Before the car reached Joe there was a gunshot. The coupe’s back windshield shattered and the car spun as the driver changed directions and took off.

The black SUV from the day before came to a stop close to Joe and two men got out. Piers and Maxwell! Sorrel is behind this, Joe thought but quickly realized that couldn’t be right because they had just saved his life.

The two men rushed over to Joe and lifted the bike off of him. “Easy, kid,” Piers said, taking Joe’s chin in his hand and looking in his eyes.

“I’m okay,” Joe told him when he realized Piers was looking for signs of a concussion.

“That’s why your head’s bleeding,” Piers commented wryly.

“And his leg,” added Maxwell, seeing the blood soaking Joe’s jeans around the rip in the fabric.

“Stay put,” Piers ordered Joe as he tried to rise. Piers and Maxwell lifted Joe’s cycle and put it into the SUV then returned to Joe and picked him up as gently as they could.

“You’ve been following me,” Joe observed. “Why?”

“The boss decided you needed protection after the fiasco at the cookout,” Maxwell said with a shrug.

“Great job we did,” Piers said with a grimace. “He’s going to kill us.”

“No he won’t,” Joe denied. “If you two hadn’t shown up when you did, I’d be dead.”

“Well, you’re in pretty bad shape,” Maxwell observed.

“I’ll be all right,” Joe said. “If you would just drop me off at home I’d appreciate it.”

“Forget it, kid,” Piers said. “It’s the emergency room for you.”

At the hospital Joe’s leg was x-rayed and eight miniature stitches administered to the cut on his head and a small bandage placed on top of that. As Joe was wheeled out to the car, Piers took care of the bill.

“I do have insurance, you know,” Joe pointed out as Piers climbed into the SUV a few minutes later. Joe knew when his dad found out he was going to blow his top and having the mafia pay his medical expenses was just going to fan the flames.

“It happened on our watch,” Piers said. “It’s our responsibility. We’ll take you home now but we’ll get your bike repaired before we return it.”

“Thanks,” Joe said, leaning back against his seat. His head was hurting and he was smart enough to know arguing wouldn’t do any good anyway.

***

“Dad!” Frank shouted in surprise as he parked his motorcycle in the driveway. “When did you get back?”

Fenton waited for Frank to meet him on the porch steps before answering. “Just now,” Fenton said, looking at Frank critically to make sure he was all right after yesterday’s bombing. “I finished earlier than anticipated.” He looked down the road, expecting to see Joe materialize on his bike. “Where’s your brother?” he asked.

Frank scowled. “I wish I knew,” he said. “I’ve missed him all day.”

“Wasn’t he at school?” Fenton demanded, worry clouding his features.

“Yeah,” Frank hurriedly reassured his father. “But he left early and skipped lunch. I thought I could catch up with him at practice but it was canceled.”

“Maybe he told your mother where he went,” Fenton suggested as the two climbed the steps. Frank pulled open the screen door as his father put the key in the lock. They both froze as a black SUV pulled in front of the house and stopped although the motor was left running.

“You going anywhere tonight?” Piers asked Joe as he prepared to exit the vehicle.

“No,” Joe answered. “I doubt I’ll be doing much of anything until after school tomorrow.”

“Good,” Piers said. “That’ll give us time to drop your bike off at the garage and report in.”

“You really don’t have to keep following me,” Joe tried one more time.

“Don’t go there,” he was ordered.

“Well, thanks,” Joe said, getting out of the car. “For everything,” he added before closing the door. He watched them drive away then turned and limped up the walk, freezing when he saw his father and brother at the front door. His dad looked curious but Joe knew it was only because Frank hadn’t told him about Sorrel yet; otherwise, he would have the same dumbstruck look on his face Frank now had.

“Joe!” Fenton exclaimed, hurrying down to put an arm around Joe’s waist and helping him up the steps. “What happened?” he demanded.

“Someone tried to run me down,” Joe explained, aware Frank had unlocked the door and held it open for them although he refused to look at him.

Joe could feel the anger radiating from his brother but, unlike last night, he didn’t believe it was directed at him. “How bad are you hurt?” Fenton asked, noticing the sterile bandage and the slight smell of antiseptic on him which meant Joe had already been to the hospital.

“Not too bad,” Joe reassured his distraught father. “No concussions or anything. Just a bad headache and a limp for a day or two.”

“Who brought you home?” Fenton asked.

“And where’s your bike?” Frank spoke.

“They’re going to get it fixed and give it back to me,” Joe said, hopefully evading his father’s question.

“After they tried to run you down?” Frank demanded.

“It wasn’t them,” Joe said. “They have been following me to make sure I didn’t get hurt. They kind of lost me while I was trying to lose the guy chasing me but they reached me before he could finish the job. But since I got hurt while they were supposed to be taking care of me, they made me go to the hospital, paid for it, and are fixing my bike.”

Fenton had gone still while Joe talked to Frank. “Who are they and why are they supposed to be taking care of you?” Fenton asked in a deceptively calm tone; the undercurrent of which was not lost on Joe.

“Um....can I sit down and get an aspirin first?” Joe begged.

Fenton gave a curt nod as he helped Joe onto the living room sofa. “Frank, go get your brother an aspirin and some water,” he ordered.

Frank went into the kitchen and was back in two minutes. “Mom left a note,” he said. “She went to the store,” he added, handing Joe the requested items.

“Now,” Fenton began in his no-nonsense voice after Joe had finished his water. “I want to know everything.”

Joe swallowed, then began the tale with meeting Marie at the museum. Frank started to interrupt to let his father know it was he who had forced Joe to attend and pushed Joe into going out with Marie but one glance from his father and he bit his tongue and sat silently while Joe finished.

Fenton had listened, his face expressionless, to Joe’s entire litany. He remained silent even after Joe had stopped speaking. “Dad?” Joe asked hesitantly.

“Go to your room,” Fenton rasped, too angry to deal with the issue. Joe opened his mouth to object but Frank shook his head at him. Closing his mouth, Joe got to his feet.

Fenton turned to look at Frank. “Help him up,” he ordered, then left the room. He had vowed never to discipline his children when he was angry and right now, he was as mad as he had ever been. And even though most of his anger was directed at Sorrel, he knew if he said anything to Joe now, he would take the burnt of his anger out on his youngest son.

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.