Fenton listened with disbelief as Frank laid his suspicions out for him, and then waited for his father to tell him he was being paranoid.

“Dad, it might be nothing, but when Joe’s missing, there’s no such thing as being too careful.”

Fenton sat down on the edge of his desk, his face furrowed in a frown as he digested everything Frank had just told him about Mr. Rosado: Chet, the limo and now, most disturbingly, what was in the pictures. 

Finally he said, “Antoine is obsessed with beauty.”

“What?”  Frank was caught off guard by his father’s seeming change of subject, and Fenton went on to explain, his face lost in thought.

“When Sam and I were just starting out, Antoine hired us to find a woman he had seen sitting in a little café.  It seemed an odd request but we’d just opened the firm and needed the work – so we took the case.”  Frank watched his father carefully as Fenton continued, his face clouded over in memory.  “She was so beautiful that she’d taken his breath away…

“Anyway, it turned out not to be too difficult at all, as she frequented that café every day.  So we just found out who she was and introduced her to Antoine.”

“Wow,” Frank said before he asked, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” his father admitted.  “Shortly afterwards Antoine moved back overseas, and I hadn’t seen him again until yesterday morning when he showed up at our door.”

“That’s interesting but what does that have to do with Joe?” Frank demanded after a moment.

“Nothing, maybe,” Fenton admitted, getting up and going to one of his filing cabinets, “or everything.  Like you reminded me, he sure was taken by your brother.  Or to be more exact, by the color of your brother’s eyes—”

And then Fenton stopped and turned to his son, a strange look on his face as he said, slowly, “Antoine’s chauffeur had a bruise over his cheekbone… ”

Frank swallowed hard, as his face paled.  While he’d had his suspicions, he still hadn’t expected his father to substantiate them.  The teen had liked the old man and was horrified that he might somehow be involved in his brother’s disappearance.  “Dad—”

“I don’t know, son,” Fenton cut him off, his own feelings as conflicted; “However, I don’t believe in these kind of coincidences.  Let me call Sam.  I want him to run a check on Allison Dawn – that was the girl Antoine hired us to find.  I’m very curious to find out what happened to her.”

The detective’s face was grim as he finished, “And then we go pay my old friend a little visit.  This isn’t enough for Collig, but it’s more than enough for me.”

Finding the file he was looking for, Fenton laid it open on the desk, picked up the phone and started to dial Sam’s number.  The other investigator was still canvassing the neighborhood with the FBI and the police.

Frank glanced down at the picture in the front of the file, and gasped.

“Dad!” he said, as he picked up the picture for a closer look, the words catching in his throat, “Is this…is this Allison?”

Fenton started to say ‘yes’ but then he saw what Frank did, and he kicked himself for not remembering.

“Ohmygod”, the investigator gasped, letting the phone drop down heavily as he reached and took the photo from his son.

They had found the connection – Joe Hardy had Allison Dawn’s eyes….

* * *

Muir heard the kid coming before he saw him. 

The night was deathly quiet; even the animals in the nearby barn had all settled down.  So it was easy to pick out the labored breathing as Joe moved away from the woods and towards the field.

Like taking candy from a baby, the big man grinned, for in the bright moonlight, he could easily pick out the blond head of the teen as Joe limped from the cover of the trees.

Quietly, Muir made his move; the kid would never know what hit him.

* * *

Joe paused to catch his breath before moving again.

He could see the old farmhouse now, and he felt immeasurable relief just from seeing its lighted windows, beckoning to him – he’d be safe there.

“Gotta…farm,” he managed one more time, his lips and mouth too dry to manage anything else.

Forcing his body to continue, Joe left the cover of the woods and started across the field.

* * *

Chet sat down at the kitchen table and stared at his algebra books. Not the most mathematically inclined at the best of times, he found it an impossible task tonight, as his mind warred between worry for his friend and anger at Mr. Rosado.

He knew he should just get past it, and he was reassured by Frank that the old man was wrong, however that didn’t change how much it still stung.

“Chet, son, are you okay?” John Morton asked as he came into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and saw the perplexed look on his son’s face.

The boy looked up at his father and gave him a weak smile.  “That depends.  Can anyone with this much homework truly be okay?”

The older Morton gave a little chuckle and then sat down across from his son. Reaching over, he gave his hand a supportive pat.  “It’ll all work out, you’ll see.”

Without saying anything, he got up to leave the table, pausing only at the threshold of the living room.  “Where’s Lucky?” John had thought the dog had been in the kitchen with Chet, and was surprised not to see the animal sprawled out on the floor.

“He went out when I came in,” Chet said, and then pushed himself away from the table. “I guess I’d better let him back in.”

“Good idea,” his father agreed, “who knows what kind of trouble that pup’ll get into on a night like this.”

“Aw Dad,” Chet laughed, crossing the floor and opening the front door.  “Wishful thinking on your part.  This is the Morton farm, not the Hardy house!”

* * *

Muir was right. Joe never knew what hit him.

* * *

Joe was concentrating so hard on just keeping moving that he never saw the big man until he grabbed him from behind.

As he struggled, Muir whispered in his ear, “I’m going to enjoy this.”

* * *

Lucky began barking just as Chet opened the screen door.

“Hey boy—” Chet’s voice broke off as the dog growled and took off down the steps and towards the field.

“Dad!” the boy called back into the house, “Something’s got Lucky spooked!”

John Morton started towards the door, intending on following his son, but then he paused and ran back to the living room.  If something was out in his fields at this time of night, it probably wasn’t selling Girl Scout cookies!

He wanted to be prepared.

Grabbing his 12-gauge shotgun from above the mantel, the farmer quickly loaded it and then took off out of the house and after the form of his retreating son.

Somewhere ahead of him, he could hear the ruckus….

* * *

Muir easily pinned Joe to the ground beneath him.

One hard slap across the back of his head stunned the boy enough  for him to pull out his handcuff key.  Deftly he unlocked the dangling left cuff and forced Joe’s wrist back into it.  Then he roughly rolled him onto his back, trapping the teen’s hands beneath him.

Straddling his chest, Muir smiled down at the open fear he saw on Joe’s face.  But that was nothing compared to the look he saw there seconds later when he pulled out a small scalpel and grabbed Joe’s chin.

Placing the scalpel just below the boy’s eye, he sneered, “My, what an interesting shade of blue your eyes are tonight….Antoine has no idea what he’s missing…” 

* * *

Lucky charged across the field.

Muir never knew the dog was coming.

* * *

Chet’s heart was pounding.  Ahead of him, he could just make out some sort of struggle going, on and saw his dog headed right towards it!

Terrified for Lucky’s safety, the boy yelled out, “LUCKY!  NOOOO!”

But the dog ignored him.

* * *

Joe closed his eyes…and then he heard a savage growl….

* * *

Muir never knew what hit him, as Lucky struck, knocking him off Joe and grabbing the arm that held the weapon.  Furious, the big man tried to shake the dog off, but the retriever held fast.

* * *

Chet stopped in shock, hardly daring to believe his eyes.  Lucky had attacked someone!  No…Lucky was still attacking someone.

So focused was he on the dog, that it took Chet a moment longer to see the boy who was still lying on the ground just a few feet away from him.

It was Joe!

* * *

Muir pulled back his fist and bashed the dog on the nose.

Responding to the pain, Lucky whimpered and let go, retreating behind his master.  Satisfied that the animal had been dealt with for now, Muir spun around to finish with Joe – enough was enough.

But he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a man’s voice and saw the barrel of the shotgun pointed at his chest.  “Whoa there, big fella.  Nice and easy…and maybe I won’t shoot you.”

John Morton had arrived just as Lucky released the stranger, and took in the scene immediately, wasting no time in ending this, now!

“Back away from the boy,” the farmer said as he stared the huge man down.  Many people would have been very surprised to see the senior Morton as he was right now.  Very few knew that behind his soft exterior, beat the heart of a lion…a lion with nerves of steel.

John didn’t want to shoot this man, but he would without any hesitation if he had to. 

When it looked like Muir wasn’t going to listen, John cocked the hammer back and growled, “Don’t make me ask twice.” 

He already knew the boy was Joe, but didn’t spare a glance to see how he was, in case the stranger used the distraction.  Instead, once Muir stepped back, John said curtly, “Chet, check Joe.”

* * *

When Joe heard Mr. Morton’s voice, he let out a relieved sigh. He was safe….

Seconds later, he felt someone gently shaking him and calling his name.  Opening his eyes, he managed a weak smile for his brother’s best friend.

“Hey Chet,” Joe whispered.

“Hey Joe,” Chet managed, his eyes blurring with the emotion of seeing the younger boy.  He had no idea how Joe got here, but he was awfully glad to see him.

And then everything happened too fast.

There was a blur of movement as Muir made one more desperate lunge at the boys, and John squeezed the trigger….

The last thing Joe saw, before passing out, was Muir…going down.