"Frank," Frank heard his mother call softly. He turned over, pulling the pillow over his head. "Frank," he heard again, this time the call woke him up.

"What, is it 3:00 already?" he asked.

"No, dear, it's only 2:00. There's a phone call for you. I tried to tell them you weren't available, but he insisted. He said he had a tip for you about the robberies."

"Okay, I'll get it," he answered, reaching for his phone and switching it to the household line. "This is Frank Hardy."

"I know where you can find Collins," the voice on the other end said.

"How do you know about Collins?" Frank asked.

"Hey, you want this tip or not? Don't asked questions. He's at the Hamilton Hotel in New York. You better get there quick though, he ain't gonna be there long."

"How do you know this?" Frank asked again.

"I said you'd better get there quick. Rm 218. And come alone. He's pretty wary, if he sees a crowd he'll skip." The line went dead as the caller hung up.

Frank sat a moment, trying to decide what to do. If he took the time to go get Joe, he might miss Collins. It would take at least a half hour or more to get Joe away from Con without attracting attention to where they were going. He could call Joe once he got on the road and Joe could follow when he could get away from Con. He quickly got dressed and went down to his father's office. He grabbed the New York phone book and looked up the Hamilton. It wasn't in one of the best neighborhoods in the city, but at least it was on this side, just the other side of Riverton. It should take less than two hours to get there.

"How long are you and Joe going to be out?" his mother asked when he asked if he could borrow her car.

"I don't know," he fudged, "until we finish."

"Call if you're going to be late, please," she said as she handed him her keys.

"We will. Thanks, Mom," he said, racing for the car, wondering if he was walking into a trap, but not wanting to miss the opportunity of finding Collins if possible. He was already on his way before he realized his mother's cell phone wasn't in the car where she usually kept it. Well, he'd just have to wait until he got there to call Joe.

Frank entered the hotel through the main lobby at 4:30. The weather had gotten nasty and traffic had been worse then he'd expected. The caller had said room 218. He decided on the stairs rather than the elevator. He would walk past the room, check to see if he could tell if anyone was there, then see if there was somewhere he could watch the room without being seen. He didn't want to have to wait in the lobby, there could be other exits.

He cautiously peered out from the stairwell and found the hallway empty. He looked at the room across from him and saw 211, the next one to the right was 209. That meant the room he was looking for was to the left, on this side of the hall. He quietly moved down the hall. As he approached he could see the door to 218 was ajar. He pressed himself against the wall next to door straining to hear if anyone was in the room. He heard nothing while he waited a minute.

After a second long minute, Frank cautiously pushed the door open. Nothing. He stepped into the room. Suddenly, his arms were grabbed from behind. He twisted, only to be confronted by a second man with a knife. It was Hanks, the guard from the prison

"Keep quiet and you won't be hurt," Hanks growled.

Frank stopped struggling. He was pushed further into the room. Hanks continued, "You'll come with us quietly or else," waving the knife menacingly.

Frank felt the hold on him loosen. Then, suddenly, he was let go. He heard scuffling behind him and was about to turn when Hanks jumped him. He pivoted, using the man's momentum to throw him aside, but Hanks was quick and at Frank again, knife thrust out. Frank didn't dodge in time, the knife slashing into his side. He fell back against the wall, sliding down to a sitting position, fire spreading from the penetration point. Hanks advanced on him again. Frank kicked out with his feet, tripping him. The man fell and lay still.

Rand, from his hiding place at the end of the hall where he had been watching for past 3 hours, saw Frank enter the hall. He continued to watch as Frank crept towards the room Hanks was in. He waited to see what Frank would do, thinking he would case the room, then find a place to keep it under surveillance. How the kid had gotten there he didn't know, but he wouldn't bet against it being Hanks himself who had given the kid the tip. How did they plan to capture him? As long as the kid didn't do something stupid...

Rand cursed under his breath as Frank did just that. He was already moving, ready to call out a warning as he saw Frank enter the room. He crept up to the door in time to hear the threat. He jump the man holding Frank, wrestling him out into the hallway. The man broke free and ran down the hall. There was only silence coming from the room.

Rand went back into the room. After quickly ascertaining no immediate threat, he closed and locked the door behind him. He found Frank sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. There was a spreading scarlet stain on the left side of his shirt. A few feet away, Hanks lay face down, blood seeping from under his still body.

Kneeling down by Frank's side, Rand brushed aside wisps of brown hair, letting his fingers skim lightly and unobtrusively across Frank's forehead. The damp chill on the pale skin didn't reassure him.

"Rand, what are you doing here?" Without waiting for an answer, he looked over toward the body. "Is he dead?"

Rand crossed over to the body and felt for a pulse. He didn't find one. He double checked, making sure the man was dead, then returned to Frank's side.

"Frank, listen to me. Don't worry about him now," he coaxed, pitching his voice soft and low. "I'm going to take you to lie down, then I'm going to get a first aid kit from my car," he explained. "I'll only be gone a few minutes. I'll explain later."

By the time they walked to the bedroom, Frank's legs were rubber and he leaned back into the welcoming softness of the bed, exhaling a heavy sigh of relief. He wondered distantly where the tiny flashes of light were coming from.

Rand tore open Frank's shirt, finally able to get a clear look at the injury. The gash was deep and jagged. He grabbed a towel from the bathroom and folded it several times, then placed it over the wound. "Frank, stay with me. You have to keep pressure on this," he said as he took Frank's hand and placed it over the towel. "Come on, Frank, stay awake." Frank opened his eyes and nodded, applying pressure to the makeshift bandage. After a quick glance at Frank face to make sure he understood, he said, "I'm going to get the first aid kit. I'll be right back."

Moments later he reached the street, cursing the near-torrential force of the rain as he ran to the dark Camaro parked only a few yards away. He grabbed the first aid kit and an old sweatshirt he'd thrown in the back. By the time he made it back through the hotel door, he was drenched to the skin.

Frank was still awake when he returned, and the tension left the young features almost immediately. Rand was momentarily disconcerted as he saw the trust in Frank's eyes. He was surprised, after what he'd done the last time their paths had crossed, that Frank still unfailingly trusted him.

Flipping open the first aid kit, he was relieved to find it still equipped with the basics he'd need. He sat on the bed and placed the kit within reach.

"This is gonna hurt," he said as he removed the towel from over the wound. The bleeding had slowed somewhat.

Frank nodded silently and bit his lip when Rand dabbed at the area around the wound with an antiseptic pad, cleaning it as best he could. He applied a thick dressing and looked around in the kit for a pressure bandage. Finding none, he improvised and tore several wide strips out of the bed sheet, then wrapped them snugly around the Frank's torso.

As he worked he asked, "Did anybody see you come up here?"

"Probably, there were a couple of people in the lobby, along with the desk clerk."

When he was through, Rand eased Frank out of his shirt and tossed it aside. He held out the sweatshirt to Frank. Now that the stab wound was covered and dressed, Frank was obviously a little more confident about moving and managed to sit up. Swinging his legs off the bed gingerly, he took the sweatshirt from Rand and pulled it on, each movement over-cautious and experimental.

"Feel up to leaving?" Rand asked, giving the kid the pretense of having a choice about it.

Frank seemed to realize he was being humored, and offered Rand a slight grin. "I was just waiting for you."

Rand shook his head, amused in spite of himself. "Come on, kid." He nodded toward the door.

Frank waved off help and got to his feet with Rand a step behind him until they reached the living room. Ready for the reactive sway from the exertion, Rand darted past and placed a supporting hand on Frank's arm.

Howling wind greeted them as they emerged from the building through a side exit. They were assaulted by sheets of driving rain. Shielding Frank against him, Rand stumbled to the car and settled him inside. Then, dashing around to the driver's side, he offered up a silent plea that neither the make-shift medical attention nor the exposure to the freezing rain would be fatal to Frank.

"Where are we going?" Frank asked once they left the hotel behind them.

"Somewhere we can stay out of sight," Rand replied, unconsciously emphasizing the words 'out of sight'. "That desk clerk will be able to identify you after the body's found. And Villman will be looking for you when he finds out you got away." Whatever else happened, Rand's central priority now was to keep Frank alive, even if it meant giving up his cover.