She glanced at the closed door to Mr. Steele’s office. He was still in there, where he’d retreated after their latest argument.

She sighed. It had been another in a long line of squabbles that she and Mr. Steele had been having of late. He could be so stubborn! And so can you she admitted, feeling guilty. But not for much longer. She straightened her shoulders. Pasting a conciliatory smile on her face, she opened his office door. "Mr. Steele?"

He sat facing the windows behind his desk, feet up on the sill. He didn’t turn when Laura spoke. "Yes, Miss Holt?"

The icy clip to his words indicated his anger and all of Laura’s good intentions of a moment earlier disappeared with it. Careful to keep her voice cool and strictly professional she said, "I’ll be leaving in a few minutes, as soon as Sandy gets here. Please don’t forget the Chamber of Commerce dinner tomorrow night."

"Never fear, Miss Holt, I’ll not disappoint the civil servants of Pasadena. Remington Steele Investigations will be represented by one of its principals."

Irritation flashed in her eyes. "I don’t want to start this over again, Mr. Steele. I know—"

"Really, Miss Holt, it isn’t necessary to go over it again," he said. "You made your position more than clear. I had no trouble at all hearing you. I will learn to live with it, have no fear."

Laura stepped into the room. "Must you be—"

Remington finally spun the chair around and faced Laura. "It’s not how I must be, Laura," he said. "This is all about how you must be, isn’t it?"

A fresh burst of anger made her raise her voice. "All I asked is that you try to understand, Mr. Steele. Why is that so difficult for us—"

Remington raised his voice to match hers. "Us? Laura there isn’t any ‘us’. At least not lately, not outside this bloody office."

Sandy Maxwell strode across the reception area, and paused uncertainly outside the half-open office door. "Yoo-hoo! Hello? Anybody here?" "Laura?"

Laura stepped back involuntarily. "We’ll talk when I get back, all right?"

Remington turned his chair back to the window. "I’ve said all I care to, Miss Holt. You had best go, mustn’t keep Miss Maxwell waiting you know."

Laura spun around on her heel and slammed the door behind her.

Sandy winced. "Uh…Laura? I came at a bad time didn’t I. I’m sorry. I always did have lousy timing."

Laura retrieved her luggage from beside Mildred’s desk. "No you didn’t, Sandy—come at a bad time I mean. In fact, your timing was superb today. You saved me from making an even bigger ass of myself than I already have."

Sandy smiled. "That bad, Holt?"

"Worse," Laura said. She hoisted her purse on to her shoulder and left the office. As she punched the call button for the elevator she jerked her head back toward the office and said, "I’m sorry you had to hear that."

"Hear something? Like what? Like Laura Holt and her boss, the inestimable Remington Steele engaged in a shouting match?" She paused, considering. "Nope, I didn’t hear a thing, Holt."

Laura leaned against the elevator wall. "That’s one of the things I liked about you from the start, Maxwell. You always did have poor hearing."

They’d been driving in the dark for quite a while by the time they reached Shoshone. It had so far been a very quiet trip. Laura brushed off Sandy’s attempts at conversation, staring idly at the desert scenery.

As she eased her SUV around a curve Sandy said, "Hey Holt," keep an eye peeled for the turn-off. We’re looking for Highway 190."

Laura came out of her reverie and watched the signs as they came up. "We’ve passed Shoshone haven’t we?"

Sandy nodded. "Yep, about a mile back."

Laura pointed, "There it is, Death Valley Junction, coming up fast on the left."

Sandy turned onto the curving road. "I saw Murphy a week ago," she said. "He asked how you were."

"How was your trip to Denver? Productive?" asked Laura.

"It was…nice. Denver’s beautiful, but I wouldn’t say it was productive. Robin won’t let me take the kids out of state, so I won’t be moving after all."

"Oh, Sandy, I’m so sorry. There’s no chance you can change his mind?"

Sandy snorted. "Change Robin’s mind? Fat chance. As long as we’re sharing custody, I’m stuck in LA."

"Too bad," Laura said. "I always thought you and Murphy could have a good thing together." How did he take the news?"

"You know Murphy. Most things just roll off his thick skin." She sighed. "I suppose it’s for the best. Lord knows Murphy’s a great guy and we have a grand time together. But as much fun as we have, I’m not the one he’s looking for. If we actually did get together we’d probably just mess up a terrific friendship."

"I heard that!" murmured Laura softly.

"So what’s the story with you and the gorgeous Mr. Steele? Last time I saw you I got the distinct impression you two were pretty cozy but tonight you seemed a little…testy?"

Laura heard and ignored the open invitation in Sandy’s voice and only shrugged.

Sandy spoke into the darkness. "It’s dark in this car, Laura, you’ve got to produce sound if I’m going to understand you."

"There’s not much to say, Sandy."

"Hey, Holt, everybody has a rough patch now and then," Sandy said. "You’ll get through it. At least you’re fighting it out. Robin and I didn’t give ourselves much of a chance to work things out. He could never get past Alan—not that I blame him really."

Laura stared out the window at the passing scenery as she spoke. "I wouldn’t mind it so much if we were arguing over something worth the effort but we’re wasting a lot of energy circling around the point.

"Like?" Sandy asked.

"You name it we disagree about it. The menu for lunch, whether to wear a jacket or not, the weather. I say it’s a nice day; he says it’s lousy. He says the sky is blue and I say it’s gray. It’s gotten so that I don’t even want to see him lately. We haven’t fought like this since he first joined—" Laura caught herself barely in time to keep from blurting out the truth.

"Joined what?" Sandy asked curiously.

Laura laughed weakly. "Oh, since Mr. Steele started taking an active role in his agency. You know how it is when you first meet someone, all the bothersome jockeying for position, trying to find a comfortable working style."

"So this is all about your working relationship?" Sandy grinned at her. "Tell me another one, Laura."

Laura sighed loudly. "It is about our working relationship," she said. "Mostly."

"Uh huh," Sandy said. " I think you really need this weekend, Laura. Time away from the business and away from him. What you need is a little separate space."

Laura shifted uneasily in her seat. "Now you sound like some 70’s pop psychologist," she said.

"Just because it’s popular opinion doesn’t mean it isn’t valid, Laura."

Sandy guided the car around the last curve and smiled as the desert hotel came in sight. "There it is Laura, Furnace Creek Inn." She pulled the car off the road and into a parking area. The sharp ping of the engine as it cooled was the only sound for a moment and then Sandy smiled at Laura. "Well here we are, two free women, ready to be indulged."

Laura stepped out of the car and surveyed the hotel. The adobe style building looked as if nature itself had placed it just so against the backdrop of the mountains in the distance. The austere desert landscape only added to the understated luxury of the buildings.

She turned to Sandy. "This is your idea of a quiet little rustic retreat?" she asked.

"No Laura, this is my idea of a place for all out hedonistic pampering. Which is by the way what we’re here for." Sandy inhaled deeply of the crisp night air. "Ahh…taste that fresh air, Laura. Not a whisper of smog within 100 miles. The perfect place to rest and rejuvenate."

Laura smiled at Sandy and felt a weight lift off her shoulders. "I believe something was said about pampering, Maxwell."

Sandy trotted lightly to the doors. "Let’s get inside and take a look."

They entered the high ceilinged lobby and crossed the stone floors to the registration desk. Through an archway, Laura saw large, deep thickly upholstered furniture arranged in a manner meant to encourage conversation. A fire crackled in a huge fireplace that dominated one side of the room.

Behind her, through another doorway, triple arched windows looked out over the expanse of desert. In the desert blackness, she could barely make out the weird shadows cast by cacti and desert palms that dotted the landscape.

An attractive man stepped from behind the desk. Extending his hand to Sandy he said, "Good evening ladies. Welcome to Furnace Creek Inn."

Laura studied the man as Sandy finalized their registration. He was tall, at least 6’ 5" by her estimate, and the lightweight linen shirt he wore did nothing to camouflage his broad, muscular shoulders. As they followed him up the staircase to their rooms, Laura whispered, "Do me a big favor, Sandy?"

"Sure," Sandy said. "Shoot."

"If I mention the name ‘Remington Steele’ this weekend, slug me."

"Whatever you say, Holt."

Laura stood on the terrace outside her suite, a cup of coffee in her hand, watching Sandy, coyly pursue a very healthy looking suntanned man around the pool.

She paced restlessly. Sandy already had her day planned. Swimming and sunning by the pool this morning then a massage, and then lunch. By that time, she fully expected to have an interesting man by her side for a round of golf before afternoon tea. From what Laura could see, she was well on her way to success.

"While I on the other hand," she muttered, "go quietly crazy." The idea of sitting poolside just didn’t appeal to her this morning. Maybe a quick nine holes before it got too warm? She shook her head. No, not that either. Too bad Mr. Steele wasn’t here. He’d find this course challenging, and he liked challenges, she thought.

Unbidden, the memory surfaced of an almost impossibly handsome man, tipping his champagne glass in her direction...

Laura shut the memory off determinedly. Sandy was right. She needed to leave him behind for a few days.

She picked up the phone and dialed the main desk. "I’d like to go horseback riding," she said. "Can you get me a good mount?

"Certainly, Miss Holt. We have an excellent wrangler here. As a matter of fact, he’s leading a group in just about twenty minutes."

"No, I’d really rather not ride in a group. Is it permitted for me to ride alone? I am an experienced rider I assure you."

Of course. I’ll alert Vince that you’re coming down, Miss Holt. He’ll fix you up right."

 Remington shifted restlessly on the sofa, realizing he’d just missed a good ten minutes of crucial dialogue. Frowning, he snapped off the set. No point in watching at all if he wasn’t going to pay attention. What to do with the remainder of the day? He snapped his fingers. A walk was what he needed. Some physical activity to clear his mind. Laura always swore by the healing power of a brisk walk.

Half an hour later he was sauntering along the streets of the ‘golden shopping triangle’ otherwise known as Rodeo Drive.

But even the contented bustle of the glitzy shopping neighborhood failed to calm his muddled thoughts.

Was Laura right? Were they doomed to endlessly repeat the cycle? It was always the same. They’d gradually grow closer, almost but not quite relaxing into a ‘relationship’, only to push one another away again and explode in dozens of meaningless little fights. He knew he didn’t consciously want that, nor did he believe it to be what Laura wanted. If only I knew what she does want, he thought.

"Boss?"

Remington blinked and banished the image of Laura as he’d first seen her in the office, so young and he’d thought easily manipulated. How very wrong he’d been…

He looked up to see Mildred Krebs smiling at him. "Mildred!" Fancy meeting you here. Isn’t this a bit out of your neighborhood?"

Mildred fell into step beside him. "A bit." She looked up at Remington. "Actually I was running an errand for Miss Holt—picking up her watch—and decided as long as I was in the neighborhood a little window shopping couldn’t hurt."

Remington flung his arm around Mildred’s shoulder as they walked, and steered her toward a table at Nate & Al’s delicatessen.

"How about sharing a bite of lunch with me, Mildred? About the only thing this walk has accomplished is to give me an appetite."

A waiter appeared at his elbow. "What’ll you have today, folks?"

Remington smiled. "One of those marvelous corned beef sandwiches and your best draft beer."

"And for the lady?" he asked.

"The same for me only extra lean, and half a sandwich," Mildred replied. The waiter moved soundlessly away.

"So Boss, what brings you down here? I never figured you for an ‘in the trenches’ shopper. I thought you always let your fingers do the walking."

"Just doing a little bird watching Mildred; hoping to clear my mind."

"Bird watching?" Mildred gave him a puzzled look. "I don’t see many birds around here Boss."

"Not that kind of bird watching Mildred," Remington answered. He nodded his head at a nearby table. "Take that blonde over there," he said softly.

Comprehension dawned. "Ohhh!" Mildred considered the woman. "She’s very pretty, stunning in fact."

Remington nodded. "Pretty enough I suppose." He tilted his head and studied the girl again. "She looks like she’s posing for a print ad in Vogue magazine—and she’s too tall."

A smile twitched at the corners of Mildred’s lips. "Whatever you say, Boss." She flashed another quick look at the blonde and eyed Remington closely. "I suppose she is a little too tall."

Their sandwiches arrived and for a few minutes, they ate in silence. "Boss?" Mildred asked softly.

Remington looked up quickly. "Yes, Mildred?"

Mildred took a quick swallow of her beer. "This probably isn’t any of my business—no, I know it isn’t my business—but I gotta ask. What’s wrong?"

"What makes you think there’s anything wrong, Mildred?"

"Don’t give me that innocent look, Mr. Steele," Mildred said. "I’ve been a detective’s secretary for a long time now. I can read the signs."

She held up her fingers and ticked off the reasons. "First, you and Miss Holt have been sniping at each other for days. Second, Miss Holt hog-ties you with a chamber of commerce dinner and then runs off for a weekend with some girl friend, and third, you’re sitting here as miserable as you please, ogling every pretty woman you see. That just about screams trouble to me."

Remington shook his head. "I am not ogling every woman I see Mildred," he said. "I’m only indulging in a bit of window shopping. As you say it can’t hurt."

Mildred opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off. "And for your information Mildred, not one of the lovely ladies I’ve seen today can hold a candle to Laura."

Mildred leaned forward. "So what’s the problem, Boss?"

He pushed the remnants of his meal aside. "Mildred, what is it that Laura wants?"

"I don’t know what you mean—"

"Don’t evade the subject, Mildred, you know exactly what I’m asking," he said. "Why does she fight me so fiercely?"

Mildred drew designs on the table with her fingertip. "For what it’s worth, Boss, this is how I see the problem," Mildred said. "Remington Steele was a little fantasy that Miss Holt created to fool the fools. Then, you came along, and appropriated the fantasy."

"I’ve busted my bum the past four years, being Remington Steele," he said. "I’ve tried to live up to every impossible fantasy Laura created in her fevered mind—and I think I’ve done pretty well at it, mind you—and yet, it seems it’s not enough."

"Sure, Boss, you’re a great—no, the great Remington Steele," Mildred said. "Even I can’t fault your public persona."

He frowned. "I hear a ‘but’ in there, Mildred," he said. "Out with it!"

"But, when you became the living Remington Steele, Laura lost control of her fantasy and suddenly had to deal with a real flesh and blood man," Mildred said.

Remington smiled wryly. "And that scares her," he said.

"You bet it does," Mildred said. "It would scare me too, if I were her."

"But why, Mildred? If I am living up to expectations—and even you admit that I am—why is she scared?" he asked.

"Boss, she built Remington Steele from the pieces of the fantasy prince that every little girl imagines will someday carry her away to live happily ever after with," Mildred explained.

"It’s one of the first steps we take in learning how to judge character. That fantasy takes a lot of hits as it bumps up against reality. We fall in and out of love, get pleasantly surprised and bitterly disappointed."

Remington leaned forward. "And Laura’s fantasy has bumped up against a lot more disappointments, than pleasant surprises," he said softly. "Her father leaving, Wilson…"

Mildred nodded. "Laura knows that you aren’t really her childhood prince, any more than you’re really her fantasy Remington Steele no matter how much she’d like to believe otherwise."

She shook her head. "Poor Miss Holt! She started out playing a game with a childhood fantasy and now she’s afraid she’s going to get her fingers burnt."

"So, when I get too close," Remington said, "she fights to push me away before she can get hurt."

"That’s about the size of it, Boss," Mildred said.

"Remington frowned. " So what do I do about it, Mildred?"

"You’re going to have to figure that one out yourself, Boss," she said. "As of this minute, I’m officially declaring myself a neutral party to the controversy."

"Chicken!" he charged.

Mildred grinned. "Cluck, cluck," she said.

 Laura followed the dirt road as it wound and twisted through stands of weird Joshua Palms that stood like sentries, warning travelers back to land with abundant water and pleasant shade.

She reigned her horse to a stop, removed her hat from her head and fanned herself.

She smiled as a rabbit, startled by her sudden appearance, scurried across the faint trail in front of her into spine covered sanctuary offered by a clump of Prickly Pear cacti.

"Don’t worry," she said, "I’m not interested in you. At the moment I’m looking for a little shade of my own."

She put on her hat and slid from the saddle, dropping the reigns to the ground. Immediately, her horse, well trained, dropped his head and remained motionless.

She cautiously sidestepped the delicate silken fringe of a Cholla cactus, the most deadly cactus on the desert, and surveyed the panorama around her. An occasional barrel cactus stood straight and chunky. Here and there, a patch of gray-green sagebrush survived despite the brilliant sun and lack of moisture in the soil.

Laura noted faint trail markings that climbed steadily to the west in the mixture of gritty sand and minute stones that comprised the soil, and jagged rock formations in the distance.

"Where there are rock formations there might be a spring, and a bit of shade, she thought.

She swung into the saddle and urged her horse up the trail. She gave her horse his head and he immediately broke to a fast trot when they reached an elevated plateau.

The graceful rhythm of the horse and the heat of the sun eased the tension that had been plaguing her; for the first time in days, Laura relaxed. Why can’t I feel this free around him, she wondered. Horse and rider rounded a jutting promontory and abruptly pulled up short on the edge of a shelf formation. She leaned forward and soothed her horse as he pranced and nickered nervously. "Whoa fella, easy now," she crooned.

Small rocks and gravel spattered down the rock face as she eased her way down the ridge and into a clearing.

‘Hello, anyone about…Mr. Steele?’ Ben Pierson, with his easy affable grin, stuck his head through the half open door and stepped into the office...

Laura blinked and shook her head sharply. The half open door became a rocky ledge and ‘Ben Pierson’ became a stranger who strode out from behind the rocks toward her.

"Oh, Holt," she muttered, "you’ve been out in the sun too long."

"Hello!" he called.

Laura walked her mount toward him cautiously. The eyes that looked up at her were guarded but courteous.

"Am I trespassing?" Laura asked.

"Not strictly speaking, but you did give me a fright," he said. "You ought to be a bit more careful, Ma’am. The terrain hereabouts isn’t meant to be a racetrack. Wouldn’t want you to get thrown."

Laura smiled. "I know," she admitted sheepishly, "I guess I was wool-gathering."

"Are you lost?" he asked.

Laura shook her head. "No. I’m just looking for a likely spot to rest my horse and eat my lunch, before heading back to Furnace Creek."

The wary tension left his face and he smiled at her. "Of course, I should have known," he said. "You’re from the Inn."

"Name’s Krenn," he said. "I’ve got camp, complete with spring fed stream and such shade as cottonwood and cactus can offer, set up just beyond these rocks. You’re welcome to join me," he said. Gesturing carelessly over his shoulder, he spun on his heels and moved off toward the rocky ledge again.

Laura slid out of the saddle, led her horse around the rock barrier, and tethered him beside the shallow stream.

 Outside the exit to Nate & Al’s delicatessen, Remington watched Mildred march down the street toward her car, then turned and resumed his promenade.

The talk with Mildred was enlightening, he thought. All I have to do now is find a way through Laura’s disenchantment.

In his mind’s eye, he saw himself and Laura dancing at the Top of the Mark.

‘…It came to me one lonely night…it wasn’t exactly the Burning Bush, still it got my attention…You’re one of the things I have to guard against…the part of me that I can’t ever allow myself to be…’

In spite of what she’d said that night, he’d charmed his way into her heart that weekend. He frowned. This time if I succeed it must endure longer than a weekend, he thought.

 Laura sat cross-legged on the hard desert sand. She glanced sidelong at her companion as he moved easily around his camp, cleaning up the remnants of his meal.

He’s older than I am, she thought, but not as old as I first supposed, maybe fifty-five or sixty.

He looked as if he’d just stepped out of a Matthew Brady photograph. His work shirt and jeans, meticulously clean, were sun-faded and worn limp with use. Unlike the one she wore, his broad-brimmed hat had seen hard service. Perspiration stained the band and the brim curled distinctively above his brow.

"I didn’t think anyone did this sort of thing anymore," Laura said.

Her companion scraped the sand with his boot and dropped down beside her. "What kind of thing is that, Miss Holt?" he asked.

Laura waved her hand to include the tent with its bedroll, the assortment of vintage pickaxes and shovels and the pack burro nodding lazily next to her horse. "Prospected like this; I feel as if I’ve been transported back at least one hundred years," she said."

Krenn grinned. "They don’t," he said. "I do it this way for the relaxation, although I have made a little money at it."

"How do you go about finding valuable ore, Mr. Krenn?" she asked. "Do you just walk around and look the desert over until you find something?"

He smiled. "It’s not that easy, Miss Holt. You’ve got to know something about the geology of the region you’re prospecting, and you’ve got to be able to recognize the best formations."

"A few years ago," Laura said, "Remington…that is, Mr. Steele and I ran across a prospector who was using computers and satellite hook ups to locate ore."

"Mr. Steele?" Krenn asked.

"My…partner," Laura explained.

Krenn looked at her shrewdly. "What’s your business, Miss Holt—if I can ask that is."

"I’m a private investigator," Laura said.

Krenn raised an eyebrow. "Unusual occupation for a young woman," he said. "You out here investigating?"

Laura shook her head vigorously. "No, not at all. I’m…on a retreat."

Krenn looked at Laura again, and noted the slight hesitation in her voice and the flush on her cheeks.

Krenn chuckled. "Why not call ‘em as you see ‘em, Miss Holt," he said. "You’ve got troubles and you’re trying to figure out a solution; I recognize the signs. I came out here six years ago to do the same," he said, "and I stayed."

"Did you solve your problem, Mr. Krenn?" she asked.

"Matter of fact, I did," he said, "and I found myself a whole new life in the bargain. Now I paint desert landscapes which I sell to tourists, that is, when I’m not playing prospector."

"Tell me more about how you go prospecting, Mr. Krenn."

"Please drop the mister, Miss Holt," he said. "I like to leave ‘Mister’ back in Darwin; when I’m out here I’m just Krenn."

"Only if you call me Laura," she said.

"Fair enough, Laura," he said. "Well now, I do my prospecting at night, with a black light; you throw a beam of fluorescent light at a rock outcropping and the different ores glow with different colors. It’s very helpful; it keeps me from doing what so many others have done," he said.

"What’s that?" Laura asked.

"Lots of prospectors have thrown away the very rock that would have earned them a fortune because they didn’t know what they were looking at."

"Too bad you can’t use something like that on people," Laura said.

Krenn smiled. "It would certainly make our lives easier wouldn’t it," he agreed.

Krenn glanced at Laura’s profile. "Funny thing about ore," he said, "even the most valuable rock doesn’t show its worth until you remove the slag and look beneath its surface. Once you find the core it’ll shine and pay you handsomely—kind of like the way people do when we take the time to look beneath the surface down into the core of their character."

Laura chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose that’s true," she said.

Abruptly she rose and brushed sand from her jeans. "Well, I should be going. I’ve a long ride ahead of me."

Krenn stood up too. "You have for a fact," he said. "A couple of hours at least, to get back to Furnace Creek."

Laura smiled. "Make that four or five hours," she said. "I’m heading to Los Angeles. I’ve got some business to take care of."

"You know, Laura, you’ll cut that time in half if you come with me into Darwin. I’m headed in to pick up supplies. You can rent a car there and be on the road in an hour."

It’s nice of you to offer, Krenn, but I can’t just leave my horse out here."

"We’ll take him along in the burro’s trailer," Krenn said. "The wrangler over at Furnace Creek is a friend of mine. I’ll see that your horse gets back to his stable."

Laura entered the Darwin Diner and spoke to the girl behind the counter. "Telephone?"

"Back of the last booth," the woman said.

Laura dropped coins into the phone, dialed Furnace Creek Inn and asked to speak to Sandy Maxwell.

"…Hi. It’s me."

"…No, I’m fine…really. "

"…I’m not coming back to the Inn."

"…Back to Los Angeles, yes."

"…You know why."

"…I can’t do anything if I stay here."

"…Some little town called Darwin…I’ll rent a car. Listen, check me out and drop my luggage off at the loft, when you come through town, will you?"

"…Thanks, you’re an angel. Think good thoughts, OK?"

"Bye."

Laura put the receiver back on the hook and called her thanks to the girl at the counter as she left the diner and walked down the block to the car rental lot.

In a booth next to the telephone, Lester Bartholomew panicked. "I tell you, if she’s seen me, the whole operation is in jeopardy! She’s one half of the top PI team in the state."

"What did you do, Lester," his companion asked, "flash the certificates under her nose?"

"No! I swear I’ve been careful, but she must have picked up a tip someplace. Why else would she be nosing around here?"

" Mr. LaRue isn’t gonna like this," he said.

Lester swallowed hard. "I know that, Charlie."

Charlie strode to the counter, threw some money down to pay for their coffees and started for the door.

Lester scuttled along behind him. "What’re we going to do, Charlie?"

"We’re gonna follow her and stop her cold, before LaRue even knows she’s looking around," he said as they reached the street.

At Eight-thirty, Mildred arrived at the office and began her usual Monday morning routine, watering plants and putting on the coffee. By nine fifteen, she was half way through sorting the early mail delivery.

She glanced at the clock on the corner of her desk. Miss Holt’s running late today. I hope that means she had a good weekend, she thought.

She got up, put the morning Los Angeles Tribune and a carafe of coffee on Mr. Steele’s desk. She’d just finished arranging the blinds as he liked them, when the telephone rang.

She reached over and answered the line on his desk. "Remington Steele Investigations."

"Hi, it’s Sandy Maxwell, Miss Krebs."

"Hi, Miss Maxwell. How was the weekend?"

"It was great, Miss Krebs. Let me talk to Laura, will you?"

"Sorry, no can do," Mildred said. "Miss Holt hasn’t come in yet."

Sandy laughed. "That’s the best news I’ve heard all weekend."

Mildred dropped into Remington’s chair. "What’s up?" she asked.

"My best guess is that it’s something good, Miss Krebs. Laura didn’t even last through Saturday up here. The last thing I heard from her was that she was headed back to LA to go tête-à-tête or toe to toe, whichever worked out best, with Mr. Steele."

Mildred grinned. "Oh, ho! No wonder she hasn’t shown up yet.

"Yeah, one can only hope, Miss Krebs. Well, listen, when she and Mr. Steele do surface, tell her I’ll give her a call later in the week."

"Sure thing, Hon."

Mildred went back to her desk in the reception room and resumed sorting the mail, this time with a satisfied smile on her face.

"Good morning, Mildred! How are you on this fine day?" Remington asked as he breezed into the reception room.

"Boss! Hi," she said. "I’m not half a fine as you sound. Where’s Miss Holt?"

Remington stopped short at the door to his office. "I’m sure I don’t know, Mildred. I assumed I’d find my ever industrious colleague already hard at work by the time I arrived."

"Uh uh, Boss," Mildred said, shaking her head. "She hasn’t come in yet."

Remington looked ostentatiously at his wristwatch. "Not in yet!" he said. "And here it is after ten o’clock. That weekend at the spa must have really relaxed her."

"I thought she’d be with you," Mildred said. "I talked to Sandy Maxwell this morning, and she said Miss Holt hadn’t even stayed through Saturday night. The way she talked, she was pretty sure that Miss Holt was with you."

"Haven’t seen or heard from her," Remington said. "When she left Friday evening, she was more than a little peeved at me," he said. "No doubt this morning’s absence is her way of telling me she’s still angry."

Mildred shook her head. "You two and your little games," she said. "Lord knows I don’t know why you get such satisfaction from them."

Remington flashed on a sudden memory, he and Laura on the beach at Cannes, wet and bedraggled.

He dropped the bantering tone in his voice. "Believe it or not, Mildred, neither of us gets much satisfaction from them lately. When Ms. Holt arrives, buzz me, will you," he said, as he disappeared into his office.

"I tell you, I don’t like it," Adam LaRue snapped. "Why the hell did you pull something as risky as a kidnap?"

"Lester was sure the broad recognized him," he said. "He kept harping on how she was going to blow the whole deal with her snooping around. It seemed like a good idea to put her out of the way, pronto."

LaRue snorted derisively. "Lester! He’s scared of his own shadow. If you think there’ll be trouble if his lady friend snoops what kind of trouble do you think it’ll cause when she turns up missing?"

Charlie Moffatt shrugged. "What do you want me to do, now?"

"Go with Bartholomew when he picks up the stock certificates. Make him help you plant some false leads to keep the cops looking for her in Los Angeles," LaRue said. "And Charlie, watch Lester."

"If you don’t trust him why not just cut him lose," Charlie said.

"Because we need Bartholomew until the transaction is complete; once it’s done, we’ll take care of him and his girlfriend permanently."

Mildred listened to the ringing of Laura Holt’s telephone, a frown on her face. After a long time, she hung up. "It’s noon already," she muttered. "Where are you, Miss Holt?"

She got up, took two steps toward Mr. Steele’s office, hesitated and turned back toward her desk. Then, spinning around once more, she squared her shoulders and walked up to the door to Remington’s office.

She paused, listened, then opened the door and entered the room. "Boss?"

"Yes, Mildred."

"It’s noon, and Miss Holt has missed two appointments; I still can’t raise her," Mildred said. "I checked with the Telephone Company, and there’s nothing wrong with her line; she just doesn’t answer."

Remington turned from the window. "I’m going over there, Mildred."

"I’m with you, Mr. Steele," she said. "Let’s go."

"No, Mildred, you stay here in case Laura calls."

"But, Boss—"

He put his arm around her shoulders and guided her out of the office. "If I find anything significant, Mildred, I promise you’ll be the first person I call."

Remington unlocked the loft door, slid it back, and stepped into the empty room. "Laura?"

There was no answering ‘hello.’ He walked the loft room by room. When he completed his search he returned to the great room and dialed the telephone.

"…Mildred, it’s me."

"…No, nothing. Everything’s in its usual perfect order."

"…Yes, I agree, it’s time to call in the police. You’ll take care of that for me?"

"…I’m on my way back right now."

"…Chin up, Mildred."

He walked to the door, turned and took one last look at the empty room and pulled the door shut behind him.

 The space had once been a shallow mine shaft, part of a labyrinth of tunnels that now lay abandoned throughout the entire county. Gravel and loose sand covered the bottom. A tumble of rotting boards, part of the debris left behind by the last crew to work the tunnel, were propped haphazardly against one of the twenty foot walls.

Laura slept curled around herself, at the bottom of the shaft. Her breathing was shallow and labored, indicating that her sleep was drug induced.

Charlie Moffatt fiddled with the radio in Lester Bartholomew’s Tenth Street loft apartment until he found a good music station.

"What are you doing?" Lester said, his voice shrill with anxiety.

"Take it easy, little man," Moffatt said. "I’m just cranking up some tunes to liven up this joint."

"Well, turn the volume down. My neighbors like it quiet."

Moffatt turned the volume down. "Jesus, Lester, you’re about as much fun as a root canal! Hurry up, get the damn certificates and let’s get out of this dump. At the rate you’re moving it’ll be dawn before we get back to LaRue’s place."

"We could have been on our way hours ago, if you hadn’t insisted I monkey around with Holt’s car—"

Lester broke off when the radio announcer began the 9:00 newscast.

"This is ‘News on the Hour’ at KROT. At the top of our newscast tonight is a report of the disappearance of private investigator, Laura Holt, an associate of Remington Steele. Police report that they have found the missing woman’s car abandoned here in the city. Miss Holt was reported missing by her colleague…"

"Christ!" Charlie swore. "Quit your whining Lester, and let’s get going. I don’t want to be anywhere around here in case the cops start poking around looking for the broad."

Bartholomew snapped the catch on the suitcase closed. "Well turn off that damn radio, then and come on," he said, jerking the door open and turning off the light.

Fred maneuvered the limo into an open space near the run-off tunnels. The wheels had barely stopped turning when Remington leaped out and ran past the patrol car parked next to the Rabbit.

Fred helped Mildred out of the rear seat and they walked down to the mouth of the tunnels to join Remington.

Detective Jimmy Jarvis held Remington back. "Don’t contaminate the crime scene, Steele."

Remington shook off Jarvis’ arm. "Damn it, Jarvis, let me through! I’ve got to see, is she there?"

"Easy, Steele," Jarvis said, "she’s not here. Her purse and her cell phone are on the front seat. The rest of the car is clean."

Remington whirled around, searching the darkness desperately. "Has anyone gone inside the tunnels?" he asked.

"I’ve got men searching them right now," Jarvis assured him. "So far they’re as empty as the car."

"What about Descoine, Jarvis? This is one of his favorite playgrounds. He’s behind this whole thing; I know it. Where’s he? What are you doing to find him? He’s taken Laura—"

Jarvis turned to Mildred. "Miss Krebs, can’t you do something with him?" he asked.

Mildred reached up and put a hand on Remington ‘s arm. "Boss, take it easy. Everything that can be done is being done. You’ve got to keep calm and let the officer’s do their jobs."

Remington subsided and walked over to the edge of the run-off basin. He stood staring at it blankly and then began pacing along its length.

Mildred turned back to Jarvis. "So what about Descoine?"

"The major is still safely ensconced in jail as a guest of the State of California, Mildred. I checked on him, first thing," he said.

"What’s next?" she asked.

"We’ll have the car towed to the police garage; my forensic team will go over it for evidence, then we’ll see."

"Jarvis!" Remington shouted. "Has this basin been dragged?"

Jarvis sighed and walked over to meet Remington as he crossed the pavement. "Mr. Steele, we can’t set up a dragging opera—"

"Why the bloody hell not!" Remington said, angrily. "I want this pool dragged immediately. Laura could be lying at the bottom at this very moment—"

He pushed past Jarvis. "If you can’t get the job done Jarvis, I’ll find someone who can," he said over his shoulder as he stalked away.

"Boss, boss, Mr. Steele…" Mildred tried to check his progress, but he ignored her and disappeared into the darkness.

"—tion until daylight," Jarvis finished tiredly, as Mildred walked up beside him.

"Sorry," she said, "the Boss is dreadfully upset. He and Miss Holt…"

Jarvis stared off in the direction that Remington had taken. "You’d better go after him, Mildred, before he does something really stupid."

Remington sat in the darkened loft idly pecking out a melody on Laura’s grand piano. "A kiss is just a kiss…" he murmured.

Suddenly he was outside, down on the street, listening as Laura, sitting in the middle of the empty loft, coaxed exquisite music from this piano.

 A key rattled in the lock on the door and it started to slide open. Remington leaped up and pulled it the rest of the way open. "Laura!" he said.

His face fell. "Oh, Mildred. I heard the key and thought you were Laura."

"Sorry, Mr. Steele," she said, "It’s only me." She entered the room, turning on the lights. "Fred and I have been scouring the city looking for you," she said. "I finally had Fred drop me here and sent him home."

"By the time I walked off my temper, Mildred, I found myself here."

"Boss! You didn’t walk here all the way from the tunnels," she said. "That has to be—"

"It was just long enough for me to regain my perspective, Mildred. I owe Detective Jarvis an apology."

"I don’t think he’s worrying about it," Mildred said.

"I’m going to call you a taxi, Mildred; you go home and get some sleep."

"What are you going to do?"

"The same, Mildred. Only I’ll stretch out on the couch here. I want to be here in case Laura should come back."

Mildred eyed him sharply. "Forget the taxi, Boss, I’m not letting you out of my sight again. I’ll take the bed. And I’m going with you to Furnace Creek."

"Who said anything about Furnace Creek, Mildred?" Remington asked.

"Nobody, but that is what you’re going to do isn’t it? You’re not any more convinced that Miss Holt ever got back to the city than I am."

"I must be slipping," he muttered. "I didn’t think I was being that obvious."

Mildred patted his arm. "I’m worried about, Miss Holt, too." Then she brightened. "But if I know our Miss Holt she’s already got whoever’s behind her disappearance jumping through hoops."

He stretched out on the couch. "I hope you’re right, Mildred," Remington said, "I hope you’re right."

Mildred switched off the lights, retreated to Laura’s bedroom and set the alarm for six o’clock am.

Laura opened her eyes. The wave of vertigo that followed made her regret doing so immediately. She inhaled slowly and lay very still until the queasiness passed.

After a few minutes, she managed to get her feet under her but took only a few steps before bumping against the wall of her cell.

She shivered. "Cold in here, where ever here is," she said as she turned and paced across her prison until she fetched up against the opposite wall. "Can’t be bigger than 4’ by 4’ " she said.

A door made of full sized unsawn timbers was set flush into one wall of the shaft. Laura pounded against the heavy timbers. Dust and gravel dropped from the roof of the tunnel with each blow she struck.

"Hey! There’s somebody down here!" She jerked against the door; it didn’t budge.

Obviously well secured from the other side, she thought.

Peering through the darkness, she tried to estimate the height of the walls above her head; she couldn’t see the top of the shaft. She ran her hands up the wall as far as she could reach. The surface crumbled under her fingertips.

"Scratch trying to climb up," she muttered, sliding to the floor. Her head drooped and she dozed again.

Remington tossed uneasily on the sofa and jerked awake, groping for the telephone.

"Hello, hello! Laura?"

He pulled the phone away from his ear, glaring at the insistent buzz of a dial tone.

Mildred snapped off the alarm and came down the short flight of steps into the living room. "It’s six o’ clock, Mr. Steele."

Remington pulled himself into a sitting position and stared glumly at Mildred.

"I’ll just be a minute, Boss," she said, darting into the bathroom.

He rose from the sofa and once again paced the loft, room by room, stopping each time an ornament called up a particular memory of Laura.

As Mildred came out of the bathroom, he was standing near Laura’s jewelry box, holding her gold choker in his hand, looking off into the distance.

Mildred stood watching him for a moment, then said, "Boss, the bathroom’s free; you shave while I call a taxi."

Laura’s head jerked spasmodically and she awoke. She stretched her cold-stiffened muscles, hauled herself to her feet and paced around and around the tiny space.

God, it’s colder down here than it was earlier, she thought. What time is it, for that matter, what day is it? There’s no telling how long I’ve been asleep.

"There are always possibilities," she muttered. Plenty of possibilities, she thought. I might freeze to death, that is, if I don’t die of thirst, or hunger first.

She kicked angrily at the boards that leaned against the wall. They fell with a clatter and a huge cloud of dust.

She coughed and swiped ineffectually at the dust that settled on her hair and clothes.

Icy calm, Laura, icy calm, she thought. Mr. Steele and Mildred must be looking for you by now; all you’ve got to do is stay calm.

The air finally cleared of dust, and Laura peered at the wall space where the boards’ had been leaning. She dropped to her knees and began pulling boards clear of the wall.

Vince heaved the saddle over the side of the stall and moved out of the stable into the open air. "No, I didn’t see again after she picked up her mount," he said. "In fact, she didn’t return the horse herself."

"You’re sure?" Remington snapped.

Vince nodded. "Of course I’m sure. A friend of mine, brought the horse back early Sunday morning all curried and clean. Said he’d met Miss Holt on Saturday, given her a lift into Darwin, and offered to bring the horse back here for her."

"This friend of yours, what kind of a man is he? Could he have anything to do with Miss Holt’s disappearance?"

"Krenn? No way, Mr. Steele. Krenn’s the sweetest guy I know. I’d trust him with my own daughter. He’s just a fellow who gets a kick out of playing prospector. You can find him over in Darwin if he isn’t out wandering the desert. He’ll want to help find your friend, I’m sure of it."

Detective James Jarvis leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the corner of his desk. He punched in an extension number on the keypad of his telephone.

"…Stonz? Jarvis. What’s the hold up on the forensics report on the Holt car?"

"…What do you mean I can’t have it?

"…I don’t care if it isn’t a homicide and forget the officer of record malarkey; I’m on the case, courtesy of the captain."

"…I also don’t care what your problems are Stonz; if that report isn’t on my desk in fifteen minutes, you’ll be spending the rest of your law enforcement career cataloging evidence in the basement, you got that? Good!"

He slammed the receiver back on to the telephone.

 Remington and Mildred entered the Darwin Diner and walked up to the counter.

"We’re looking for a man by the name of Krenn," he said. "We were told he hangs out here when he’s in town."

Charlene shook her head. "Hasn’t been in yet today," she said. "But, if he’s not out in the desert, he’ll be along sooner or later."

Mildred slid onto a stool at the counter. "We might as well grab a bite to eat, Mr. Steele, while we’re waiting."

Charlene took their orders back to the kitchen and then returned to pour their coffees "Why are you looking for Krenn?" she asked.

Mildred smiled at her. "Actually we’re hoping he can help us find a missing friend," she said.

"He probably can," Charlene said, relaxing a little. "Krenn knows just about everyone around here."

"Maybe you’ve seen our friend," Remington said. He looked around the crowded diner. "It looks as if everyone who’s anyone comes in here."

Charlene grinned. "You can save the soft-soap, mister. Just tell me about your friend, if I’ve seen her I’ll tell you."

"Mildred where’s the picture?"

Mildred handed Charlene the picture.

"She’s young, about thirtyish," Remington said, "and small. She was probably dressed in riding clothes."

"I think she was in here long enough to make a telephone call last Saturday afternoon," Charlene said.

"Did she talk to anybody while she was here?" Remington asked.

"Nope, she just popped in, made a call and popped out again. I’m sorry, I didn’t see which way she went. There wasn’t anybody else in here that she’d talk to anyhow—except for LaRue’s foreman and some friend of his."

"Who’s LaRue?" asked Mildred.

Charlene made a face. "Adam LaRue. He owns a ranch near here. Now there’s a guy that gives me the creeps."

"Why?" Mildred asked.

"He struts around town like he was George Washington McClintok—only without the moral fiber—if you know what I mean."

Remington grinned. "I understand," he said.

"Well I don’t," Mildred said. "Somebody clue me in."

"A movie, Mildred, ‘McClintok,’ John Wayne, Maureen O’Hara, 1962. John Wayne played a rancher, who had more common sense in his little finger than the rest of the citizens in the town, " he explained. " Although come to think of it, he didn’t have much better luck with his woman than I do with Laura," he added.

"Oh," Mildred said.

Remington turned back to the waitress. "You say LaRue’s foreman was in here when Miss Holt was here?" he said.

"Yeah, with some rabbity guy who’s been visiting him on and off for months. But they didn’t talk to her."

Do you know where we can find this LaRue?" Mildred asked.

Charlene shook her head. "Afraid not, no. I don’t know exactly where the ranch is…."

She looked up as someone entered the diner. "…But here’s the guy you said you were looking for; I know he can help. Hey, Krenn," she called. "Come on over here, these folks need your help."

Krenn crossed the room to the counter. "Hiya, Char, what’s this about somebody needing my help?"

"Krenn, this is Mildred, and this is Mr. Steele," she said. "They’re looking for a friend of theirs who’s missing."

Krenn looked Remington over appraisingly. "So you’re Steele," he said. "It’s a pleasure to meet you. Laura told me a bit about you."

"You’ve seen her, seen Laura?" Remington asked eagerly.

"I more than just saw her," he said. "She and I struck up an acquaintance. I gave her a lift into town and dropped her off here Saturday afternoon," he said. "Don’t tell me, she’s the missing friend you’re looking for."

"I’m afraid so," Remington said.

Krenn frowned. "I’m awful sorry about that. If I’d had any idea she’d get in trouble here, I’d have stayed with her," he said. "She was hot to get back to Los Angeles so I brought her in here so she could rent a car. The last time I saw her, she was going in here to call the girlfriend she’d left at Furnace Creek."

"The only other people in here when Miss Holt was here," Charlene said, "were LaRue’s foreman and that squirt friend of his. I told Mr. Steele and Mildred that you could take them out to LaRue’s place, Krenn."

"Well I sure can," Krenn said. "Let’s get on the road."

Mildred paid the meal check and they all moved toward the door.

"Hold it, Mr. Steele," Detective James Jarvis said, from the door of the café.

"Jarvis!" Remington said.

"If you’d told me you were leaving town, Steele, it would have made my life a lot easier," he said. "I’ve been chasing all over God’s half acre trying to find you."

"What’s the news, JJ?" Mildred asked. "Have you found her? Is she—"

"No, Mildred, it’s still a missing person’s case, not a homicide. As far as I know, Miss Holt is still among the living."

He turned to Remington. "Steele what do you know about Lester Bartholomew?"

Remington shrugged. "Only that he’s one of Laura’s neighbors, whom everyone except Laura thinks of as thoroughly unlikable."

"It seems Lester Bartholomew has been a very bad boy," Jarvis said. "He’s been under investigation by the SEC for months. He’s suspected of forging stock certificates. As of two days ago, the United States Justice Department wants very much to talk to him."

"This is all very interesting Jarvis but I fail to see what any of it has to do with Miss Holt," Remington said.

"Tell me, Steele, is there any chance Laura might have gotten tired of playing detective with you and taken up with Bartholomew?"

Remington lunged menacingly at Jarvis. "Just what are you implying—"

Mildred pulled him back. "Easy, Boss."

"We got the print report on Miss Holt’s vehicle," Jarvis said. "The car and contents were covered with the prints of one Lester Bartholomew, residing at 800 Tenth Street, Apartment 2A."

"On Wednesday, he told Mrs. Wright, one of his neighbors, that he was going to New York on business. However, according to another neighbor, a Mr. Gabe Putnam, Bartholomew told him that he was going to visit friends in Death Valley."

"We checked; he didn’t go to New York. Kind of funny, Miss Holt disappearing from the same area at the same time, isn’t it."

Mildred turned on Jarvis. "JJ, have you seen Bartholomew? Miss Holt would never be interested in such a rabbity little guy."

"There’s more than one type of attraction, Mildred," Jarvis said.

"Rabbity little guy!" Remington repeated, whirling on Charlene. "Isn’t that how you described the man with LaRue’s foreman?" he asked.

She nodded. Remington spun around again to face Jarvis. "Detective Jarvis, do you have a picture of Lester?"

Jarvis pulled a photograph from his inside jacket pocket. "Of course," he said, showing it to Charlene.

"That’s him, that’s the guy who was with Moffatt, I’m positive," she said when she looked at the photograph.

"My truck’s outside, if you folks still want to take that ride out to LaRue’s ranch," Krenn said.

Remington grabbed Mildred’s hand. "What are we waiting for? Come on, Mildred," he said, following Krenn out the door.

Mildred looked back over her shoulder. "You coming or not, JJ?"

Jarvis snatched the picture of Lester off the counter, and followed Mildred on the run. "I’ll be right on your back bumper," he called as he got into his car.

Laura jerked the last of the rotting boards out of the way and used her hands to clear the accumulation of gravel and sand from the bottom of the wall.

She leaned back on her heels and studied the opening into another shaft, which had been concealed behind the tumble of boards.

"There are always possibilities, eh, Xenos?" she murmured. Then she began pulling on the criss-cross of boards that blocked the entrance to a second shaft.

Fine particles of dust rained down on her with each board she pulled away from the opening.

She worked fast, until she enlarged the opening enough to fit her small frame through it.

Cautiously she crawled up the narrow tunnel occasionally scraping her back along the roof as she moved, bringing a shower of sand and gravel down with each contact.

Half way up she stopped to catch her breath. She lay flat, coughing to clear her throat of dust and saw herself in another tunnel, breathless and close, way too close to him...

The three-car caravan left the main road and turned on to a narrower dirt road. Mildred and Remington followed Krenn’s pick up truck and Detective Jarvis brought up the rear.

"It can’t be too far now, Mr. Steele," Mildred said.

"It’s already been too far for me," Remington said. "I tell you Mildred, when we find Miss Holt, I’m never letting her go off alone again."

Mildred laughed quietly. Remington glanced at her. "I could use a laugh, Mildred. Let me in on the joke."

"I just had a picture of you trying to stop Miss Holt from doing anything she wants to do, Boss. Believe me, it isn’t that easy. Our Miss Holt can be pretty determined.

The memory of Laura, chin up and defiant, flashed in front of Remington’s eyes.

Ahead of them, Krenn signaled and pulled over.

"Heads up, Boss, it looks like he’s stopping."

Remington pulled to a stop behind Krenn; he and Mildred got out of the car.

Jarvis joined them as they walked to meet Krenn at the side of the road.

The turn off to the ranch is about half a mile up the road," Krenn said. "The house is about a hundred feet back from there. If this Bartholomew character is holding Miss Holt against her will, he’s not going to be happy to see us. I thought we ought to talk about how we’re going to approach him."

"In any case, he won’t want to see me," Jarvis said.

The angle of the incline grew steeper the farther Laura climbed and the she no longer scraped against the roof. Gradually the thick blackness thinned around her and she began to see a faint light ahead of her.

The tunnel widened. She crawled faster. Finally, she butted her head against the end of the tunnel. Scooting backward, she ran her hands over the wall in front of her.

"Eureka!"

The wall was a simple plywood panel. "This should be the proverbial piece of cake," she muttered. She scrambled around so that her feet fetched up against the panel, pulled her knees back even with her chin, and kicked forward with all the force she could muster.

On the third try, the panel fractured. Laura exhaled noisily. "One more good shove, Holt."

Her fourth kick dislodged the panel and she slid through the opening into a typical garage attached to a house.

Cautiously, she approached a door that led into a house, opened it and stepped into a small kitchen. At the doorway between the kitchen and a living room, she stopped and listened

"You promised me that nobody would be hurt, LaRue!" Lester said.

"And I’ve kept my promise, Lester. Nobody’s been hurt."

Charlie Moffatt grinned. "Yet," he said.

Lester glared at him. "What about after we’ve made the transfer?" he asked.

"Don’t worry, little man," Charlie said, "we’ll let you have a nice warm reunion with your little friend right after. What you do with the time is up to you—although I know what I’d do if I had a broad like her."

"You filthy minded—"

LaRue stepped between Lester and Charlie. "Shut up, Charlie," he said mildly.

To Lester he said, "Don’t worry Bartholomew, she’ll never know what happened to her. Another good dose of the drug and she’ll just sleep her way right into eternity."

"Wait a minute—"

LaRue dropped his relaxed manner. "You and Charlie left me no choice," he said. "The broad knows you and she saw both you and Moffatt before you got the drug into her."

Lester launched himself at LaRue. "Lester, Lester," he chided, pushing him away, "am I going to have to discipline you the way I will your girlfriend?"

Lester reached back; his hand touched the fireplace shovel; he raised it as Charlie’s right fist slammed into his jaw. He crumpled to the floor.

Charlie spun around spotting Laura. "Well, well," he said, "look who’s here."

LaRue crossed the room, grabbed Laura roughly and threw her at Charlie. "Get her out of here," he ordered.

Laura struggled with Charlie, kicking and scratching. He threw her down on the sofa and held her down. "You little hell cat!" He grinned lasciviously. "No wonder ‘ole Lester likes you!"

The doorbell’s chime cut through the noise in the room and both men froze.

LaRue recovered first. "Get her into the bedroom and keep her quiet!"

Charlie dragged Laura into the bedroom while La Rue crossed the foyer and opened the door.

"Hi!" Mildred said. "My car broke down back there," she said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the road. "Could I use your telephone to call the Auto Club?"

LaRue looked past her and saw her car, stalled in the road just beyond the entrance to his property.

LaRue frowned and shook his head. "Sorry, Lady. My mother’s in the other room—"

He paused awkwardly as a quickly muffled cry came from inside the house.

"—sick," he continued. "If you’ll excuse me, I need to go look in on her."

Before he could get the door closed, Mildred eased her way over the threshold, talking rapidly. "Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be quiet as a mouse. And quick. It’ll just take me a tic to call and then I’ll go right on out—"

LaRue backpedaled a step to avoid colliding with her as she came into the room. "Lady, I can’t have people traipsing in and out of here—"

Behind LaRue and Mildred, Lester climbed to his feet. "LaRue! That’s Holt’s secretary; I knew it, they’re on to us!"

At Lester’s warning shout, LaRue grabbed Mildred by the arm, swung her around and drew his gun.

Jarvis burst through the open front door and shoved Mildred down to the floor just as LaRue pulled the trigger; the bullet struck him in the arm and he went down.

In the bedroom Charlie pinned Laura down with his body and held a pillow over her face to muffle her cries.

The gunshot gave Laura the opening she needed, when Charlie lessened his grip on her. Reaching back blindly, her hand found a lamp on the bedside table and she brought it down on his head, hard; he went limp on top of her. She scrambled out from underneath him and ran to the window.

Opening it, she threw a leg over the sill and dropped into Remington’s arms.

"Laura!"

"Mr. Steele!"

He lowered her to the ground and enveloped her with his arms. "Thank God," he breathed. "Are you all right? His hand brushed her cheek.

Krenn spoke from the darkness. "Sorry to have to break this up," he said, "but we’ve got a problem. Miss Krebs and Jimmy went in and they haven’t come out."

Laura stared at Krenn. "Mildred is here? And Jarvis?" she asked.

Remington nodded. "Yes, they’re the diversion so that Krenn and I could get into the house and find you," he said.

Laura pulled on Remington’s arm. "Come on," she said, moving back to the window and climbing through. Remington followed. Krenn melted into the shadows as he returned to the front of the house.

Remington glanced from the bed, where Charlie lay unconscious, and Laura. He skirted the pieces of broken lamp on the floor. "Good job, Laura," he murmured.

LaRue stood over Mildred, who crouched beside JJ, with his gun drawn.

"Bartholomew, grab the wise guy here, and dump him where we had the broad. I’ll take Grandma myself.

Mildred glared up at him. "I’m not a grandma!"

Lester edged toward the door. "No! No more, LaRue. I’m not going to be involved in murder."

LaRue turned the gun on him. "You’ll do what I say unless you want to be victim number four, Bartholomew."

Lester stubbornly shook his head. "You think I haven’t figured out that you’re going to kill me anyway, LaRue?"

"Charlie! LaRue shouted, "what’s taking so long in there? Put her out of her misery, get your keester out here, and give me a hand. "

"I’m afraid Charlie is indisposed," Mr. LaRue," Laura said, stepping boldly into the room.

LaRue whirled on Laura; Remington tackled him from the side, sending his weapon flying across the room.

Both Mildred and Lester made a dive for the gun; Mildred reached it a split second sooner. Lester scrambled up and ran out the door, into the arms of Krenn.

Mildred came up from a crouch and trained the gun on LaRue, who struggled against the arm lock Remington had on him. "Freeze, Sleezeball!" she said in her best ‘Dirty Harry’ voice, "make one wrong move and I’ll air condition your colon."

Laura grimaced. "Really Mildred!"

"Sorry, Miss Holt, it’s the best I can do under pressure," she said.

Krenn moved quietly into the room and helped Remington secure LaRue and Lester.

Laura stood outside the house, watching as Mildred, driving the rental car, fell in line behind the sheriff’s cruiser and the ambulance, and drove off toward town.

Remington and Krenn came out of the house and stopped beside her; Remington pulled her close.

She looked up at the sky. "Beautiful!" she said.

Remington smiled down at her. "Absolutely, Miss Holt."

She returned his smile. "I was referring to the stars," she said.

"I wasn’t," he said.

Krenn said, "Well Laura, I guess I’ll be moving along."

Laura clasped his hand. "Thank you, Krenn. I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am for all your help."

"I didn’t do all that much," Krenn said. "It was your people who called the turn."

Laura glanced at Remington. "You did much more than you’ll ever know," she said.

Krenn's gaze flickered to Remington and then back to Laura. "From what I’ve seen tonight," he said, "this one is definitely high-grade ore."

He tipped his hat to Remington, turned quietly and moved across the yard. Moments later they heard his pick up truck moving down the road.

Remington pulled Laura into an embrace. "What was that about, Miss Holt?"

Laura tilted her face up to his. "Oh, just a little prospector talk," she whispered. "He taught me how to find the most valuable ore."

"Did he, now," Remington said, his voice husky with emotion. "Perhaps you and I should go prospecting together."

"Oh, most definitely, Mr. Steele," she said, touching her lips to his.

Remington glanced at his wristwatch as he entered the Rodeo Drive jeweler’s shop. "Three-thirty," he murmured, "plenty of time to spare. Laura’s not arriving until six o’clock."

Immediately a salesperson stepped forward to greet him. "Good afternoon, Sir. Welcome to David Orgell’s. What may I show you?"

Remington stepped quickly out on to the sidewalk, checking his wristwatch again. "Four forty-five he said. He patted the small bulge in his suit coat and walked briskly down the street, a contented smile on his face.

 Epilogue

Thursday Night January 23, 1986

"…Do you have any idea how much I missed you in the last few days?" Remington asked.
Laura noted the intensity in his voice. Keep it light, she cautioned herself.

"I think I do. I had a lot of time to think while I was shut up in that mine shaft, you know. I missed you more than I expected to; in fact, I even decided that I missed your movie quotes. Do you know that you didn’t have one for poor Lester and his band of thugs? You’re slipping Mr. Steele." She shot him a look of pure challenge.

Remington sighed. So the lady wants to play; all right, we’ll play, he thought. A movie quote for Lester…" He brightened. "Kidnapped! MGM…"

Laura waved her hand dismissively. "Oh no, Mr. Steele! That’s too easy."

Remington trapped her hand tightly between his. "Hmm, don’t like that one eh?"

Laura tugged, trying to pull her hand out of his grasp.

"Wait Laura, be still now; this next one requires a little atmosphere. ‘ A Wedding’, Carol Burnett, Desi Arnaz Jr., Robert Altman, 1979."

Laura smiled wickedly. "Very nice, Mr. Steele, but what has that to do with Lester and Company?"

Remington sighed. "With Lester, nothing; I did hope that you would see something in it for yourself, however."

Laura frowned at him and said nothing.

He sighed again and muttered softly, "She’s the smartest—-the best—-Private Investigator in the business, able to solve any puzzle, grasp the tiniest nuance in a flash, and yet I offer her a proposal of marriage and she misses it completely."

Laura sat bolt upright. "What did you say?"

Remington stood and pulled her to her feet. In a daze, she allowed him to lead her to the sofa, where he gently shoved her down.

Dropping to one knee in front of Laura he said, "Laura Katherine Holt will you do me the honor of becoming my partner in life…my wife?"

Laura’s mouth dropped open and closed abruptly. She sucked in a large breath, and tried to still the tremor in her body.

"Mr. Steele!"

Remington’s voice was soft. "Laura?"

Laura’s response was softer still. "Yes, Mr. Steele, Remington, I will."

"Laura would you repeat that?" Remington asked.

This time Laura’s voice was strong and clear. "Yes, Remington I will marry you."

The End.