"They're okay. They're okay." Frank kept muttering the words silently, almost as if trying to convince himself of their veracity. After the call had come in to Collig, and he'd relayed the information that he'd been given, he and Joe were immediately told to return to the scene of the crime to talk to the officers and the girls. "The scene of the crime", he thought to himself, bitterly. When does home become a crime scene?

Now, rushing through the streets of Bayport in a patrol car driven by one of Collig's officers, Frank couldn't help but wonder what the hell was happening to all of them and to try and organize his thoughts.

His father was on his way as well in a separate car, because once the news reached Collig and it was declared that the girls were okay, Fenton KNEW that he had to make one stop much earlier than anticipated. Even though he wanted to see Callie and Vanessa in person and to see what had happened for himself, there was no doubt in his mind that that the interview with Dee had to happen now. Determined to get things moving, Fenton had to tear his eyes away from his two sons, away from their expressions of horror, and comfort them in the best way he knew how to. After holding them both quickly, he left--- wanting to come back with some information to give them that no one else would get hurt.

Nancy and Collig were on their way to visit Charlotte who, by some miracle, had also been spared when she'd refused to open the door to her home. Whether it was her instinct, the trauma she'd just been through, or just plain fear, somehow she'd managed to avoid being hurt—or killed—when the package exploded.

Now, Frank could only barely fight the fear that threatened to overwhelm him. Again, somehow, Callie had been spared. In fact, the package had been sent to their house for Vanessa, a fact that Frank knew had to have significance somehow. He needed to concentrate on the facts, replay exactly what he had been told by the officers… by Callie.

As soon as he had heard the news from Collig, Callie had called his cell and told him exactly what had transpired. Still, he could barely believe it. She had spoken in a soft, neutral tone, and only he could detect the faintest hesitation in between her words… the silences that spoke to him louder than anything she could have said. He knew that she was being strong for HIM, silently telling him to be calm. Listening to her voice was like hearing the voice of an angel.

Still, he couldn't help but to think it odd that Callie had told him that when he arrived with Joe, she needed to speak to Joe privately for a minute before seeing him. Puzzled, and longing to hold her, he'd asked why. Something in Callie's tone told him that he would find out later; but he'd better do it. With a resigned sigh and immense gratitude, he wondered how he would restrain his brother for even an instant from seeing Vanessa.

Joe. Turning sidelong to look at his brother, Frank felt a pang in his heart. The instant that Joe had heard that Vanessa had been attacked and targeted again… the minute that he'd heard the words 'bomb' and 'fire'… the second that he'd thought he'd lost Vanessa, Frank saw a change in his brother that he hadn't seen in years… since Iola.

Despite Frank's assurances that the girls were okay, he knew that Joe didn't and wouldn't believe it until he saw it for himself. Despite the fear of what had almost happened to Callie, Frank had forced himself to remain steady; to attempt to comfort Joe by steadily relaying facts, trying to save him from drowning in his own emotions. As they had driven, he'd told him about his conversation with Callie, how the house had been spared, how everything would be okay. Yet his brother remained on edge, unspeaking and shaking, whether from anger or terror, Frank couldn't tell.

For only the second time in their lives, Frank didn't know how to handle his brother. All he could do was to be there for him and reassure him that he was on his side. If Joe was going to break, Frank would be there to pick up the pieces and put them together again.

As they approached the house, Joe was ready to jump from the car. He could barely think straight, could barely hold his emotions in check. He saw the concerned expression on his brother's face, the compassion in his voice, and he appreciated it. But Frank didn't get it; he never would. Frank hadn't lost the love of his life, hadn't seen anyone he loved directly targeted over and over. Sure, Callie and Vanessa—even Iola—had been in danger before, but it had been pretty easy to protect them, really. Until Iola. Then, Vanessa's attack had come—and he knew that he'd die himself before he lost HER. Frank meant well, he knew that. Again, though, this was the one thing in their lives that had separated them; always would. And as grateful as Joe was that Frank hadn't experienced the pain that he had, he couldn't even begin to explain it to him. All he wanted was to see Vanessa—now.

Arriving at the house, now surrounded by swarms of officers, Joe flung the car door open before Frank could stop him and ran towards the house. The world seemed to be swimming all around him; he could literally feel the beating of his heart pounding in his head. He barely had time to notice the officers milling about with evidence bags, or hear anyone calling his name. Where was Vanessa? Where WAS she? He began to panic.

As he reached the porch, he felt someone grab his arm. Whirling around, he found himself looking right at Callie. "Where's Vanessa?" he cried out to her; his voice seemed foreign to his own ears.

"Joe. Joe! Look at me. Now."

THIS is why Callie had wanted to see him. She was terrified by what had occurred, but Vanessa… well, devastated didn't begin to cover it. Vanessa was a mess, and Callie knew how badly she needed Joe. Callie also knew, though, exactly how Joe would be acting. When Iola had died, Frank had been so focused on distracting Joe from his pain that he had poured all of his energy into looking for solutions. Callie, though, who'd lost a dear friend, saw how Joe reacted and felt, and watched him act in the present, not how she hoped he'd act in the future. She knew with certainty that if she let Joe go in and see Vanessa acting like this, then Vanessa might lose faith in him and his ability to protect her. That could start a whole chain of events that neither Joe nor Vanessa were prepared for. And Callie would NOT allow that to happen to two people she loved so much.

"Move!" He shouted and flung her hand away from him, causing Callie to reel back for an instant and almost lose her balance. Something in the violence of his action caused him to freeze for a split second as he realized what he'd just done, and that was all the time that Callie needed.

"Joe—stop. Stop!" Callie spoke forcefully, grabbing both his hands.

"Listen to me! Vanessa needs you Joe. She needs you to be strong; so get it together, okay?"

Listening to her and seeing the expression of deep concern on her face made him calmer. Slowly, he forced himself to take deep, shaky breaths. Unable to speak for a moment, he felt the world slow down a bit and began to slowly compose himself.

Callie reached up and placed her hands on both sides of Joe's face. She looked him directly in the eyes. The effect was instant, and Joe nodded slowly and swallowed the lump in his throat.

"She's okay, Joe. I promise you. I'd never lie." Callie kept talking, seeing Joe finally calming down enough to listen. "I know you're scared. I also know that you and Frank are going to get this guy—whoever it is—and stop this from happening ever again. Vanessa is inside, Joe. Be strong for her. Let her know you'll protect her. She knows it already, but—let her know it AGAIN. She's scared."

Her voice was so soothing, so reassuring. She was right, and he knew it. If he went in there and acted like he felt inside, he'd be no help to Vanessa at all. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them again, he felt better; stronger.

Reaching his hand around to the back of Callie's head, he pulled her quickly to him and kissed the top of her hair. "Thank you," he whispered, and, turning, walked steadily and calmly into the house.

Frank, watching everything transpire at a close distance, stood in awe. How could she be so calm, so strong, after everything? How had she known how to reach Joe when he hadn't been able to do it?

Running quickly to her, he wordlessly took her in his arms and pulled her to him. It was only then that he felt her trembling, felt the tears on his shirt as she collapsed against him. Tightening his hold on her, he vowed, there and then, never to put her in this situation again. Someone was going to pay dearly for this……

******

Downtown, Fenton had managed to arrange an impromptu meeting with Jimmy Dee—after Collig's intervention. His friend was certainly doing everything in his power to show Fenton that he believed in him, risking his own job security and reputation. Fenton was starting to think, though, that Ezra was motivated by other forces. Now that the girls had come under target again, there HAD to be more to the puzzle. And Fenton knew that Ezra, for some reason, had always been sensitive to cases involving violence against women. Immensely grateful for his good fortune in colleagues who happened to also be friends, he sat in the interrogation room of the jailhouse, waiting. Forcing himself to put his fatherly thoughts and protective instincts from his mind, he focused on the facts he knew, and pushed his investigative side to the forefront. He WOULD find something out. He had to—for his kids….

Fenton glanced at his watch for the hundredth time and mentally reviewed the facts of the case. Even though he'd given Frank the task of researching Dee's history, and knew that Frank's Forensics background would be invaluable, he had already, unbeknownst to his eldest son, reviewed all the files himself, leaving no stone unturned. He needed Frank to look with fresh eyes upon a case that Fenton's older ones had already perused. Later, they'd trade notes.

Thinking of his sons briefly, a small smile crossed his lips as he recalled how they both had acquired parts of his personality. Frank had Fenton's sense of logic, his patience, his ability to read between the lines. Joe, on the other hand, had an instinct; an ability to read people and just KNOW that something wasn't right. At times like this, Fenton didn't know which traits were most valuable. He did know that neither of his sons yet had his experience… one day, he knew, they would far surpass him, as they learned to nurture their strengths and to fight their weaknesses. Right now, though, he was going to pull out every bit of hands-on knowledge that he'd acquired through the years and just… see what happened.

Suddenly, the door opened and Fenton stood. Jimmy Dee, wearing handcuffs and escorted by two uniformed police officers, was led into the room. Outside, behind the mirrored wall, Fenton knew that he was being watched by Ezra's top aides. He also knew that anything that was said was virtually inadmissible in court unless Fenton could get him to plea bargain for information. He didn't care, though. He wasn't expecting a physical confession; he was trying to see what this man's eyes betrayed.

In an unexpected move, Dee had refused an attorney, stating to the officer in charge that he had nothing to say that he hadn't said already, and that he was expecting to receive a life sentence anyway—minimally.

The officers pulled out a chair, forcefully pushed Dee into it, and sat him down, removing his handcuffs. Dee stretched and rubbed his wrists which were raw and red. Fenton sat at the other side of the table.

Dee looked up at him, and Fenton inwardly shuddered; there were the ice blue eyes that had so haunted Callie and Vanessa.

"Thank you for agreeing to talk to me today," he began, calmly.

"Didn't have much of a choice, did I?" Dee answered back.

At once, Fenton saw it. Dee was nervous. WHY? He didn't HAVE to speak with Fenton; he could have just sat there and stared at him. But here he was, shaking his leg up and down. Fenton also noticed that he looked pale and was constantly sniffling and he made a mental note to check with the nurse on staff about Dee' s overall health.

Slowly, Fenton responded, eyes never leaving Dee, studying his every movement. "Actually, you DID have a choice. So I'm going to be real direct here. I have a few questions that I'd like answered. IF you agree to help me to answer them, I'll see what I can do to arrange some leniency with your sentencing."

Dee smiled eerily and answered. "I don't want leniency. But I'll answer your questions. It's kind of interesting to see a world-renowned private investigator here for some reason. That must mean there's a problem."

Fenton was vaguely surprised that this guy even knew who he was. Again, he made a mental check to find out how he knew that. This guy was playing a game. Fortunately, it was one in which Fenton had a lot of practice. Dee was talking; that had been even more than he'd expected. Fenton knew that if he could keep him talking, maybe he would reveal something, the smallest detail, that could help make sense of everything.

One thing Fenton knew was that you never, ever laid your cards on the table with a criminal. The smart ones knew how to manipulate the information. His gut was telling him that this guy was smart, so he knew he had to do the one thing this guy didn't expect--- he did the very opposite of what he knew he should do.

The game began.

"You killed and raped Leslie Smith and Mandy O'Hara. You raped Charlotte Smith.

"I said I did," Dee responded.

He's playing word games. He's telling me what he said isn't totally what he did. Fenton concentrated on every aspect NOT being said.

"Why?"

Dee shrugged, sniffling again.

"You're small. How exactly did you manage to kill Roger Timms with a blow to the head?"

Dee hesitated, and Fenton saw it.

"He was bent over; easy enough."

Fenton saw at once he was lying. He knew that the blow had come from the front, NOT the back. He also saw that Dee shifted his eyes to the right when he lied; trying to think of what to say. Not to THINK! Fenton suddenly realized. To REMEMBER! He felt a chill.

"How did you know Charlie Hughes?"

Dee looked uncomfortable. "You know the answer to that."

Fenton nodded. "True. What I don't know is why he would attack the fourth victim," he paused, thinking of Vanessa, "when you were already in jail."

Dee hesitated, and then answered. He's REMEMBERING, Fenton knew. Somehow, he's the fall guy. HOW?!

"I don't control what people do. I guess he was the only one left, huh? I was told you all had DNA evidence anyway. Maybe he just wanted to get rid of the witnesses." Now Dee was shaking his leg furiously and sniffling with a vengeance.

"Ah," Fenton responded, leaning forward. "Then riddle me this—IF you're in jail, and IF Hughes and Timms are dead, then you have the perfect crime. You've confessed—you're guilty, right?"

Dee's eyes shifted, though he met Fenton's stare.

Fenton went on. "So WHY attack the remaining victims today, Dee? More importantly, HOW did you do that? Go on—impress me."

Dee sat up straight. Fenton saw it at once. He was startled. Jimmy Dee had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

At once, Dee jumped from his seat and was immediately restrained by the officers, who thought he was about to attack Fenton. Fenton, though, knew that wasn't the case. In fact, it looked to him like Dee was trying to get away; like he was afraid of him.

"Interview over!" Dee declared, false bravado in his voice. "Good luck trying to solve your puzzle—Mr. Hardy." He was immediately led away from the room.

Alone for a moment, Fenton's mind started working in overdrive. He knew several things. Someone had tipped Dee off to his arrival. Dee was surprised by his directness. Above all, Dee was LYING. About how much, Fenton didn't know—but he was determined to find out.

Leaving the room, he stopped to thank several of the officers and was about to call Collig when a thought crossed his mind. Dee certainly hadn't left the jail cell, which meant that his contact outside had to have been made by mail or phone.

Walking outside to his car, he silently thanked Collig again for already obtaining that information for him in the stacks of files he had put together at Fenton's request. Opening the door, he got into the driver's seat and began, slowly and methodically, reviewing the information.

He did not know how much time had gone by when he saw it—a string of phone calls had been made to the same number, at the same time, every other day. Those days had also been on dates one day before each attack—including yesterday. The duration of the calls had been unclear, but he made a note to check on that as well as to revisit the building to speak with the nurse.

Flipping open his cell, he punched in a number he knew by heart.

"Hello?"

"Phil. Fenton Hardy. Listen, I need you to do me a favor."

Phil Cohen was Frank's best friend, a computer whiz so good that he made Frank seem mediocre—and THAT was not an easy task to do. Although Phil worked on his own, he often did work for the Bayport P.D. as well as the FBI. He was a genius. More than that, though, he was like a surrogate son they'd known him so long. One thing about Phil was that, if he liked you, he'd work with lightning speed. Fortunately, he liked Fenton.

Over the course of the next several minutes, Phil did as he was requested, hacking into information from the jail records. Fenton suspected that the dialed number would be unlisted—surprisingly, it wasn't.

"Mr. H? I got it." Phil responded into the phone.

"Thanks, son. Go ahead." Fenton took out a notepad and prepared to write the name down so he wouldn't forget it.

He wouldn't need to, though.

As Phil's response came back over the line, Fenton dropped the pen he was holding.

"Jacobs, Tom."

Taking the phone away from his ear, he stared at it in horror. Officer Tom Jacobs… the same one who was with Frank and Callie—right now……..

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.