Frank’s head emerged from under the driver’s seat, and he looked at his brother curiously. "What’s all this hollering about?" He’d dropped his notebook when he got out of the van and he was just picking it up off the floor when Joe started shouting.

Joe shook his head, relief and amusement evident in his smile as he turned and walked up to the front door, with Frank close behind him. Suddenly Joe heard Frank shout and before he could turn around, something hard slammed into the side of his head, and a burst of pain exploded through Joe’s skull.

Frank watched, frozen as his brother crumpled to the ground. Joe’s attacker turned and in the dim evening sky, Frank could not see his face. Frank took a step back, paralyzed. But the paralysis lasted only for a few seconds and with a roar, Frank lunged toward the attacker, sending the tall, muscular figure to the ground. With quick lightning reflexes, the assailant twisted his body, throwing Frank over his head, and before Frank realized what was happening, he found himself lying on his back, his breath knocked out of him. A hilarious yet totally irrelevant thought passed through his mind as he recognized the whiff of perfume. A serial killer wearing Hugo Boss?

"It’s your turn, now, smart boy." Malicious dark eyes glinted from behind the ski mask. Before Frank could do anything, a wet cloth was suddenly slapped against his face. Don’t breathe, Frank, he screamed silently, but the sickly-sweet stench was too powerful, overpowering, and Frank was losing his breath fast. Somebody help me, he thought dimly as black dots appeared in front of his eyes. The black dots were suddenly replaced by bright, glaring light.

"HEY!!!" Half-conscious, Frank could hear someone shout. But it sounded so distant, he must have imagined it. The noxious fumes had fought their way into his lungs now. At last, Frank’s head lolled lifelessly as he succumbed to unconsciousness.

Fenton Hardy set a personal record as he dashed across the lawn, his heart pounding so hard it felt like bursting. "HEY, YOU!!!"

He was having dinner with Laura when suddenly he had a bad feeling that something terrible was going to happen. True enough, as he neared the house his heart jumped to his throat as he caught sight of Joe lying motionless in the middle of the driveway. Another bolt of terror struck him when he saw Frank struggling weakly not far away from his fallen brother.

Damn, he cursed. Without waiting another moment, he jumped off the unconscious Frank and ran off into the night. He was aware of the steady footfalls behind him, gradually picking up speed each passing second. Then he smiled inwardly when the running footsteps pursuing him stopped. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed his suspicion. Whoever had interrupted him was retreating, running back toward the Hardy brothers.

He kept on running, frustration pumping like adrenaline through his bloodstream. He cursed again.

Laura anxiously ran a hand over her sons’ bodies, trying to look for injuries. As Fenton neared them, breathless from his run, Laura looked up at him with fear-filled eyes.

"Let’s get them inside," he said grimly.

"Joe, honey, open your eyes…"

With an effort, Joe Hardy struggled to open his eyes, but closed them again as a sear of pain shot through his head. He could feel something cold and damp against his forehead, and though it was somewhat soothing, it did nothing to lessen the intense poundings in his skull. He felt as if someone had bludgeoned him in the head with a hammer.

"Come on Joe, snap out of it…" The voice said again.

Slowly, carefully, Joe’s eyelids folded back, revealing dazed blue eyes. "Frank…"

"I’m right here, bro," Frank answered weakly from the other side of the living room. He still felt a little nauseous, but the woozy feeling was disappearing.

Joe let out a low moan, and started pushing himself up on his elbows, but Laura gently pressed a hand against his chest, laying him back down on the couch. Joe reached up a hand to his temple and groaned again loudly when it made contact with a lump the size of Mount Rushmore.

"Maybe we should take him to the hospital," Fenton murmured in concern. Laura looked about ready to say yes but Joe grabbed his mom’s wrist. "No, Mom, I’m-I’m fine."

Once again, Joe struggled up to a sitting position. The room tilted crazily from a while and Joe closed his eyes, holding his breath, only opening them once again when the dizziness subsided a little. The moment he did, he froze. "Frank…is Frank okay? Where is he?"

"Your brother’s right here, son," Fenton said, standing up and looking down at both his sons. "And he’s okay. You’re the one I’m worried about."

He studied his son’s face closely, looking for signs of disorientation and dilated pupils. "Do you feel nauseous, light-headed?"

Joe shook his head slowly, the color returning to his face. "No, I’m okay. What happened to the guy? Please tell me he’s been caught…"

"Ahh…unfortunately no." Fenton shook his head regretfully. "He got away."

He cursed silently. He had no doubt that the attacker was trying to kidnap Frank. Frustration welled up inside him like steaming soup bubbling in a pot, in time with the relentless throb of pain in his head.

Fenton stood up, satisfied. Joe was not showing any signs of a concussion, which was a miracle, considering the fact that he’d been hit quite hard, judging from the angry-looking bruise on his temple. Not in a million years could he describe the feeling of immense relief that was still coursing through him. If he had been a few minutes too late…he shuddered inwardly at the thought of what would have happened.

"You sure you’re okay?" Frank asked as the Hardys prepared for bed. After reporting the attack at the police station, their father had suggested they have some dinner but with their new aches and pains both brothers refused. Now all Frank wanted to do was go to bed and sleep through the whole of next week. Joe had barely said a word since early that evening and Frank was wondering if he was feeling alright.

Joe’s head popped out from beneath the covers and he peered blearily at his brother who was standing at the bathroom door. "Yes, for the fifty-seventh time, Frank, I’m fine. Now will you quit worrying? You’re making my head hurt." Not realizing that his statement had made Frank worry all over again, Joe pulled the covers over his head.

The truth was, Joe couldn’t stop thinking how close he’d come to losing Frank. To think that Frank had almost fallen into the serial killer’s hands made him shiver even though it was stifling hot under the covers. They had had a close call and Joe was thankful for his father’s instincts. If it wasn’t for Dad-Joe couldn’t bring himself to think about what would have happened. And what Joe really wanted to know was whether the attacker would come back. Well, come what may, I’ll be ready, Joe thought dimly as a wave of drowsiness replaced the faint poundings in his head. A few minutes later Joe was fast asleep.

"Alright, class, just remember, the scalpel must be handled with extreme gentleness," Mr. Cross said. Joe Hardy threw a disgusted look at his Biology teacher. He was never one to be squeamish but this particular experiment turned his stomach.

"Tell me why we’re doing this again?" Joe whispered to his lab partner.

Tessa threw him an amused look, and laughed softly. "Um, learning purposes?"

"Gee, I thought that was what encyclopaedias are for," Joe muttered. "Guess I was mistaken." He watched as Tessa slit the scalpel in, admiring her ease and confidence as she maneuvered the sharp blade skillfully.

"How did you learn to do that?" Joe asked, amazed. Tessa had finished dissecting the specimen in a matter of minutes. The rest of the class had barely begun. Tessa laughed.

"My favorite class back in Sweden was Biology, and we are ahead of you because I have done this in class last year." Then Tessa paused. "The only person who ever beat me in class was Craig." Her face clouded over as she thought about her friend. Craig was yet to be found and the whole school had been shrouded with unsettling nervousness since the news of his disappearance broke out. Joe couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. The fact that they didn’t know whether Craig was still alive or not made all of them more edgy. Nothing like this had ever happened at Bayport High and it was scary. Poor Tessa, Joe thought, stealing a glance at her beautiful face. Came all the way from Sweden and this happened.

Then as suddenly as it had appeared, the frown lifted off her face, and she turned to Joe, smiling sweetly. "Want my help?"

"Yep. Now you get to teach me how to cut up mine," Joe said, smiling. Tessa was a better teacher than he’d thought. Good thing Vanessa was not in the same class with him or else she would throw fits, break-up or not. And as Tessa helped him with his experiment, he found himself wondering what it would feel like to kiss her. No, Joe commanded. Bad idea. Or is it?

"Didn’t I say that I would do it tonight?" he spoke angrily into the phone. He listened for a while, and his face turned red.

"How was I supposed to know that their father would choose that very minute, out of the one thousand, four hundred and forty minutes in a day, to come back home? I was lucky I got away-" He paused again.

"Fine. I’ll get him tonight." Slamming the phone down, he cursed under his breath. Just you wait, Frank Hardy, he thought. By hook or by crook, you will be mine.

"Pick me up at 11.00?" Joe asked. Frank was dropping him off at the Reids’ for another study date with Tessa. Fenton would no longer allow any of his sons to walk alone at night and since Frank was available, Joe asked for his help. Naturally, Frank obliged, happy to know that Joe was taking his studies seriously now. Joe even got a B plus in calculus for the first time in school that day.

"Sure thing. Happy studying," Frank said, smiling as Joe gave him a wave and ran up the driveway. He watched as Joe rang the bell, turning to leave only when Joe had gone into the house. Frank was about to get in the van when he suddenly felt cold, razor-sharp metal against his throat.

"Not a word. Get in the van slowly or you die."