Stan stopped the car in front of the vacation home he had borrowed from a friend and got out. He went around to help Laura out but she had already gotten out and closed the car door by the time he reached her side. “Where’s Joe?” demanded Laura, her blue eyes flashing fire even though she kept her tone on an even keel.

“Sleeping inside,“ Stan told her. “Relax, Laura,” he continued. “You know how much I care about you and Joe. I would never do anything to harm either of you.”

“Then what was all that ‘too late’ business you were spouting?” snarled Laura.

“I had to get you to come with me before Fenton or Frank returned,” reasoned Stan. “Come on inside. I will take you right to Joe and you can see for yourself that he’s fine.”

“Joe!” gasped Laura when she saw her son lying on the bed, his leg in a cast. “You liar!” she screeched, turning and smacking Stan across his face.

Stan grabbed Laura’s wrists in a tight grip to still her. “His leg isn’t broken,” he said looking into her eyes with earnest. “I only put the cast on him so he couldn’t run away when he wakes up.”

“How could you do this to him?” Laura asked trying to understand his reasoning.

“It’s for his, and your, own good,” Stan informed her. “Hardy is going to get the both of you killed. Can’t you understand that?” he begged. “I know you love him. Joe does too. That’s why I have to do this my way. Neither of you are objective.”

Laura turned to look at her sleeping son. “You drugged him,” she stated sadly.

“And I am going to give you something to help you sleep as well,” Stan said, not denying the charge. “When you wake up we will be in our new home.”

“Where?” Laura demanded growing frantic. If they left Bayport how would Fenton and Frank be able to find them?

“Sorry, honey,” replied Stan softly as he released her. “I can’t tell you that. It’s a safety precaution,” he explained watching her sit down beside Joe and push a lock of hair from his forehead.

Stan reached into his pocket and pulled out a pre-filled syringe and a packaged wet wipe. He opened the wet-wipe then stepped up to her. “Your arm, please?” he requested.

With a heavy heart and a last look at her son, she held up her arm and let Stan swipe it with the wipe and inject the needle into her arm. A few minutes later Laura was sleeping peacefully in the room next to Joe’s. Stan kissed Laura’s forehead before leaving the room and shutting off the light. He checked on Joe and picked up the sheet that had fallen to the floor after he had lifted Laura to move her to the next room. He covered Joe up, turned out the light, and went into the hallway.

Pulling out the wireless phone he had purchased weeks ago, he called information to obtain the number of the factory where Tarlton worked. He smiled and silently thanked Frank and the FBI agent for being so informative upon Frank’s return home earlier. He dialed the factory and declared he had an emergency and asked to speak with Albert Tarlton. A few minutes later Tarlton answered.

“I just thought you might want to know that Fenton Hardy is investigating you and Ben Oliver,” Stan said without identifying himself. “He’s at your place now.” Stan hung up the phone, satisfied that he would no longer have to be concerned with the two Hardy men.

***

“Heads up!” snapped Biff to Chet when he saw Tarlton and another man streaking out of the building. They raced to a beige Toyota Camry and climbed inside.

“This doesn’t look good,” moaned Chet as Biff started his van. “Mr. Hardy said to keep him busy until at least three. That’s almost two more hours!”

“Maybe they aren’t headed there,” Biff replied hopefully. But five minutes later he realized they were headed to Tarlton’s house.

“I wonder why he and that guy took off so fast,” Chet said holding onto the dash with his left hand and the rim of the window with his right.

 

“Don’t know,” Biff answered. “We’re going to have to cut them off,” he continued. “Hang on.” He swung the wheel and the van made a sharp left turn onto a gravel side road.

“Ow!” howled Chet as a small rock flew up and nicked his arm. He pulled his arm all the way inside and watched the dust fly around the van as Biff floored the gas pedal.

Biff slowed down as he reached the end of the road and made a left turn back onto the highway. A few minutes later he made a right turn and brought the van to a standstill around a curve. “Get out,” he ordered Chet. “Wave when you see them coming and I’ll block the road.”

Chet jumped out of the van and ran just past the curve to keep watch as Biff pulled down just a little bit farther. Less than a minute later, the Camry came into view. Chet turned around and threw both hands into the air waving wildly for a few seconds before diving for cover behind some trees.

Biff stopped the van sideways in the middle of the road and leapt out. He raced to the rear, tugged the back open and removed a tire iron and pulled a flat tire from inside and let it fall to the road.

The Camry rounded the curve. With no room to maneuver around the van but not wanting to hit it, Tarlton hit the brakes. The car with the two men in it spun twice and landed in a ditch a few feet from where Biff was watching in mock surprise.

Chet came running up as the two men exited their car, and advanced on Biff. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” Chet said breathlessly. “I tried to flag you down and warn you but I guess you didn’t see me.”

“Yeah, we had a blowout,” Biff explained. “Chet, why don’t you call 911 on your cell?” he continued. “We need to report this. It was my fault, after all.”

“Look, there’s no need for that,” Tarlton told him. “Just help us get our car back on the road and we’ll call it even.”

“Sure,” agreed Biff, tossing the tire iron back into the van, followed by the old tire. “It may take a while, though,” he said walking with the men toward the car. “Looks like an axle’s been busted.”

“Biff!” yelped Chet seeing Tarlton pull something from the side pocket of his jeans.

Biff turned; but too late. The heavy wrench Tarlton yielded struck him on the side of the head and he pitched forward into the ditch near the car.

Chet was no help because Oliver had spun Chet around and swung his rock-hard fist at Chet’s jaw. It connected with a crunch and Chet crumpled into the hard pavement.

 

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency 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.