bags are going to rue the day they messed with
us," Mildred predicted.
It wasn't over yet, she
realized, but Miss Holt would be just fine. And more likely than not,
heads would soon roll. Indeed, it couldn't happen soon enough, as far
as Mildred was concerned.
* * * * * * * * * * *
*
After conferring with
Reuben on the latest developments, Laura and Mildred rushed to the
Agency to check things out for themselves. It was just as Mr. Steele
had said--all signs of Harry Cranston and Debbie Rabello were gone.
Every piece of furniture, every picture, every name plaque, every
file, was back in its regular place. It was as though the last forty
eight hours had never happened; the only thing to indicate they
hadn't imagined the whole thing was the large gaping hole in the
floor beside Remington's desk.
As baffling as this
mysterious turn of events was, it proved Laura's faith in Remington
had been justified and that he had been set up from the very
beginning. And more importantly, it proved that B.J. Sinclair was
hardly the innocent victim she had claimed to be. Laura wanted to
confront their seductive prey right then and there, but Mildred
convinced her that wouldn't be a wise move. Laura was a keg of powder
just waiting for a spark to set her off; if she confronted their
adversary in that highly volatile condition, she might blow the whole
case.
What Laura needed was a
way to let off some steam, and Mildred knew of no better way to
accomplish that purpose than by bowling a few rousing games at her
favorite all night bowling alley. It was the perfect solution; they
could relieve a little tension, calm a few frayed nerves... and even
eat a few chili dogs in the process.
* * * * * * * * * * *
*
Remington Steele was
exhausted, but he didn't know which was more tired--his body, his
mind or his heart. It had been three and a half hours since the
conclusion of his endless interrogation concerning the diamond theft
and the mind boggling twists and turns of the previous two days...
three and a half hours since Norman Keyes had laughed in his face and
sworn to see him in Leavenworth... three and a half hours since
Reuben Saltzman, the Agency's lawyer, had returned to his law office
to begin preparations on his case...
With the passing of each
minute, Remington's anxiety about Laura's absence increased. He was
desperate to see her, to assure her that he was indisputably innocent
of the robbery. The bottom line was, he didn't care what Keyes
thought... He didn't care what the LA Police thought... He didn't
even care what the public at large thought... But he *did* care what
Laura thought. Why hadn't she been in to see him? Why wasn't she
standing beside him right now, getting all the facts and planning
their strategy? He had seen her worm her way into the cells of enough
distraught clients to know she could have found a way to get to him
if she wanted to.
Was Laura afraid this
latest turn of events would jeopardize the Agency? Remington
considered that thought, but dismissed it. Even when he had vanished
without a trace for 36 hours, Laura had been convinced they would get
to the bottom of the situation. She had even believed in him when all
the evidence pointed to his guilt... when every clue she followed up
had ended in a dead end... when ultimately she had nothing else to go
on other than his word. Even then, she had believed him. She had
every confidence they would get to the bottom of things, and he had
enough faith in her detecting abilities to know she would have done
just that.
But he had been in
custody for hours now, and had neither seen Laura nor heard from her.
Could it be that she didn't want to see him? Did she perhaps have
some small doubt about his innocence? Did some tiny part of her fear
he was actually guilty as charged? Remington lowered his head and
sighed, closing his eyes against the bitter possibilities he couldn't
bear to face.
If Laura no longer
believed in him, if he had truly lost her trust, then it didn't
matter what happened to him. She was the one who had set his heart
free, who had helped him find his self respect, who had shown him the
satisfaction that could be achieved through helping people. She was
the one who had loved him, in turn making it possible for him to love
himself. If she were to turn her back on him now, she might as well
rip his heart out and scatter it to the four winds. To be sentenced
to a life without Laura was more than he could contemplate, for
without her in his life, he would have no life.
In an effort to push
aside his fears, Remington lay down on the small cot and tried to
reconstruct his evening. It had begun when he and Mildred had broken
into Cranston's apartment searching for clues using the address on
the envelope he'd lifted from the great impostor's pocket. Luck was
with them and they had uncovered three bogus passports, all sporting
Cranston's picture. Using a nearby pencil and note pad, he had
written down the passport names, intending to return to the office
later that evening to run a check on the Agency computer.
Of course, he never got
that far; once he had seen the words Remington Steele Investigations
on the double glass doors, he never gave the computer research
another thought. Looking back now, he realized he should have called
Laura immediately. Looking back now, he realized that lowering
himself through that hole in the floor of his office had been pure
lunacy. Laura would never have fallen for something like that. Laura
was the brightest, most insightful person he knew; she would never
allow herself to be duped like that.
He sat up suddenly,
realizing the truth of his final thoughts. He had been selling Laura
short; here he was thinking she didn't trust him, while the truth of
the matter was, he wasn't trusting her. What was it Mildred had
shared with him as they had huddled together under the table in
Cranston's apartment? She had said she hoped he was worth it, and he
had agreed with her. But then she went on to relate what Laura had
told her earlier that day. She had said, "When you know something
deep down in your heart, when you really know, you don't have to
argue about it, you don't have to prove it. Just knowing, that's
enough."
Remington smiled; he
could have sworn Ben Cartwright had said much the same thing to
Little Joe while he and Laura had been watching Bonanza the week
before. It had sounded good when Ben said it, but it sounded even
better coming from Laura. Putting his arms over his head and lacing
his fingers, he took several deep breaths. No, this wasn't over yet;
not by a long shot. He'd surely see her first thing in the morning,
and if she was indeed experiencing a bit of doubt, well, she was
entitled. He would just have to reassure her that her confidence and
trust in him were well founded, that they would get through this
together, and that what didn't destroy them would only make them
stronger. And more importantly, he would assure her that he wasn't
going anywhere... At least, not without her.
* * * * * * * * * * *
*
Neither Laura nor
Mildred got much sleep in what was left of the night, but after
bowling a couple of games, they were prepared to meet the day. The
two of them were at the Agency brainstorming ways to raise
Remington's $500,000 bail when Norman Keyes called, more or less
demanding that Laura meet him within the hour at the apartment on
Rossmore. She had already made plans to see Remington at the jail,
but Mildred convinced her that she should find out what the conniving
slime ball had up his grubby little sleeve.
Laura reluctantly agreed
to his demands, but not before taking the time to jot down a quick
note for Mildred to deliver to Remington when she visited with him.
Even though she was unable to see him face to face, she wanted to
reassure him that she still believed in him. Her moment of weakness
still haunted her, but she couldn't think about that now. Now, she
had to direct all of her attention to clearing his good
name.
"I'll think about that
tomorrow," she told herself. "After all, tomorrow is another day."
Realizing she had just given a movie quote, she chuckled and added
the citation. "Vivien Leigh. Gone With the Wind. MGM. 1939."
* * * * * * * * * * *
*
If Mildred hadn't been
confident that Mr. Steele loved her, she would have been hurt by the
look of disappointment on his face when she visited him in jail the
next day. As it was, she just took his brooding looks and angry words
with a grain of salt. Even though her encouraging words didn't do
much to improve his mood, she was sure Miss Holt's note would. Not
wanting to spoil the surprise, however, she merely suggested he skip
ahead to the 4th chapter of the red book, guaranteeing it would
improve his disposition.
She had no idea how
close Remington came to missing the note entirely. Overcome by
feelings of frustration and hopelessness after returning to his cell,
he had tossed both of the paperback books against the wall. It wasn't
until he'd worn himself out pacing, fifteen minutes later, that he
noticed the folded piece of paper laying on the cell floor. Leaning
over and picking it up, he immediately recognized that his name had
been written in Laura's neat, precise script. Taking a few steps
backwards and sitting down on the cot, he swallowed hard and opened
the note, reading slowly in an effort to savor the blessed words
which flowed from the page into his aching heart.
Mr. Steele,
I know this is tough, but we're going to get through it
like we've gotten through everything else--together.Laura
Remington smiled and
felt some of the tenseness leave his body. After reading it two more
times, he actually began to relax. In spite of the circumstances, he
smiled slightly. Then folding the note and tapping it, he put it in
his breast pocket and gave his pocket a pat.
He decided it was time
to change strategies. Since worrying had obviously gotten him
nowhere, perhaps he'd try thinking of Laura instead...the way her
lips glistened when she talked...the way her glorious body moved when
she walked...the way her hair bounced on her shoulders and shimmered
like gold when she walked in the sunshine...the way her velvety brown
eyes lit up like beacons when she was devising a theory...
For the first time in a
long time, Remington wished he had a pencil and sketchpad handy.
Since he didn't, however, he made do with what he had. Closing his
eyes, he conjured up Laura's smiling image and began to
sketch...
It wasn't the real
thing, but it would do for now. Indeed, it would do
nicely.
* * * * * * * * * * *
*
Epilogue
Sunday
evening
Pausing in the open
doorway leading to his balcony, Remington took a moment to compare
the flesh-and-blood Laura who now stood before him with the mental
portrait he had sketched of her in jail. He decided that even though
his drawing had not really done her justice, it had still served its
purpose. The intense concentration his rendering had required had
enabled him to turn his thoughts from himself and to focus them
instead on Laura. He knew his feelings for Laura ran deep, but until
that moment, he had not known *how* deep.
With the exception of
Daniel, most of the people in his life had come and gone. He had
physically spent time with them, but he hadn't known them any better
than they had known him. Even when surrounded by other human beings,
he had always been alone. That was the way he had always liked
it...until now.
When he saw Laura
shudder and hug herself in an effort to keep warm, he walked up
behind her and enfolded her in his arms. As he brushed his lips
across her neck and gave her an encouraging squeeze, she sighed
contentedly.
"Still contemplating a
jump from the nearest available building?" he asked.
Laura smiled and turned
herself in his arms so she could look into his eyes. "Thankfully, the
faith I placed in my partner was warranted. Though I'm not sure he
would say the same about me."
"Nonsense," he replied,
tilting her chin towards him. "You're not the first person to have a
panic attack, Laura. What matters is that you overcame that fear."
Receiving no reply, he asked, "Would it make you feel any better to
know that I suffered a panic attack of my own while I was in
jail?"
"Really?" she asked,
surprised. Than after a slight pause, she added, "I suppose a night
behind bars would have that effect on just about anyone."
"It wasn't the fear of
prison that scared me, Laura; it was the fear that you wouldn't
believe me. I could survive living behind bars if I had to; I could
even survive everyone else doubting me. But... I couldn't survive
without you in my life... without you trusting me."
Pausing, he tenderly
brushed away the tears which were glistening on her cheek.
"I'll admit, I used to
think I didn't need anyone," he confessed in a whisper. "I used to
live like Robinson Crusoe, shipwrecked among eight million people.
But then one day I saw a footprint in the sand... and there you
were."
"Trust me on this, Mr.
Steele. You're not alone anymore, " Laura promised.
"Neither are you, Miss
Holt. Neither are you."
Standing on Remington's
balcony, surrounded by the bright lights of the city and the
glistening stars in the heavens, they sealed their pledge with a
kiss.
The End
 Steele, Inc.-Atlanta
Div. |
dtalley@mindspring.com