"No," Con said. "The keys are gone and there wasn't anyone around who might have seen anything either," he added.

"Put an A.P.B. out on him," Frank ordered.

"Gotcha," Con agreed, then gave Frank the exact location of the van.

Frank hung up and told his dad about the call. "He must have been kidnapped or he wouldn't have left the van," he finished.

"Unless he ran away and wasn't planning on coming back," Fenton said, his face white.

"The van was found in the direction of New York," Frank said, sick to his stomach.

"I'll call Jeff Peterson and have him get his men to watch for him," Fenton said, walking over to the phone.

"Call Vanessa and let her know," Frank told him, heading for the door. "I'm going after Joe."

"Wait!" ordered Fenton.

"You're not going to stop me!" Frank shouted angrily.

"No, I'm not," agreed Fenton. "I'm going with you." Frank watched his dad's haggard face as he spoke to Chief Peterson then he went to find his mother. He told her about Joe then said he would call her when they found Joe or got to New York, whichever came first.

Fenton and Frank took a taxi to the van then took the van to New York, looking for Joe along the way.

Joe, too, was on his way to New York City, but unlike his father and brother, he had no choice. On his way to Vanessa's he had decided to stop and get gas. After paying he climbed back inside the van. Before he could start the motor he felt the barrel of a gun pressed into his side. "Be nice and quiet," hissed a voice from behind him. "You attract any attention, and you'll die," he was warned. "Start the van and take a right out of the parking lot." Joe did as he was told. "Take the next exit," he was ordered. Joe pulled onto the New York City exit. "Pull up beside the blue car," he was ordered before they came out of the curve. After doing so, Joe was ordered out of the van. He was met by two other men. One held a bottle and cloth in his hands. Joe looked around for an escape but saw none. Soon he was sound asleep, courtesy of one chloroformed rag, and placed in the trunk of the blue car.

Joe awoke to the hum of a printer. He opened his eyes and turned to look at his surroundings but regret immediately washed over him. He snapped his eyes shut and lay still until the world stopped spinning.

"Hello Joe, or whatever your name really is," said an all too familiar voice.

"Bledsoe," Joe emitted the name from his dry mouth, his eyes opening again.

"Indeed," Bledsoe replied, looking down at Joe. "You should never lie to me," he said and backhanded Joe's face. Joe strained to retaliate but his wrists were bound to one on the printers, as were his ankles.

"I'm going to make this easy," Bledsoe said. "I ask a question and you answer it. You do not answer and you get no second chance. The machine will be turned on and you will be crushed. Understand?" Joe saw the coldness in Bledsoe's eyes and nodded.

"Why were you and your brother in my office looking for Tanya Jones?"

"We were trying to check out an alibi," Joe answered.

"Whose?" Bledsoe demanded.

"Whitman's," Joe responded.

"Explain," Bledsoe ordered, his voice deceptively calm.

Joe told Bledsoe about their investigation into the rapes of eighteen years ago.

"I told you it wasn't advisable to lie to me," Bledsoe said and flipped the switch which started the machine.