“Me too,” returned Fenton and held out his hand for Frank’s cell. “May I?”

Frank turned over his cell phone and sat quietly with Tom while Fenton called a close friend and associate, Sam Radley, to help. When he had finished, he gave Frank back his cell. “Sam will be here in a little while,” Fenton said sitting down. “He will take you somewhere only he and I know about and keep you there until the trial.”

“But what about Joe?” demanded Frank crossly. “He comes first. If we don’t get him back then Tom can’t testify.”

“Frank, he has too,” Fenton stated softly. “Your brother would never stand...”

“No!” shouted Frank before his dad could finish. “I don’t care how Joe feels about it. At least he would be alive to feel.”

“We’ll get Joe back,” Fenton promised his eldest son, putting a hand on his shoulder. “But giving in to their demands isn’t the way.”

Frank shook off his father’s hand, leapt to his feet and raced out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He didn’t stop until he had reached the safety of his room and slammed the door. How could his father put Morrison’s freedom, or lack thereof, over Joe?

Frank stormed into the bathroom and slammed that door as well. He stopped in front of the bathroom mirror and grabbed the sink with both hands as he looked at himself. Relax! he ordered himself. He was letting his emotions take control and that was unacceptable. That was what usually got Joe into hot water and he couldn’t afford to lose control when it was Joe’s life on the line.

A shower! That’s what I need, he thought. Not only would it wash away the grime but also hopefully part of the tension he was feeling. Forty minutes alter he exited the bathroom to find his father sitting on his bed, the framed photograph of Frank and Joe that Frank kept on his nightstand in his hands. Fenton looked up as Frank cleared his throat and set the frame back on the nightstand.

“We’re going to find your brother,” Fenton stated calmly but with certainty.

“I know,” answered Frank. “I’m sorry I lost my temper but if it does come down to Tom’s testimony or Joe’s life you know which I will choose.”

Fenton nodded. “Sam picked up Tom and they left about five minutes ago,” he informed Frank.

“What do we do now?” asked Frank, his brown eyes woeful.

“Research,” answered Fenton. “I started early this morning but put it on hold when Tom showed up.” He looked at Frank with a frown on his face. “Why don’t you run out and get us some lunch?” he suggested. He would prefer Frank to get some rest but knew better than to even suggest such a thing. “After that I will tell you what I have and then we will work out a plan of action,” he stated. “Plus, we need your friends to come here after school. We are definitely going to need their help.”

Frank opened his mouth to say something but closed it again because he could already hear his father’s footsteps retreating into his office down the hall. No wonder Joe says I’m impossible sometimes, thought Frank, realizing his father had just done to him what he did to Joe on occasion.

Frank went downstairs and left the house. He jumped in the van and drove to Sanchez, a Mexican restaurant three blocks away from home, and ordered some take out for his father and himself. Twenty minutes later he returned and began unloading the meal onto plates.

“Dad!” he shouted. “I’m back!” No answer and no footsteps advertising his forthcoming presence. Frank ceased setting the table and slowly made his way into the dining room, alert for any sign of trouble. On he went into the living room and upstairs when there was still no sign of his father.

He stopped at the entrance to his father’s office and saw his father sitting in his chair with his head leaned back and his eyes closed. “Dad?” Frank asked in panic as he entered the office.

Fenton opened his eyes and looked bleakly into Frank’s. “Sam was forced off the road,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Tom was taken and Sam was shot.”