Fenton, Con, and Joe had stayed with Detective Marshall for another hour while he questioned everyone at the hotel. No one had seen Frank leave. How an injured boy could have disappeared without a trace was beyond them. There were absolutely no leads as to where Frank had gone, or whether he'd had help. An APB had been put out for him right after Jeff had called and there had been no response. Fenton was finally forced to admit there was nothing more they could do there.

"Con, would you mind driving Laura's car home? I don't think Frank will be returning here for it, but if he does the police will pick him up," Fenton asked.

"Sure. I'll see you back at your house," Con said and took Fenton's spare keys.

"Joe, let's go," Fenton said. When Joe didn't answer he called again. "Joe..." Joe was standing there, searching up and down the street.

Joe looked back around at his father. "I keep wondering if he's in an alley somewhere nearby bleeding to death."

Fenton put an arm around him. "I don't think so. The police have searched the area. Besides, the evidence in that room indicate that Frank or someone was able to bandage up the injury."

"Then where is he? Is he with a friend or an enemy?"

"I don't know. I just don't know," Fenton sighed as they got into the car. "One thing we do know for certain--somehow all of this is tied in with that prison. We'll check it out in the morning. Right now, we need to get home. Your mother is probably frantic waiting for word...although it'll only make her worry more."

Carl Villman stared at the phone, willing it to ring, waiting to hear whether Frank Hardy had returned home. The guard Hanks had taken with him had returned to report they had lost the kid. He hadn't known what had happened to Hanks. The imbecile had run at the first sign of trouble, leaving Hanks there to face two assailants alone. At least he'd come to his senses enough to wait around outside for Hanks. What he had seen instead was that new guard, Williams, leaving with the Hardy kid. There had been no sign of Hanks. He had tried to follow, but lost them as they headed out of town, heading toward Bayport.

After hearing the guard's report, he had contacted his man watching the Hardys' home. He had told him to call as soon as the kid showed up at home. It was now almost midnight and he hadn't heard a thing. They must have stopped along the highway.

He got the description of Williams' car from his employment records, then called his special guards and inmates into his office. He would send them out to check every motel along the possible routes to the Hardy's home town. They would find the car--and then he would have the boy.

The sixty minutes Rand waited for the physician seemed to drag on endlessly and his only companion as he paced the room was the incessant barrage of rain. The thunder had drifted into the distance and the pale bolts of light that decorated the heavy, black sky had dimmed somewhat in both intensity and frequency. Between the rumblings of the storm, Rand finally heard a rap on the door. He scooped his gun off the bed and went to answer.

Before he could speak, a voice reached him. "It's Dr. Bates." Rand relaxed and let in a slim, athletic young man, almost looking too young to be a doctor. He was dressed in blue jeans, a checkered shirt and denim jacket.

"I'm Randall Williams," Rand muttered once the door was firmly shut and locked. "Frank said we could trust you. I hope he was right, 'cause he could sure use your help now."

"Alan Bates," the young doctor said as he held out his hand.

Frank stirred at the sound of voices and Rand went to sit on the edge of the bed. "He was knifed last night. I'm getting worried about him." There was no need to make long, convoluted explanations even if Rand would have considered making them. Alan Bates had been Frank's doctor for the past two years and knew the kind of situations Frank ended up in.

"Hi, Frank." Alan greeted his patient. He motioned Rand out of the way and pulled back the sheet. "Let's see what we can do about improving this," he suggested, already cutting through the make shift bandaging with expert ease. "Tell me if this hurts," he said around an easy grin. "Of course, it won't do you any good, but you can tell me anyway." Frank managed a tentative smile at that.

Alan removed the heavy padding Rand had used to cover the wound. Frank's attempt at a question was cut short as pain lanced through him, bringing a stifled gasp instead. Alan winced with an empathy he had yet to overcome as he finished easing the dressing away. Fresh blood seeped from the wound and Frank knotted his fingers into the sheets.

After examining the wound, he said. "There were no internal organs hit, but it is fairly deep. It needs stitches, I can do it here, but he really should be in a hospital."

"No," came from both Rand and Frank. Rand continued, "there are too many people looking for him. He's better off staying out of sight for the time being. A hospital will ask questions and call in the police."

"Are you sure, Frank," Alan asked, although he already knew what the answer would be.

"Yes, go ahead and do it," Frank answered, preparing himself for what he knew was coming.

After handing Frank a painkiller and a cup of water, Alan motioned for Rand to sit on the other side of Frank. "Hold him down. Not hard, just to keep him from moving if he tries to." After preparing as sterile environment as possible, Alan finished cleaning the wound. He swabbed the area with a local antiseptic, but he knew it would only dull the pain, not eliminate it. By the time he was done, it had taken over 30 stitches to cleanly close the wound. Frank was as white as the sheets, his breathing shallow and rapid.

Rand, watching, could sense the bond between the two. He wondered why the doctor had agreed so readily to come out on a night like this and drive almost an hour to get here. Someday he'd get Frank to tell him about it, he thought.

When Frank's breathing lost some of it's pain-induced shallowness, Alan re-bandaged the injury and then did a quick examination to make sure there were no other injuries. He caught the young man's anxious gaze and smiled.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone I saw you, but I want you to come see me at the hospital as soon as this mess is cleared up."

When he had completed his ministrations, Alan gave Frank an antibiotic and a sedative. He waited until Frank had drifted to sleep before demanding, "What kind of trouble is he in?"

Rand hesitated before answering, not knowing how much to tell this friend of Frank's. He tugged on the blankets, drawing them closer to Frank's now flushed face. Alan grinned at the gesture.

"He does that to you, doesn't he. Makes you want to protect him. I've always felt that way when I treat him."

"Have you treated him often?" Rand asked, evading Alan's questions.

"More than a boy his age should've had to been." Alan tossed a pill bottle to Rand before closing the black medical kit. "Get one of these into him every four hours. It'll hold off infection. If you can avoid it, try not to move him around for the next few days."

"What about the pain?"

Alan's mouth twitched into a brief smile--the grin a bit sheepish at his sleepy oversight of the obvious--and he reopened the medical bag, tossing a second bottle to Rand. "Only when necessary," he directed in his official doctor's voice. His eyes strayed back to the young man now sleeping, "which knowing Frank, won't be that often. But, force one on him if you think he really needs it. He won't ask."