"And you should be resting – in bed," Laura continued, when Fenton merely ‘mmmph’d’ in reply to her comment about the doctor. "You might have a concussion, you know – or worse! It wouldn’t hurt you to let me take you over to the hospital and get checked out—"

Fenton chuckled, and captured her hand as she smoothed his hair. "Laura, don’t worry so; I’ll be fine!"

Laura sighed. She wanted to believe him, but she knew from experience that all the men in her family insisted on being macho about injuries. Too, too macho. Sometimes those injuries were serious, despite how they tried to shrug them off!

"Honey, I’ve been through this before – many, many times. Remember?" Fenton reminded her gently. "It’s no fun, I’ll admit, but I’ll survive it, and everything will be fine. And I promise—" he paused for emphasis, "I promise emphatically I’ll take it easy. You won’t have to worry about that!" He rubbed his head ruefully, willing away the throbbing that no aspirin had managed yet to completely dissipate.

Laura sighed, but laughed a little, admitting defeat. "All right, Mr. Macho – it’s your head, after all. If it falls off, don’t come whining to me about it!"

Fenton burst into laughter, despite the headache. "I promise I won’t come whining to you about it," he vowed, and kissed her again, to comfort and calm her.

Laura settled into the curve of his arm and laid her head on his shoulder. I’m not giving up the fight, she thought, I’m just regrouping. I’ll try again later, when he’s forgotten, and isn’t so resistant to the idea.

"Honey, stop worrying…relax."

At Fenton’s quiet reminder, Laura realized she must have unconsciously sighed again – or tensed up. The latter, she decided. Her neck and shoulders were tight. She rotated them, trying to ease the tension a little, and then felt Fenton’s strong fingers begin a gentle massage, carefully rubbing her back and shoulders.

"Relax, Laura…take some deep breaths…."

After a few minutes she leaned back against him again. "Thank you, that’s better….I’m just – I don’t understand. The attack at the mall – it doesn’t make any sense. Why would anyone be after me – or Erica?"

"Well, honey, there are probably a lot of people out there – people who consider themselves to be my enemies – who would use you to get back at me, if they wanted to," Fenton reminded her somberly. "Early tomorrow morning, I’m going to get right onto it—"

"Oh no you’re not!" Laura denied, twisting to scowl at him in mock-threat. "You’re going to rest tomorrow, if I have to tie you to the bed!"

"I promised I’d take it easy, and I will," he said mildly, being careful not to agree with the staying-in-bed idea.

Laura looked at him suspiciously, but Fenton didn’t say anything more for a few minutes, just resumed gently rubbing her shoulders. "Fenton?"

"Mmmm?"

"Do you really think it’s possible that those men at the mall wanted me, and not Erica? It was Erica’s purse they stole, not mine. If they were after me, then why not take my purse? We were right there together, after all. There was no way they’d know I’d go after them!"

Her husband thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. "If it was anyone who’d studied you at all – knew anything about you – they’d probably figure you wouldn’t stand idly by and let it happen. You’d follow after them, and try to stop it." Fenton frowned, thinking it through. "It does seem strange, though….Well, it’s entirely possible that someone knew Michael is wealthy, and they were going to hold Erica for ransom – and you just got in the way!"

Laura shivered. "I’m not sure that makes me feel any better!"

Fenton smiled grimly, and when he spoke, he phrased his words very carefully. "Just in case, honey – just in case it is someone trying to get to me through you – I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go anywhere alone for a few days. And make sure the alarms are on here at the house when you’re home, even during the day."

"Are you sure I’d have to go that far? They aren’t on now—" Laura sighed, but she knew she was going to acquiesce, even though she didn’t like it. "All right, I suppose I can walk wary for a few days—"

Her reluctant words were interrupted by the doorbell – which rang, and then rang again, almost immediately.

Laura got up and hurried into the front hall to answer the impatient summons. She could see through the little one-way glass panel in the door that it was Michael and Erica Ranson! She opened the door to let them in.

Michael Ranson stormed in, his blue eyes flashing enraged fire. He didn’t bother with any niceties, such as ‘hello,’ and he barely acknowledged Laura’s presence. "Hardy!" he bellowed, "You’ve got to find out who tried to kidnap Erica!" He strode into the family room, seeking Fenton, pulling Erica along behind him. Laura hurried after them.

Ranson was no longer wearing expensive golf clothes; now he was in an expensive suit, including coat and tie. Armani, Laura thought. Erica was clad in the same sweater and skirt she’d worn on the shopping expedition, and she was clinging to Michael’s hand, basically being dragged in his wake – but standing slightly back and to the side, as if trying to distance herself from Michael’s anger. She met Laura’s eyes for a moment, then glanced away nervously. This was obviously an uncomfortable moment for Erica Ranson.

Laura was irresistibly reminded of her first encounter with Michael Ranson on board the Royal Tahoe, screaming with rage over the food-poisoning incident which had made Erica ill.

"People coming after me is one thing," Michael continued hotly, "but coming after Erica – that’s something else! I won’t have these hooligans threatening my wife! I want you to find out who’s behind it! It’s more important than looking into that glass company. Money is no object, Hardy – none at all. I want my wife safe!"

He paused for breath, and Fenton, who had remained calmly sitting on the couch and listening to the tirade, nodded.

"Laura told me about it, Michael. You don’t have to ask me; I already planned to look into it. After all, they almost took Laura, too!"

Michael’s mouth was open to continue his outraged ranting, but at Fenton’s words, he shut it with a snap. He looked from Erica to Laura – and then back at Fenton.

"You think they were after Laura?" he questioned. "But they took Erica’s purse!"

"I realize that," Fenton replied, nodding. "And it’s likely they were after Erica, perhaps for ransom. However, it is just as possible that Laura was the target. They could have taken Erica’s purse, knowing that Laura was likely to chase after them. They might have made a mistake – Laura and Erica are both small, both blonde – and gone for the wrong woman."

"I’ll say they went for the wrong woman!" Ranson growled, then subsided, as Fenton continued to speak.

"They took the purse to lure the women towards the exit, after all, where the van was waiting. And they grabbed BOTH women, Michael, not just Erica. It would have been much easier for them to just take Erica, but they tried to take Laura, too."

Michael looked over at Laura again, and for once, he seemed to be at a total loss for words. "I’m – I apologize. I’m sorry, Laura. I didn’t mean to – I hadn’t thought of it that way." He moved over to the love seat and sat down, Erica beside him. He put an arm about his wife’s shoulders and squeezed, reassuringly.

"It’s all right, Michael, I know you were upset. Could I get you anything to drink? Or you, Erica?" Laura offered.

"No, thanks," Erica whispered, and Michael shook his head. Laura settled herself on the couch beside Fenton once more.

"This possibility of them wanting Laura, and not Erica—" Fenton was still puzzling over this enigma. "Erica, could you do something for me, please? Could you remember exactly what the man said to you? You told Laura that he said they were going to take you to keep Michael from ‘nosing around,’ right?"

She nodded.

"Is there any possibility that he didn’t say Michael? Any possibility that he mistook you for Laura, and meant me? Or rather, did he say something that your mind processed into ‘Michael,’ even if he didn’t say the name, so that’s what you recall? What did he say – exactly?"

Erica puckered her brow, trying to think, trying to remember. She closed her eyes, evidently attempting to visualize the scene in her mind. "He was dragging me along…" she murmured, at last. "I kept screaming, so I didn’t hear everything he said – he was swearing a lot. He said…he said…okay. He said ‘Shut up, you bi—‘" She broke off in mid-word, and opened her eyes, looking decidedly embarrassed.

Fenton’s mouth twitched into a slight smile. "You can skip that part."

Michael Ranson’s eyes glittered ominously. His mind-set was obvious: nobody talks to my wife like that!

"Okay, he said to shut up…and then he said, ‘we’re going to take you, to make sure’…OH!" Again, the wide blue eyes opened and Erica stared at Fenton in shock. "He said ‘to make sure your husband doesn’t nose around where he isn’t wanted!"

"Ahhhh," Fenton leaned back, a grimly satisfied smile quirking his lips. "He said ‘your husband,’ which to YOU means Michael. But if he thought he had Laura, it means ME."

"Mr. Hardy, is it possible that they wanted both women?" Michael Ranson leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his hands clasped, staring hard at the detective. "It would have been much easier, assuming they wanted either Laura or Erica, to simply grab one and take her. A better chance of getting outside and away. Why would they want BOTH? It’s not like we’re bosom buddies, or anything – we’ve only met once before! And we don’t have similar business interests – except for the thing with Markham Glass. And that’s nothing to be nervous about, as far as I can tell. And for that matter, how would anyone have known about it anyhow?" Michael’s voice was starting to rise again, with anger and frustration. "We just talked about it last night, for God’s sake! Nothing had even been done about it! No one knew you were going to check into anything!"

"I don’t know of anything they might have been after, if they wanted both Laura and Erica," Fenton concurred, "and I also agree that even if there is something shady at Markham Glass, it wouldn’t be anything to cause an attempted kidnapping; it’s a Federal offense, after all. I’ll check into it, of course, right away – I’ll find out everything I can about the men who made the attempt…or rather, who hired the ones who made the attempt. I’m hoping the one who was taken into custody might be willing to talk."

Mr. Hardy paused, but it was evident that he wasn’t through with his ruminations. The others waited. Michael’s impatience showed, one foot was jittering nervously, but he remained silent.

"There’s something else I’m wondering about, too," the detective said at last. "Who knew that Erica and Laura were going shopping? How did the men know to go there at that time, to try the kidnapping? It had just been discussed the evening before, and the details weren’t settled until morning, after all! And how did they know that you or I might not be there too?" he added to Michael. "Did you tell anyone? Erica? Laura?"

"I did," Erica volunteered, looking up from her lap. "I talked on the phone to my mother this morning. I told her that I was going shopping with ‘a new friend.’" She looked over at Laura and smiled. "But I don’t believe I mentioned Laura’s name. And I didn’t tell her where we were going!"

"The boys knew," Laura said. "I told Frank at breakfast, and I wrote them a note when I left. I don’t know who else might have known; we weren’t trying to keep it a secret! Andrea very likely told Vanessa. I talked to Megan about it, right before her mother arrived home, so she probably told Carolyn. But who would have cared that we were going shopping?"

Fenton nodded his understanding. He was more troubled now than he had been before. He reached for the telephone and dialed from memory. "Is Sgt. Riley there? Thanks….Con? Fenton Hardy…."

A few minutes later he hung up, having asked Riley to check for possible wiretaps on the Hardys’ home phone. "I haven’t heard anything that sounds suspicious," he conceded, "but I’ve been using my cell phone more than the house phone, lately. And these days, it’s the outside lines that are tapped, rather than putting things in individual phones….I just hope it’s something else! Although the logical alternative is that someone’s been watching either our house, or you two, Michael, and I don’t like that, either!"

Michael Ranson got to his feet. "We should go – I need to get Erica back to the hotel," he said, and indeed, both he and Erica looked somewhat droopy. "Mr. Hardy, thank you for hearing me out, and I apologize again, for yelling at you." He offered a shamefaced smile. "I never even asked you how you were feeling!"

Fenton smiled. "I’m fine."

"That’s good, I’m glad." Ranson sighed. "Let’s go, sweetcakes."

Erica stood up. "Mr. Hardy – thank you for saving Michael from being hit – I’m sorry you were hurt!" she murmured, and flushed unhappily. "We seem to have caused you both a lot of trouble today."

They had just reached the entryway, when the telephone rang again. Fenton answered…and then didn’t say anything more. After about five seconds had elapsed, he hung up, and turned to the others, his face grim.

"Fenton? What was it?" Laura questioned him, worriedly.

"The voice on the other end said, ‘women who go shopping alone are asking to be taken away from those who love them.’" he responded. He looked at his wife, then over at the Ransons. "And then he hung up."

*****

What’d I do wrong now? Joe thought frantically as he drove his Aztek into Bayport’s outskirts, on the way to the Benders’ farmhouse. Vanessa’s abrupt order sure made it sound like he had done something very wrong! Jeez, can’t a guy go two seconds without doing something to upset his girlfriend?

What could I have done to make Vanessa mad? Did I forget our anniversary? No, that can’t be it; we started dating in January. Did I forget her birthday? No, that was in July, and I know I didn’t forget it. Did I promise to meet her somewhere and forgot to go, today? He was pretty sure that wasn’t it; he was positive they hadn’t made any plans, the previous night.

By the time he reached Vanessa’s house, Joe’s stomach was all in knots, and a headache was beginning to spike into his temples, from nervously clenching his teeth as he drove. He simply couldn’t think of a single thing he’d done wrong! Man, and just when I thought everything was going perfectly, too…. He gulped as he knocked on the door; it didn’t help that Vanessa jerked it open right away, as if she’d been watching his approach.

"My room. Now!" Vanessa didn’t even bother saying ‘hello,’ or kissing or hugging him, as she usually did. She pointed peremptorily towards her bedroom, and waited as he began walking to the stairs, then followed along behind him.

Man, I must be in SERIOUS hot water! She’s never EVER this angry! Joe felt sweat breaking out on his forehead. He slunk into her bedroom, and Vanessa slipped past him to perch on her bed. She bounced a time or two, settling herself, and then stared up at him, blue-gray eyes fixed on his face.

"How…could…you? How COULD YOU?" she demanded.

Joe’s eyes grew large, as he frantically tried to figure out, how could he WHAT? Had he flirted with some girl, and didn’t remember it?

"Wh-what – Van, I don’t…."

Vanessa raked him with a scathing look, then turned and reached into the drawer of her nightstand. She pulled something out, laid it on the stand, and pointed imperiously at it. "Read that, please."

Swallowing nervously, Joe stepped forward, and picked the paper up. He unfolded it…and then he saw the first lines on the page. A brilliant scarlet color suffused his face.

"I, uh…"

Vanessa’s smile was like the sun breaking through dark clouds. "How could you write something like that for me…and not TELL ME about it?" she demanded. She leaped to her feet and pounced on him, flinging her arms tightly about his neck and kissing him emphatically. Vanessa was nearly as tall as Joe himself, and no weakling; Joe was almost knocked from his feet by her impetuous embrace. He staggered, holding tightly onto her for balance.

"Van, I…" Joe began, then stopped, totally speechless with embarrassment. He looked down at the floor, and found himself scuffing a foot on the carpeting like a shy child. "Jeez, Van, I’m not – ya know, I’m not – that kind of guy….I mean, sure, I wrote it, but…" He blushed even more fiery red. "I didn’t know if you’d…like it."

"Not LIKE it!" she exclaimed. She kissed him again – longer, this time, and harder. "I absolutely LOVE it! I didn’t know you could write poetry!"

"I can’t…not really. That’s the only one—"

"But when were you going to tell me it was there?" she interrupted, with another kiss.

Joe was certain he wasn’t going to stop blushing for about a thousand years – if then. But oh, he certainly did like those kisses Vanessa was planting on him! He wrapped his arms about her, and began returning them with interest…when a sudden distraction presented itself!

"Mmmrrowp? Mmrrrrrrowp!" Thistle cat-footed into the room, attracted by the noise. He promptly flung himself down beside Joe’s feet and rolled onto his back, clamoring loudly. He’d always been fond of Joe, who could usually be depended on to give him lots of attention and petting. Thistle squirmed about, and looked at Joe and Vanessa upside down, waving his paws in the air. Both teens broke into laughter.

Joe bent down and rubbed Thistle’s soft white tummy, and the cat purred and wriggled in delight. Joe was grateful for the chance to let his face cool off a bit, and for the respite it gave him from answering Vanessa’s insistent question. Vanessa chuckled, delighted with her cat’s antics, and also crouched to stroke him.

But finally, she tapped Joe on the shoulder. "I’m still waiting for an answer, Joe," she reminded him. "When were you going to tell me? You were going to tell me – weren’t you?"

He straightened up slowly, and stood looking down at her as she crouched there, one hand idly resting on Thistle. "I’m not sure….I’m not sure when I – if I – would have told you, babe. I wrote it the day we had the graduation dinner – while I was at work. I was working out what I wanted to say to you – I wrote it down in the poem, and I slipped it into the box. Just in case I couldn’t actually say what I wanted to, that night."

Vanessa’s eyes sparkled like luminous blue-gray pools. "Joe, this poem means everything to me. It means everything that you wrote it – that you FELT it – and that I finally found it." She stood up, and beckoned him nearer.

Joe gulped nervously, as he put his arms around her, wondering just what he’d gotten himself into.