Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

Seated in a booth, savoring special order French toast and hash browns, Casi felt her sour mood fade away. She took a sip of herbal tea and sighed. Donovan always managed to get her riled, whether it was nine years ago when he inadvertantly sent Joe to go rescue his poor defenseless little sister or last year when he got all hot under the collar over an explosion she'd been nowhere near when it went off. Of course, his worry was not unwarranted just unwanted, she admitted truthfully, silently.

Casi sat back in the booth and pushed away her empty plate. Last year she'd realized there was only one person she was willing to have protect her--only to a point. And that did not include protecting her from himself. She felt her mood darken. She loved the idiot, she was admittedly scared for him, especially after what had happened with Lilith. Dear God, what was she doing in Ireland anyway? She shivered, remembering last summer. Looking back it had been stupid to fret over the groceries like that and thank goodness her sister had gotten the stink out of the trunk. But if she hadn't worried about getting the groceries back to the house in Boston, Lilith wouldn't have gotten as close as she had.

She remembered the loud noise of the gun going off, the crash of glass shattering as the bullet pierced her windshield. Most of all, she remembered the anger. Anger at what Lilith had done, anger that Lilith tried to lay claim to Joe. Casi sighed. She also remembered the gun jamming every time Lilith pointed it at her. Another shiver washed over her. It had been weird but she'd not had time to process it then and now it seemed almost like a dream.

Casi paid for her meal and left the restaurant. She needed to get back home before Marc discovered the Harley was missing. She left The Strawberry Tree and walked over to the bike. She'd been riding motorcycles for nearly ten years now, first all over the reserve in Kenya, then on Jaime's when she was in high school She straddled the motorcycle and strapped on the helmet. One other thing she and her sister didn't share, at least not now. Cat had rode the motorcycles in Kenya, more as a means of transportation than just for fun. And no amount of coaxing, bribing or threatening ever got her sister swinging from a vine. Casi shook her head as she revved the engine. Cat never learned what she was missing.

Listening to the throaty roar of the 'cycle made her smile. Now there was a prime example of sibling love. Puts out an APB for his priceless Harley-Davidson. She rolled her eyes. Apparently Marcus had long since forgotten he'd had a duplicate key made several years ago and that he kept it in a magnetized hide-a-key box under the back fender. Casi pushed up the kickstand and roared out of the parking lot. Settling in her seat, she made a conscious effort to stop thinking about her family.

So, she thought, swerving around a slow moving flatbed truck loaded with pipes, Khalil Hadad was a drug smuggler who'd killed his father back in the eighties. Connelly had said eight years ago which would make it at least 1986 or thereabouts. She passed up a small sedan, barely noticing the kid in the back waving cheerfully. She'd been fifteen, going on sixteen and it would have been a year before she met Joe. Maybe she'd heard her father mention the name. Hadad sounded Arabic which would explain why Joe was going to Morocco.

Casi sighed. But from what she heard last night, Lilith Raven seemed to be the real problem. And somehow she was connected to the Hadad Corporation. But where did Socrans Pharmaceuticals fit in? Although not one for spending hours or even days online, Casi wondered if her best bet for information was the Internet. Concentrating on possible search methods, Casi automatically pulled into the driveway and throttled down.

"Shit!"

Casi yanked off the helmet and twisted around. "Oh, hello, Marcus."

Marc glared at her. "You took it again. Did you hotwire it?"

"I'd have to take off the engine housing. Not a safe way to go."

"So you do know how to hotwire it."

Casi swung off the saddle. "Hardly. I have a key."

"A key!"

"Yes. The one you had made for emergencies."

Marc's escalating temper took a sudden drenching nosedive. "Oh. I forgot about it."

"Do tell."

Marc's temper skyrocketed. "You still took the bike."

Casi thunked the helmet down on the seat. "And your point is?"

"If you weren't family, you'd be a common thief."

"Oh?"

"There's nothing common about that one." Joe came out the front doors and surveyed the situation.

Casi glared over at him. "You butt out."

"Hey, I never butted in." Joe sidestepped them both. "I'm just waiting on the Bentley."

Casi shot another glare at his backside, then whirled on Marc. "It's your fault."

"My fault?" Marc stared at her as if she'd grown an extra head. "My fault? You took it."

"Wouldn't the technical term be 'borrowed', since she brought it back?" asked Joe.

"I don't need your help," snapped Casi.

"Stay outta this," added Marc. He narrowed his green eyes. "How the hell is it my fault?"

"What's all the ruckus?" demanded William MacFairlaigne in the doorway. "It's gotten where a body can't even work for all the bedlam. What is it this time?"

"She took the Harley."

Liam cocked a silver eyebrow at his youngest son. "Someone needs to ride it, air out the exhaust."

Marc looked scandalized. "It's a classic! I didn't buy it to ride it."

Casi snorted. "Then go put it in a museum."

"Hell, no. Can't touch it or polish the chrome or oil the leather seat."

Casi looked at her brother, stunned. "That's as stupid as buying a Barbie doll you can't play with."

Joe looked over his shoulder. "You play with Barbies?" he asked innocently.

"Oh you shut up."

Just then, the Bentley, looking sleek, black and silver once again, pulled into the driveway. William pointed at it with the pen in his hand. "Now there's a classic."

Joe nodded. "Amen."

Casi snorted and shook her head. "You little boys and your toys. Heaven forbid us little girls get a lipstick smear of the seat."

"I'm not that bad," retorted Joe. "Do you see me in hysterics over a crumbled fender?"

"Of course not. You were driving."

"Now wait a minute---"

Casi glared at Marcus. "And as for you..." She shook her head and headed inside. "You're hopeless!"

Joe watched her go inside. "Boy, is she in a bad mood."

Marc hurried over to the motorcycle and inspected it. "Donovan says she woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"Oh? What did he do?"

William grinned. "You're used to the family squabbles. As always, Donovan forgets sometimes that he's not the father."

"That's putting it mildly. At least the bike survived," muttered Marc.

Joe shook his head and got in the driver's seat of the Bentley. "Casi's right. You're hopeless," he said as he pulled out of the driveway to take the mechanic back to Killarney.

Marc glared at him as the car roared away. "So are you."

"Now is all the racket over?" asked his father.

Marc dusted off the helmet, then shrugged. "Probably. But tune in tomorrow, same time, same channel."

Willaim just groaned. "Damn. I'd just managed to forget about tomorrow. I think I'm glad I only had four children," he added, going inside.

Marc glanced over his shoulder and grunted. "Yeah, well, love you too."

"Loving inanimate objects is the first sign of narcasism."

Marc looked up to see Casi leaning out of one of the upstairs windows. He turned to glare at her, but her precarious position made him laugh.

Casi frowned. "What's so funny?"

Marc shook his head. "Nothing." He glanced at the motorcycle, then up at his sister. "Did you know there's an extra helmet in the garage?"

Casi arched an eyebrow. "Is that an invitation?"

"Closest thing to it you'll ever get."

Casi grinned. "Fine. Be down in two minutes."

"Make it one and I'll let you drive."

"Whoa. Miracles really do happen."

"Shut up, Casi."

***

After paying the mechanic and dropping him at his shop, Joe headed for Kenmare. He shifted in his seat and adjusted the seatbelt. The mechanic had told him about the sabotaged seatbelt which still bothered him. When he'd arrived in Killarney on Saturday, he'd gone straight to the castle. Of course no sooner had he arrived, he had left with Casi to go to The Strawberry Tree. And then later, he'd gone to Rosie's. Obviously one of those two places was where the belt was sabotaged. The question was why? Why go to all the trouble of knocking him into the ditch, kidnapping him and not follow through?

There were times when an assignment called for a brilliant strategy or maybe amazing deductive powers. But nine-tenths of the time it called for flying by the seat of his pants. But the real question is why had Lilith taken the initiative, revealing herself unnecessarily taking a chance of risking an entire operation. A cold chill of realization swept over him, making him glance in the rearview mirror for any approaching vehicles. There was no operation.

He clenched both hands on the steering wheel. It was a set-up. All of it. Just to get Omar and Shakira's attention and for Lilith to go after him. He shook his head. No, that didn't wash. She had the perfect chance to kill him and didn't. Why? Joe didn't like the route his thoughts were taking. Lilith was up to something. But what did it have to do with him?

Thirty minutes later, Joe pulled into the parking lot of Rosie's and parked. He turned off the ignition and sat there. The lump on the back of his head had all but disappeared. The bruise over his right eye was becoming a faded greenish purple and his hand only hurt when he gripped something tightly. He felt fine. Whatever Lilith shot him with must have worn off.

Still, he didn't exit the car. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Lilith was up to something. Was she working for Omar? Shakira? Anwar? Was Khalil possibly still alive after all this time? He'd never met the notorious drug runner, Khalil Hadad. The man had disappeared in November 1988. Interpol said he was dead. The three oldest of his children had taken the business over. Omar had dealt with the processing plant near New Delhi, the very plant that exploded four years ago and, Joe had assumed at the time, killing Omar.

Shakira had had the main headquarters moved to Cairo. Yet when Joe and Jon had tracked her down to Egypt, she'd vanished. Anwar had disappeared years earlier but Omar had claimed there was a harvesting plant in the jungles of Mexico.

Joe sighed. All three of them were unaccounted for. Four, if Interpol wasn't telling the entire truth. But Lilith would know where they were. He sighed again. It all kept coming back to Lilith. The woman was like a bad penny or---a rueful grin curled up one corner of his mouth--Poison Ivy.

Joe got out of the car and went to go inside but the smoked glass doors were locked. Joe checked his watch. Two-fifteen. Why was it locked up? She'd said she needed him to come by and help with last minute details. Joe scowled. Was it another of Lilith's setups? He stiffened and spun around but the parking lot was empty.

The door to his right sprang open and a hand shot out to latch onto his arm. Joe yanked and the person attached to the hand stumbled out of the dim interior. Joe let out an explosive sigh. "Damn it, McConnaughhay, enough of the cloak and dagger stuff."

"I didn't want Casi or Cassidy eavesdropping again. Get in here before someone sees us."

"Oh hell." Joe followed him into the dim, quiet interior. Jaime pulled the door shut and flipped the lock. Joe glared at him. "Okay, what now?"

Jaime gestured to the nearest table. "Anwar Hadad's last known location was Casablanca back in eighty-eight. On December twenty-seventh, he moved out of his apartment and a man by the name of Zebulon ben Tarik took a flight to Rio de Janeiro--could've been Anwar's twin--then showed up in Panama City a week later."

"That was eight years ago. How'd you get all this so fast?"

"My sources are confidential. Do you broadcast yours to the world?"

"No. Go on." Joe sat back in his chair, frowning.

"From Balboa he flew to Merida. After that he disappeared."

"You're certain it was Anwar?"

"Everything--height, facial features, age. All matched. But get this, four years ago Zebulon ben Tarik popped up again. He flew from Merida to Alcapulco. Took a flight from there to San Diego, California."

"Could've been anybody."

"In San Diego, ben Tarik made two long distance calls that where charged to a phone card issued to Anwar Hadad. One call was to New Delhi, India. Can you guess the other?"

"Cairo."

Jaime nodded. "Neither call apparently went through. He didn't stay on the wire longer than a few seconds both times. Two days later, a flight to Galway, Ireland was charged to Anwar's credit card."

Joe's frown deepened. "Where's that?"

"West coast, on the Shannon. Following the highway, about a full day's drive."

Joe shifted forward, rested his elbows on the circular table. "Where'd you get the information, McConnaughhay?"

Jaime narrowed his hazel eyes. "Are you accusing me of something?"

"Only that you know too much. In 1988, you were barely twenty and I doubt with high enough clearance. So who told you all this?"

"I did."

Joe turned around and his jaw literally dropped open. He snapped it shut, then growled, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too."

Joe shot to his feet. "No jokes. What are you doing here?"

"Jaime's been a big help in the last few years."

Joe looked from the newcomer to Jaime and back to the new arrival. "Oh, that's just dandy."

"I know you hate being kept in the dark."

"Ohh, that's too mild a term for what I feel right this minute."

"Now, Joe, reign in your temper. Jack said you were going to Morocco."

"After Ethan's wedding."

"Ahh, and how is the groom?"

"Damn it, Grant, stop the small talk. Why are you involved?"

Grant Peters cocked an eyebrow at him. "Because I started it. I helped Interpol track down Khalil Hadad eight years ago."

Joe blinked. True, his cousin was older by twelve years. "Tell me."

"You know good and well I was DEA. Eight years ago, I was the Agency liasion to Interpol. I had a case file on Khalil Hadad as long as your arm. When he was killed---"

"You mean, disappeared."

"--I focused on his children," Grant continued as if Joe hadn't said a word.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Do you know where they are?"

"You mean you don't?"

Joe lifted his hands and moved toward Grant as if he would throttle him. "Don't go there."

Jaime shot to h is feet and backed away. "So...you know each other?"

Joe continued advancing on Grant, who didn't even feign worry. "Fate has a way of playing dirty tricks on unsuspecting innocents."

"And who would that be?" asked Grant, one eyebrow arched, his deep blue eyes twinkling.

Joe groaned and let his arms drop to his sides. "Damn it, Grant, is there some obscure unwritten law that says we can't work together? Or at the very least, share information?"

Grant's teasing expression faded. "I don't follow."

Joe sighed. "Four years ago, I trailed Omar to New Delhi, then Shakira to Cairo. Both have disappeared, presumably--Omar, at least is---dead. Had I but known you were such an overflowing source of information..."

Grant raked a hand through his light brown hair. "Damn, now it makes sense. I was wondering what had forced those two into hiding. Shit, Joe, you ruined an entire operation!"

"So sue me."

Jaime looked from one man to the other. "You do know each other. You're not going to murder each other now, are you?"

"Of course not," said Grant, in a placating tone. "We'll just beat each other senseless. So how's Aunt Laura and Uncle Malcolm?"

"Oh, just dandy. Aunt Jace?"

"Never better."

Jaime headed for the rear exit. "I'll just be going now. Uh, I'll see you later?" When neither man responded, Jaime frowned. "Will I see you two? Alive?"

"Yes, yes," said Grant, with a 'go-on-with-you' wave of his hand. "We won't kill each other."

McConnaughhay didn't look very convinced but he left anyway. Grant turned to Joe. "You really were on Omar's trail? I was focusing more on the daughter. She'd moved back to Marrekech, you know. I'm the one who put the bug in Jack's ear."

Joe frowned. "You said three years ago you weren't a politician. Some of it must have rubbed off on you. They say you are who you hang with."

Grant shook his head. "I'm not a politician, cousin. But sometimes it pays to be manipulative."

"Like now? Should I be proud I was your first choice? We are kin, after all."

Grant heaved a sigh. "Joe, stop acting like the spoiled brat you used to be. Or perhaps still are."

Joe snorted. "Excuse me?"

Grant gestured to the table. "Let's sit down and talk like adults, cousin."

"Wow, you're on a hell of a roll with the insults, Grant."

"You're certainly not helping the situation."

Joe had a sudden vivid picture of two long-horned rams butting heads. He heaved a world-weary sigh. "Fine. We sit, we talk. Then what?"

Grant led the way back to the table and sat down. Joe grunted and plopped down in the other chair. Grant bit back a smile. "Ah, I remember all those uncensored facts of life talks we shared."

"Don't start that again. And what's with shared?" Joe shook his head. "How accurate was the information you gave McConnaughhay?"

"As accurate as I know. I tracked Anwar to Mexico eight years ago. A friend in the Mexican Custons alerted me when he resurfaced four years ago."

"And now he's in Galway? He's behind Connelly's problem?"

Grant shrugged. "Raven's behind that man's problems."

"You're telling me she's freelancing?"

"You tell me."

"How the hell would I know?"

"According to Jack, either she's obsessed with you or you with her."

"Possessed is more like it," grumbled Joe, glaring at the table's wood-grained surface.

"You? Or her?"

Joe's head shot up and he glared at Grant. "She's the one trying to kill me."

"Someone once said," commented Grant conversationally, "that there is no try."

"Oh shut up," snapped Joe, feeling an echo. Who had said that recently?

"Whoever said it was right. Considering each instance was Raven trying to kill you or toying with you?"

Joe stared at his cousin like he was crazy. "No one could be that cruel."

"Oh, but does the cat playing with the mouse think he's being cruel?"

"Well, if the cat's name is Tom and the mouse is Jerry, they're not cruel, they're just drawn that way."

Grant sighed. "Joe, I'm serious."

"So am I. Tom and Jerry can be friends, you know."

"How does your partner put up with you?"

"Very cheerfully."

Grant shook his head. "I'd forgotten your dreadful sense of humor."

"Most people like it."

"Ahh..."

Joe sat back in his chair. "Is that all you're going to tell me?"

"Anwar hasn't budged from Galway. Raven may be working for him but there's been no contact between the two."

"That you know. You're not omniscient, you just think you are."

"So harp on my shortcomings. It's been too long, cousin."

Joe sighed, found himself smiling. "Yeah, it has."

"So when are you getting married?"

"Don't you start."

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Disclaimer

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.