he next day, as Frank and Joe drove to the hotel to meet up with Nancy, the car ride was filled with silence. They had made sure that Callie, Vanessa, and Charlotte were each looked after in a public place. Charlotte and Vanessa were at work, and Callie, who had taken the week off to work on wedding details, was spending the day with Mr. and Mrs. Hardy, who had insisted on taking her out to “help with the wedding planning.” Everyone knew the real reason for their outing, but they all played along, hoping that even a small distraction from the week’s events would be good for everyone.

As they traveled along, Joe stared out the passenger window, lost in thought. He was clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to control his emotions. Even though that was a task he had gotten much better at with time, he still always returned to gut instinct—emotion—to carry him through. The problem was that right now there was no instinct for him to go to; no lead to follow. Even though he’d had discussions with the police department and his father, right now all paths led to a dead end. So, he was forced to channel all of his fear and rage into deep breaths, not having a clear path to concentrate on.

Over and over in his mind he kept seeing Vanessa’s terrified face. It was an image that was now beginning to haunt him. It was one thing for him to reassure her that everything would be okay when she was just a witness to the crime. It was quite another to keep up the bravado when a friend of hers, who was also a witness, was now dead. He wasn’t stupid; neither was Vanessa. Clearly, the girls, all three, were now targets of this madman—and the thought so enraged and scared him that he was a bit of a loss for what to do.

In his lifetime, he’d seen way too much violence. He’d learned a long time ago to distance himself from the actual people involved and to work on helping them through concentrating on the circumstances. The detachment was still hard sometimes. But he knew he had to be detached in order to function and to help those who needed him, much like a doctor or police officer had to. Every once in a while, though, there were cases that hit way too close to home. Iola’s death had been the first case of such a nature; and its consequences had been far –reaching. The fact that he and his brother could inadvertently endanger friends, family, loved ones—simply because of the nature of their profession--- was the one area he knew he’d never be all right with. He managed to carry on the only way he knew how when someone he knew was involved; he was honest.

But it’s hard to be honest with the woman you love when you’re trying to comfort her, he thought, miserably.

The night before, he had insisted on calling Chief Collig and asking for police protection outside of the apartment that he shared with Vanessa. He had stayed up with her all night, just holding her, trying to find the right words to offer her some reprieve from her fears.

Where’s the reprieve for MY fears? He swallowed, hard. He had lost Iola. He would NOT lose Vanessa.

Glancing out the corner of his eye at Frank, Joe grew even more concerned. Frank was handling all of this with a quiet sort of intensity that bordered on eerie. He was, as Joe often thought of it, “in the zone.” Frank’s mind was so thorough and methodical that Joe knew he was playing and re-playing every last detail of the crimes, and would do so again with Nancy, who seemed to function in a similar manner. Frank analyzed everything from every conceivable angle. He actually forced himself to see nothing but logic and facts, and THAT was why he was such a good detective.

It’s also why he’s almost gotten killed any number of times, Joe added to himself. It always made Joe extremely uncomfortable how Frank could block out instinct, overlook emotion, and see people as parts of a puzzle, and not… people. That’s not to say that Frank was cold—he wasn’t—but he had an uncanny ability to intellectualize everything. Deep down, Joe understood that that was Frank’s coping mechanism. “Stay strong; never let them see you sweat,” would probably be a good motto for Frank. It had served him well as a big brother, a friend, a boyfriend. But Joe wasn’t so sure it was mentally healthy.

Letting out a sigh, he hoped his brother would be all right. Frank’s over-protective nature had kicked in, and he was trying to deal with this case, and ensuring Callie’s safety, in the only way he knew how—to think it through. But Frank was lacking one thing Joe had—and that was deep-rooted pain that drove him, motivated him, forced him to succeed. Iola’s death had been its source; and, although Joe prayed to God that Frank would never have to go through such a tremendous blow and loss, Iola’s death had really saved his own life many times.

Instinct versus intellect; logic versus emotion. Whatever it was, it made them a strong team. And the stakes were never higher to succeed.

After what seemed like a long car ride, the Hardys arrived at the Bayport Hotel. Still in silence, they made their way to the elevator and pressed the button for Nancy’s floor. Having arrived there, they walked down the hallway and knocked on Nancy’s door. Maybe they could come up with a plan together, after all.

As soon as she heard the knock on the door, Nancy took a deep breath. She couldn’t help but to remind herself that there were two kinds of cases that really affected her. One was violence against children. The other was violence against women. Having been put into so many precarious situations in her own time, Nancy well knew that she was lucky that she was alive; and that, despite numerous injuries, she had not endured any long-term suffering. However, she had one advantage over the Hardys. She was a woman, and people often under-estimated what women could accomplish. It never ceased to amaze her how many times she’d had to testify in court and look into the faces of the people, many of whom were men, whom she’d been instrumental in having helped to put behind bars. She hoped that she’d have the same satisfaction in this case.

As soon as she opened the door, Nancy sucked in her breath quietly. Frank and Joe looked so distressed. It was a look she’d seen often on Ned’s face when she had been in danger. It was also why she had sent Ned to go and check in on Vanessa and Charlotte at work—to focus his attention on something other than her involvement in this case

Ushering them in, she motioned for them to have a seat.

“Okay, guys,” she started. “What do we know?” She had a small tablet in her hands, and was ready to begin taking notes.

She was surprised when it was Joe, not Frank, who began to speak. “Not much,” he admitted, running a hand through his blonde hair and sighing in frustration. “That’s the problem.”

“Well, we have to know SOMETHING,” she insisted.

Fighting impatience, Joe replied, “Of course we know some things, Nan. I just have a feeling that they’re not that important to finding our guy.”

“Well, start from the beginning,” Nancy responded patiently. “You never know what small, seemingly insignificant detail…”

“...might be overlooked.” Frank completed her sentence, and exchanged a small smile with her. Once again, they were on the same path of thinking, virtually able to complete each other’s sentences. It felt good, and gave Frank some hope.

Joe saw the exchange and didn’t like it. It wasn’t that he disagreed about what they were saying, it was just that he HAD thought about the angles as well. Somehow, even though he honestly didn’t think she meant to, Nancy seemed to come between the brothers and made team Hardy team Nancy and Frank, with Joe in the background for good measure. Still, trying to be mature about it, he continued the conversation.

“Look,” he began. “This is what we know. Last month- almost 5 weeks ago now, a woman named Leslie Smith was badly beaten, raped, and murdered.” Joe found himself rushing through the descriptions in a matter –of-fact manner, because he couldn’t fathom the horror of each one. “She was 18 years old, about 5’4”, blonde hair, green eyes. She left work around 9:00 p.m.—everything was seemingly normal. By the time Vanessa and the girls had heard the screaming and saw the attacker, it was about 11:00.”

“So she was alive—tortured really, for about two hours,” Nancy added, quietly.

“Yeah.” Joe couldn’t really think of anything else to add; that comment by Nancy seemed to say it all.

“Had there been any other reported violence in Bayport prior to that incidence?” Nancy queried.

“None,” Joe answered.

“Nancy is looking for an established pattern,” Frank chimed in, thoughtfully.

Joe sighed. “I KNOW what’s she’s looking for, Frank.” He hated being treated, even unintentionally, like a kid.” But we’ve been through this. The attack seems to be the first one.”

“Nothing in any surrounding towns?” Nancy suggested.

“Not that we know of,” Frank replied.

“Okay,” Nancy replied, deep in thought. She continued. “So let’s assume this was the first attack. The girls said there were THREE attackers? But only one stopped to threaten them. The only thing they remember is that he seemed to be of medium height with blue eyes. Why would he stop? Why would he threaten them? Why was it only one of the men who stopped?”

“I don’t know,” Frank replied, honestly.

“Was there any DNA evidence?” she asked.

Noting the look between the brothers, Nancy stopped cold. “Okay, you two. What aren’t you telling me?” Noting their silence, she placed her notebook on the chair by her said. “Look,” she began, “I’m here to help you. You asked ME for assistance. You have to be honest. I’m a big girl. Just tell me.”

Frank swallowed, hating to even talk about this. “Okay, Nan. There WAS DNA. But there doesn’t initially appear to b a match to anyone in the system. It…uh…” Finally, he came out with it. “It looks like a gang rape.”

“Oh,” Nancy responded, her face slightly pale. “I take it you haven’t told the girls this?”

“No,” Frank and Joe responded simultaneously.

“And we’re not planning on it, either,” Joe went on. “They’re scared enough.”

“You agree with that logic?” Nancy asked, directing the question pointedly to Frank.

“I do,” he replied, equally directly. “I take it you disagree?”

Nancy shrugged. “That’s your call,” she replied. “But since you asked—yes, I disagree. I’d want to know what I was up against. Just in case.”

Frank appeared to think it over, but Joe’s face hardened. “There won’t be a ‘just in case’, Nan, okay?” he responded.

“Okay,” Nancy replied. Then, noting his expression, she added, “Of course there won’t be.”

For the next two hours, Nancy, Frank and Joe discussed details of the case. The knew that they at least had DNA evidence, and that it was still being traced through Forensics, a subject with which Frank had a great deal of familiarity. They also knew that the second girl, Mandy, had suffered a similar fate to the first; only this time, the police suspected there was only one perpetrator, and he had worn protection, thus eradicating DNA evidence.

“Is this solely a case of revenge?” Nancy finally asked. “Why would someone, or some ones, risk getting caught to get rid of the witnesses? And why go to all the... trouble...” She sought a better word, but did not find one, and went on, “Instead of just killing them?”

“Nancy!” Joe barked, defensive.

“I’m sorry, Joe,” Nancy retorted, “But it’s true. And you, and your brother, just might be too close to this case to ask the obvious questions. I’m just trying to help!”

“I know,” he conceded.

Just as Frank was about to chime in, there was a knock at the door, and then it opened. Ned stood there, pale, unsure of how to begin.

“What’s wrong?” Nancy asked as she immediately stood up. Frank and Joe turned to him.

“I don’t know how to say this,” he began.

Joe hopped out of his seat. “What?! Ned, what’s the matter?” he asked, furiously. Somehow, he knew Ned was involved in the case, and the news wasn’t good.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, close to tears.

Looking straight into Joe’s eyes, he stammered, “There’s been another attack….”

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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.