3 HARDYS & A PRINCESS
by
PiperMerlyn
Chapter 11
The Chapters
Joe Hardy shifted in his seat, anxious to get home. Frank had tried to call their father about the change in plans but the land line was dead, not a good sign. He took a deep breath. "We're almost there."
"That's not good enough," said Frank, holding the cell phone in one hand and the door handle in the other. "I'm going to try his cell phone again."
"You said it was busy last time," Joe reminded him.
"Well, maybe it's not busy now," retorted Frank, sounding exasperated.
"Okay, okay, don't bite my head off."
Frank dialed his father's cell phone number and frowned. Now it just rang and rang. "He's not answering."
Joe frowned. "Call Con, tell him--" He broke off, seeing Frank doing just that. Joe gripped the steering wheel tighter and sped up. If he picked up a cop on his tail for speeding, all the better. They had nearly thirty miles to go.
"I want to speak to Con Riley...oh...okay. Thanks." Frank sighed and hung up. "Con and Jesse Sheridan went with Chief Collig only five minutes ago. There was a 911 call from our house."
"Shit," muttered Joe. Then he blinked and looked at Frank. "He's still here?"
"I didn't take to time to ask why." Frank spared a glance at the speedometer. "Joe, you're speeding."
"So? This could classify as an emergency."
"Ella..." whispered Rory, shivering in the back seat. "Oh God..."
"We're getting there as fast as we can," said Joe, sparing a look at her. "We'll get there."
Frank shuddered. "We have to."
***
"That would not be a wise move, Mr. Thorne. In Hong Kong, you are virtually untouchable. But not here."
Fenton turned to see a young girl, clad in a flowing skirt and blouse, her dark hair waving around her youthful face. The Glock automatic in her slender hands was unsettling. "Who are you?"
"Interpol Agent Sloane Willoughby. You must be Mr. Hardy."
"No one can touch me, girl," said Thorne contemptously.
"I believe you are mistaken," countered Willoughby. "You've entered this country illegally, broke into someone's home, threatened bodily harm. You are finished."
Thorne sneered. "You are a child. You cannot hold me."
"You're under the mistaken assumption, she's alone," came another voice, this one from the direction of the stairs. Jesse Sheridan walked into the kitchen.
Fenton frowned. "Was this a set up to draw Thorne out?"
Sheridan shook his head. "No. I was all set to leave at the end of January, Mr. Hardy, but then Interpol contacted me." Sheridan heaved a sigh and looked around the kitchen. "God, I miss sunshine--warm sunshine, tropical breezes. Remind me never to do something stupid like this again."
"Work for Interpol?" asked Fenton.
"Leave Barbados." Sheridan nodded to Thorne. "You're under arrest."
"You don't think I have a contingency plan, fool?" Thorn got to his feet and headed for the back door.
Willoughby locked her elbows and aimed the gun at his head. "Stop right there."
"Let him go," said Sheridan. "He thinks his daughter's out there waiting for him."
Thorne looked over at him. "I would not be so obvious."
"Go ahead. Walk out that door."
Willoughby spared an angry glance at Sheridan. "What the bloody hell are you doing?"
Thorne yanked open the door that led to the back porch. His daughter stood there, stiffly, surrounded by several teenagers. One boy, clad in a leather jacket, held a switchblade against her throat.
Willoughby stared at Sheridan. "What did you do?"
"I took a chance that Thorne might just care for his only child." Sheridan shrugged. "Come with us, she'll be safe."
"You fools," growled Thorne. "I have the best lawyers money can by. I will not spend an instant in jail." He spun around, stepped onto the porch but he never took another step. A shot rang out in the sudden silence that made them all jump.
Sheridan turned on Willoughby. "What the--? You didn't fire."
"I did."
Everyone turned to see Missy Thorne holding a small caliber pistol. She let it drop onto the porch and held up her hands. "I hated him all my life. He killed my mother, he killed..." She swallowed hard and staggered. "He killed my boyfriend..." She shivered. "I tried to run away countless times but he always found me, no matter where I went.."
Fenton studied the petite girl for a moment. Her mother must have been Asian, he surmised, taking in the glossy black hair, the slanted eyes. He glanced at Sheridan and Willoughby. "What are you going to do now?"
Sheridan groaned. "I hate cleaning things up, damn it."
***
Joe took the turn onto Elm Street nearly on two wheels. They'd hit Bayport city limits only ten minutes ago and he was anxious to get to his father. He skidded to a halt outside the house since three police cars blocked the driveway. As he turned off the ignition, Frank pushed open his door.
A gunshot rang out in the quiet neighborhood. Joe and Frank shared a horrified look and bolted for the house, Rory on their heels. Joe saw the splintered doorframe and felt his heart drop. Oh no.
They raced into the house, Frank in the lead. Voices led them directly to the kitchen. "Dad!"
Fenton turned to see Frank and Joe and a girl who must be Ella's sister. "Frank, Joe, you got here okay."
"We were more worried about you," said Joe, breathless. "After playing tag with a black car on the expressway, we got off and took the old highway back."
Ella pulled away from Fenton and her eyes rested on her sister. "Rory!"
Rory squatted down and opened her arms for her sister to run to her. Rory held Ella tight and closed her eyes. Ella began crying again. "I missed you, Rory, why'd you leave? I missed you so so much."
"I missed you too, kiddo," whispered Rory, sounding near tears herself.
Joe's eyes widened as he saw the back door open. "Oh my God, what happened?"
"Long long story. You have a year or two, I might share."
Joe narrowed his eyes and glared at Sheridan. "Why are you still here?"
"Don't think I haven't wondered that myself. Maybe I've gotten attached to you and your brother's crazy ways."
"Hey, we had nothing to do with this."
Sheridan grunted. "If I'd known you were headed to Sag Harbor, I would have said to look up another annoying blond."
"Jordan's not annoying," said Joe. "And he's nothing like me."
"Could have fooled me." Sheridan heaved a sigh and nodded to Willoughby. "You're the lead agent on this, your call."
Willoughby sighed. "May I use your phone, Mr. Hardy?"
"Line's down. Here." He handed her his cell phone. "Aren't you a little young to be Interpol?"
"Looks can be very deceiving, Mr. Hardy. Thank you." She took the phone and walked a few steps away from them to make the call.
Ezra Collig limped into the kitchen, muttering under his breath. "Ninjas. Honest to God ninjas. Never thought I'd see--" He broke off seeing the scene just outside the door. "What the hell is going on here?"
Willoughby spun around, noted his badge and arched an eyebrow. "You're the local constabulary?"
Collig scowled at her. "Yeah."
"Good, good, I need your help, sir."
Con Riley joined them, holding a damp rag to a bleeding cut over his eyebrow. He looked over at Sheridan. "They're still unconscious. How'd you manage that?"
Sheridan rolled his shoulders. "I've got more going for me than my looks."
Fenton shook his head. "I think we need to get out of their way."
Joe started to follow his father out of the kitchen while Frank steered Rory and Ella toward the dining room. He spotted several familiar faces in the back yard. "What are they doing here?"
Fenton sighed. "Hopefully, we'll get the whole story soon enough."
***
It was nearly four hours later and darkness had completely fallen by the time activity ceased in the kitchen and the back yard. Joe had made a fast food run for all of them, just to keep busy and not get nosy about what was going on.
Now they were seated in Fenton's study, while Rory and Ella caught each other up in the living room. Frank shook his head. "His own daughter shot him?"
"We don't know the whole story," Fenton said, weary to the bone. He looked over at Joe and noticed the odd expression on his face. "Joe, what's wrong?"
Joe jumped as if he'd touched a live wire. "Huh?"
Fenton frowned. "Joe? What's wrong?"
Joe didn't look at his father, he focused on everything in the study except his father or Frank. He swallowed hard and felt a tad humiliated. "Um, Dad, remember when I was sick just before Christmas? Frank and Callie went to the movies with Vanessa and our friends but I was sick."
"We went out with some old friends for dinner," said Fenton. "I remember you were going to watch a James Bond marathon. What's that got to do with all this?"
Joe felt heat spread up his neck and into his face. Oh no, he was blushing. "Well, I had...um, a dream."
Frank frowned. For a moment there, he focused on a speech given by Martin Luther King, Jr. He shook his head to clear it of wayward thoughts and looked over at his brother. Joe looked thoroughly miserable. "Joe, just say it, get it over with. Dad won't laugh."
Joe shot Frank a glare. "I dreamed I was James Bond," Joe finally whispered.
Fenton was hard-pressed not to laugh. "James Bond. Interesting. Go on."
Now that he'd started, it was easy for Joe to tell the whole dream. After he was done, he realized he'd remembered the entire dream, something he never did. He cleared his throat. "How, Dad, is it possible, that I would dream of real people though?"
Fenton sat back in his chair. "It's not as strange as it seems, Joe. You may have overheard a news report--or perhaps some advertisement on the TV the night you watched the marathon. You may have read an article days, even weeks before and somehow your subconscious worked it into the dream."
"And it's not like the dream went like real life. You didn't go to Hong Kong."
"Are you trying to help, Frank?" Joe glared at his brother. "Because it's not working."
Frank shrugged. "It could have been just a weird coincidence. I mean Agent Willoughby is Interpol, not MI6."
"But her name is Sloane. The girl in my dream was India Sloan."
Fenton shook his head. "The mind is an unusual thing at best, Joe. Perhaps it might be better to not let it worry you." He looked at Frank. "How did you know about Thorne though?"
Frank cleared his throat. "After I got Joe to tell me his dream, I just felt compelled to see if the man existed." He shrugged. "I was shocked to find he did."
There was a tap on the door and the three Hardys turned to see Agent Willoughby standing there, looking rather exhausted. "Things are as they were, Mr. Hardy. We'll take care of everything from now on." She spared a brief glance at the two sisters seated on the couch.
Fenton shook his head. "They stay here."
"They're eyewitnesses, Mr. Hardy. They must go into protective custody."
"The man who did all this is dead. If you prosecute the daughter, his company folds. It's only a matter of time now before you locate all his minions as he called them. I'd wager one of those ninjas Sheridan knocked unconscious was the gunman." Fenton shook his head again. "Rory and Ella deserve some time to themselves, some time to begin grieving and healing."
Willoughby cleared her throat. "Very elegantly put, Mr. Hardy. I will discuss this with my superior. For the night, then, they shall stay." She gave an almost regal nod and headed for the front door.
" 'Privileged information, for your eyes only, need to know and all that,'" whispered Joe, in his British accent.
Frank swatted his brother's arm. "Shh, she'll hear you."
Joe just grinned as Ella and Rory came to the door of the study. Ella looked first at Fenton, and then at Joe. She shivered and then lunged at him. Joe wrapped her into a big hug. "Hey, squirt."
She flung her arms around his neck and held on tightly. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear. "Thank you so much."
Joe swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "You're welcome, Ella. You are so welcome."
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Disclaimer
The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors 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.