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Morning processions from the parking ramp to the office often took twenty minutes, now that Katherine Laura Steele decided she'd rather walk than be carried. Her father, Remington Steele, was sometimes frustrated by his three-year-old daughter's pigheaded insistence on being a big girl. Most of the time, however, he was delighted to show off Katie Laura's motor skills to the citizens of Los Angeles.

Today, even though they were late (and likely to catch the very devil from Laura), Steele carefully set his daughter upon her feet on the pavement of the parking structure, slung a large leather tote of toys and clothing over his shoulder, locked the Auburn and guided Katie to the elevator. Inside the car, the knee of his left trouser leg got prematurely wrinkled as Katie clutched him and her stuffed Ewok Boo-Boo on the trip down five floors to the street. She didn't quite like elevators yet.

Midmorning foot traffic was moderately heavy, but Katie and her father had no problem cutting a wide swath of clear space as they advanced along the block. Steele made sure Katie kept to his right, away from any potential bumps and knockdowns from oncoming pedestrians.

As they neared the entrance to Century Park Towers, Steele noticed a sleek, gray limousine parked illegally at the curb, with a gray-suited, husky man lounging against it. He dismissed it as the transportation of a visiting dignitary -- until the lounger turned his head, caught Steele's eye, and immediately levered himself upright. As the man began to walk toward them, he reached down. "Katie," he said in a firm, brooking-no-nonsense tone, "hand."

Obediently, Katie reached up to clutch a finger. Steele curved his hand protectively around the little one as the stranger approached.

Fifteen feet from the office tower doors he stopped. "Mr. Steele," he stated confidently."

"Yes?"

"Come with me," he ordered.

Steele stared at the other fellow for a moment, trying to gauge his intentions. "Why don't you come with me to the of..."

"Come, Mr. Steele. Now." The threat in his voice was evident even to Katie, who clutched tighter at the finger she held. He ran his thumb comfortingly across her soft baby skin.

"Let me at least take my daughter up to..."

"Bring her along." He brushed his coat from his body, allowing Steele a quick glimpse of a gun at the hip.

He picked Katie up in his arms. She clung to him, her face buried in his neck. "I'd really rather..."

"Now." The stranger moved to the limo door, threw it open and gestured for Steele to enter. Holding Katie tightly to him, he bent and swung into the car. The man got in across from him, and the limo drove off.

"Care to tell me what this is all about?" He forced his voice to stay casual in order not to scare Katie further.

"No."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"Who do you work for?"

"Enough questions." The man drew his gun, and rested it on his thigh.

Steele stroked Katie's hair comfortingly as the ride went on. After a time she slid down, her face pressed against his suit jacket. Normally a curious child, this time she was not interested in her surroundings, content to stay curled up in his lap.

The limo finally entered a gate-barred driveway, and made its serpentine way to a tree-shrouded mansion. Steele was gestured to, and with Katie in his arms, he slipped out of the vehicle to a sidewalk. He was led into the edifice, down a corridor maze to a large, wood-paneled room. A tall, gray-haired man with a grim smile on his face was standing beside a large leather wing chair. "Mr. Steele. Welcome."

Steele recognized his host. "Carson Moore. I hope you have a very good reason for abducting me."

"I do, Mr. Steele. Please, sit." He indicated an identical wing chair on the other side of a small table. Steele sat, cradling Katie in his arms.

"George, take the child out for m..."

"She stays," he growled, hugging Katie even closer. She whimpered, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her face against his shoulder. Moore waved his hand, and Steele sensed the flunky behind him departing.

"Now, Mr. Steele," Moore began, "I've heard you are a resourceful man. I will pay you fifty thousand dollars to return something to me that was stolen from my private collection."

It seemed a simple request. He shrugged. "Easily handled, I'm certain. Why this elaborate game to get me here?"

"The sculpture is Rodin's Lady By A Stream."

Steele blinked. "There is no such piece."

Moore smiled. "There most certainly is. Uncatalogued, to be sure, but in existence and verified by experts. Of course, only a handful of individuals know about it. I try to keep that number very, very small."

Steele suppressed a flinch at the menace in the voice and forced himself not to squeeze the breath from his daughter's body. "What makes you think I can find it?"

"As I said, Mr. Steele, you are a very resourceful man. You have an unparalleled track record. Impeccable... credentials."

"But I've never seen the piece."

"I have a photograph." Moore reached inside his jacket and withdrew the picture. He handed it to Steele. Katie clung tighter as he leaned forward to accept it. The bronze sculpture in the small color photo did bear a similarity to Rodin's style -- a woman, draped in soft cloth folds and a long fall of hair, bent down to a stream, one hand dropped into the water. It looked to be no more than eighteen inches tall, barely twelve at the base. "It could be a Rodin..."

"It is."

Steele began to pocket the photo. Moore practically leaped at him to snatch it out of his hand. "No. This is the sole record of its existence. It remains in my possession."

"Then how am I supposed to go about locating it, Mr. Moore?" he inquired.

"You will find a way." Moore resumed his seat, slipping the picture into his jacket. "You now know of its existence and its appearance -- your continued good health, and that of your family's, should be of paramount importance to you, since they hinge upon your success."

Steele's throat went dry. Even three cautious swallows could not erase the fear lodged there. "You set me at an impossible task, Mr. Moore. What if I... fail to recover the sculpture, despite my best efforts?"

"You mustn't fail, Mr. Steele. After all, you do enjoy your responsibilities as a parent, don't you?"

A chill ran up his spine. But he was not about to let the threat go unchallenged. "Very much so. In return, Mr. Moore, let me say that should anything -- anything at all -- happen to my family, you will rue the moment you decided to bring me here."

Moore laughed heartily. "A noble threat, Mr. Steele."

"Easily substantiated. Please feel free to make inquiries about one Barnard Astin." When he did -- and Steele was sure of that -- he would find the man in a prison hospital, permanently confined to a wheelchair. Steele had felt no remorse about putting him there; he had been a child molester, and had nearly taken Katie six months ago.

Moore nodded. "And now, Mr. Steele, let me return you and your little girl to your lives."

Steele was on his feet in a second, hoisting the totebag and Katie in the same motion. He sent Moore a warning look that would have cut to ribbons had it been a knife, turned on his heels, and walked away. The two thug-attendants in the hall led him back through the corridors to the limo. This time, thankfully, he and a disturbingly still Katie rode alone.

Laura Holt could her the rustle of movement and a low, undertone male murmur in the office next to hers, then the sound continued on to the next room over. They had installed a special intercom when they moved into their redesigned space on the eighth floor, more to hear any of Katie's cries in the playroom off of Remington Steele's luxurious main office than to keep track of Steele's comings and goings. But it worked for both functions.

She waited for her husband to settle in so she could give him a proper tongue-lashing for missing two appointments and disrupting Katie's usual morning routines, something he did quite often. But as the soft swish of the wooden rocker in the playroom came over the speaker, Laura pushed her pregnancy-bulged body out of her chair and crossed through Steele's office to the adjoining room.

Steele was seated in the rocker, Katie unusually quiet in his lap. The little girl had one arm around her stuffed animal, an Ewok sent especially to her from its creator, George Lucas, and her right thumb planted firmly in her mouth. As Laura came to a halt in mid-room, the child looked up at her with wide, Steele-blue eyes, then turned her head back to the chest upon which it had rested.

Laura met Steele's gaze across the few feet between them. He had a frown on his face, and a disturbing darkness in his eyes. "What happened?" she demanded. "Is Katie sick?"

"No." His hand stroked his daughter's dark hair once. "Just frightened."

A dozen things ran through her mind at once. Weak-kneed, she reached for a table to lean on. "Was there a car accident?"

"No. We were stopped at the entrance this morning by a gentleman who insisted we go with him. Isn't that right, Sweetling?" He kissed the top of Katie's head. "So we went."

"Where did you go? Is that why you're so late?" Laura asked, her voice held carefully calm, but her eyes wide with alarm.

"Well, we were late coming. There were some great cartoons... But anyway, it seems that Carson Moore wishes me to undertake a job for him."

Laura was surprised. "Carson Moore? Mr. Takeover?"

"The very same. He's missing a sculpture and wants me to recover it."

"So?"

"It's Rodin's Lady By A Stream."

"And?"

"According to the experts, it doesn't exist."

Laura couldn't help but laugh. "Then how are you supposed to find it?"

"Because it does exist. It's not catalogued, but Moore says it has been substantiated as authentic. I've seen a picture of it. It appears to be Rodin's style." He paused, looking down at the child in his arms. "And if I don't find it," he continued slowly, "there will be... repercussions."

A sick feeling overwhelmed her, and the growing baby in her womb kicked in response. "Katie?" she whispered.

"Not directly. My family in general. But I think Katie understood more than I would have wished. Or maybe it was the general air of menace. Either way, it frightened her."

I'm frightened, too, she thought. "What should we do?" she ventured.

"I can't refuse the case, if we can call it that. I'd like to send you and Katie to Connecticut. Your mother would love to see the two of you..."

"I'm not going. I want to help..."

"The best help would be to stay safe and out of his reach."

"What makes you think he won't be able to find us in Connecticut?" she returned.

The rocker stopped abruptly. He looked up at her. "I suppose you're right. And I'd much rather have you both close by. I certainly don't want to watch 'Inspector Gadget' without my best little lap-warmer." His long fingers burrowed into Katie's coveralls, causing a smile and a slight giggle as she squirmed to get out of tickling range.

"What's our alternative? Bodyguards?"

"I suppose so." He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I wish there were another way?"

"Can we try reverse blackmail?"

He shrugged. "Definitely worth a shot. I'll set Mildred on that while I'm trying to find the Rodin. But unless she comes up with something immediately, you both would be in jeopardy. Moore will act quickly if I don't get results in the next few days. I still opt for bodyguards."

"I'll call Haldane Personal Security and get some big, burly guys."

"No Mr. T's, please. I don't want anyone who would squash Katie accidentally." He tickled the girl in his arms again. "Squish, squish! Turn you into a pancake!"

The two laughed, enclosed for a moment in their own private world. Laura smiled, proud and jealous both. It was no secret that Remington Steele thought the sun rose and set expressly for the enjoyment of his daughter, and he obviously was everything to her. But she had her own special times with Katie, away from her doting father, and she delighted in observing these occasions when her husband let all his guards down for the three-year old.

"Mama, Mama!" Katie half-laughed, half-squealed, holding out her arms and letting her stuffed animal fall to the floor. Laura swooped in and scooped her into her arms, arranging the little girl over her rounded stomach.

"You dropped Boo-Boo," Steele accused sternly, picking up the toy and settling it on his lap. He bent his head, pretending to listen to the stuffed animal, then looked askance at Katie. "He's upset with you."

Katie looked at her mother with wide, astonished eyes, then turned her head back to her father and stuck her thumb in her mouth again. After a minute's worth of a stare-down between the two, Katie rested her head on Laura's shoulder.

Steele smiled at them. "I'll have a talk with Boo-Boo and see if we can get this straightened out, man to Ewok. Okay?"

Katie nodded, her dark hair brushing Laura's chin. "Hey, pumpkin," Laura murmured in the little girl's ear, "I think it's just about lunchtime. Are you hungry?"

She straightened and, nodding, said, "Yesss," around the thumb in her mouth.

Steele rose. "I think that's a marvelous idea. Where shall we go? How about Andre's? Some nice soup..."

"Chickie nuggets," Katie stated quietly but firmly.

Laura and Steele stared at one another, she with face reddening, he astonished. "What was that, Katie?" he asked, gently prying her hand away.

"Want chickie nuggets," she repeated, and pulled the thumb back where it had been.

His eyebrows rose in mute question to Laura. She returned the scathing look defiantly. "Yes," she confessed, "Katie and I have been to MacDonald's." She knew he hated fast food havens, insisting on wholesome, nourishing food for Katie; no child of his would be a junk food junkie. Eating out meant going to a good restaurant for "decent food." But Laura enjoyed fast food in its place. Whenever they could the two of them would sneak off, and Katie had taken a special liking to MacDonald's.

After an appropriate amount of scrutiny, Steele focused again on Katie. He smiled. "Come now, Katie, you'd rather sit and talk with Claude, wouldn't you? He'll make you your favorite banana sundae..."

Laura watched with a smile as the expression on Steele's face faded to that of a silent plea. She knew what he was seeing on his daughter's face: that wide-eyed, innocent, apologetic look, the soulful gaze intense enough to melt carbon steel -- or a father with the same last name. It never failed.

"All right, Sweetling," he relented, touching her nose with his finger. "Chickie nuggets it is."

"Yay!" Katie cried, and threw her arms out to him. Laura gratefully gave up the burden.

He got another giggle with a once-over tickling, then exchanged a mock-severe glance with Laura. "But if Katie grows up to be a fat little Ewok, I shall never forgive you," he threatened sternly.

"Can't be Ewok," Katie protested. "I'm people!"

"Ah-ah, you remember when we watched Cinderella and the fairy godmother turned the wicked stepmother and the bad stepsisters into rabbits? Well, what if somebody's fairy godmother turns you into an Ewok?"

"I'm not bad." The thumb went back into her mouth, its resting place when she was angry, upset or uncertain.

"Who didn't want to eat her Cream of Wheat this morning? Hmmm? I think it's somebody I know..."

The two moved out of the playroom. Laura gazed after them, hanging onto the warm, carefree feeling she had, knowing that before long the tension and fear would creep in.

"Mama??!!" came a blend of voices from the outer office.

"Coming."

* * *

Steele glanced around. A dozen men were scattered amid the post-supper clutter of the dingy basement room, staring expectantly at him. They were some of his key street contacts, with information networks broader than Mildred's computer links. He was hinging his success of this "enforced" assignment upon them.

In their midst Laura sat, an overcoat draping her shoulders and a worn blanket on her legs, clutching a carton of milk and an apple. His "lady" had been treated like royalty, given the most comfortable seat in the room and supplied with a chef salad for supper rather than the cardboard-consistency sandwiches and styrofoam cups of broth the men ate. Even so, she seemed decidedly uncertain and uncomfortable.

His eyes swept the group again before he began to explain. "Down to business, chaps. I'm looking for a sculpture." There were a few chuckles over that. "I know, it's not the usual street haul. But this is museum stuff."

"Ain't no museum been hit lately, Rem," protested a seedy-looking older man near Laura's elbow.

"I wasn't taken from a museum, Jack. It's a piece that could be there -- or, rather, should be there."

At that, a murmur of understanding sounded around the room. They were all familiar with private collections.

"It was stolen from Carson Moore." Another wave of murmurs; obviously he was known, too. "Bronze, about a foot and a half tall, the base a foot wide. A lady with long hair, dipping her hand into a pool of water."

"She look like your gal, Rem?" a young-faced thin fellow inquired.

"Well, no, Weasel, she's not pregnant." There were laughs around the room, and even Laura smiled, though tentatively. She's really... kind of... slim." His hands moved, brushing over the imagined statue, his mind projected to a spot in front of him. Finally he threw them up in disgust. "Anybody have paper and pencil?"

Three people left. A few minutes later he had an artist's sketchbook and a soft lead pencil in his hands. "Perfect!" He started the outline strokes as he spoke. "Where did you pull this out of?"

"We know you c'n use that good eye to draw us what you want," Jack commented, leaning over his shoulder to observe. "You shoulda been a forger, Rem."

His hand hesitated, the pencil point hovering above the detail of the face. He had been a forger, paintings and documents alike. He still did the odd signature, when Billy-the-Scribe was having a bad day, but Laura didn't -- and wouldn't ever -- know. "Sure, Jack," he tried to brush off the comment, filling in the statue's face, "Van Goghs on demand, eh?"

"You coulda been a expert," Jack insisted.

"Could've been caught by the police."

"Not him."

Laura's voice startled him, and he glanced up at her, surprised. The others chuckled as she smiled innocently and sipped at her milk. "Thank you for that vote of confidence, my dear," he said, returning to the sketch.

Quickly he finished the detailing, a shadow here, a rough patch there, a stronger outline. He held it at arm's length, appraising his success. Well, it seemed as close to what he remembered. He handed it to Jack. "Here she is, mates -- the missing lady. Whoever comes up with the lead to her gets the finder's fee Moore is payin'. Fifty G's."

The room exploded in sound. Laura frowned at him, and he shook his head at her. Moore's fee amounted to blood money, a token reward for following orders and not letting the threat to his family deter him. He didn't want the job; didn't want the fee. But if he did find the piece, it would be because of these men, and he owed them more than money.

"What if we can't get you a hook, Rem?"

He rubbed his jaw, trying to explain the implied threat. "If Moore doesn't get his lady back, he's going to try and take mine from me." He allowed the words time to register; from the lack of sound, they did. "So give me your best shot. That's all I can ask."

Again his eyes scanned the room. He sensed the electric excitement of the occupants, the money's lure adding to the spice of the hunt. Jack announced that he'd get Xeroxes of the drawing right away, and left. The others began talking among themselves. Through the low murmur Steele gestured to a nondescript man lounging in a corner, who then sauntered over to him. "Willy, I've got a special favor to ask you," he began.

Willy withdrew a cigarette from a pack and began tapping it. "Shoot."

"Would you get some of your shadows to tail my wife and child for me?"

The cigarette disappeared in a sleight-of-hand magic trick, then reappeared, lit. "I thought Haldane's bodyguards were supposed to be your protection."

"I'm hoping they'll do the job. But if Moore is a bit too ingenious, I'd like to make sure the proper... action is taken against those directly responsible."

The smoke of the untouched cigarette curled upward in front of Willy's face. "Hardball's not your usual style, Rem."

"I don't take kindly to threats against my family."

"Gotcha." Willy finally put the cigarette in his mouth. "It may cost."

"Set your price."

Willy nodded, then moved away. Steele sighed. The price could be money -- or trade.

"Board meeting breaking up, mister chairman?" Laura was in front of him, her fingers gliding through his hair.

"Our part in it, anyway." He got to his feet.

"This was quite a cast of... characters."

"Some of L.A.'s finest."

"Finest what?" She held up a hand. "No, don't tell me. I don't want to know."

"I wasn't about to."

He helped her up the stairs and out to the alley, where the Auburn sat unmolested. He knew Laura was surprised at that, but he refrained from commenting as she seated herself on the passenger side. The ride home was uneventful, staying within the boundaries of small talk. By silent mutual consent, they did not talk about the Rodin.

A newly-hired guard opened the driveway gate of their grounds. A second sentry was at the doorway to greet them. "Mr. Steele," he said, "Miss Parks wants to see you and Miss Holt in the nursery." Exchanging a worried look, they hurried up the stairs.

In the playroom they found Margaret Parks, Katie's "nanny," jerkily knitting and rocking in the old bentwood rocking chair. Although only in her mid-twenties, she had the calm, authoritative countenance of a woman twice her age. She was able to keep a balance between buddy and surrogate parent with Katie, and the child adored her almost as much as her parents. Steele was more than a little nervous at the woman's disturbed demeanor. "Maggie?" he ventured.

Her head snapped up, surprised. Relief flooded her pretty face and she set her knitting aside and rose. "Katie needs to see you both."

"What? Why?"

"She's been having nightmares." She led them across the nursery to the cracked-open doorway leading to Katie's bedroom. "She sees bad men taking you both away, and you're never coming back, she says."

He could barely contain his sudden rage. "God damn Carson Moore!" he hissed. Laura slid a calming hand along his arm.

As Maggie fully entered the dimly lit room, he heard, "Daddy?"

"I'm here, Katie Laura." He moved around Maggie to Katie's bed. The child was already scrambling out from beneath the covers, a stuffed elephant in tow. He scooped her up into his arms and gently returned her fierce hug.

"What's wrong, pumpkin?" Laura asked.

Katie switched her hugging need from father to mother. Steele gave her up to Laura's hold, and mother and daughter sat down on the small child's bed. He crouched down in front of them. "Maggie says you've been having bad dreams," he prompted.

Katie was standing on Laura's thigh, pressing her small body against her mother's. She switched her hold on the elephant's trunk to her right hand, and her left thumb found its way to her mouth. "Yessssss," she mumbled.

"You want to tell us about it, Sweetling?"

She sniffed once, twice, then her eyes filled with tears and she buried her face in Laura's shoulder. "It's all right, Katie, it's all right," Laura comforted the sobbing child.

After a while Katie quieted. "Katie," Laura began quietly, "your daddy would never let anyone take him away from you." The little girl rubbed her cheek against the shoulder in response. "And you know I never go with anyone unless it's Daddy or Fred."

"We'll always be here with you." Steele caught the frown of reproof from Laura, who never liked him making impossible promises. "We'll never go away and leave you." He took the elephant from Katie's grasp, replacing its trunk with his finger. She clung to it just as tightly. The intensity of her hold stirred new anger in him, at Carson Moore; and correspondingly, fear that Moore would make good on this threat. He threw his arms around the two of them and held them awkwardly close. His lips touched Katie's head, then Laura's cheek, in turn.

When Katie started to squirm, he pulled back. "How would you like to sleep with us tonight, Sweetling?" he suggested, gently patting her behind.

"Yah."

Steele frowned. Katie's answer was too quiet. "And we'll have hot chocolate milk," he went on, reaching to draw her to his own knee, "and cookies and stories. How about that?"

"Yah!" He was rewarded with a sloppy wet kiss on his cheek.

"Yeah," Laura echoed, and gave him a much neater peck.

"Good. You and Mommy get settled in and I'll go get it all ready."

"I'll give you a hand, Mr. Steele."

He passed Katie and her elephant to Laura, and went with Maggie downstairs to the kitchen. In twenty minutes they had warm milk and fresh chocolate chip cookies on a tray. He left Maggie behind with her own supply to finish before going to her suite of rooms off the main section of the house.

At the bedroom he was greeted with cheers as he strolled over to a small table and deposited the tray of goodies. When he turned to face them he was struck hard by the poignant portrait they made -- mother and daughter in their white nightgowns, propped up against the headboard with the comforter over their legs, watching him with a mix of expectant curiosity. Laura had one arm around Katie to hold the small storybook in front of them both, and the little girl was leaning her head onto her mother's bulging stomach. He stared, trying to memorize the sight so that he could pull it out later and sketch it in pastels.

Laura leaned down to Katie, breaking the mood. "I'll bet Daddy ate all the cookies, and doesn't want to tell us," she whispered in a tone just loud enough for him to hear.

Katie straightened. "Daddy!" she cried indignantly.

"No, no, no, I was just... only... " He spun back to the tray, snatching it from the table and marched over to the bed. "Look. Full dozen. And they're still warm." He handed Katie a cookie. She grabbed it and happily munched away. He exchanged a questioning look with Laura. "Recovered?" he asked cryptically.

"I think so," she replied softly.

"Want chok'late milk," Katie announced.

Steele handed mugs to the two females, kicked off his shoes and joined them cross-legged on the bed. "What's Mommy reading to us, Sweetling?" he asked, reaching for his mug.

"Vavateen rabbit," Katie answered on a quick surfacing from her milk.

"Ah, The Velveteen Rabbit. Mommy, do continue."

Laura picked up the story where she had left off. Within a few pages, Katie had relinquished her half-empty mug to her father and was snuggling close to her mother. By the climax, she was fast asleep. Laura halted when she realized her intended audience had wandered to other lands. "I should turn in early, too." Her finger gently brushing Katie's cheek.

"Finish the story first," he requested.

"What?"

"Finish it."

"Why?"

He smiled. "I'm waiting for the ending."

To his delight, she became flustered. "Oh, honestly..." She opened the book again. "I swear, you're more of a child than Katie sometimes, Mr. Steele."

"It's the mother in you, Miss Holt."

With a sigh, she began to read again. He picked up the mugs, set them on the tray, then carried it back to the table. When Laura was through she gave him the book. He set it aside and helped arrange Katie onto a pillow. They took turns kissing the child's cheek, then shared a kiss of longer duration above her. Laura whispered good night and settled into bed beside Katie.

He showered, spending ten minutes with the hot-water massaging his tensed muscles, and put on his pajama bottoms. Before getting into bed, he paused once more at the foot of it, staring hard at its occupants. He hated that one man was so dramatically disrupting their lives, bringing fear to the two people most precious to him.

An old gypsy curse floated up out of his past. He turned in the general direction of Moore's security-fortified estate and whispered it fiercely, adding a special twist. Feeling better, he joined Katie and Laura in bed.

* * *

The next few days kept Remington away nearly all the time. Just when Laura was getting used to having the run of the bed, Steele returned to it. She found out abruptly one morning a week after Moore's ultimatum, as she rolled over onto her side and bumped into his body. She hadn't been getting much good sleep, what with worry over his and Katie's welfare. Now she was annoyed that he'd come home and blissfully gone to sleep as if nothing was wrong. She pinched his thigh, and when he yelped and rolled over -- practically onto her -- she growled, "Good morning, Mr. Steele."

He didn't answer for a long moment, and she knew he was in a bad mood, too. "Good morning," he returned through clenched teeth, "Miss Holt."

Face to face they glared at each other. But, as usual, his angry blue eyes changed emotion with quicksilver grace to desirous blue, and he leaned toward her for a kiss. She sighed as their lips parted. "I wish you'd let me know when you plan on coming in. I never know when you've come and gone."

"Well, if I knew where I was headed on these summonses, I'd certainly let you know." He darted forward for another hasty kiss. "I didn't have the heart to wake you when I got in. Even though you were floatin' all over the bloody mattress and didn't give me a corner to call my own." He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry." She stroked his arm. "Any luck?"

"Nothing yet. But I haven't heard from Willy. He may have the connection I need."

"Where were you last night?"

He sighed. "San Diego."

"San Diego??"

"Marconi heard that something had been smuggled out of the country nine... ten days ago. The route went through San Diego and points south. It wasn't our lady, though -- computer research." He faced her and pulled the comforter back up to his chin. "I passed the information on to the FBI and came home."

"Does Moore know?"

"I left a note with the tail I lost. He came back to the house here after he slipped up." He chuckled. "I'm sure Moore will have a word or two with him." He burrowed further under the covers and sighed with contentment. "See you later this afternoon at the office."

Laura glared at his resting form and almost whacked him for good measure. But then she heard the patter of slippers down the hall. "Mr. Steele," she purred in his ear, "your Eight O'Clock wake-up call is here."

The bedroom door cracked open. "Daddy?"

One blue eye balefully looked up at Laura. If Katie hadn't seen her father the night before, she made sure he was home when she woke up in the morning. Her father hated losing his sleep, but he could not dissuade Katie from her paranoia, and neither could Laura.

Steele threw the covers from his shoulders. "I'm here, Katie Laura."

Katie came rushing to the bed for her kiss, then climbed onto the mattress and him.

"Where's Maggie?" Laura asked.

"Makin' b'kfast."

"Oh, good! I haven't had breakfast yet, have you?" She started to lift Katie from Steele's chest. "Let's go see what she's cooking."

"No!" Katie wriggled out of her grasp and fell forward onto Steele's chest. He kissed her before she could start to cry, then enfolded her in his arms and gently pulled her to his side.

"Mommy," he said, his eyes on Katie, "you go ahead and get ready to go into the office. Katie'll stay here and keep me company for a while, won't you, Sweetling?"

"Yah." Katie stuck her thumb in her mouth and snuggled close to Steele's chest. Laura wished she could have taken Katie's place. Instead she tugged the comforter up around the two of them.

"You be good now, pumpkin," she cautioned Katie, tugging the child's thumb-sucking hand. "Daddy needs to sleep."

"Mm-hmm."

"Katie Laura is always good," Steele murmured, and closed his eyes. Katie wriggled beside him, giggled then, after a glance at Laura's stern visage, tucked her head against his shoulder and closed her own eyes.

Laura was in much better humor as she showered and dressed. Before she left the bedroom she bent over her loved ones and kissed each in turn. Katie, dozing again, stopped sucking her thumb at the intruding kiss. Steele opened one bleary eye and mouthed "Have a good day" before rejoining his daughter in slumber.

In the kitchen, Maggie left her coffee cup at her place to remove a plate with two small waffles on it from the oven. She set it before Laura at the breakfast bar. "Here. I thought Katie would come down with you, so I already made her baby waffles."

Laura lifted herself slowly onto the stool. "No chance. Her father had her under the covers before I could hustle her away. She's dozing now."

"She'll be down in a little while. She slept pretty well last night. I didn't hear a peep over the intercom."

Laura smiled. "Good. Now if we can only cure her paranoia."

"When this case Mr. Steele is working on is over, she'll be fine."

Their conversation turned to the day's activities. Just as Laura checked the clock, a man entered the kitchen. "Miss Holt -- ready to head out?"

"Right on time, Mr. Schwietz, as usual. Care for some waffles?"

"I've already eaten, thank you, ma'am."

Schwietz, her bodyguard, stood well over six feet and should have been a linebacker for the Raiders. His kindly face belied ten years experience, and his skills included black belts in three different martial arts, knife-wielding, and guns. A companion with similar skills accompanied Katie as well.

Schwietz helped Laura gather her short coat and briefcase, and ushered her out to a waiting car. On the way to the Agency she reviewed the notes on a case their college intern was involved in, making suggestions for further investigation. She put everything away as they pulled into the parking garage.

Schwietz was as much a conversationalist as Fred, speaking little on the trips to and from the office. His attentions, Laura had noticed, were on their surroundings, constantly vigilant for things and people out of place. As on the other days, he walked around the car to her door and opened it a crack, then waited, shielding the door with his body. After a pause, he helped her out and provided a close escort to the elevator.

As the doors slid closed, Laura saw two men appear separately near their car. "Schwietz..."

"I saw them, Miss Holt. Stay behind me."

Laura moved into position behind the man, watching him press the button. The elevator glided smoothly downward -- too smoothly. As it went past the ground floor and dropped further, she saw Schwietz bring his gun out into the open.

At the lowest underground level, the elevator stopped. It's door slid open, then all the indicators went blank. Schwietz motioned her back and to the side as he took a step forward, gun in hand.

She heard hurrying footsteps. Schwietz raised his gun to shoot. The elevator exploded with sound, a loud rapport that left her ears ringing. Like something out of a movie, Schwietz was lifted up off his feet and back against the wall, then to the ground. He lay unmoving. Laura stared numbly at the body as she pressed herself against the wall.

Two business-suited men entered the car. One took her wrist and produced a hypodermic. "Come with us quietly," he instructed, his voice unruffled but shaded with menace, "or we'll sedate you. However, I can't guarantee it won't harm your unborn child."

Fear blocked her throat. She found it difficult to swallow. "What do you think you're doing?" she challenged.

"Putting you in safekeeping until the situation is resolved." Holding the hypodermic in front of her face, he pulled her forward gently. His fellow abductor not so gently took her other arm.

She provided token resistance as they put her into a gray automobile, the hypodermic-wielder in the back with her. "Carson Moore won't get away with this," she announced.

"He already has," replied her escort.

"Mr. Steele will..."

"Try to penetrate our security? Impossible. Nothing comes in or out of the estate without our knowing."

"Not even a Rodin?"

The man scowled and shook her wrist and the hypodermic. "Enough talk, Miss Holt. We were told to bring you under any method necessary."

Laura settled nervously in her seat. She knew she was being taken to Carson Moore, in essence kidnapped in return for the Rodin. But Steele had said only that morning that he'd had no further leads to its whereabouts. What if he never found it? Was Moore perverse enough to keep her captive... forever? Certainly the thrill would pall after a month or two... or three, when her second child would be born. She slid her hand over the swell of her abdomen. Beneath her palm the baby fluttered.

"Are you all right?" her escort snapped nervously.

"I'm fine." What if she did have the baby early? "I hope Mr. Moore is prepared for the possibility of childbirth."

"We're ready for any contingency."

Any contingency. She wondered if that included Remington Steele's wrath.

The Moore estate was familiar to her thanks to Mildred's homework for Haldane and Steele. She could probably even tour the house herself and know every room. She wondered where she'd be kept -- in the back guest house? In the mansion itself? Or was this merely a stop on the way to one of Moore's island holdings out of the country?

There had been only one "guard" at the entrance gate, another at the house portal. She was escorted to an elevator that took her to the third floor. If memory served her correctly, there was a guest suite down the corridor... It was to that door she was led.

Inside, a sitting room in comfortable earth-tones was well-appointed with easy chairs and sofa, a padded rocker near a full bookshelf, a small oak dining table with two armless chairs, and a complete home modern home entertainment system. A door to the right hid what she knew to be a bathroom with bath/dressing room attached.

After her perusal of the room, she settled her gaze on the person leaning on the back of the easy chairs. Carson Moore's face was alight, his eyes intense. "Welcome to your... 'home away from home,' Mrs. Steele -- oh, wait," he forestalled her angry correction, "that's right, you prefer Miss Holt."

"This is kidnapping, Mr. Moore. It is a felony offense."

"Who's going to charge me? You? Mr. Steele? Would the police believe such a preposterous charge? I have no motive."

"The statue..."

"Does not exist. And, well, I've never met Remington Steele, now, have I?"

He was right. She was seething. He came forward to guide her to an easy chair. "Miss Holt, please, sit down. You're here for one reason -- to spur your husband to a more intense hunt for the featured piece in my collection."

"He's doing all he can."

"And now he'll do more." As Laura watched from the chair, he toured the room. "To keep you busy, we have stereo television hooked into a full cable range, and a selection of music for the CD player and videocassettes for the VCR. The bookshelf has the most current fiction and nonfiction titles. In this cabinet are cards, jigsaw puzzles and some games. I'll be more than happy to provide players for Monopoly or," he smiled, "Clue."

"Someone will be bringing up regular meals. You'll receive a menu each morning at breakfast. If you want to make a change, or have a particular craving, you may contact my assistant on the telephone. It's inter-office only. It's not an outside line."

"The refrigerator is stocked with appropriate snacks and beverages befitting your condition. Again, if you'd like something else, contact my assistant. He is at your beck and call."

Moore sauntered to a window. "There is clothing for you in the closet and dresser in the bedroom. I hope you approve of the selection." He smiled again at her. "We are well prepared for your stay. Though I can see you are entertaining other thoughts, let me warn you, the door will be locked at all times, electronically, from the outside. And these windows..." He drew the drapes aside to reveal the white cast iron scrollwork over them. "Besides this," he touched the bars, "the glass has a wire mesh in it carrying a high voltage charge. Not very good for your baby, Miss Holt, now, is it?"

Laura tried to hold her anger and frustration in check. "You're making a grave mistake, Moore."

"I may be. But I want my statue returned, and I want it immediately. And Remington Steele had better concentrate his efforts in finding it, or he's going to be missing the featured piece in his collection."

Moore moved to stand behind her chair. "There are no cameras or bugs here. The only contact we'll have with you -- and you with us -- will be at your request. Now," he leaned forward on the chair back, "smile while Gregory makes a record of your presence to send to your husband."

The flash of the instant camera went off before Laura realized it. "Good day, Miss Holt. Lunch is at one; I think a shrimp salad is on the menu. We'll send the supper menu up then. You might check out Days of Our Lives this afternoon. I hear the current storyline is quite suspenseful." Moore exited, the click of the lock sounding loud and cold.

Fighting tears and panic, she made her own inspection of the suite. Everything Moore had said was there -- from a week's worth of clothing in her size to an eclectic selection of artists on compact disk to fruits, vegetables and juice in the small refrigerator. She jerked the drapes aside and gazed out onto the expanse of groomed lawn. No escape there; no escape at all, anywhere. Only patience, until Remington Steele found what he was looking for to reclaim her freedom.

A rough jostling nudged Steele out of a bizarre dream where he and Laura were watching an opera diva at the Los Angeles Civic Center sing an off-tune, childish nonsense song. As he came to consciousness, the tune mingled with Maggie's voice. "Mr. Steele?... Mr. Steele?... Wake up, Mr. Steele."

He opened his eyes. Maggie was hovering over him. "Mr. Steele? Steven Haldane is downstairs."

A tremor in the tone of her voice alerted him to something amiss and he bolted upright in bed, eyes scanning the room. Katie sat in a corner, her stuffed animal menagerie surrounding her, singing the nonsense tune that had penetrated his dream as she played. He returned his attention to Maggie. "I'll be right down."

He hastily dressed in the first two pieces of clothing he came to, black jeans and blue polo shirt of the night before, and padded barefoot downstairs. One of the attendant bodyguards pointed him to the first-floor office. White-haired, balding Steven Haldane stood before the windows offering a view of the front law, hands clenched behind him. A relatively short man, Haldane was a former Secret Service supervisor who had transferred his training to a private organization second to none on the West Coast. It was the reason Steele had hired him. He did not like the way the man was standing -- stiffly, head upright. "Haldane?"

He didn't think it possible, but the man went even stiffer. He turned quickly and, meeting Steele's eye directly, said, "We've failed."

For a moment Steele was confused. Katie was upstairs, and Laura was at the of-- The realization struck him like a double-fisted kidney punch. "Laura." Under the strength of the blow he went weak in every limb, would have fallen to his knees had he not locked elbows to lean on the desk beside him. "Oh, God. Oh, God, no."

Haldane's voice penetrated the black maelstrom of his thoughts. "She was taken this morning, at the garage. The elevator was rigged to go to the sub-basement on a signal. They hit Schwietz with an animal tranquilizer gun. He's in emergency dialysis at the hospital. We're not sure he'll pull through."

But what about -- "Laura?" His voice was rough.

"Miss Holt was apparently unharmed, according to an... observer you had on her. She was threatened but opted to go without a struggle. That man's outside. Do you want to speak with him?"

"Not... right now."

"A second... witness trailed the sedan she left in to the Carson Moore estate. We have a team with him there now. The estate will be under constant surveillance." There was a pause. "Mr. Steele, I think we'd better call the police..."

"No! No police." He inched his way around the desk to the leather office chair, and fell heavily into it. "Even if I could convince them Moore has her, I could never tell them why." Moore wants that statue back badly enough to kill for it. That thought chilled him.

"I don't understand --"

"I'm not payin' you t' understand, Halda--" He stopped his angry words, and held up an apologetic hand. "I'm sorry. There are... factors at work here that must be kept private. I'm sorry I can't tell you."

Haldane smiled kindly. "The 'why' is never important, Steele." He came over to the desk. "What would you like us to do?"

"Continue surveillance. If Laura's moved, I want to know immediately. And I'd like an increased protection for my daughter." He dug in the desk for a pad of paper and a pen. "Under no circumstances must there be an opportunity to kidnap her."

"Understood. Consider it handled. And yourself?"

Steele glanced up. "Protection? For me?"

"No, can we help you out? Is there anything you need, any one you need?"

He unearthed the desired paper and pen from beneath folders in a desk drawer. "At the moment, I can't think of a thing." Except for the Rodin.

"If you'd... prefer to replace us, I would certainly underst--"

"Whoa, whoa there!" Steele held up a restraining hand. "You're the best, Haldane. I hired the best, just as clients come to the Remington Steele Agency. They have enough faith not to drop us if things are going sour. And I do have faith in you."

"Thank you, Mr. Steele." Haldane started out of the room. "Your daughter will be safe."

Steele didn't hear the door close. His mind was upstairs in his room, reviewing his last sights of Katie with her fuzzy zoo. How could he possibly tell her that her mother wouldn't be home tonight? Or the next few nights? Perhaps longer?

His tired eyes smarted, and he rubbed them, angry at the weakness of tears. If ever in his life strength was called for, it was now. He set the pen and paper aside and pushed himself upright.

Maggie was seated on the bottom step of the stairway, grave-faced. As he noticed her, she got to her feet slowly. "Mr. Steele?"

"Laura's been kidnapped," he said woodenly.

Her hands flew to her mouth, but not in time to stop the tiny shriek that escaped. "Katie mustn't join her," he went on. "Best she doesn't go anywhere without both of us for the next few days. We're adding to her bodyguard, but that's no guarantee."

White faced, she nodded. "Do you know -- have they asked for -- ransom?" she whispered.

"Yes," he informed her wearily. "They want something that doesn't exist."

Maggie searched his face. Not finding the assurance she was apparently seeking, she sank back onto the carpeted stairway. "What happens now?"

"I'm going up to try and reassure Katie." He sighed. "Then we're all going to the office."

"I'll start getting things ready." She made as if to move off the steps. Instead, she lowered her head to her hands. "Oh, God..."

Steele rested a hand on her shoulder as he passed by on his way upstairs. Numbly, almost automatically, his feet took him to the master bedroom. Katie was a lump beneath the bedcovers, her voice muffled through the layers. "Katie?" he summoned, trying to keep his voice even, his tone natural.

In reply he heard a childish "Woof! Woof!" Tears came to his eyes. Katie was playing the nighttime game she shared with Laura. When the second chain of child-barks came, he opened his mouth to play along, but the words caught in his throat. He couldn't; he just... couldn't.

"Katie Laura." He sat on the bed and pulled the comforter back, exposing Katie's curled form. Her head came up, and her eyes sparkled. "Woof!" She leaped to his chest, tongue out to lick his nose as she would have licked her mother's. She missed his nose, getting his tear-stained cheek instead. The unfamiliar salty taste caused her to draw back in surprise.

The expression he saw was that of an astonished Laura, mirrored in miniature. "Your face is wet," she said matter-of-factly. Her tiny hands rubbed his cheeks partially dry, then she broke out of his grasp to grab the edge of the sheet to wipe his skin. When she was through she tossed the sheet aside and kissed the cheek. "All better."

He hugged her, trying not to let new tears spill. She didn't wriggle, didn't protest, obviously sensing his distress. It was a tough inner struggle for control, but he won. "Katie," he began, "Mommy had to go... away today."

She looked him gravely in the eye. "Go wif Fred?" she asked.

"No... she didn't go with Fred."

For a moment her countenance took on the faint crumpling expression of near tears. Then she went on, "Go wif Mst'r White?" She couldn't get her young verbal skills to master Schwietz's last name.

Steele smiled. At least in this he could be partially truthful. "Yes, she did."

"Mama be home for bed?"

He shook his head. "No, Sweetling, she won't."

This time her face did crumple, and her thumb flew to her mouth at the same time as she fell forward into his embrace. He felt the small chest heave once, twice, a prelude to tears. No, Katie Laura, please, no. "She's all right," he murmured into Katie's ear. "She's... on a case for Daddy in Chicago." His stomach turned at the lie, but... he couldn't afford to have Katie as his constant companion now. Not with the lack of leads on the Rodin.

Katie pulled back. "Chick'go?"

"Very nice town. They have a zoo there, and a planetarium, and a museum."

"An' chickie nuggets?"

"Yes, Sweetling, all the chickie nuggets you two could eat in a year."

"Ohhh." Within his arms he felt her relax. "When will Mama come back?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe in a week." And then again, maybe not.

Katie snuggled up to him again and rested her head on his shoulders. He had a sudden inspiration. "Katie Laura, how would you like Grandmother Holt to come and stay while Mommy's gone?"

"Yah!" She was wriggling out of his grasp, her attention focused on something new and exciting. He gave thanks for inspiration.

"You and Grandmother can sleep here and Daddy will sleep in the blue room."

"You s'eep here too," she protested.

Steele chuckled at the thought of sharing his bed with Laura's mother. "No, I wouldn't want to wake you two when I get home."

Immediately her face fell again. "You be gone too?"

He scooped her into his arms and settled her in his lap. "I'll be back in the morning, Sweetling, I promise. We'll have breakfast. Is it a deal? You be a good girl for me when I'm not around?"

"Yah..." The agreement was grudgingly given.

"Okay. Go find Maggie and have her get you dressed. Then we'll have lunch and go into the office."

"See An' Mildred?"

"Yes, we'll see Aunt Mildred."

"Yah!" She was off the bed and down the hall in an instant, crying "Maggie! Maggie!"

Steele sighed raggedly and fell back on the bed, his eyes on the ceiling but his thoughts black and centered on a most fitting revenge for Carson Moore.

Steele poured himself a neat glass of scotch at two o'clock and carried it out to his desk. Katie and Maggie and two of Katie's bodyguards were in the office playroom involved in a board game that Katie seemed to be winning, from the sound of her shrieks. He decided to look in on her.

Maggie was sitting on the floor, Katie standing in front of her. The child's hands were enclosed over the dice; she was teasing the two male bodyguards, who were cajoling her to roll them. "Katie Laura, roll the dice," he admonished her.

All attention flew to him! "Daddy! Play!" Katie held out her hands.

"Katie, your daddy'll have to play on our team," one of the two bodyguards warned. "You said, boys against girls."

"Daddy's not a boy. He c'n play wif me."

"Daddy has to work. You keep playing."

"Are you sure you won't join us, Mr. Steele?" the other bodyguard asked. "We'll be glad to start over. Katie's team is creamin' us."

Steele chuckled. "It must be inherited. Katie's mother has a way with dice too." He waved. "You folks keep playing."

"Okay, Katie, roll the dice," Maggie instructed.

Steele backed out of the room and slowly shut the door. At a touch on his arm, he jumped. "Quite a comer you've got there, Rem," a voice murmured.

He relaxed at recognition of the voice. "I don't know how we'll manage two handfuls, Willy. Katie certainly keeps us on our toes." He turned.

Willy was nattily dressed in a three-piece suit, looking respectable and very unlike the border-line sleazy con artist of a week prior. His hands were in his trouser pockets and his face was contorted in a frown. "I'm sorry 'bout your lady," he said quietly. "The shadows tried to stop 'em--"

Steele held up a hand. "Let's... not, okay?" Just the mere hint of discussing Laura's kidnapping was sapping his willpower.

Painfully, Willy nodded. "Okay, Rem."

"Would you like a drink?"

"Whisky, if you've got it."

"Coming up."

He went to the bar and poured Willy's drink, mentally regrouping before facing the information broker and hearing whatever news, good or bad, he had to give. He calmly handed over the bourbon and gestured to the sectioned conversation corner.

When they were both seated, he opened. "Have you got some news for me, old chap?"

Willy swirled the liquor in his glass. "A very strong 'maybe'."

"How strong?"

Willy shrugged. "There's a chink or two in the information chain, but... the likelihood that I've got the Rodin in my sights is very, very strong." He downed a mouthful of whisky, then went on. "By tomorrow this time I should be able to confirm it."

Steele sagged with relief. It eased his mind somewhat, knowing Laura was only a short while away from freedom. "How soon for recovery?"

Willy shook his head. "Rem, I don't know. This has been the most bizarre--" He leaned forward earnestly. "Some mousy little professor at San Francisco State supposedly has it in his basement. Somehow he got some European pros to break into Moore's estate. The word goes they did it for practically nothing. I haven't found out why yet. This whole thing has been so deep-cover I've been going crazy trolling for leads. Nobody knows anything -- or at least if they know, nothing is going to pry the information out of them." He leaned back in his seat, and drank from his glass. "I'm going up to San Francisco today."

"Will you set up a meeting for me for tomorrow?"

Willy half-shrugged. "Rem, I can't promise anything--"

"If you can, will you?" When he still hesitated, Steele continued. "He can name his price. Whatever it is, I'll meet it. I just--" His fingers tightened on the glass. "I've got to get Laura free," he murmured hoarsely.

The anger, the fear, the burning need for revenge hit him again, as hard as it had when he first heard the news. From far away he heard Willy speak. "Yeah, old Moore plays hardball. But your lady's got a hands-off edict on her. Moore's court has been ordered -- ordered, Rem -- to comply with her every whim. Except freedom, of course."

Steele stared at him. "On the level?"

"On the level. She's being treated like the Queen of England." Willy finished his whisky, then balanced the glass on the tip of his index finger. "I, ah, might be able to arrange visiting hours," he offered casually.

Steele snatched the glass from its precarious perch. "Visiting hours?"

Willy looked him in the eye. "I'd be able to get you in. You're on your own once you connect with my guy inside."

"You've got a plant at Moore's estate?"

Willy shrugged, the even line of his mouth belying the twinkle in his eye. "Let's just say... some friends, okay?"

Steele's heart began to pound from excitement and anticipation. "Good Lord, Willy, if you could -- How soon?"

"Tomorrow, Rem. Hey, I'm practically one foot on to a plane for San Fran, for God's sake! One thing at a time, okay?"

A loud squeal split the air, and Katie rushed out of the playroom. "Daddy! I won! I wonna game!" She made a beeline for him, but stopped halfway at the sight of the stranger.

Steele sensed her sharp, sudden fear of the unknown man. "Katie," he cajoled, holding out his hands, "come here."

Katie carefully inched around the chair that held Willy's thin frame and literally leaped into her father's arms. Her tiny arms clutched his neck. He felt her body begin to tremble. "It's all right, Katie Laura. This a friend of mine. His name is Willy."

Her grip on his neck loosened, and she slid down to his lap, shyly pressing her face against his chest. One eye, however, was watching Willy. The other man smiled. "Katie Laura," Willy prompted. "That's a very pretty name."

Steele leaned forward. "What do you say, Sweetling?" he murmured.

"H'lo." She spoke barely loudly enough to be heard. Her thumb slipped into her mouth.

"I have a present for little girls with pretty names like that." Willy gestured, and pulled out of thin air a gold coin, which he extended to Katie. The child shrank away from it.

Steele stroked her hair. "Katie doesn't accept anything from strangers."

"I thought you said I was a friend of yours."

"You're a friend of mine, not Katie's. And you should know better than to bribe little girls with Krugerrands."

Willy smiled. "It works on all the little girls I know. Here." He held the gold coin out again. "Take it for her. Consider it poor compensation for... what we couldn't do."

Hesitating, Steele took the coin and placed it in Katie's hand. "This is a very special coin, Sweetling. It's called a Kruggerand."

"Koo - ger - end."

"It's not like a quarter. You can't spend it. You have to save it, put it in a special place."

Katie was holding the large coin in both hands, touching it, turning it over and over. "I wanna show Mama when she comes back."

Willy grimaced painfully. Steele hugged her. "That's a good idea. Why don't you have Maggie hold it so it doesn't get lost?"

Katie played with the bouillon coin for a moment longer before wriggling out of her father's hold. She inched around Willy's chair and hurried off to the playroom.

"Did you tell her about... Mama?" Willy ventured.

"I said Laura was in Chicago... on a case." Steele clenched his teeth. "The lie is killing me."

Willy reached across and touched his forearm in an uncharacteristically comforting gesture. "I promise you, Rem, you'll have your lady and the Rodin by next week." Abruptly the man rose and left the office.

Steele mulled over future events. He slid open the center drawer. The instant Polaroid picture sat there, delivered at noon by a courier service. An angry Laura was seated in a plush chair, Carson Moore hovered behind her like a vulture. You've terrorized your last company, Moore, he thought. Your end is near.

"Mr. Steele?"

He shut the drawer hurriedly and looked up at Maggie. "Mr. Steele," she repeated. "Katie wants to put that coin into her secret box at home. She thinks it's magic. And the guards have convinced her she should keep it safely hidden until she needs it."

Steele smiled. "A magic coin. We should all be as luck." He waved a hand. "Best take her home. I've got a three o'clock appointment, then I'll join you. Laura's mother is arriving at four-thirty. We'll send Fred to pick her up while Katie and I make supper."

Maggie nodded. "She'll like that."

After Katie and her entourage had left, Steele went back to perusing the picture in his desk. Tomorrow, Laura. Until tomorrow.

The bed was too small, too hard, too cold, too lonely. She spent the night restlessly, thinking of Katie's misery at her absence; of Steele's last report on the Rodin's search: "Nothing yet." Awake in the morning she waited, listening for something, not knowing what it was until she saw the clock radio's digital readout: it was a little after eight, time for Katie's visit to the bedroom. She sighed miserably and buried her face in the pillow.

Though the roar in her ears she heard someone enter her suite of rooms. "Miss Holt?" came a warning call. "Miss Holt, good morning."

She groaned, ran her fingers through her disarrayed hair, and pulled herself up against the headboard. When Carson Moore entered the bedroom, laden with a breakfast tray and smiling almost pleasantly, she glared at him and tugged the sheet up to her neck. "I thought," she said acidly, her voice shaking slightly in anger at the intrusion, "I was being afforded some privacy."

"I was told you didn't eat much yesterday." He set the tray on the bed and went to a drawer. "I won't have you starving yourself out of spite."

"I wasn't hungry."

When he turned around he had a bedjacket in his hands. "I would think the child you're carrying would be of a prime concern." He held it out to her.

She paused before snatching it from him. "My child... is my concern, Moore. Not yours."

She put the bedjacket on and waited with twitching patience while he set the breakfast tray before her. "Your welfare is my concern. I don't want Steele thinking you're being mistreated."

"I could tell him," she offered.

He raised a metal cover, exposing an exotic omelet with ham slices on the side. "I don't think so."

She forced his hand down, covering the food. "Tea and toast is fine."

He lifted against her push. "If you eat this, I'll permit you one short, censored note."

She met his eyes. They were cold, challenging. She wanted that note, and more. She took her hand away. "One phone call."

"I can't censor you on the phone." He set the food cover aside. "No, Miss Holt, you're limited to the written word."

"At least let me talk to my daughter. You frightened her so badly last week, she must be out of her mind at my absence."

"If you'd like her here, I can al--"

"No!" About that, Laura was nervously adamant. "Let her alone. She's only a child. She doesn't understand what's going on."

"And Remington Steele would literally have my head if you both were here." He smiled. "Yes, I am familiar with your husband's ways of revenge, Miss Holt." He moved to the door. "I'll send someone for the tray later, when you're more ready to receive visitors. If you could get to that note this morning? And please, don't be cute with it."

She toyed with the omelet until she heard the door close. Then she began to eat, plowing through the food as if she hadn't eaten for days. Well, one day, she admitted, chewing thoughtfully on whole wheat toast. She was hungry. Her appetite had returned, as the initial unease of her situation had settled to a slow burning anger. And Moore was right, of course -- she had the baby to think of.

While sipping a cup of decaffeinated coffee, the child in her womb began its usual morning kicking display. She smiled. "Are you happy now?"

As if it heard, the sensation stopped, then started again, less intensely. "I know." Her hand stroked the swell of her abdomen. "I miss them too. But they're letting me write a note."

She slid the tray away abruptly and got out of bed, cup in hand. "Now, what should we say?"

It was too easy, Steele felt as he reached a back entrance of the Moore estate. Willy and his contacts had the ten-second "dead spot" in the defenses marked perfectly. They sent him through with a wave and a smile, then blended into the twilight, indistinguishable. He zigzagged his way across the estate, his pathway mapped and timed by Willy. He gained the building undetected.

The door was locked but a simple key could open it. Steele took the pick from his black leather jacket's inner pocket. A few seconds later, its job done, the tool was returned to its place, and he was inside.

He had entered a pantry. In the glow of his flashlight, he made out shelves of canned goods. Off to one side was a metal door with a spring lock handle, guarding an obviously refrigerated room beyond. Willy said someone would meet him, so he waited, pressed against the wall closest to the other wooden door in the room. Time passed at a snail's pace. His skin crawled; the inaction frustrated him. Laura was above, somewhere; not far away. Her bland note, delivered early that afternoon, burned a hole in his chest where it and a second piece of paper sat in the pocket of his black polo shirt. He realized her words had been censored, but he wished she could have said more. He didn't know how she was feeling -- she was six months pregnant, after all! -- or how Moore was really treating her. His hands clenched into fists. If there was anything the least bit wrong, Moore would be a bloody mass on the floor before the evening ended --

With his thief's sixth sense, he stiffened against the wall a second before the door opened with a whisper of sound. A large man bordering on the rotund came in, brushing his hand over the light switch perilously close to Steele's elbow. The room was flooded with light. He held his breath. The other man, Steele noticed now, was clad in a chef's jacket and hat and was sauntering to the canned goods, plucking this and that from the rows. Then he moved to the refrigerated compartment -- but not without a backward glance at Steele, and an imperceptible nod. As the cook disappeared, Steele sighed with relief.

The man came out with a metal basin covered with a towel. The tail fin of a fish extended beyond its end. He gestured for Steele to follow him out and did not look back as he left.

Steele warily entered the kitchen. It was cluttered with the implements of a master chef -- pots, pans knives, bowls in disarray everywhere. The cook set the basin on the only clear counter space and lifted the towel. An enormous salmon, obviously fresh caught that day, lay in the basin. "Two for dinner, Mr. Steele?" the man inquired jovially.

"If I'm allowed to stay, my friend."

"Make it a point to. My salmon steaks are better than anything you've ever tasted."

"Sounds delightful."

The chef picked up a large kitchen knife and gestured towards the outer door. "Miss Holt's on the third floor toward the rear. Stick near the walls. And her suite has a guard and an electronic lock. Sorry."

Steele knew no one could disable both. "No matter, friend. I'm only here to see her, not rescue her. That'll be later."

The man nodded. "There's good brandy in Moore's study, if you'd care for an aperitif. Dinner will be in an hour." He turned his back on Steele and proceeded to cut up the salmon.

Steele moved out into the main part of the house. He got his bearings in the enormous display dining room and, remembering to hug the walls, slipped into Moore's study. He poured himself a brandy and took a quick tour of the man's private collection displayed there before leaving, noting the location of the Monet stolen from a French museum in 1985. When this was over, he'd make sure Moore would be missing something new.

Senses hyper-attenuated, he avoided a half dozen of Moore's minions on his way to the double staircase. An adrenaline rush like he hadn't had in ages brought him almost to trembling. The untouched snifter in hand, he climbed the gracefully winding stairs to the third floor.

The upper hallway was deserted save for a burly man in a chair reading a paperback in front of a doorway. Steele noticed the black box on the wall. That was where they were keeping Laura. Knowing she was scant feet away fueled his casual swagger to the guard. The man looked up at the approach. He waved the snifter. "Open up, please."

For a moment the guard's face puckered in confusion. Then, eyes wide in sudden recognition, he sprang to his feet and lunged. Steele avoided the grab and threw the contents of the brandy glass into the man's face. Before much more than a growl had escaped, Steele had him on the floor, a knee in his back, one arm twisted behind him painfully, long slim fingers digging into his neck. "The magic numbers, mate. Give 'em to me."

"No," the guard croaked.

Steele's hand pressed harder in the neck. "The numbers, or you won't be feelin' anything from the neck down ever again."

After a gurgle, the man gave up the combination. "Six - five - two - one - zero."

Steele patted the man's cheek -- more a slap than a pat -- and got to his feet. He entered the numbers into the electronic key, paying little attention to the guard's mad scramble to get away for reinforcements. The faintest of clicks told him the sentry hadn't lied. Apprehensively he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The sight of Laura placidly curled up in the corner of a brown sofa reading a book froze him a few steps beyond the threshold. She could have stepped out of a Victorian painting, with her long hair pulled up into a loose bun at the crown of her head; a rose satin dress adorned with tiny pleats at the bodice falling gently over the swell of her pregnant body; slipper-shod feet almost tucked under the hem. She looked well; no, more than well: radiantly beautiful.

Though his scrutiny seemed like hours it was no more than a second or two, as Laura's face suddenly turned to stone, and she slammed her hardcover book shut. "Look," she began acidly, "I said I'd let you kno--"

Her head swiveled suddenly to the intruder, and when she saw him the angry retort died. She stared hard; her lips moved in a near soundless whisper. "Remington?"

The name tore at his soul. He could count on two hands the number of times over eight years of knowing her, loving her, that she had actually spoken the first name she had bestowed upon him. It had been used sometimes in jest; more often in crisis. The name galvanized his muscles into action.

But before he took two steps she was in his arms, kissing him with an intensity that was almost arousing -- if only it wasn't making him angry. Forcefully he broke the kiss but kept her in his arms, unwilling to put her at any length from him. "Are you all right?" he demanded urgently.

"Yes," she whispered. "Have you found the Rodin?"

When he didn't answer right away, the hopeful light in her eyes faded to a glimmer of pain. He felt it mirrored within him. "Soon," he admitted.

"How soon?" she pressed him.

He shook his head. "I'm not sure."

He gathered her back into his arms, rather than see the frustration on her face. He held her head against his shoulder. After a moment of stillness, she asked, "How did you get in undetected?"

"Had some help."

"How about getting out?"

He didn't dare look at her face; the hope in her eyes would destroy his careful composure. "I'm afraid, Laura, that I'm stuck here."

"Stuck here?"

She pulled away to look up at him in curious confusion at the same time the door crashed open for Carson Moore's entry.

"Steele -- how the hell did you do it?" he raged.

Steele half-turned to the angry man, keeping a light hold on Laura. "Do what?" he replied in mock innocence.

"Damn it, you're supposed to be finding my artwork!" Moore gestured, "Get him out of here."

Two burly men slipped past Moore into the room. Laura broke from his hold and stepped between him and them. "No. He's staying."

"He's going back out to look for my Rodin!"

"He's staying for dinner. You haven't eaten, have you, dear? Good. It's settled."

Moore grabbed her arm, ostensibly to pull her out of the way. As soon as the man made contact Steele had his own hold on Moore's wrist. "Don't touch her."

The quiet warning was effective; the look Steele gave him, even more so. Moore withdrew his hand, his tremors of rage almost visible. For half a minute the two men stared at each other, unyielding. Laura's hand slid behind her back, between them, searching. He took it with his right, then touched her shoulder with his left.

The subtlety of his gestures was not wasted on Moore. He exhaled sharply. "Two hours, Steele," he relented. "Two. And you had damn well better find my Rodin by next week or you're going to need a plane and a lot of luck to see your next child." With a piercing glare intended to get his point across, he stormed out, taking his retinue with him.

The moment they were gone Laura turned, still firmly clasping his hand, and leaned forward to rest her head against his chest. His free hand moved up to her neck and began to massage the tense muscles. He lowered his head. "Where are the bugs?" he whispered.

"No bugs," she answered, equally hushed. "I have total privacy."

"Then... I sort of... wasn't telling all before. We think we've found the Rodin."

Laura jerked upright, fingers digging into his arms, and studied his face. Hers blended a look of curiosity and hope with faint hesitancy. Careful, careful, he warned himself, and went on. "Willy thinks he found it. He's taking me there tonight."

"It's in the city?"

"No."

"Then where?"

He shook his head. "Best to keep it to the fewest possible."

After a moment of frustration, Laura acquiesced. "You're right. You need to have the upper hand with that... that jerk."

Her ferocity frightened him. "Are you really all right?" He stroked her shoulders then slid his hand up to her face. "Has he done anything to hurt you?"

"No, no. Anything I've requested, I've been given." She smiled faintly. "Except for my release. He's been most concerned that I eat."

"You're not?"

"I haven't been very hungry."

Gently he kissed her. "On that, I agree with Moore. I don't want our little one to start out a skinny little runt," he patted Laura's behind, "like his mother."

"Oh, we're back to having a boy again, are we?"

"Certainly. Isn't one Katie Laura enough for any family?"

Her answering smile was quick -- and fleeting, as the thought of their daughter registered. "How is Katie?"

"She's... handling it well." He led Laura back to the love seat. When they were both comfortable, he continued. "I told her you were in Chicago. She'd never let me out of her sight, and I couldn't look for the Rodin with her along. And then... well, she's bloody well frightened enough. She's had to deal with so much lately, she didn't need your disappearance to add on. As it is, I brought your mother out from Con--"

"Mother is here?"

"She and Maggie are with Katie at all times, as are two bodyguards. Abigail is quite upset with me for letting this all happen, but she agrees that Katie mustn't be alarmed. Oh, yes... Here." He reached into his jacket, withdrew the two pieces of paper from his shirt, and handed the second to Laura, keeping Laura's own note in his hands. It still burned his touch. "This is from Katie. I told her I might get a chance to see you. And since she doesn't have any idea how far away Chicago really is -- it could be Pasadena for all she knows..."

Laura held the folded sheet for a moment, then carefully opened it. Steele knew that Abigail had traced Katie's hand on the paper, then put the pen in her fingers and helped her to print "Love, Katie" at the bottom. Abigail had also written something else at the top of the page, but her warning glance as she had handed the note to Steele told him it was a private note to Laura, and that he'd best not look.

She was a long time reading and rereading the page, at times blinking furiously, once running a finger over the traced hand. When she sighed raggedly and began to fold up the paper, Steele reached for her. She came quietly into his arms to rest against him. Having her there, curled against him, her head on his chest, was comforting.

For a long time neither spoke. Every few minutes Laura would stroke his arm, then pause, as if needing reassurance that he was indeed there. Finally she said quietly, "I miss you."

"It's only been two days."

"I know."

"And -- Lord, the week before I'm sure I didn't see you more than a half dozen times, and you were always out of bed by the time I got in it!"

"I hate the bed here," she went on. "It's only a double. Hard as a rock."

"Requisition a new one from Moore."

"I keep thinking I can put up with it one more day, that I'll be out of here in one more day..."

"Laura, at least you're not bored," he attempted to lighten her mood. "You're in videophile heaven here!" He indicted the expensive multi-media equipment surrounding them. She snorted her total disinterest and he pretended to swoon. "Ah, Laura, how about if I stay here and you look for the Rodin?"

"Love to." Her answering smile faded quickly. "Please find the damn statue! I'll buy you a system like this!"

He leaned forward. "Is that a promise, Miss Holt?"

Inches from his lips, she murmured, "That's a promise, Mr. Steele."

A dozen long kisses later, there was a discreet knock. Laura deserted Steele's embrace and was halfway to the door when it opened and a cart was pushed in. Steele recognized the suited "waiter" as another of Willy's contacts. "You ready for supper, Miss Holt?" the young man asked.

"Starving, George."

"Good. Mr. Steele, the chef said you would approve of this vintage..." He held the empty bottle out for Steele's inspection. The white wine was decanting in a separate container.

"Yes, '87. Marvelous year."

"If you'd care to pour, sir, while I set up..."

In five minutes dinner was ready, the promised salmon steaks, rice pilaf and a melange of fresh vegetables served to them. Laura also had a fruit-and-cottage-cheese mixture, and milk instead of his coffee. A caramel custard dessert awaited their completion of dinner. George left them with a bow and a message for Steele. "You're reminded that your flight leaves at eleven, Mr. Steele."

When the door closed, Steele seated Laura in her place, then came around to his own. For a minute they sat quietly, staring at each other expectantly. Finally Laura grinned. "What is this? Fork-out at the OK Corral? Let's eat!"

"It's 'Gunfight at the OK Corral,' Burt Lancaster, Kirk Douglas, Warner Brothers, 1957. And ladies first."

She picked up her fork; he picked up his; and they began to eat. Steele filled her in on Katie's latest escapades and Abigail's arrival. They passed the time pleasantly through dessert, managing to forget, if only for a brief time, where they were. They retired to the sofa and were still in conversation on a case resolution when their waiter returned, his boss and attendants in tow. "Time's up, Steele," Moore announced.

Reluctantly Steele set the coffee cup down and got to his feet. Laura shifted into place beside him, clutching his hand as he moved forward. Near the door he turned to her. She rested her hands on his shoulders, and his arms slid around her. "Give Katie my love," she said quietly, "and tell Mother I'm fine."

"I will."

He gazed into her face; only the eyes showed emotion: a plea for a quick return to freedom. Moore was making her nervous. Moore was making him nervous, too, and he wanted nothing more than to be walking out with her, not away from her. He lowered his lips to hers. At the first touch she pulled him as close to her as he could be, holding him fiercely, almost fanatically. When he felt the first drops of tears touching his cheek he almost pushed away; but the intensity of her kiss kept him riveted to the spot, to her lips. She was the one who finally moved back, her eyes now calm though not quite tear-free yet. Her cheeks were wet.

"Get him out of here," Moore ordered.

As the two attendants laid hands upon his arms, he shrugged them off and swung to give them a warning glare. He stepped forward to brush his lips against Laura's one more time before striding to the door unescorted. He had one last look at her before the door closed -- standing calm despite the tearstains, almost smiling. He wasn't sure if she was actually placid, or if it was a show for him and for Moore.

Moore and his three aides were silent as they escorted him down the stairs, through the mansion and out to the rear garages. Near the car, two of the men grabbed Steele's arms, while a third hit him, starting at his stomach and working his way up to his jaw. The shock of the sudden attack and the force of the blows had him reeling. When they let go he had nowhere to go but down on his knees on the driveway.

He saw Moore's imported Italian leather loafers in front of him. "How did you get into my house?" the man demanded hoarsely.

Steele got to one knee, one hand against his stomach. He could taste blood from a cut lip. "Trade secret."

"Trade secret my ass! You had help."

Before he could begin to rise, Moore backhanded him, driving him again to the concrete. "I want names," Moore pressed.

Face down on the cement, Steele rolled onto an elbow and looked up. "What names?" he taunted.

Moore stared off at some distant point, his face impassive. Finally his eyes returned to Steele's prone body. "Put him in the car. We'll figure it out."

The aides each held an arm and tossed him into the rear seat of the sedan. He pulled himself upright as Moore moved over to an open door and leaned on it while two aides took their places in the front. "Steele, if I don't have my statue by Monday noon, your wife won't be around to visit."

He moved to close the door. Steele blocked it with his arm. "If she isn't, Moore, you'd better write off your future."

Moore seemed to ponder the statement for a moment before closing the door and letting the car drive away. Steele ran through the consequences in his mind on the way home, and hoped that Willy was right about finding the statue. He needed it desperately.

* * *

Willy drove the sedan through the San Francisco residential area at a law-abiding pace while Steele painfully nursed the thermos cup of whiskey-laden coffee from the passenger seat. It had been a rough night so far. First seeing Laura, her visible frustration gnawing at his patience; then his roughing-up by Moore's lackeys, causing bruises that were now becoming painful; then Abigail's questioning -- about Laura and about the disheveled state in which he returned home. And Katie, her fears eating at his conscience as he tried to say a quick good-bye at home and ended up leaving her sniffling in Abigail's arms. Both females' tears were enough to drive a man -- He chuckled, winced and took a healthy swallow of coffee.

"What's so funny?" Willy asked

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I'll probably end up an alcoholic after this is all over."

"And I'll join you. Lord, what a week! But it's at an end, hallelujah!"

"You truly believe this... this philosopher has the Rodin?"

"Rem, I've seen the damn thing! And if it's not the statue in your drawing, I'll -- I'll --" He snatched the fedora from his head and held it out blindly to Steele. "I'll eat my hat!"

"Felt is not one of the four basic food groups, Willy," Steele teased.

"Well, then you eat my hat after you see it."

The drive continued. Steele sipped the lukewarm coffee. Finally he ventured, "How much... trouble is he going to cause?"

"Don't know."

"How much does he want?"

"Wouldn't say."

"You're a tremendous help, mate."

"Hey, we're lucky we got this far. He doesn't particularly want anyone else in contact with the statue. But he realizes he's in over his head. Any straw he can clutch, he's grabbing. If you work it right, you could make away with it cheaply."

He thought of the Swiss bank account Laura knew nothing about; the agency's profits, slowly dwindling due to the financial drain of Haldane Personal Security and his own city-hopping in the search. It had better come cheaply, he mused.

He was thinking about his past lifestyle -- and comparing it in an unfavorable light with his current one -- when the car came to a stop. He jerked back to the present and looked around. They were parked near the curb in a very suburban neighborhood, in front of a small unkempt house. "This... is it?" he asked, astonished.

"He's an egghead, not a caretaker. You know those brainy types. Their heads're in the clouds, not on regular things." Willy plucked the keys from the ignition. "What time is it?"

Steele checked the luminous dial of his watch. "Twelve-thirty."

"We're on time. Come on."

Steele recapped the thermos and set it on the seat as he got up. Willy locked the car and they proceeded to the house. There were no gates or hedges, just a small concrete path to the steps leading up to the front door. On either side the lawn was ankle high with strange weeds towering here and there over the long blades of grass. Steele thought of the manicured lawn of his residence and shook his head in amusement.

At the door Willy rapped a purposeful staccato. After a moment two ponderous thumps sounded. Willy rapped again, a different rhythm. The click of an opening lock sounded, and the door was eased open by the barrel of a gun. "Mr. ... Gilmore?" came a tentative voice from the darkness inside.

"Right here, Mr. Saltzman." Willy motioned Steele up onto the step. "I brought the man who's... interested in the statue."

Steele cringed at the casual reference to the priceless work of art and stepped forward. "I'm -- Michael O'Leary." He let his Irish accent come forth thickly.

The rifle barrel swung to him, wavered. "Don't I know you? You look... familiar."

"I don't think we've ever met, sir. Of course, if I could see ya now..."

The barrel lowered. "I'm not... oh... of course. Mr. Gilmore, Mr. O'Leary, if you please?"

Willy caught the door as it lost its rifle prop, and held it open for Steele. The detective stepped into the darkness. He felt the gun barrel at his chest. "Wait right there."

Willy had closed the door, cutting off the residual illumination from the street lamps outside. The little bit of light had given Steele only a momentary glimpse of a small living room with large, comfortable chairs and a short, paunchy man with a shock of brown curly hair -- holding a rifle. Cut off from sight, he strained to hear what was going on -- Willy unmoving, his even breathing sounding behind him, shoes -- sneakers? -- softly swishing on the carpet to his left. A snick was followed by sudden, blinding light -- right in his face, it seemed. He held up a hand against the glare.

"Gentlemen, if you'll follow me?"

Past the pole lamp with its shades pointed at them, Steele saw Saltzman move through an archway into the darkness of another room. Willy poked him in the back and he stumbled forward. Beyond was a dining area-cum-library, with bookshelves taking the place of hutches, buffets and pantries. Another light clicked on and he saw their host in a small alcove, disappearing downward. He followed.

A stairway led into the basement. Saltzman turned on lights as he went, and behind him Steele heard Willy turning lamps off. They walked past jumbles of books, shelves and file cabinets through yet another doorway. When Steele entered, he saw three chairs placed in a semicircle around a small table upon which rested something shrouded by a plaid tablecloth -- something the right shape and size of the missing Rodin. His heart began to pound.

When Saltzman wheeled on him, rifle under his arm, he jumped reflexively. The man realized suddenly that he still held the weapon.

"Oh!" He set the rifle aside, against the wall. "I'm sorry. It was only a precaution. Mr. Gilmore suggested I be careful. Please." He gestured. "Sit."

Steele lowered himself into the folding chair nearest the covered statue, Willy took the seat beside him. He forced himself to remain calm, though his fingertips tingled at the proximity to the masterpiece -- as they had always had wont to, in his other life.

Saltzman settled into the last free chair. Willy pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from an inner pocket. The man glared. "Mr. Gilmore, I believe I spoke to you before about that." Reluctantly, Willy inclined his head and returned the items to his jacket pocket. "You don't smoke, Mr. O'Leary, do you?"

"Ah, no, I don't. Gave't up just after I met me wife." He saw Willy's lip twitch at the heavy hand with which Steele had applied his Irish brogue.

"Good. It is an abominable habit that should be banned by law for everyone's benefit. Residual smoke alone has been shown to cau-- But you certainly don't need to hear my harangue on the evils of smoking." He smiled, then sobered. "You're interested in this, I believe."

Saltzman rose, moved to the shrouded item and lifted the tablecloth from it. Steele took a deep breath as the sculpture was exposed, held it as he studied the piece and let it out in a long sigh as he realized the brass figure was a perfect match to the one in Moore's photo. "I believe, Mr. Saltzman, that this is what I'm lookin' for."

"Mr. Gilmore believed you might be interested." He sat down. "Please. Confirm it for yourself. Touch it. Trust me, it is a Rodin, and well worth the experience."

Steele rose, then got to his knees in front of the sculpture. His hands rose to caress the brass, hesitated, pulled back, then lunged forward. They trembled as he caressed the cool metal, thrilled to the grooves and peaks of the shape. He'd touched Rodin sculptures but three times before -- twice illegally, at museums in the dark of night; once, in a private collector's home, his young hands running over and over some statesman's head, trying to absorb the skills, to memorize the genius, while his two partners practically screamed at him to come before he was caught. This work had the same feel, the same genius.

"Isn't she marvelous?" Saltzman murmured. "Rodin captured that essence so perfectly. His skill at that time -- one can only imagine what heights he'd hit if he lived today, with the technological advances in the sculpture field."

"Aye, 'tis a master hand that did this." Reluctantly Steele sat back on his heels, gave the statue a last caressing glance, then returned to his seat and put his attention on the philosopher. "An' how is it that y'found yerself wi' such a piece as this, Mr. Saltzman?"

The man's face grew hard and sorrowful. "It's revenge. Revenge against a terrible injustice."

"An' how might that be?"

It was a few minutes before Saltzman could bring himself to speak. "A friend of mine -- a very good friend, an artist, a sculptor himself -- was called to New York City some ten years ago by a wealthy industrialist. Andrew was a world-renowned expert on brass and a student of Rodin's works in particular. This... man called him in to consult on a purchase he'd made."

Saltzman swallowed hard, and it seemed for a moment he couldn't go on, but he did. "When Andrew returned from New York, he was ecstatic. He'd confirmed an unknown Rodin. He was so excited! So excited... He thought the owner would donate it to a museum. Or at least let the world know of its existence. But he didn't."

He abruptly got to his feet and moved to stand behind his small chair. "Andrew tried to convince Mo... the man to change his mind. Andrew was so innocent, of course. He knew about private collectors, and to some extent understood the motivations that drove them to be so possessive, so proprietary with their treasures. But he felt -- as I did -- that great works of art should be shared. Particularly the results of a master such as Rodin. Mo... The owner, however, would not be swayed."

The philosopher's hands grabbed the back of the chair and held it so tightly his knuckles were white. His eyes were on the floor. "Six months... after Andrew had gone to New York, he was... killed... a hit-and-run near campus. He'd just completed some work in his studio at Crosley Hall... it was dark, no one could identify the car or driver... The police chalked it up as an unsolved case. But I knew. I knew what had happened." He looked up, directly into Steele's face. "That... bastard... had Andrew killed."

Saltzman's fervent expression sent a chill down Steele's spine that surged up into his heart. His thoughts swung to Laura as the man continued. "I suppose he was afraid that Andrew would tell a museum about the Rodin... or the authorities... or perhaps he just tired of Andrew's persistence. Whatever it was, he had my... dear friend killed."

"So y'stole the Rodin for revenge? How did y'manage t'do it?" Steele asked, curious.

"Oh, I didn't do it myself." He slid into his seat, less morose, more animated. "My grief stewed in me for some years. The only fitting revenge was the acquisition of the Rodin. But it was only when... the man moved to California that I began to put a plan into action. One of our statistics instructors knew a bookie... who knew an organized crime leader... who knew some international hit men... who knew -- ah, well, suffice it to say, Mr. O'Leary, that after three years of benign contacts through the chain of the illegal underworld I finally met some gentlemen who were most willing to obtain the Rodin for me for a small fee. They too were looking to avenge an injustice done by... him. Apparently, they sold an Impressionist painting and never received the full payment, only the good-faith retainer."

Steele smiled. He knew the very painting.

"They were more than willing to obtain the Rodin for me. They also offered to be agents in the resale. But I didn't want the Rodin to go into someone else's private collection. I want it to go into the public domain."

"Y' could've given th' statue t' some museum yerself," Steele ventured.

Saltzman shook his head. "And end up like Andrew? No. A donation like that engenders publicity, worldwide publicity. I'd be dead within a week. And I wouldn't want to provide Mo... him with that kind of satisfaction."

"Certainly."

In the conversation lull all eyes fixed on the sculpture. The chill that had been in Steele's heart engulfed him from head to toes to fingertips. How could he possibly tell this man that the Rodin would be going back to its nefarious owner? Particularly since Saltzman had gone through so much effort -- physically and emotionally -- to take it away from Moore? And there was the matter of the death of Andrew...

"Mr. O'Leary, your... client won't have a problem with being in the public eye, will he? She? They can make up whatever story they like, of course, concerning its acquisition. I really want no part of things. But they will agree to acknowledging the piece?"

Steele's mouth was dry as he tried to answer with some glib lie. But he couldn't do it, couldn't lie to this trusting innocent.

"I'm sure Mr. O'Leary will be able to handle any problems that arise," Willy stepped uncomfortably into the strained silence.

Steele looked over at Saltzman. The man was staring at him in consternation. Then his eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped in dawning horror. "God. Oh, God. You're -- Remington Steele. Remington Steele the detective. Moore hired you, didn't he? The best -- Oh, God."

Before Steele could speak, Saltzman leaped to his feet and snatched the rifle from its resting place on the wall. Shaking, he pointed the barrels at Steele. "I knew... You were in the papers two months ago on that toxic waste thing -- blackmail, murder... I knew you looked familiar. Moore hired you, didn't he? Didn't he?"

"Yes," Steele whispered.

"Look here, Saltzman," Willy began. He started to rise, then slowly resumed his seat when the rifle barrels shifted to point at his chest. "Remington Steele doesn't want to be involved any more than you do. But he doesn't have a choice. Moore's holding his wife hostage in exchange for the statue. And she's pregnant."

Saltzman's eyes locked on Steele. "That's true?"

"Yes."

The philosopher glanced at the Rodin, then sank back onto his chair, the rifle slowly lowered to his lap. "That man is an abomination!" he said vehemently.

"Mr. Saltzman," Steele ventured, dropping the thick brogue, "I too would love nothing more than to see that Rodin ensconced in a museum. I agree totally with you -- it belongs in the public domain. But I am caught in a rather precarious position. If that statue is not in Moore's hands by noon on Monday, Moore is going to take my wife out of the country. Somewhere. And I've no clue as to what he plans to do with her."

"Rem! You didn't tell me --" Willy said, his voice agonized.

"Wasn't time, was there?" He smiled weakly.

Saltzman sighed raggedly and rose to go to the table. "I can't... I can't allow Moore to get the best of yet another good man." He patted the bronze affectionately. "I was so hoping to see some noble soul donate you to a museum for the sake of the world, my dear, but I guess your grace and beauty will be avariciously hoarded for a time longer."

Nobel soul donate you to a museum -- a crazed plan took root in Steele's mind at the words, and he turned to Willy and grinned, then looked up at Saltzman. "I think I may have a way for both of us to extract our figurative pound of flesh from Carson Moore."

* * *

When gentle classical music woke Laura on Monday morning, she palmed the shut-off switch of the clock radio so fiercely she broke it. Then she threw the small device across the room, taking satisfaction in seeing it splinter into plastic, wires and microchips. She burrowed into the bed, tossing not only the covers but both pillows over her head. Vainly she fought to go back to sleep. She didn't want to face Monday.

Though her body was still, her mind was in turmoil. It's Monday... and there's been no word. Four days. He didn't find the Rodin. That means I'll have to wait some more. I don't want to wait!

Maybe today she could trick Moore into letting her take a walk on the grounds... and then somehow she could lose her assigned companion and sprint to an opening in the wall.. or steal a car, if she could hot-wire it... Holt, you must be insane! she told herself. You're six months pregnant! And if Remington Steele couldn't get out, how do you expect to? She only knew she was desperate enough to try, and damn the consequences.

She dozed off. When she awoke again, she grimly began preparing herself for her escape. She set out a sensible outfit -- pants and tunic, low-heeled shoes -- and set Katie's note beside it. She showered, washed and dried her hair, then, clad in a robe, went to the phone to call for breakfast. Before she could pick up the receiver, she heard a sharp knock. She whirled to see Carson Moore shoulder the door aside as he entered. "Breakfast will be up in fifteen minutes," he announced sharply. "Be ready to go in an hour." He turned to leave.

His abrupt manner frightened her. Moore had threatened to take her out of California and hold her in seclusion elsewhere if the Rodin wasn't found soon. Had Steele's time elapsed? She lunged for his arm. "Moore! Where am I going?"

He looked at her, his glittering eyes incongruous with his passive expression. "Home, Miss Holt. You're going home."

Her nerveless fingers released his arm as he moved forward to the open door and left. She wanted to shriek with joy, dance around the room with wild abandon. Home! Steele had come through. He found the sculpture. In an hour and a half, she would be a free woman. She did shriek, finally, and cheered as she moved back to the bedroom to dress. She changed her choice of clothing, putting on the suit she had been kidnapped in, slipped Katie's note in her jacket pocket, and awaited breakfast at the dining table.

The cook's apprentice that served her was smiling as he brought a loaded tray in. "You're awfully delighted this morning, George," she remarked.

The young man grinned as he served her. "The boss is pleased you're going home, Miss Holt."

"Carson Moore tiring of me so soon?"

"He's not the boss. I only work for Moore."

Laura stared in confusion. "Then-- Who--"

"Can't say, ma'am." He dug into a pocket and handed it to her. "You're to give this to Katie, Miss Holt. She'll know what to do with it."

She took the coin, and almost dropped it into her oatmeal in astonishment. "A Krugerrand! I don't understand..."

"Your daughter will, ma'am. She'll be waiting for you at the plaza lobby. Enjoy your breakfast."

"George-- Wait!"

The apprentice was out the door before Laura could stop him. She turned the gold coin over and over in her hand, puzzled, then pocketed it and ate the lavish breakfast spread before her, the mystery of George, Katie and the coin worrying at her thoughts.

Two of Moore's lackeys came to escort her to the gray limousine. Moore was at the door. He silently helped her in, then took a seat across from her. As the automobile pulled away, he spoke. "Glad to be returning home?"

"What do you think?" she snapped.

"I hope you are. You were four hours away from a long flight out of the country. One way."

She shuddered. "Then I'm... quite delighted. Moore, is that how you made your billions? Extortion? Blackmail? Threats?"

"What do those words mean, Miss Holt? It all depends on what point of view you have. One man's extortion is another's persuasion. I set goals and I achieve them. The procedure works well in my private life as in my business dealings. I am getting my Rodin. I just had to provide Remington Steele with the right motivation."

His delivery was in so cold a tone of voice it frightened her. She was overjoyed to be on her way out of captivity.

"I'll ship the clothes to your home --"

"Don't bother," she interrupted him. She wanted nothing to do with anything from her enforced stay. "Donate them to charity."

"As you wish."

The trip continued in silence. When she started to recognize streets leading to Century Park Plaza, her heart began to race. It seemed to take forever to pull up in front of the building. Once again, Moore was outside, helping her out of the limo. He kept her from rushing into the lobby by a firm grip on her arm, waiting until a contingent of suited men surrounded them. Only when the bodyguards were in place did he propel her forward, his hand still on her arm.

The doorman greeted her cautiously. The lobby was surprisingly deserted for a mid-Monday morning, with only a man with a child in his arms waiting at the elevator. But not just any child, any man -- it was Katie, in the arms of Steven Haldane. The recognition registered in her brain at the same time as Katie's loud squeal of "Mama! Mama!" reached her ears. The little girl wriggled violently until Haldane bent over to set her on the floor.

Laura moved forward to greet her -- or tried to. Moore's hand held her back. When she realized he still held her, she jerked away, swinging her free arm back violently. She struck flesh; he let her go, just as Katie reached her on her pell mell run across the lobby. She got to her knees to scoop Katie into her arms and hold her tightly. Katie hugged her back so fiercely she was choking, and planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek. "How're you, pumpkin?" she whispered into Katie's ear.

"I been good," Katie reported.

"I'm glad." She kissed Katie's cheek. "I'm very glad."

Trousered legs came into view in front of her. She followed them up to Haldane's smiling face. He reached down to help her to her feet. "Hello, Miss Holt."

"Mr. Haldane. Good to see you."

"Mr. Steele is awaiting you -- all -- in the executive suite. If you'll come with me?"

Haldane reached for her; Moore grabbed her arm first and yanked her back. Suddenly Katie stiffened in her arms; the tiny arm moved abruptly, and she heard a slap and a childishly indignant "No!" Before she realized it, she was being drawn forward by Haldane, away from the astonished Moore and his lackeys.

Haldane kept her close to his side as they went up in the elevator. The three of them -- Laura, Katie and Haldane -- were surrounded by Moore's contingent as they exited. The Remington Steele Agency's pretty, young, smart-as-a-whip receptionist was at her post in the empty receiving lobby. She smiled as the entourage entered. "Miss Holt. Good morning," she greeted in her usual manner. "I'll buzz Mr. Steele."

She worked her communications magic at the computerized switchboard. Fifteen seconds later Remington Steele walked calmly out of a side corridor, resplendently dressed in a black suit, gray shirt, maroon tie and pocket handkerchief. He stopped upon entering the reception area, scanned them all with his eyes, then locked his gaze upon Laura. The room became silent, even Katie was quiet in her arms. His face was impassive as he came forward. Only the blue eyes shone like beacons of color stolen from a midmorning sky in the Arizona desert. He stopped in front of her, lowering his head to kiss her briefly and gently, then breathed her name as he parted. He gave Katie a perfunctory kiss on her cheek, and looked past Laura to Moore. "Moore?"

"Here's yours, as promised. Where's mine?"

"In my office. If you'll come with me?"

Steele stepped away, to lead them down the corridor to the executive suites. He gestured with one hand and Haldane stepped to Laura. Moore blocked him with an arm. "We'll all go," the man stated with intense politeness. He put a hand to the small of Laura's back and prodded her. She moved with them down the familiar corridor to Mildred, the administrative assistant to the agency's best.

They entered the reception area. Mildred was standing in front of her desk, with Steele beside her. Her face lit up at the sight of Laura. "Miss Holt!"

"Mildred." Laura smiled back. She started to go to the woman, but Moore restrained her with a hand at her hip.

"Reunions later," he snapped. "Steele?"

Laura saw the tense line of Steele's jaw, and the malicious gleam in his eye. "This way." He moved to his suite, opened the door, and gestured for them to enter.

Laura and Katie were first through, and so first to see the sculpture in the middle of Steele's bare desk. She knew she should be more awed, but in her mind she was a little disappointed. That's what the crisis was about? she thought.

While everyone milled near the door, Moore bolted forward. He touched the brass piece reverently, then turned it this way and that. Finally he swung to Steele, who had moved to the playroom door and was standing casually -- too casually -- near it. "This is it," he announced.

"That is the sculpture?"

"Yes, it's my Rodin."

"I'm glad you confirmed it." Steele flung open the door to the playroom. "Gentlemen," he spoke to the people inside, "here is the man who bade me to go after the Rodin for the museum -- Carson Moore."

Out of the playroom streamed people -- newspaper and television reporters, cameramen. The bright camera lights flooded the office, along with photographers' flashes. The babble of questions was deafening as the newsmen surrounded Moore and the Rodin.

Moore's mouth was agape in shock, and he scowled at Steele with such hatred that Laura shivered. Moore recovered with a pleasant face for the cameras and started spewing glib lies to cover Steele's betrayal. Haldane drew her away to her own office. Moments later Steele was there, hugging her and Katie.

When he stepped back to look at her, his face was grim. "Maggie and Fred are waiting for you in the parking lot."

"What's going on?"

"Just -- go, Laura."

"Why did you do that to Moore? Don't you realize he'll..." She stopped, not wanting to distress Katie further. She amended her words to lessen their impact. "Don't you realize he'll come after you?"

"He won't."

"How do you know?"

"I'll tell him why."

He smiled. It was his slick, superior smile and it frightened her more than anything else that had happened, for it spoke of his past life and everything she hated about it.

"What have you done to him?"

"Nothing he can't undo in six months time." He kissed her, though she tried to resist. "Now get moving. I don't want you near when I tell him, just in case he decides to go for broke."

"No, I don't --"

"Haldane?"

Steele spun abruptly and went back to his office. Haldane pulled her the other way, through the main entrance door. "Miss Holt, trust us. Everything'll be fine," he cajoled.

"How can you be so sure? Moore is warped."

"Mr. Steele has worked it out."

Worked what out? And why? She hugged Katie closer and walked to Mildred. The woman smiled and took Katie into her arms. "Come here, Honey-pot," she cooed, and Katie responded with a kiss.

"Mildred, go with them downstairs," Haldane ordered. "I'm going back in."

"Sure thing, Steven." Mildred smiled. "Come on, Miss Holt. The chief really does have things under control."

"I hope so, Mildred. I certainly hope so."

They left the suite, moving to the reception area. Two burly bodyguards joined them. Mildred seemed comfortable with them, so she figured they were with Haldane. In the exclusive underground parking lot beneath Century Park Plaza were Maggie and Fred, standing in front of a large maroon sedan with tinted windows. Fred was uncharacteristically out of uniform.

"Miss Holt!" Maggie rushed forward and embraced her. "I'm so glad you're all right!" she whispered low enough so Katie wouldn't pick up on her concern.

Laura smiled. "Thank you, Maggie."

Maggie released her and took Katie from Mildred's hold. "We've got to be going."

Fred had the door open for her. "Where?" she asked as she slid inside.

"Lunch," the chauffeur said cryptically. Maggie handed Katie to Laura, and she buckled the little one into her seat while the two Steele employees took places in the front.

They were driving down the street before Laura was able to ask again. "Where are we having lunch?"

"Andre's," Fred admitted.

"'Nana sundae!" Katie squealed.

"For dessert, yes, pumpkin."

"Your mother is waiting for us there," Maggie volunteered.

"I see." She didn't, but no one seemed to want to explain. She would wait and talk to the apparent organizer of this scenario -- the absent Remington Steele. Assuming Moore did not, as Steele himself had phrased it, "go for broke."

"Mama, did you eat chickie nuggets in Chick'go?" Katie wanted to know.

"What? Oh, no, Katie, I... never made it to McDonald's." Suddenly she recalled the Krugerrand in her pocket. "I did bring you something, though. Here." She pulled the coin out and handed it to the child.

Katie took it and squealed. "Koo-ger-end! Maggie! Maggie!"

"What?" She turned in her seat, eyes wide in wonderment.

Katie held up the coin. "Mama has magic coin, too!"

"Yes, I see."

Laura was confused. "Magic coin?"

Maggie smiled. "A friend of Mr. Steele's gave Katie a Krugerrand a few days ago. Somehow she came to the conclusion it was a magic coin that would bring you home."

Laura's mind whirled. Steele's "friend" -- George's "boss" -- one and the same? What kind of person casually distributes such coins? The same one who helped find the Rodin and saved them all? Maybe it was magic. "Yes, Katie, it certainly works."

"You keep it." Katie handed the coin back to her mother. "I got one a'ready."

"But Katie, you can have two."

"You keep it."

Katie wouldn't take no for an answer, so she re-pocketed the coin. The adults in the car continued with small talk on the way to Andre's. They entered a second parking structure and switched to a silver Cadillac. Fred finally pulled up to Andre's rear service entrance. Claude, the four-star restaurant's maitre d'', was waiting for them. "Ah, Miss Parks, Miss Holt, Miss Katie," he greeted. "Mrs. Holt awaits you."

The others began to follow Claude inside. Only Laura seemed to notice the chauffeur was not joining them. "Fred?" she called to him.

He was already half into his automobile. "Miss Holt?"

"Aren't you coming?"

"I'll be back with Mr. Steele in a little while." He paused, then smiled. "Half an hour, Miss Holt." He got in and drove off.

"Mama?" Katie tugged at her leg.

"Yes, Mama," Claude, in the doorway, echoed. He was holding onto Katie's hand. "Please come in."

Laura smiled, took Katie's other hand, and followed Claude through the kitchen and up a flight of stairs to one of the restaurant's private rooms. Inside, Laura's mother greeted her effusively, and asked repeatedly about her welfare while helping Maggie settle Katie into her chair.

The food had apparently been pre-chosen, but she wasn't hungry. She toyed with her fruit cocktail appetizer, and swirled the spoon in her soup. Katie was quick to notice her mother's lack of appetite. "Mama? Eat your soup," Katie commanded.

Laura smiled at her daughter. "I'm not really hungry, pumpkin. I just had breakfast a few hours ago."

"Laura, dear, you really should eat," Abigail admonished. "Think of the baby."

"Soup is good for you. It makes you grow big an' strong," Katie said, echoing what she had been told often. The little girl leaned along the table and pushed Laura's spoon at her. "Eat, p'ease."

"You should listen to you daughter, dear. She has more sense than you --"

"All right!" She took a few spoonfuls under Abigail's and Katie's watchful eyes, but set the spoon aside as they turned their attentions to their own food. She glanced at her watch. The half-hour time span Fred had mentioned had passed and was creeping to forty-five minutes...

As the entrees were placed, Steele breezed in, with Mildred and Fred trailing. Laura followed him with her eyes as he greeted Maggie, Abigail and Katie, ordered meals served to the newcomers. Then he sat down sideways in the seat next to her. For a long moment they said nothing, only stared. As his hand moved to her hair she leaned forward to grasp his shoulder and tugged him to her. Somewhere in the middle their lips met in a kiss that lasted for a very long time.

"Welcome home," he breathed.

"What went on back there?" she asked, still uneasy. "That was a pretty wild stunt you pulled."

He grinned. "Rather nice touch of irony that, eh?"

"A touch? More like a two-ton weight." She squeezed his hands. "It was bad enough looking over our shoulders for Major Descoine for six years. Carson Moore's a lot more deadly."

"You've no need to worry about Moore, my love."

"Why not?"

Claude interrupted them with his drink and food. He thanked the maitre d' and prepared to eat. "Ah, food! Haven't eaten yet today."

Peeved, she threw her hand onto his silverware, keeping it from his grasp. "Tell me what's going on!" she demanded.

Instead of being angry, he turned to her with a serene smile on his face, and kissed her forehead. "Later," he promised, and gently retrieved his captured silverware. Knowing she'd get nothing from him until he chose to divulge it, she turned to her own plate, and, surprisingly, discovered she was hungry.

"About what happened Monday -- is three days later 'later' enough for you?"

Laura's sharp tone caused him to sigh with frustration as he crossed to the closet where his pajama bottoms were stored. Damn it, Laura, couldn't you for once not be so bloody curious? he replied mentally. But no sooner had the words crossed his mind than his own thoughts supplied the answer: Then she wouldn't be your Laura at all, mate, would she?

He leaned on the wall by the closet to look at her before replying. She was lying on her side at the foot of the bed, resting her head on an elbow. Her hair, losing its curl-of-the-day, was in gentle waves around her face and shoulders, and for once she appeared every bit of her mature thirty-six years. The smoldering look in her eyes helped, of course, as did the sexiest of her maternity nightgowns, though Laura's pregnant body was less rounded than most. After he had gotten his fill -- leaving her to think he was pondering her request -- he said, "All right. I'll explain. Just let me get dressed first?"

He again ran a towel over his damp hair, then slid out of his black robe. It replaced his black silken pajama bottoms on a hook in a closet. No sooner had he gotten the pajamas up to his waist, then a second pair of hands slid over his skin in a light caress and assumed the task of tying the drawstring. Laura's cheek and hair pressed against the slightly damp skin of his back, which had been sensitized by the overlong shower.

After the drawstring was tied, one arm slid to curl around his waist, the hand of the other began stroking his chest. He felt her press so close to his body as to almost knock him off balance. Teeth and lips alternately nibbled and kissed the skin at his back. He steadied himself against the corner of the closet wall, unsuccessfully fighting the tension of arousal. Finally, when he could stand no more, he said quietly, "Laura, you're wasting your time. All you'll be getting is a longer wait while I take a very cold shower."

"You're no fun," he heard faintly from her.

"Woman, you're six months pregnant! Don't you find making love just a wee bit awkward?"

Teeth sank into a muscle of his upper left arm. "Hardly."

"Well, I do."

Swinging around, he grabbed her in both arms. She was wide-eyed and breathless, and even more so after he kissed her soundly. "I don't think you really want to hear about Monday at all," he murmured.

"Oh yes," she panted, "...do."

"I think it was a ruse you perpetrated in order to attack my poor, tired body --"

"Nonsense..."

Her hands abruptly tightened their hold on his arms, fingers digging into his flesh. Her sparking eyes dulled over for a moment. Suddenly he was frightened. "Laura??!!" Carefully he lowered her to the gray deep pile shag. His hand touched her damp cheek. "Are you all right?"

She was panting, now from pain rather than excitement. "It's okay. Just the little one in here," she touched her abdomen, "He -- she -- gave me a good swift kick. It caught me by surprise."

"I'm sorry --"

Laura rose to her elbows, color returning to her paled face. "Nothing to be concerned about." She grabbed his arm and used the leverage to pull herself into a sitting position. Once up, she smiled seductively at him and began to rub her thumb in a circle against the tender skin of his inner elbow. His temperature rose.

He gave her a look intended to chastise as he grabbed both her hands and held them together in front of him. "Now. Are you ready to listen?"

She put on her most innocent face. "Of course." Her expression turned quizzical. "What did you say to Moore?"

Steele took a deep breath before beginning. "I hit him where it hurts. His pocketbook. Men like him believe 'money is power.' So I took a little money from him."

"How... little?"

"Six million."

She straightened instantly, wincing at the discomfort the movement cause. "Six million dollars?"

"I told him to check his holdings. Since last Tuesday, when you had been kidnapped, he's lost six million dollars. I informed him that he could recoup his losses in the next few months, with some fast and judicious maneuvering. And if anything, anything whatsoever, would happen to my family, or any of the members of my agency, then he would be bankrupt within two years, with no hope of a turnaround. He'd be destitute."

She smiled. "That's a pretty impressive bluff."

"It's no bluff."

Her smile faded. She looked deeply into his eyes, penetrating his soul, trying to get around that barrier to his past that she had grudgingly accepted upon their marriage. He forced himself not to turn his head, to meet the confusion, and fear in her eyes. "How?" she finally asked.

"I called in half a life's worth of favors."

He watched her strain not to speak, to not ask what kind of favors, where they had been granted. Finally, she said, "What it must have cost you... dredging up the past..."

"Laura, Moore is an unscrupulous man. I had to use his own tactics to defeat him. I had to show him he wasn't just maneuvering a private investigator with interesting connections. He had to know I don't -- we don't -- take to being bullied, threatened and coerced." He saw the pain in her eyes -- her fear of his old life and what it might cost them both -- and went on, "Or did you fancy spending the rest of your life alone on some destitute little Pacific island, that is assuming Moore would have let you live at all?"

Using an elbow, she pushed herself slowly to a sitting position and sat with her back to him. "Favors beget favors," she whispered. "What happens when one of these string pullers knocks on our door and asks for your help on a little job? Breaking and entering? Plans on the security system for the Raveland estate? Running a scam?"

"It won't happen, Laura..."

"It won't?" Her back stiffened and she glanced over her shoulder at him. "It already does. I know you do little things here and there, to help out your friends, your contacts, but this..." She turned back to the wall.

Steele swallowed to try and moisten a dry throat. He would never resume his former life, but he couldn't turn away from those less fortunate than he had been. He knew Laura wouldn't -- and never could -- approve, thus he'd tried not to let her know. He had confidence in her love for him and her trust in him, but he also knew buried down deep inside her was that tiny insecurity that his past might someday lure him away from her. The deals he'd made to take care of Moore could only have brought her old fears to the surface.

"Dear, it's ancient history. We don't have to go over all that old ground." She turned to him again, a word on her lips, but he knew what she was going to ask. "Laura, I can't give you promises. I couldn't four years ago; I can't now."

The hurt on her face cut him. Every time he thought this hurdle had been cleared, it rose up anew. He was afraid that, one day, they wouldn't manage to find a way over it and that would be the day their carefully strung marriage would end.

As they stared at each other, another voice reached them. "Why you s'eepin' on the floor?"

Steele looked past Laura's shoulder to their daughter, standing in the doorway, clutching her stuffed elephant. Laura's face had a gentle smile on her lips as she answered, "We're not sleeping, pumpkin, we're..."

"Playing," he finished.

"Yer not 'posed to p'ay at night," Katie said, reprimanding them with words she had been scolded with numerous times. "'Posed to p'ay in the daytime."

"Sometimes grown-ups play at night too," he said. Before Katie could consider the ramifications of that statement -- and barrage them with questions requiring tricky explanations -- he held out his arms. "Come here, Sweetling."

She tore across the carpet, and dropping the elephant, threw herself at him with giggles, which intensified as he pretended to be knocked to the floor by the force of her jump. She took the opportunity to tickle him, as he often did to her. In between laughs, he glanced at Laura's face. She was smiling softly, her brown eyes warm.

Quickly he sat up, dropping Katie back into the cradle of his arms. "Doesn't Mommy get a tickling too?" he suggested.

"Mama don' tickle me," the child stated.

"She knows where her Chicken McNuggets are dipped," Laura returned.

"Chickie nuggets!" Katie squirmed out of his grasp to her mother's waiting arms. Laura held the little girl, pressing her head to a shoulder and rocking her gently. "I want chickie nuggets."

"Tomorrow, Katie," Laura replied. She kissed the child's temple, then hesitantly glanced over at Steele. The yearning look in her eye triggered a swell of love in him. Abruptly he lunged forward, to kiss her cheek and stroke her temple, meeting her gaze with confidence. "Of course," Laura went on in a low tone, "we'll have to ask Daddy if we can go."

He looked down at Katie. She was studying him warily -- as warily as Laura. "Certainly we can go." Katie's face lit up, and she squirmed in her mother's hold. "But now you need to go to bed."

"I wanna s'eep wif you."

The two parents sighed in unison, and began, "Katie --"

"Is Katie in here? I thought I heard her in the hall." Abigail Holt was on the threshold, tying her pink bathrobe shut. "It's a little late for you to be up, isn't it, young lady?"

"No --" Laura began automatically, then grinned. "Oh, you mean Katie. Yes, Mother, Katie's going to bed right away. She just... wanted to make sure we were here."

"After effects of the week," Steele added.

"Yes. Well, Katie needs all the sleep she can get, because we're going to the zoo tomorrow, right?"

"Yah!"

"Then we'd best get you to bed, pumpkin." Laura handed the child to Steele, who carried Katie to the king-sized bed.

"She's not going to sleep with you two, is she?" Abigail scolded.

"Just for tonight, Abigail," Steele replied, dropping Katie onto the bed where she bounced on the mattress, squealing.

"That's a very bad habit to encourage."

"It's not a habit, Mother," Laura replied, "and I think we can handle it. Besides, I... I'd like to have Katie here with me tonight."

Her mother sighed. "Well, you two be careful not to make this a regular thing."

"We won't, Mother."

Abigail retreated, and the two parents shared an exasperated look. "I think I'm glad she's across the continent," Laura said.

"Grandmother's prerogative, Laura." He looked down at Katie, nonchalantly squirming on the bed. "Time for my good little girls," he looked up at Laura, "to go to bed."

Laura took the hint. "Yes, I'm tired. Let's go to bed."

"I wanna p'ay wif the grown ups!"

"We're tired, Katie Laura. We want to go to bed, too." Steele retrieved her elephant. "Now, here's Rumbly."

Laura slid into bed and pulled the comforter down to make a pocket for Katie. "Come here, pumpkin."

With a sigh, Katie crawled with her elephant over the mattress to her mother. Laura pulled her close, then settled the comforter over her, tucking it under her chin. "Good night, Katie."

"'Night, Mama."

Steele kissed her cheek. "Good night, Katie Laura. Remember, tomorrow night you go back to your own bed."

"You've got to get used to sleeping there again, Katie," Laura said. "What's going to happen when the baby comes and it starts fussing? Who's going to let us know? You've got to be our little helper down there."

"I'll help."

"Good. Now go to sleep."

Steele slid into bed beside the child. He lay for a while, watching the two females. Laura at first closed her eyes, understanding that as long as Katie thought she was asleep, the child would try and sleep, too. At length Laura opened her eyes and tugged on Katie's hand, which was firmly ensconced against her mouth, thumb inside. When Katie didn't wake, she smiled. "Dead to the world."

"She's had a rough week." He looked Laura in the eye suggestively. "You both have. What do you say we all take tomorrow off and go to the zoo?"

"And McDonald's."

Steele made a face. "And McDonald's. I suppose I could stomach one of their excuses for a hamburger." Beneath the covers his hand searched and found hers and squeezed it. "Laura, I love you. Corny and clichéd though it may seem, you are my life, and without you, living is nothing." He tried to smile, to offset the gravity of his tone. Laura hated it when he was serious. "So let's put all this behind us, and concentrate on what's ahead." He released her hand to rest his on her stomach. Beneath his palm, through the cloth of her nightgown, he felt the baby stir. The sensations thrilled him, as they usually did. "We have to figure out how to redesign the nursery."

"And pick two interns for the agency," she said.

"And ship Abigail back to Connecticut."

"On Sunday. First class." She smiled back. "I could really go for some cocoa."

"Katie has a nose like a bloodhound. She'll wake up and want some."

"We'll drink it in the bathroom."

"I'm elected to make it, I assume?"

She plucked his hand from her belly and brought it to her lips. "Please?" She kissed his palm, then began tracing circles there with her tongue.

He slid out of bed, taking precautions not to disturb Katie. "Cocoa coming up," he said, leaving.

In the kitchen he took his time with the procedure. He found chocolate kisses in a jar in her office and put some on a plate, an extra surprise. He carried the small tray upstairs and through the master bedroom into the bath. He set it up on Laura's built-in vanity, and returned to her bedside.

"Cocoa's up," he murmured.

When she didn't respond, he looked close, and realized she had fallen asleep. His hand on her shoulder rose and fell in rhythm to her deep, even breathing. He smiled. As usual, Laura, you've made my hard work all for naught, he thought to himself. He placed a light kiss on her cheek and went to the bathroom. He drank his cocoa leisurely, and left the other cup on the dresser. When Laura saw it in the morning, he knew she'd feel guilty. He got into bed and fell asleep with a smile on his face that would stay to annoy his wife the next morning.