“Look, the boys don’t know anything ‘cept what they’ve already told the cops,” Liam said as Biff and Frank stood in front of him.

Biff’s face hardened.  “Well, maybe Frank and I would like to ask them that ourselves.  Who was it?”

Liam looked hesitant, and Frank spoke.  If he and Biff were doing good cop/bad cop, he was definitely the good cop…for now.

“Look Liam.  I just want to find my brother, okay.  I don’t care what your friends were doing – honestly.  And maybe they didn’t see anything…but then again, maybe they did.  We just want to talk to them.”  He stared the other boy directly in the eyes, and finished, “Liam, this is my kid brother…I’ve got to do something.”

The punk sighed and looked at Biff for a moment before he met Frank’s intense gaze again.  “I like Joe and that’s the only reason why I’m even talking to you guys right now.  He’s always treated me decent. Give me some time—”

“Time’s something we don’t have,” Frank cut in, his dark eyes imploring Liam to help them.  “Something that Joe doesn’t have.”

Glancing around as if he was afraid someone might overhear him, Liam lowered his voice.  “Okay.  Eight o’clock tonight at Mr. Pizza’s.  We’ll be there, but you’re buying the pizza.”

Frank gave him a relieved grin.  “I’ll even throw in for dessert.  Eight tonight?  We’ll be there.”  But then the grin disappeared and Frank’s face became serious - deadly serious - as his voice lowered and he left no doubts in the other boy’s mind about trying to pull a fast one.

“But Brady, if you or your friends screw me over, you’d better pray to God he’ll have mercy on your souls because I won’t….Is that clear?”

Biff was shocked – he had never heard Frank speak like that to anyone!

“Crystal,” Liam said, and then he indicated the house.  “I gotta get back to leaf raking before my old man skins me alive.”

Nodding, Frank turned and headed back towards Biff’s car.

“So what do we do until eight?” Biff asked as he got into the car and started it up.

“Let’s go home,” Frank said, sounding tired.  “I’m going to grab a quick nap.  If these guys can give us something to go on, it might end up being a very long night.”

“Sounds like a plan.  And who knows…” Biff offered, “Maybe Phil’s got some news for us.”

Frank gave the blond-haired teen a weak smile, although he was pretty sure that if Phil had anything to tell them, they’d already know.

* * *

When Joe opened his eyes, he let out a resigned sigh.  He was back in his room, lying face down on the bed with both hands firmly cuffed behind him.

He didn’t even need to turn his head to know Muir was watching him.

When the big man saw the teenager was awake, he lowered his face towards Joe’s and said, his voice no longer a monotone but seething with enough animosity that Joe actually shivered and tried to move away, “You’re more trouble than you’re worth – remember that…or the next time you won’t be waking up.”

And then Joe cried out in pain as Muir jabbed the syringe into his arm.

“Sweet dreams,” the large man whispered to the boy, as the world swam sickening for a moment before Joe’s eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

* * *

Antoine saw Muir leave the room and looked at him.

“He’s sleeping,” the big man said as he looked down at his employer.

“You didn’t kill him then?” the old man confirmed.

“It was close,” Muir admitted, and they started walking down the corridor together.

“Good,” Mr. Rosado smiled, “I’m not quite finished with him yet.”  He paused to catch his breath; Muir’s stride was much longer than his own.  “Fenton’s son has proved the most entertaining yet.  But…” he looked up fondly at his giant, “you can have him when I’m done.  He’ll be the piece de resistance in our collection….”

* * *

“Well?” Phil asked, meeting Frank and Biff at the door, “Did you find anything out?  What did Brady say?”

Frank ushered his friend back into the house.  “Nothing yet.  But we have an eight o’clock date, tonight, with Liam and his friends.  Hopefully we’ll get something then.” 

“Where you meeting them?” Phil asked as he poured his two friends some fresh coffee and set it down on the table.

“Mr. Pizza,” Frank managed as he smothered a yawn, “So I figured I’d try to grab a couple of hours of sleep before then.”

“Good idea,” Phil agreed, immediately taking the coffee from Frank before the boy could take a drink.  “Go lie down.  I’ll hang out and keep an ear on the phone.”

“Thanks Phil,” the other teen said as he was already started towards the stairs, “Did anyone call?”

“Only Vanessa and your Dad,” the other boy continued, “Your Dad called to remind you he’s picking your mom up at 8:30 tonight, and Van wanted to help but I told her that the only thing she could do, right now, was hang out by her phone in case Joe tried to call her…. I know it’s a long shot…but honestly, guys, I didn’t know what else to say to her….She’s pretty upset and…well…I’m not that great about things like this!”

That small exasperated admittance made both Frank and Biff chuckle.

Phil Cohen, while brilliant with anything electronic, sucked when it came to girls.  He got all awkward and tongue-tied around them.  And while he was usually fine with Callie and Vanessa, as he thought of them as one of the guys, he found it harder to know what to say when either of them was upset.

“Geek,” Biff said affectionately.

“Jock,” Phil shot back, as Frank just shook his head and went upstairs.

He knew his friends would make themselves at home, and he was grateful for that.  While he wanted their comfort, he didn’t want to have to play host.  Not when the only thing he could think about was getting his brother back home.

“Hold on a little while longer, kiddo,” he whispered as he lay down and closed his eyes, “just a little longer….”

* * *

“What time is Laura’s flight?” Sam Radley quietly asked his partner, as they once again stood at the spot where the kids had stolen the van.

The past couple of hours had been unproductive, and both investigators were beginning to feel the desperation as each passing hour brought no new leads on Joe.

“8:30,” Fenton said absently, looking down at his watch.  He ran his fingers through his dark brown hair in agitation before he turned an anguished gaze on his best friend and admitted, “I don’t know how to tell her, Sam.  I just don’t.”

The other investigator reached across and squeezed his friend’s shoulder in silent support but he had no advice to offer.  How do you look at your wife and tell her that her baby had just vanished…and that you had nothing to go on…not even a tire track?

“We’re investigators, for cripes sake,” Fenton spat out, as if reading his partner’s thoughts.  “I can’t accept this…that my own son is missing and I can’t find him?  No Sam, there has to be something…somewhere…that we’re missing.”

“Fenton—” Sam started, trying to placate his increasingly disconcerted partner, but Fenton cut him off.

“No, Sam.  Someone has my son!  And because of that, I have to tell my wife that her baby is missing, again…!”  Swallowing back the surge of helpless anger that threatened to overwhelm him, Fenton turned his back on his friend and walked away.

Sam let him go.  He knew Fenton well enough to know when he needed a moment.  And right now, he needed more then a moment.

And after that moment, heaven help whoever had his son….

* * *

Chet Morton was surprised when he turned around and saw who his next customer was.  He’d only started his new part-time job yesterday and already he felt like he’d been there forever – he loved photography and people, so working the counter at a film processing lab was his ideal venue.

“Mr. Rosado?” he said, smiling at the old man he had met only hours earlier at the Hardys’ house.

The old man looked slightly shocked but recovered quickly.  “Young Mr. Morton, isn’t it?  So nice to see you again.”

The teenager beamed, impressed that Mr. Rosado remembered his name.  “Yes it is.  Please call me Chet.”

“Chet?  Chester?”  Antoine briefly considered the name and then nodded.  “I like that name.  I do believe it’s an English name meaning a fortress or camp.”  Regarding the stout boy critically he added, “Very fitting.”

Chet felt heat rise in his cheeks, embarrassed by the scrutiny he saw on the old man’s face as he looked at him.  “Um.  Yeah, I guess so.” 

And then wanting to direct the conversation away from himself, he asked, “Can I help you with something?”

“Ah yes, work before play,” Antoine said, a smile crinkling his face, “You have a roll of mine that should be ready now.  A. Rosado.”

“Just give me a sec,” Chet said amicably as he opened the drawer they kept the envelopes of developed pictures in, and searched through them until he finally found the one he was looking for.

“A bit of a shutterbug myself, “Antoine was musing, “I usually prefer to develop my own film….However I’ve not had a chance to set my dark room up properly as of yet.”

“Well here they are,” Chet said, but as he went to hand the package to the old man it slipped from his hand, fell onto the counter and all the pictures spilled out!

With one fluid motion, Mr. Rosado scooped them up and had them tucked back in the envelope, surprising Chet by how good his reflexes were.

“Sorry,” the boy mumbled.

Antoine fixed him with an unidentifiable look for a moment before he smiled, “No apology needed.  These things do happen.”  And then he continued before Chet could linger on what he might have seen in those brief seconds, “I am surprised though, if you don’t mind me saying.  You seem a bit of an odd duck to be hanging out with the Hardy brothers.”

“Wh-what?” Chet stammered, completely thrown off by the comment.

Mr. Rosado was putting the pictures in his pocket as he continued, “Well, you don’t seem their type.  I mean, dear boy, you do seem nice enough, but definitely not of the same caliber.”

Stunned, Chet didn’t know what to say for a moment.  Recovering, he finally managed, “F-Frank’s been my friend since Kindergarten!”

“Probably a good thing,” Antoine agreed, “Since I very much doubt you’d make their friend list now.  Little children are like animals, they are friendly to everyone until they learn their own kind.  I mean, look at you child, round and soft – hardly hardy material…if you don’t mind the pun.”

Chet’s face turned red, but before he could say anything, Mr. Rosado turned to leave.  “But, dear boy, enough about you.”  And then he left, leaving a stunned teen in his wake.

What the hell had just happened?  Chet thought, as what the old man said stung him.  But he hastily brushed it off and instead of letting it hurt him, he became angry.

Mr. Rosado knew nothing about him!  Or about his relationship with Frank and Joe!  If he did, then he never would have said anything….

* * *

Muir opened the door for his employer, who smiled up at him as he got into the back of the limo.

“Now that was most entertaining,” the old man commented, “the look on young Morton’s face was almost worthy of more attention… almost.”

As the car pulled away from the curb, Antoine opened the package of pictures and started looking at them.  Leaning back against the seat, he sighed in satisfaction – the pictures were perfect.

Tapping on the privacy screen, he waited until Muir rolled it down and then said, “Tomorrow we prepare young Joseph’s portfolio.”

The big man nodded and then closed the screen, even as Mr. Rosado sat back and shut his eyes, the pictures firmly clutched in his claw-like hand.

Yes, tomorrow, he thought, time to stop playing and get down to business…

* * *

As the old man nodded off in the back, one of the pictures slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor.  There it stayed until he awoke and picked it back up, smiling down at the wide blue eyes, forever captured for posterity’s sake, as he did so….

She had been so beautiful…in life and then in death.