"Joe, I had a wonderful time at the movie. And you certainly are a good driver."

"I'd better be! Frank would skin me alive if I let anything happen to this van!"

"I don't think you have anything to worry about. Frank couldn't harm a hair on your head!"

"I'll tell him you said that!"

"It's a shame Frank and Callie didn't want to come with us."

"I think Callie would rather have Frank all to herself tonight," Joe responded.

"I'll have to have a talk with Callie. Maybe I can persuade her that double dating isn't so bad. Thanks again, Joe!"

"Bye, Iola. See you Monday!"

Joe hopped back into the van and pulled away from the Morton farm. He glanced at his watch. "Four o'clock. Plenty of time to get back home before big brother wants the van. I'd better fill the gas tank, too, or Frank will be on my case!" Two miles outside of Bayport he pulled in at the Speedmart. He waved a greeting to his friend Biff Hooper, who was working inside. Joe opened the door to get out but his cell phone rang and he pulled the door shut again as he answered. "Joe Hardy here."

"Joe, why aren't you home yet?" Frank's agitated voice came through in a rush.

"Gee, Frank, I just dropped Iola off," Joe explained, a frown on his face. "It's just a little past four. Why?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

"Greg Lewis escaped from the state prison yesterday," Frank told him. "He was last seen heading this way."

"Greg Lewis," Joe repeated in disbelief. "You called to tell me some creep has escaped from prison?" he demanded angrily. "I thought something had happened to mom or dad."

"Sorry," Frank replied. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"So, who is Greg Lewis?" Joe asked. "And why does his escaping warrant a call?"

"Lewis was a serial killer Dad put away," Frank informed Joe.

Joe knew by Frank's tone something was bothering him. "Frank, please," Joe said, beginning to get annoyed with Frank's half answers. "Just give me the details without making me beg."

"He kidnaped the youngest sons of prominent people and tortured them until they died," Frank told Joe.

"That doesn't mean he'll be after me," Joe pointed out. "Stop worrying."

"Joe, he was sentenced to life in prison without chance of parole on the day you were born," Frank informed his younger brother by a year. "The warden called and said he had newspaper cut-outs of you all over his cell."

"Oh," Joe said, swallowing.

"Come home now," Frank ordered.

"I have to get gas or I won't make it," Joe told him. "I've been running on fumes for a couple of miles."

"Where are you at?" Frank asked.

"The Speedmart on Shore Road," Joe answered. "I'll fill it up and be home in about fifteen minutes."

"Don't go anywhere else," Frank insisted.

"Nowhere else," Joe agreed before hanging up the phone.

Joe reset the milage button before opening the door and jmping out of the van. He and Frank were trying to figure out how many miles per gallon they were getting on short and long trips. Opening his tank, he inserted the nozzle and lifted the switch, turning the pump on. When it stopped, he hung up the pump and headed into the station.

He grabbed a Coke from the cooler and a package of Doritos. "Biff, you've got a customer!" No answer. "Biffster, where are you, man?" Still no response. "Hey, Allen!" Joe shouted.

"Joe, could you come back here a minute? I need some help!" Biff called from the back of the store.

"Sure thing, pal!" Joe responded. He walked behind the counter and into the employees' section. He saw a sight which made the hairs on the back of his neck tingle! Biff was sitting on the floor, his hands behind his back. Tape bound Biff's ankles together.

"Don't move a muscle, kid!"

The business end of a revolver prodded Joe in the back. Joe froze, breathing deeply to calm himself down as the barrel slid from the small of his back up to the base of his neck.

"Hello, Blondie," a gruff voice whispered in his ear as the murderer stepped closer to Joe. "This must be my lucky day."

"Who are you?" Joe asked, his voice betraying none of the warring emotions inside.

"Why, Joseph," the man said with a little laugh. "I know everything about you and you don't even know my name?" he asked in mock disappointment.

"Greg Lewis," Joe said, his face paling.

"Good," Lewis said, laughing heartily. "You do know me. When I saw you get out of the van, I couldn't believe my good fortune," he added.

"What do you want?" Joe asked, knowing the answer but trying to buy some time.

"Revenge, boy, what else?" Lewis said jovially, pulling the revolver away and putting his hand on Joe's left shoulder and spinning him around.

Joe saw, for the first time, the man who had hated him all his life. He stood a full four inches taller than Joe's own five foot eleven frame and weighed in at almost forty pounds more. The man's narrow green eyes shown maliciously from beneath his thick eyebrows while his three-quarter halo of dark brown hair hung limp. The store's fluorescent lights made his balding head shine.

"I never did anything to you," Joe asserted, his icy blue eyes meeting Lewis' green ones.

"No," Lewis agreed. "But your dad did," he added.

"Then why get revenge on me?" Joe demanded.

Lewis guffawed, looking at Joe in amusement. "You're either very naive or extremely stupid," he told Joe, reaching over and ruffling his blond hair. "I'm going to have fun finding out which." Lewis' face grew grim. "Now, turn around and put your hands behind your back," he ordered, waving the gun for emphasis.

Joe turned slowly around, putting his hands behind his back and crossing them. Lewis tucked the gun in his belt and pulled out a roll of duct tape he had taken off a hook by the window when he had seen Joe get out of the van. He wrapped Joe's wrists firmly together, then pulled an extra strip off. Walking in front of Joe, he put the strip over Joe's mouth. He then turned to Biff and taped his mouth shut, as well.

"And now," Lewis said, pulling the gun back out and looking at Joe, "a few more items and we'll be on our way." He shoved Joe to the floor. "Stay!" he ordered, giving the command as one would to a puppy just beginning his training.

Lewis walked over to the side wall and removed three disposable cameras hanging there and put them in his pockets. He saw Biff slipping his hands out of his ropes and pulled Biff to his feet, the gun pointing at an upward angle from his chin. "You're expendable," he whispered menancingly. He shoved Biff back into the wall and grabbed the ropes. As he retied Biff, Joe leapt to his feet and made a run for it. Lewis, catching the baby blue of Joe's tee shirt, reached out and grabbed at Joe, latching onto the the end of his shirt and pulling him to a stop.

"Do you think I'm playing a game?" Lewis snarled as he pulled Joe back. He shoved Joe down next to Biff. "You made me angry, Joey. And when I get angry, bad things happen!" Lewis then took his pistol and clouted Biff over the head. Biff uttered a muffled groan and slumped to the floor.

Lewis removed a camera from one of his pockets. Opening it up, he tossed the packaging on the floor and advanced the film to the first shot. "Say cheese for Daddy," Lewis instructed in jest, aiming the camera at Joe and Biff. He snapped the picture and put the camera back into his pocket.

"There's something you don't seem to realize, kid," Lewis said, walking over and hauling Joe to his feet. "I've already got a life sentence, but, personally, I'd just as soon get the chair. So you see," he added, pulling Joe's hair back so he would have to look up, "I've got nothing to lose."

Joe stared into those green eyes, a mixture of fear, anger, and hate all brewing in his own blue ones. "That's right, Joe," Lewis said softly, egging him on. "Get mad at me. It will be so much more fun if you fight."

Lewis pulled Joe over to the door. Looking to make sure no one was about, he pushed the door open and dragged a struggling Joe to the van. He opened the back and pushed Joe down. Then he pulled the duct tape from his pocket and wrapped Joe's ankles so he couldn't walk.

Dropping Joe's ankles, he delved into Joe's jeans pocket and pulled out his wallet. "You won't be needing this anymore," he told Joe and dropped it on the ground. Then he dived back into Joe's pocket again. "You don't mind if I drive, do you?" he asked, smiling wickedly at the youth. He pulled a ring of keys from Joe's side pocket. "I didn't think so," he said, pushing Joe the rest of the way into the van and closing the door.

The phone Joe had left in the van was ringing before Lewis opened the door. Joe knew it was Frank. Fifteen minutes had come and gone since he had spoken with him.

Lewis picked it up on the fourth ring. "Hello," he said cheerily, starting the van and pulling onto the highway.

Back at the Hardy household, Frank's hand gripped the receiver tightly, his brown hair closing over the top to hide it from view. His six foot frame taunt, he closed his soulful brown eyes and demanded, "Who is this?"

"I'm an old acquaintance of Fenton Hardy's," Lewis said, confirming Frank's fear.

"Lewis, if you hurt my brother..." Frank began, his voice menancing.

"You'll what?" Lewis cut him off, laughing.

"Joe's never done anything to you!" Frank shouted into the phone. "Leave him alone!"

"I can't do that," Lewis argued. "I have to return the favor," he insisted.

"What are you talking about?" Frank demanded.

"It's kind of poetic really," Lewis said. "Your old man took sixteen years of my life, so I'm taking sixteen years of his, via Joe. Those sixteen years were spent rotting in prison so it's only fitting Joe suffers. I would prefer he suffered the entire sixteen years, but sixteen days will have to suffice," he ended with mock regret.