Sam Radley parked his car and hurried through the sleet and into the office. The weather was getting worse, the sleet leaving the streets slick. He shook the moisture from his coat and decided to try his hand at wheedling a piece of cinnamon bread out of Laura. Joe had been kind enough to give him a few pointers the day before.  

He went through the living room, which was actually a large, open room that covered most of the front side of the downstairs, pausing long enough to cast an appreciative glance at the tree. Sam loved live trees, but Ethel’s allergies made it impossible to have one in his own home.  

The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Something’s wrong.  

The house was silent. Abnormally silent. No Christmas music coming from the stereo, no clinking dishes in the kitchen, not even the upstairs floorboards were creaking. Sam drew his handgun and proceeded into the kitchen with great caution.  

A single loaf of cinnamon bread was on the stove. On touching the pan, Sam found it to be cold. The oven was off. A sound like that of a whimper caught his attention and he turned towards the basement door. It was cracked open. That was out of the ordinary. The door should be closed completely or open all the way, never in between.  

Sam slowly shoved the door open, thankful that Joe was so good at staying on top of squeaky hinges. Few things bothered the young man, but squeaky hinges were at the top of that short list.  

Voices met him as he stepped on the first step. One was Laura, pleading. The other, the one doing the taunting, he didn’t recognize.  

Sam rounded the corner on the stairs just as a gunshot sounded. Dropping to his knees, he fired.  

***  

Laura Hardy watched in horror as Stefan pointed the pistol at Frank’s chest. He had worked himself into a rage, a silent, deadly rage pointed solely at her son. “Don’t do this!” she pleaded. “He’s done nothing to you!”

Stefan turned his angry gaze briefly on the petite blond woman. “He has done everything to me. I am the way I am because of him. You can’t convince me of his innocence because he has none.”  

Stefan turned his attention back to Frank. The younger man hadn’t moved in over an hour; he had passed out and was unaware of his mother trying to reason with Stefan.  

He held the pistol steady, cocking the hammer ever-so-slowly. He fired.  

Laura’s scream covered the sound of Sam’s 9mm going off and it took her a moment to realize Stefan had been shot too. She was so focused on Frank that she didn’t see Sam leap down the last few steps and use his pocketknife to slice the ropes that held her captive.  

Once she was free, she went straight to Frank, cradling him in her lap. A red stain was slowly spreading over the right side of his shirt. “Oh, baby! Please hang on just a little longer,” she whispered as she pulled the bottom of his shirt up and pressed it against the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.  

Then she noticed Sam standing over Stefan’s still form.  

***  

Con rang the doorbell for the third time and frowned when no one came to answer the door. Both Frank and Laura’s cars were in their usual spots, and Radley’s Camry was parked over by the outside office entrance. No one had answered the phone earlier when Collig had called and that’s why Con was here.  

Sighing, he walked around the house to the kitchen door and stepped up on the porch. The lights were on, but there was no one in the room. Growing more worried by the second, he drew his weapon and laid his hand on the knob. It opened easily and his ears were assailed with the sound of a gunshot. From the basement.  

The basement door was open and Con ran down the stairs, gun raised, ready to fire.  

Laura looked up at him, her eyes red. Frank was cradled in her arms. Sam was standing over the un-moving form of Stefan Gregov. Con holstered his gun. “Is he dead?”  

“Haven’t checked yet,” was Sam’s reply. He knelt down and checked for a pulse as Con radioed for an ambulance. “He’s alive, just barely.”  

“There are clean towels in the dryer,” Laura said suddenly. Con moved over to the dryer and removed a couple of them, then knelt by Frank, and Laura and pressed one to the wound. He grimaced at the sound of Frank’s raspy breathing.  

“I think the bullet hit a lung,” he said reluctantly.  

Laura nodded her agreement, continuing to slowly stroke her fingers along her son’s face and through his hair.  

The ambulance arrived in record time, with Joe seconds behind it. When it pulled into his driveway his stomach tightened into a hard knot. The flashing lights danced across the house as Joe parked his car and raced inside. Sam was standing in the hall and he directed the paramedics to the basement.  

Joe grabbed the older man’s arm. “What’s going on?” he demanded. His voice was a little higher than normal due to the fear and worry coursing through him.  

“Stefan’s here. Frank’s been shot.”  

The fear momentarily disappeared and was replaced with white-hot anger. Sam watched Joe’s normally warm blue eyes turn icy as the stretcher bearing Stefan came up the stairs. At his sides, Joe’s fists were clenched.  

Another set of paramedics rushed through and down the basement steps and Laura came up moments later. Joe shoved the anger aside and went to her, wrapping his arms around her. She looked shell-shocked, her face tear-streaked.  

“We’ll take my car,” Sam said, pulling his keys out of his pocket.  

Joe nodded gratefully, then focused his attention on the stretcher now coming towards them. Frank. Joe let go of his mother and stepped over to his brother. The two medics stopped. Leaning over, Jo whispered in his brother’s ear, “It’s ok now, Frank. I’m here. Hang on, bro.” He squeezed Frank’s hand then allowed the medics to continue.  

The ride in Sam’s car was made in almost complete silence, the only sound being the swish-swish of the windshield wipers. None were worried about the house; Con would make sure everything was locked up once the crime scene people were finished. Joe sat perfectly still in the backseat, holding his mother’s hand.  

How did this happen? he found himself wondering.  

Less than ten minutes after arriving at the hospital, Frank was whisked off to surgery. Dr. Hill, one of the ER physicians who was very familiar with the Hardys, explained Frank’s condition.  

He sat down in an empty seat across from Laura, Joe and Sam. “The bullet punctured his right lung and it’s still in there. The surgeon will be removing the bullet and sewing up the hole. Blood loss was minimal and provided there are no surprises in the OR, he should be fine.”  

Laura sighed in relief as the doctor stood up. Sam escorted the two to the surgery waiting room and made sure they were comfortable. Then he moved down the hall to call Fenton.

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.