“I think Laura and Frank should be put in protective custody,” Agent Boone stated.

“Agreed,” concurred Chief Collig.

“Well, I don’t,” Frank vetoed the idea. “I can help.”

“And it didn’t work out before,” Laura reminded her husband looking him in the eyes. “Neither of Sam’s safe houses were secure.”

“But ours are,” Agent Boone said before Fenton could say anything. “We will take you two somewhere safe until...”

“No!” snapped Laura rounding on him. “I am not leaving. I am staying right here until I get my son back.”

“That may not happen,” Boone said tactlessly.

Laura’s face whitened but her eyes burned bright. “Then use me as bait,” she declared. “I want my son and...and if he’s dead then I want the men responsible,” she added, crying.

“Laura, honey,” Fenton tried to reason with her. “I can work better if I don’t have to worry about you.”

“We tried that,” snapped Laura. “If everyone is so concerned, put guards around the house. In the house even! But until I know what’s happened to Joe I am not going anywhere!”

“Frank, would you please reason with your mother?” a frustrated Fenton demanded.

“I agree with her,” Frank said, causing his father’s mouth to drop open. “Being separated is how they got Joe.”

“But...” Fenton tried to object but Frank kept talking.

“We should have some guards around the house,” Frank agreed with his mother’s idea. “They can keep an eye on mom while we find Joe.”

“This is pointless,” Collig stated. “If they don’t want to be in protective custody let’s do it their way. I will keep a car out front and another out back. The FBI can put a man inside.”

“Agreed,” said Boone. “Now, let’s look over the list of suspects.”

***

The next morning Frank entered the kitchen to find his dad and Agent Davies sitting at the table having coffee. “Mom?” Frank asked, pouring himself a cup of java and joining them.

“She finally fell asleep around three this morning,” Fenton said looking at Frank through bloodshot eyes. “I didn't see any point in waking her.”

Frank nodded his agreement. “So has Agent Boone called with the information about Albert Tarlton?” he asked. After it had been decided no one was leaving, the men had gone over the suspect list and broken it up. Sam would investigate Timothy Rimes; Collig would keep Terrence Durcell and Bobby Lyman under surveillance; and the FBI would cover all the others on the list except for Albert Tarlton who Fenton had insisted on doing himself.

“He did,” acknowledged Fenton. “I’m going over there in a few minutes. I just wanted him to have time to get to work before I stated.”

“You really think he’s behind this, don’t you?” asked Frank.

“No one has more reason to hate me,” Fenton replied. “His youngest son was killed in the shoot-out with the police when he was arrested. His other son committed suicide a week later and his wife divorced him because of it.”

“You aren’t going over there alone?” demanded Frank.

“Yes, I am,” acknowledged Fenton. “But I am not leaving you out of the investigation,” he added before Frank could get upset. “I intend to do a through job so I need you to make sure he doesn’t return home before three this afternoon at the earliest.”

Frank gave a nod of agreement. “He lives on Sarasota Lane on the western outskirts of Bayport,” Fenton informed Frank. “He has a job working at Baybridge Factory near the wharf. Take some of your friends and keep an eye on him. If he leaves work early try and delay him somehow.”

“Okay,” agreed Frank. “But be careful.”

“I will,” promised Fenton. “Be sure and have your friends come here for you,” he continued in a stern voice. “I don’t want you going anywhere alone.”

“Okay,” Frank agreed again. “But I’m still taking the van. We may need to split up later. What about mom?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Agent Davies entered the conversation at this point. “And I’ll make sure Mrs. Hardy doesn’t either.”

“Did Chief Collig send the cars?” Frank asked, wanting to make sure his mom would be safe before leaving.

“Con is in the one out front and Sgt. Bryson is in the one out back,” Fenton affirmed.

“I’ll go call Biff and Chet,” Frank said rising.

***

“Good morning, Joe,” Stan said entering the bedroom with a tray in his hands. “Time to rise and shine.”

Stan’s voice penetrated Joe’s consciousness and his eyes flickered open. He groaned. Why couldn’t it have been a nightmare? he wondered.

“Sit up, Joseph,” Stan urged him. “I’ve brought you some breakfast.”

Joe started to rise but froze as he realized moving his right leg was proving very difficult. He tossed aside the sheet he was sitting under and stared in horror at the cast which sealed his leg from the sole of his foot all the way up to his thigh. “You did it,” he rasped in disbelief. “You actually broke my leg!”

“No, no,” Stan denied. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I only put a cast on you to limit your movements.”

“So I can’t leave,” Joe said bitterly.

Stan set the tray down and reached out to ruffle Joe’s hair affectionately but Joe caught his hand before he could touch him and glared at Stan. “You’re not my father,” he snarled. “Stop trying to act like him.”

“I would never try to act like Fenton Hardy,” Stan assured him. “He is a lousy father. Always, he puts his work before you. Don’t deny it,” Stan cut Joe’s protests off before he could vocalize them. “I lived next door to you for three years,” he reminded Joe. “I watched how he treated you and your mother. He put on a good show but his job always came first.”

“That’s not true,” Joe argued. “Dad’s always there for us.”

“Always?” demanded Stan. “He was always there when you were injured? He was always there when you woke up in the hospital? Did he go to all your games?”

“He had better things to do,” Joe snapped. “People needed him.”

“And so did you!” Stan yelled. “Don’t tell me you didn’t look in the bleachers at every one of your games to see if he was there. I know you did because I was there,” Stan informed him. “I went to every one of your games. I saw you score the winning touchdown against Southport your first game on Varsity. I saw you get tackled and end up being taken in an ambulance to the hospital in your sixth game and I was there the next day with a get well gift for you. Where was your dad? He was working. Too busy to come home and see his own son!”

Joe was speechless. Stan had been envious of his father that long!

“Eat your breakfast,” Stan insisted.

“Drugging me again?” demanded Joe.

“Yes,” confirmed Stan. “But not in your food. I have a shot for you.”

“Why?” Joe asked. “You’ve already made sure I can’t run away,” he added bitterly.

“I want to make sure you don’t try and do anything that will get you hurt while I’m gone,” he explained as Joe picked up his spoon and took a bite of the cereal Stan had brought him.

“Where are you going?” Joe asked.

“To bring home your mother.”

 

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.