This story copyright © 2003 Mia McCroskey
Characters from The Avengers and other sources are the property of their respective owners.
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Steed becomes a man hunter
Emma stays afloat
Chapter 1
Edmond Stanton was surprised at himself. For the past few years he'd thought of himself as heading for retirement. Certainly the management of Knight Industries had been steering him in that direction. And the fact was, he was getting old. He had enjoyed his years of work -- of high-level deal making on Knight's behalf -- and he'd saved and invested enough to retire comfortably. He'd met and married his wife well into his career, so they'd never enjoyed a period of leisure -- they hadn't gone to school together or spent summers abroad. She never said anything, but he knew she would like the opportunity to travel before they were both too old to get around.
But then Emma Knight had regained control of Knight, bringing back her father's honest energy and enthusiasm to what had become a discontented, fracturing organization. Within days of returning she'd found more than one exciting opportunity for Edmond to pursue. He'd felt revitalized. And then Evan Birch had barged into Emma's office and shot her.
If Emma had been killed, Edmond would have simply walked away. His loyalty had been to Sir John Knight, and to Emma. He felt no sense of duty to the company that Knight had become. But Emma was not dead. She'd been whisked away to a mysterious medical facility that issued regular, confidential reports to Knight's management and Emma's mostly uncaring relatives. Unofficially, John Steed telephoned him each day, assuring him that their Emma was going to recover. Edmond sensed that Steed's words were spoken to reassure himself, too.
Edmond had acted without thinking, calling an emergency meeting of Knight's senior management, and contacting the remaining members of the board to ask them to meet as well. Three board members had been arrested, along with a number of Knight employees, for violation of the Secrets Act. That there had been people within Knight supplying information and materials to a South American terrorist organization did not surprise Edmond. That there were so many frightened him very much. The company had been seriously compromised; it would require a great deal of skill and luck to save and rebuild it. Only his faith in Emma's determination and talent kept him from despairing.
His skill as a negotiator was renowned. He employed it freely to manipulate the remaining members of the management team. The board was harder to manage, but he convinced them to postpone any action until Emma was conscious enough to make her wishes known. He was determined that she would have a company to return to, if that's what she wanted.
So instead of cutting back his hours and spending more time with June, Edmond was practically living at Knight Industries. That's where Emma found him, a week after the shooting, when she was finally allowed to use a telephone. Edmond understood that she was in a private medical facility dedicated to the ministry that John Steed worked for. Emma had once worked for them as well, and had been acting on their behalf as recently as a month ago. He wasn't quite sure why she had been admitted there this time, except that Steed must have arranged it. And from what he understood, the care she was receiving was top of the line.
"Edmond, it's Emma." Although her voice was weak, lacking its usual rich lilt, it was still music to his ears. Emma was the only child of his best friend. Fiercely independent, brilliant, and beautiful, she had filled her father's corporate shoes for a time after he died, before striking out on her own life as the wife of a test pilot. It was difficult to believe that her personal decision more than seven years ago had directly lead to where they were today.
"Emma darling," he replied, "I'm desperately happy to hear your voice. Does this mean you'll be back tomorrow?"
He heard her laugh degenerate into a weak cough and shuddered with regret at having made the joke.
"I'm fortunate to be allowed to make this call, Edmond," she finally replied.
"Are we being monitored?" he asked, silently scolding himself for being silly and using up valuable time.
"Steed's here," Emma replied quite seriously. "And the call's probably being recorded -- everything is from here. But that's nothing to worry about. Now tell me about Knight. None of them will let me see a newspaper."
"That's just as well, darling. The coverage was gruesome. No pictures -- no current pictures -- at least. Lord knows where they dredged up their file photos of you, though. But the whole cast was featured in one paper or another. Even your friend there -- I'm sure that didn't please him, or his associates."
"Really? He never mentioned it. And now he's giving me the most impatient look. No, Steed, I will not hurry up. You look as if we're late for a party or something. As if I'm going anywhere."
"Let me update you, Emma, before your fellow wrestles the telephone from you," Edmond suggested.
"Please," she said, clearly doing her best to be concise.
He went on to review what the management team and the board had been doing, making it clear to her that she needed to make a public statement soon. Two large conglomerates were already circling with takeover written all over their corporate faces.
"The last thing we can afford is for anyone to think that Knight is in play," he concluded, knowing he was preaching to the converted.
"I'll call in the spin doctors and work on a statement," Emma said, ignoring the way Steed's head popped up from his newspaper when she said call. "Meanwhile, I want you and Angus to keep negotiating with Reggie Styles on that computer storage media project. And get Alex Harper's plan for the computer subsidiary into the lawyers hands, if it isn't already."
"I'll get right on it, Emma. I'm so relieved -- you almost sound like your old, demanding self."
"Thank you Edmond. I've got a long way to go, I'm afraid. But it helps to know you're there."
"Spin doctors?" Steed asked when she'd ended the call.
"It's a marketing term," she replied, picking up her personal phone book to look for a number. "The situation at Knight is spinning out of control --."
"And you need a spin doctor to get things back on course," he finished for her, smiling at the unfamiliar jargon.
"It's weak, I know. But that's what marketing is, isn't it? Smoke and mirrors, a fresh coat of paint over the rust and dents. Or in this case, over the hole in my chest." She found the number she was seeking and started to dial. Steed walked over to the bed and depressed the receiver buttons on the phone, aborting the call. He looked very unhappy and very concerned.
"Emma, your recovery is not smoke and mirrors. When you leave this hospital you will be healed, not just bandaged."
She glared at him, for a moment unable to release her business persona and behave like the proper invalid that he expected. Then she closed her eyes, pursing her lips and taking a deep breath.
"Please, Steed, let me take care of Knight. I only meant that I have to issue a statement, and I need the advice of some experts about what to say. Edmond says Knight's being talked about as a takeover target. I have to convince the world that I'm still in charge without actually being there."
Steed bent to her and placed a kiss on her forehead, releasing the telephone at the same time.
"I'm sorry, darling," he said softly. "Please let me take care of you. And forgive me for being too cautious. You know it's my nature."
She smiled up at him, "I know. And I love you for it."
The security guard looked on impassively as Matthew Stein threw his personal property into an old file box.
"Three minutes, Mr. Stein," the guard reminded him, glancing at his wristwatch. All around the office Stein's former co-workers stared at their desks with downcast eyes, or exchanged glances with one another. A few stared openly at him. A telephone shattered the eerie silence and was answered before the first ring ended, the speaker using hushed tones that must have baffled whoever was calling.
Stein dropped the desk clock that had been a gift from a client into the box and jammed on the lid. Without a word he picked it up and headed for the lifts, the guard following him. His supervisor glanced out his open office door as they passed, but Stein didn't give him the pleasure of a final glance.
Five years he'd slaved away here, doing what Evan Birch asked of him. Now Birch was washed up and he, Matthew Stein, had been hung out to dry. Someone was going to pay. Maybe not Birch -- he'd have nothing left by the time he paid his lawyers, even if they did get him off. And maybe not Barnwell, the asshole who'd fired him for his management of the Knight portfolio. Mismanagement, Barnwell had called it. Stein had been on the verge of saying it was all Birch's fault -- he was doing what Birch wanted -- when he realized that that would most certainly lock him out of a job with any other firm, anywhere. Nobody would hire a man who'd sell out. Someone might hire a man who'd made some mistakes.
But in any case, someone was going to pay for this mess. He could think of a few more possibilities. As the lift descended he inventoried them: Sir Peter Peel, the criminal mastermind who'd gotten away; Miss Emma Knight, now that would be a particularly sweet revenge of a non-financial sort; Stafford, or Dixon, the other two Knight board members -- they must have squirreled something away during their years robbing Knight. By the time he had been escorted across the lobby and out the doors into the streets of the City, he had started contemplating a plan.
Charles Barnwell slid the Knight Industries file out from under a pile of work on his desk and opened it again. It was unbelievable. Stein had practically drained Knight's investment accounts. With each transfer of funds among the various investments, there had been transfers to numbered accounts at banks in various countries like Switzerland and the Caymans. Stein had manipulated the superficial paperwork expertly. Authorizations and signatures were on file. The funds that were gone were untraceable, at least by this firm -- authorities with more sway over international banking might be able to do something. But that didn't help Barnwell.
His only relief, temporary though it may be, was the knowledge that Miss Emma Knight would not be returning to her office for at least a few more weeks. He had that time to craft his explanation and prepare for her reaction. By all accounts, he'd be lucky to get out of Knight headquarters alive, although with her recent injury she might not be able to do as much damage as usual. With great reluctance, he asked his secretary to contact Miss Knight's office and arrange a meeting for when she returned.
Emma was shocked at how drained she was by the drive to Steed's sister's home. She opened her eyes when she felt the Bentley come to a gentle stop and looked around at the unfamiliar house and yard. Her previous, and first, visit had been at Christmas. Now spring was beginning to exert its influence and everything looked different.
"All right?" Steed asked, studying her worriedly from just beyond her door. He'd gotten out and come around to her side. She gave him a reassuring smile.
"Yes. Tired is all."
"I can imagine -- no, I don't have to. I'm personally familiar with the condition. Come on, let's get you in and wrapped around a warm cup of tea."
She basked in his gentle kindness as she had been doing for the last few weeks. He knew exactly how she felt at each stage of the healing process, and exactly what to do to help. It was hard to believe his having been gravely hurt himself so many times was actually beneficial to her. He gave her his arm to negotiate the front walk. Fortunately, it was mid-afternoon and the children were still off at school. Steed had rushed her that morning to time it this way, so she would not be bombarded by curious inquiries before she could rest.
The door was flung open by his sister before he could knock. Caroline reached out and took Emma's other arm, gently wrestling her from Steed and directing her into the front parlor.
"You're here at last! I've been baking and roasting and fretting about you for hours -- can you smell it?" she guided Emma to the sofa. "The baking and roasting, I mean, not my fretting, although Lord knows you could probably smell that too!"
Emma broke down in giggles, allowing the other woman to maneuver her legs up onto the sofa, then tuck a ragged, crocheted afghan around her. Steed, who had abandoned her to his sister, reappeared in the foyer with their bags. He cleared his throat, drawing Caroline's attention.
"The usual room, John. I know you'll want to take care of her," she said. Steed nodded and disappeared toward the stairs.
"Now, I put the kettle on when I saw the car, so you'll have some tea shortly. I expect you'd just like a bit of a rest, yes? I thought so."
Emma nodded, smiling. Caroline didn't seem to expect her to say anything and she was just as happy to close her eyes and sink into the cushions. But she didn't see the woman's concerned expression, which flashed across her face before being quickly concealed. Emma let herself drift, relieved to be out of the car at last. Before she knew it Steed had returned with a tray full of tea and freshly baked biscuits. He sat in the armchair by the sofa and made up her cup, then his own.
"This'll buck you right up," he said cheerfully. Emma did not miss the concern in his voice.
"You're worried," she said, taking the cup and saucer.
"I can't help it. I know you're fine -- it was a long drive and you've got a lot of strength to regain. But it's troubling to see you so weak. I'm not used to it."
"You're not the only one!" she grinned. The tea was already having a revitalizing effect. He grinned back and sipped from his own cup.
"Wait until you see ëour' room," he said. "Caro's shifted the beds together."
"What?"
Their room, the one Steed always used when he visited, and that they'd shared at Christmas, really belonged to the Hill's two younger sons. The boys were camping out on their older brother's floor. It had two twin beds that were normally located on opposite sides of the room. At Christmas they'd stayed that way. In fact Steed and Emma had refrained from any romantic activity, beyond a bit of cuddling and kissing, during their stay.
"I think she's done it so that I don't have to get up if you need me in the night," he added, eyes twinkling over the top of his cup.
"I wonder how she defines ëneed,'" Emma sighed, winking back at him. She knew something about her condition that Steed did not. At her checkup yesterday the doctor had given her permission to be intimate again -- so long as she refrained from anything too strenuous. Her heart was strong and had not been injured. Her lung and cracked ribs were healing well. Although the ministry doctor had no idea just how active her sex life with Steed could be, his instructions had been clear. And wonderfully welcome. For the first three weeks she'd had no interest. Steed's kisses were welcome tokens of his love and concern, but they had no power to awaken her baser desires. But in the last week that had changed. She'd begun to watch his body again, to imagine the feel of it against hers, inside of hers.
He caught her mischievous little smile and nodded.
"It would be about that time," he said softly, reaching out to play with a lock of her hair. She frowned at him, puzzled. "You're healed enough to start thinking about -- well, me, I hope," he went on.
Of course. He's been through this. He knows.
"The doctor approved it -- gently," she said. He grinned. "And more walking. I want to go riding -- slowly!" she added when his expression turned negative.
"I won't put you on a horse. You don't have the strength to control him if he gets spooked," Steed said firmly. Emma scowled at him, allowing herself to pout. He watched her for a moment, recognizing that she was concealing her innate stubbornness. She'd go saddle her own horse when the mood struck her. That wouldn't do. "We'll ride double," he suggested.
"I hate sitting behind a saddle. It's horribly uncomfortable."
"We'll ride bareback."
"Promise?"
"Yes. Tomorrow, or the next day -- when you're ready."
"I love you, you know."
"Yes I know."
The children were remarkably restrained when they came in from school. They greeted their favorite uncle fondly, and Steed produced a series of little gifts that Emma hadn't known he'd brought. To her delight, they also greeted her fondly, if carefully. They'd been told that she had been badly hurt in an accident. Caroline appeared and shoed them off to do their homework and chores, leaving Steed and Emma to continue studying the chess board that he'd set up on the table.
When Harry, Caroline's husband, came in he joined them for a bit and Emma immediately subjected him to questioning about business. He managed futures for the copper mining company that he'd worked for all his life. Emma knew that he was particularly gifted, with a remarkable understanding of the complex futures market. She'd been thinking about how to leverage it on behalf of Knight Industries since she'd met him at Christmas.
Sensing what she was up to, Steed pried his brother-in-law away before Emma could delve too deeply. He'd warned her to leave Harry alone. Caroline would never forgive him if Emma enticed Harry to take a job in London. But Steed knew how to distract his brother-in-law. He deftly introduced Harry's other passion -- restoring old cars -- and within moments he was following the big redhead out to the garage, casting Emma a smug look over his shoulder. Her benign smile was more frightening than annoyance would have been.
Feeling very rested, Emma folded up the afghan and made her way into the kitchen where Caroline and her oldest daughter Sara were finishing supper preparations.
"Steed has dragged Harry out to the garage," she said as she pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down.
"Sure it wasn't the other way around?" Caroline asked cheerfully.
"Quite. Steed seems to think I'm trying to induce Harry to come work for Knight Industries. He thinks you'd be very upset about it."
"Are you?" Caroline asked, pausing to look directly at Emma. Her gaze was so much like Steed's it was startling.
"Yes."
Caroline's brows shot up, also just like Steed's. Emma couldn't help grinning.
"He wouldn't have to come to London," she added.
"He's happy with the mining company," Caroline said, but Emma could see she could be swayed.
"It's limiting. Knight is involved with several business segments where his talents could be very beneficial. He'd have more opportunities, and I think we could reach a compensation agreement that would be quite favorable."
"Sara," Caro said, turning to her thirteen-year-old daughter, "I want you to pay careful attention to Emma, because she's a very smart, very determined woman from whom you could learn a great deal. Do you see what she's doing here?"
Emma also looked at Sara.
"Does she mean her company would pay dad more than the mining company?" Sara asked, looking from her mother to Emma with a shy smile. Emma nodded ever so slightly and Sara's smile widened proudly.
"Oh yes, that's a given, girl. She knows she has to do that," Caroline gave Emma a stern look. "What I mean is, she's here convincing me. Because she knows your papa will discuss it with me. No matter how attractive the offer, he won't take it if I don't approve."
"Really Mum?" Sara asked. "Doesn't Dad say he's the head of the household and all?"
"I think it's a partnership, Sara," Emma said before Caroline could answer. "And your mother is right. But I wouldn't want to convince your father to work for Knight Industries if your mother doesn't approve. For one thing, Steed would never forgive me."
"That's true enough!" Caroline chuckled.
"But what do you think, Mum? Don't you always say the mining company doesn't deserve Dad?"
Now Caroline had to laugh outright at Emma's triumphant expression. Sara suddenly realized what she'd revealed and she laughed too. "Oops," she said, putting a hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry Mum!"
"Never mind," Caroline said, waving a hand dismissively. "I think Emma could see where I stood anyway. Let's just see if she's able to convince your papa."
Supper was a raucous affair, but Emma felt energized by the children's chatter and the delicious meal. She insisted on helping clear the table, urging Steed with a knowing glance to go on back out to the garage with Harry. Caroline vetoed her offer to help the children with the washing up, instead serving them both coffee at the kitchen table. Caroline placed herself where she could supervise the children in their wet, soapy efforts.
"Speaking of partnerships," she said, although they had not been, "Shouldn't you be planning a wedding?"
Emma had known this was coming. Caroline had been the first person to guess at their engagement just a few hours after Steed had proposed, and as Steed's older sister she asserted a much-deserved right to look out for him.
"I'm not -- it's too soon to announce it," Emma said, stopping herself from saying she wasn't ready. Caroline didn't look satisfied. "I'm feeling rather overwhelmed by everything. I think I need to be healthy to manage it, along with everything else." She did not want to blurt out her concerns about Knight. As far as the world knew, the wrongdoers within the company had been discovered and removed. And the talk of takeovers had been squelched by carefully constructed statements of Emma's speedy recovery and plans for the future. Only Emma and those immediately surrounding her knew how dangerously fragile Knight was just now.
"At Christmas I told you not to wait too long," Caroline said. Emma nodded -- she remembered the advice, knew that it was still good. "I didn't want him to lose you -- he's capable of getting impatient and doing stupid things, although you'd never think it. He needs you. But now I think maybe I was wrong. I think my brother knows what's good for him. He'll wait for you to be ready. But it will get harder, the longer it takes."
"Harder how?"
Caroline shrugged, "If you let things come between you -- business, for example -- he'll resent it. You'll have to get past that to make a marriage work."
Emma suppressed an inward shiver at the accuracy of Caroline's observation. But was it fair? Was she letting Knight come between them, or was she simply tying up lose ends. It really was too soon to announce their engagement. The press -- and not just the business press -- would have a field day with it. She'd spent enough time on the society pages since her mother died to develop a sense of these things. They had thoroughly dissected the end of her marriage to Peter when he was arrested. The announcement of marriage to Steed would have them knocking on his door, and ultimately the ministry's. Now that was a chilling thought. If nothing else, they had to give Mother fair warning.
"I see what you mean," Emma said. "I think he understands. Certainly right now he does -- I really can't put the effort into the kind of wedding I want to have until I've settled things at Knight."
Caroline nodded, then smiled slyly. "And what kind of wedding it that?" she asked. Emma realized the woman would get her way. She wanted to discuss a wedding and if it had to be somewhat hypothetical, so be it. But Emma hadn't been the sort of girl who'd planned out her wedding when she was twelve. Even if she had, she would have put that plan into action the first time around. Nonetheless, she did have some ideas about the day that she and Steed would celebrate their commitment to one another.
"I want it in a big country church," she said, thinking about a visit she and Steed had made to Salisbury Cathedral just before he proposed. There had been something magical about the ancient space. She wanted to recapture that mysticism on her wedding day, although she realized it was a near impossibility. "I'm not wearing white, of course. But perhaps something close. But not dreadfully ornate."
"No. I should think you'd want sleek and elegant," Caroline said.
"I don't want the wedding to be huge, although I fear it will be difficult to keep the guest list under control. Do you think," she paused, glancing at the children by the sink, "that Sara would like to participate?"
"I think that's a silly question, my dear," Caroline smiled. "It would make her year -- whatever year it turns out to be!"
Emma laughed, then thought some more. She was surprised at herself for enjoying this exercise, and suspected that Caroline had known she would. "I want the reception to be in our house."
"What house?"
"The one we're going to have to get," she said with a shrug. "The one that's old and rambling, with stables and gardens, and run-down caretakers poking around ineffectively fixing things. We'll have to spend a fortune on it just to make it comfortable, and another fortune to make it look right for the kind of parties we'll have to host."
"That's a couple fortunes, on top of the purchase price," Caroline pointed out, realizing that fortunes were something that Emma was accustomed to dealing in. "And where is this decrepit structure?"
"I don't know. Not too far from London. I couldn't pry Steed out of his mews flat, so we'll keep it. But I don't want him to have an excuse for not coming home at night."
Caroline studied her for a moment and Emma grew uncomfortable under her scrutiny.
"You think I'm cold and calculating," she said very matter-of-factly. Caroline shook her head.
"I think you're a brilliant strategist. And you know exactly how to manage my brother. Here I thought he was lucky to have found you, but now I see he's in as much danger as he is good fortune."
"That might be true, Caro, if she weren't devoted to me," Steed said from the dining room doorway. Startled, both women turned to smile at him. He sat down beside Emma half facing her and put his arm across the back of her chair. "What's she managing me about?" he asked, smiling into Emma's eyes.
"Oh, your future living arrangements, your wedding," Caroline said lightly.
"Oh yes, when is that, exactly, darling?" he asked, still looking at Emma. Caroline cocked one eyebrow, catching Emma's eye with an "I told you so" look.
"Not much longer, Steed. I promise," Emma replied. "I need to be well."
He nodded and both women could see that he truly understood. But they both also knew that she would get well, and he would ask again, and Emma would need to see her way through the distractions.