Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew or any related characters. My use of the characters is intended for entertainment purposes only. Each character will be treated with respect and integrity.
A/N: The characters are older. Nancy and Frank are 29. Joe is 28. The first few paragraphs give you their back-stories. Frank and Nancy are a couple. My story "The Beach" gives more information on Frank and Callie's relationship and why they split.
This story is more thriller, action oriented. There is some romance, but it doesn't drive the story.
Chapter 1
Nancy was on her third cup of coffee. Too much coffee and she knew it. Blame it on the new business. Four months ago she'd opened a detective agency with brothers Frank and Joe Hardy. The trio had met a year ago when a case the brothers were working brought them to Chicago. Nancy, a twenty-eight year old rookie detective, happened to be working the same case as the boys, a missing woman case. The three teamed up, worked the case, and solved it.
Nancy was attracted to Frank, the older brother. His looks got her attention, his intellect and drive kept it. Frank's last night in town, they hit a bar. Joe was already on his way home on a non-stop flight to New York. Frank had decided to stay an extra night in Chicago to try and get to know this woman he found so fascinating. He and Nancy hadn't spent any time alone and he wanted – needed – a chance to delve beyond the physical attraction.
The bar had been busy that Friday night. They snagged a quiet booth in the back and ordered drinks. A beer for him, a margarita for her. He sat across from her and studied her face. She was attractive, not drop dead gorgeous or stunningly beautiful, but she had something most women didn't – self-confidence and a rapid-fire analytical mind. There weren't many who could challenge him on an intellectual level.
The waitress brought their drinks and small talk ensued. A rehash of the case, then Frank pushed the table's candle aside, put his elbows on the table, and leaned forward. "You never did tell me about your boyfriend."
Nancy grinned and shook her head, reddish blonde tresses swung around her face. "There's no boyfriend."
Frank smiled and laid on the charm. "Good. That means I don't have to kill anybody."
That caused her to laughed. An open, honest laugh that Frank liked.
She held his gaze, her dark blue eyes twinkling in the flickering candlelight. Frank liked that, too.
She licked salt from the rim of her glass and sipped. Her focus stayed on him though. "What about you? Girlfriend?"
The question hit hard, something he hadn't expected, and he looked away. She hadn't meant to hurt him of course and he wondered if she'd seen the pain. After a moment, his eyes came back to hers. His voice was thick, "No, no girlfriend. I was married once, but .. well, that ended four years ago."
"You didn't kill anybody, did you?" Her way to lightning the mood. She'd seen the hurt.
He grinned and relaxed. He looked down at the table then back at her. "No. Not that I didn't think about it though."
They both laughed.
The night ended with a long good-bye kiss outside his hotel, the two of them pressed up against the side of her car. They made a promise to keep in touch.
Miles and distance might separate them, but daily e-mails and weekly phone kept them connected. Those worked for a while, but ultimately they weren't enough. Not for Frank. E-mails and phone calls were nice, but physical contact was so much better. That kiss outside his hotel had played through his mind so many times. That kiss had held a lot of promise.
Frank lived in Bayport, New York, eight hundred forty miles from Nancy's hometown of River Heights, Illinois. To Frank's way of thinking that was eight hundred forty miles too many. Solution? Start their own detective agency.
Nancy had voiced the desire on more than one occasion in their e-mails and phone calls. Five years on the Chicago PD wasn't cutting it for her anymore. Not even as a detective. She'd come to realize she was a small town girl at heart. The big city was eating her alive, striping away her identity, she was just another detective in a city full of them. She wanted to return to her roots, get back home to her widowed father and longtime housekeeper Hannah Gruen.
When Frank suggested they start their own agency she'd agreed instantly. The idea of being her own boss, working the cases she chose and not the next one in line was immensely appealing. Having Frank close, and as a partner, made the idea all the more appealing.
River Heights was chosen as the place to base their business because of its proximity to Chicago. Some big cases might come their way, but at the same time they weren't in direct competition with the thousands of other detective agencies in the Windy City.
Frank's brother, Joe, joined them, but for different reasons. At nineteen, he'd lost his girlfriend in a fiery car bomb meant for him. That single event propelled his life in an unexpected direction. At his parents' urging, he'd gone to college, but with disastrous results. Unable to focus or concentration, and still dealing with his grief, he dropped out and enlisted in the army. It proved to be a good decision. He became a MP (military police). He loved the physical training, experience, and travel. The army kept him on the go, confronted with ever-changing situations and living in the moment, the place he liked to live. Eighteen months ago, after seven years in the army, he'd said good-bye and returned home to partner with his brother at their father's detective agency.
Frank, older by one year, finished college then surprised his family by following his brother's example and joining the army. Frank had a fierce desire to prove himself, make it on his own, and not live in his father's shadow. Five years in the army, three as a MP and two as a Special Agent in the army's prestigious Criminal Investigation Division let him do just that. Two years ago he'd called his brother, told him he was getting out of the army and going home with plans to eventually start his own agency. When the time came he hoped his brother would be by his side.
The time came four months ago and Joe had been there as promised.
The Endeavor Detective Agency.
The words were stenciled on the glass front door in elegant script. In association with the Hardy Detective Agency came after in small print. The office, housed in a charming red-brick building two streets from downtown, was nestled between an insurance office and a travel agency, the ideal location for a fledgling detective agency.
Farmers, the insurance office next door, had provided the detectives a steady flow of jobs since they'd opened. The jobs dealt mainly with car accident claims, on-the-job accidents, insurance claims, and minor vandalism cases, but the detectives weren't ones to quibble, the jobs helped them pay the rent.
Nancy poured herself half a cup of coffee – time to cut down on the caffeine – and sat at her desk, a large wooden affair with a cushy red swivel chair. The desk, situated front and center in the office, faced the large plate glass window overlooking the street.
Nancy took a sip of her coffee and poked at the papers on her desk. She'd just finished investigating a car accident for Farmers. Nothing more to do except type up the report something she wasn't in the mood for at the moment. She had the office all to herself and rather enjoyed the peace and quiet.
Frank was out interviewing witnesses in yet another accident claim. Joe was working a missing teen case. His search had taken him two hours northeast to Chicago. Around ten that morning, Joe had called to report the missing teen found and in his custody. The kid had spent the past week moving from friend to friend and place to place nicely evading Joe. But the cat and mouse game grew old for the teen's so-called friends and one finally ratted him out.
Shortly before one o'clock, Joe had handed the boy over to his stressed-out angry parents. Presently, he was headed back to the office and Nancy expected him anytime.
She sipped her coffee and poked at the papers again. The report wasn't going to type its self.
Sit back, finish your coffee, and then type up the report, she told herself.
Cup in hand, she leaned back in her chair and put her feet on the desk. She had a perfect view of the Italian diner across the street. Family owned and operated, Ragazzi's served lunch and dinner seven days a week. The prices were reasonable and the food delicious. Nancy, Frank, and Joe were regular customers.
It was late afternoon on a gorgeous spring day. The temperature was in the high sixties and people were taking advantage of the mild weather by eating outside on Ragazzi's fenced-in patio. Almost every umbrella-topped table was occupied. One table in particular drew Nancy's attention. A young woman sat alone sipping a drink. A large black handbag accompanied the woman. So large, it had a chair of its own.
Nancy noticed the woman's quick glances at fellow diners. The long searching looks up and down the street. The woman kept watch on the black handbag, too.
Surveillance, Nancy thought, and wondered why.
The woman finished her drink, pulled the handbag onto her lap, withdrew some cash, and placed it on the table. She stood, glanced around, then headed across the street. Her long, sure strides reminded Nancy of a thoroughbred racehorse. A mane of dark brown hair bounced on the woman's shoulders as she headed for the door of the Endeavor Detective Agency.
Nancy yanked her feet off the desk and sat up. A minute later the woman entered the office. The atmosphere changed in an instant. The air crackled with electricity.
Something told Nancy this was their first big case, the one that would establish the Endeavor as a legitimate detective agency. Nancy rose to greet the woman.
True to form, the woman quickly took stock of her surroundings, eyes darting around the office. What she thought of the place she kept to herself.
At last, beautiful amber colored eyes came to rest on Nancy. "And you are?" the woman said.
Odd question Nancy thought with a whiff of resentment. The woman had come into her office, shouldn't she be introducing herself to Nancy?
Nancy hid her frown and extended a hand. "Nancy Drew, private investigator."
"Oh." The woman ignored the proffered hand.
Nancy couldn't tell if the 'oh' was one of disbelief, disappointment, or something else entirely. She decided to ignore it. She drew back her hand and tried the direct approach. "How can I help you? Miss …"
"Romanoff. Tasha Romanoff."
"Perhaps you'd like a seat?" Nancy motioned to a set of black wingback chairs in front of her desk.
"Oh." The woman glanced at the chairs, chose one, and sat. She smoothed down her tailored black jacket and adjusted the collar of her blue silk blouse.
Restless, Nancy thought as she sat in her red swivel chair. She hoped Miss Romanoff had a larger vocabulary than what she'd displayed so far otherwise this was going to be a very short conversation.
Tasha Romanoff got right to the point. "I need protection. Do you provide that?"
Nancy detected the slightest hint of a Russian accent. "We can. What makes you think you need protection?"
"Oh, it's not for me." Tasha crossed a shapely pair of legs encased in black jeans and adjusted the black bag resting on her lap.
"Oh?" Nancy felt a small measure of satisfaction in using that word.
Tasha fumbled in the black bag. The top of her blue silk blouse fell open revealing a nice bit of cleavage and a ruby studded cross. Nancy was no jewelry expert, but with the way the light glinted off those rubies she thought they were the real thing.
Tasha withdrew a large envelope from the handbag. "This. This needs protection." She handed the envelope to Nancy.
The envelope was large and heavy, the type with bubble wrap inside. It was twelve by eighteen inches long and about eight inches high. "What's inside?" Nancy hefted the envelope. It wasn't unduly heavy, but the contents were substantial.
"I .. I can't tell you." Genuine fear shone on Tasha's face and she clutched the ruby cross as if it were a talisman.
Trying to ward off evil spirits? Nancy thought as she laid the envelope on the edge of the desk closest to Miss Romanoff.
"Please," Tasha insisted, a touch of panic in her voice. She pushed the envelope toward Nancy. "If anything happens to me you must open the envelope. There are instructions inside."
Nancy frowned. "Let me make sure I understand. You want to hire our agency to protect – this?" She pointed at the envelope.
Tasha nodded and ran a hand through her sleek mahogany-colored hair.
Nancy admired Tasha's hair. Her blonde tresses, shimmering with copper highlights, seemed brassy and dull in comparison. Nancy sighed and wrenched her focus back to the envelope. "Why not use a safe deposit box at a bank? It would be perfectly safe there."
"I thought of that, but .. well, that would require I have a key. If someone gets to me then they can get to the key .. and the envelope. That is not safe enough. If I don't have the envelope and I don't know where it is then I cannot possibly give it up. Nothing they can do to me – nothing at all – can force me to reveal its whereabouts."
Nancy wondered who 'they' were. She sensed real danger surrounding Tasha. Perhaps the Endeavor shouldn't take this case.
Tasha picked up on Nancy's concern and said, "Please Miss Drew, you are my last chance. No one knows I'm here. I've been very careful and I will make it worth your while." She reached into the handbag, withdrew a stack of bills, and placed them on the desk with a firm thud. "Fifty thousand dollars. If that is not enough …"
Nancy's eyes widened and she stifled a gasp. "It's .. it's plenty. Umm, it appears money is not a problem."
"No, it is not," Tasha assured her.
"Then Miss Romanoff, I have to ask, if you have the financial resources to hire anybody you want, why come to this agency? We're brand new, relatively unknown, and don't have all the specialized personnel or equipment a large agency could offer you."
Tasha pulled her chair closer to Nancy's desk. "You see Miss Drew that is precisely why I have come to you."
Nancy's brows knit together in confusion. Tasha explained, "That's what they are expecting me to do. Go to a big agency, hire lots of bodyguards, cower in a corner always wondering where they are and when they will strike." Tasha sat up a little straighter, her amber eyes blazing. "I do not cower Miss Drew. Besides, your advertisement says you are associated with the famous Hardy Detective Agency."
"True," Nancy said hesitantly. She pushed a strand of hair behind an ear and wondered what was in that envelope, and who Miss Tasha Romanoff really was, and who she was afraid of?
"So, I think if you need more personnel or equipment as you say, you can get it most discreetly." Tasha sounded more confident than Nancy felt.
Nancy paused. She didn't want to go running to the Hardy Detective Agency, not on their first big case. "Of course, if we needed assistance we could contact the Hardy Agency, but …"
Tasha leaned forward and Nancy caught sight of the ruby cross again. "Please. I beg of you," Tasha said. "You really are my last chance."
Before Nancy could respond the back door opened. It was hidden behind a staircase that led to an upstairs loft apartment. In tromped Joe. His hair – short, blond, and wavy – looked like he had driven all the way from Chicago with the windows down. He saw the woman parked in front of Nancy's desk and gave a polite nod.
Nancy rose and did the introductions. "Miss Romanoff this is Joe Hardy one of the Endeavor's private investigators."
Tasha got to her feet. "Hardy? Are you related to the owner of the Hardy Detective Agency?"
"Yes," Joe said approaching the woman. He got the distinct impression a handshake wasn't welcome so he didn't offer his hand. "I'm the younger son." He mentally sized up the woman, about the same age as him, late twenties, classy, nice clothes, and attractive.
Tasha turned to Nancy. "Now I am confident you can take my case."
Joe looked to Nancy for an explanation.
"Miss Romanoff wants to hire us to protect this." Nancy indicated the envelope lying on her desk.
Joe nodded at the envelope. "That? For how long?" He also noticed the stack of money wrapped in a wide white band lying next to the envelope.
Nancy saw the direction of Joe's gaze and said, "Miss Romanoff will pay us fifty thousand dollars to guard the envelope."
Joe's eyebrows shot up. "That's a lot of money." He turned to Tasha with new interest.
"It is." Tasha squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "But what is inside that envelope is very important. So, will you take the case?" She waited for an answer.
Joe shrugged. "I don't see why not. How long do you need us to guard the envelope?"
Tasha took a shallow breath and a flicker of fear passed over her face. "I'm not sure. Perhaps a week – maybe more. And … if anything happens to me then you must open the envelope and follow the instructions inside."
Sounds easy Joe thought and asked, "And how will we know if something happens to you?" He studied Tasha's face. Fear and determination shone in her eyes. He'd noticed the Russian accent, too. She hid it well, but certain words gave her away.
Nancy broke in, "We'll need Miss Romanoff to sign a contract and provide us all her contact information, phone number, address, etcetera …" To Tasha she said, "We will check-in with you once a week."
"Of course." Tasha stiffened then sat.
Nancy got out the necessary paperwork. Joe excused himself and headed to the kitchen counter behind Nancy's desk. He felt Tasha's eyes follow him appraising his broad backside. He was six feet tall and weighed two hundred ten pounds, most of it muscle, so there was plenty to appraise. He stood at the counter wondering what he wanted – coffee, soda, or water? The drive from Chicago had been long and hot and he was thirsty. He settled on water. He retrieved a bottled water from the small fridge under the counter. As he twisted the cap Nancy came up beside him. Their eyes met – both blue, both vivid. She handed him a note then returned to her desk and Tasha.
Joe sipped the water and read the handwritten note, Nancy's handwriting, When Tasha leaves, follow her.
Joe slipped the note into his pants pocket and finished his water. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, tossed the empty bottle in the trash basket and said, "Excuse me ladies."
He walked past Nancy's desk and to his room. Frank had claimed most of the upstairs loft as his domain. That left Joe the storage room on the ground floor. If one entered the office by the front door Joe's room was to the left. He had turned the ten by twelve foot space into a bedroom. It wasn't much to look at, but Joe didn't need much. A double bed was pushed up against one wall and a bookcase (filled with trophies and knickknacks and not many books) stood along the wall opposite the bed. Some low shelves Joe had built, ran along the brick wall that faced the street. Posters and pictures brought the remaining three gray walls to life and a thick shag rug warmed the cement floor. One small window, set high on the brick wall, provided light and air.
This was a luxury suite compared to some of the quarters Joe had lived in during his seven years in the army.
He tugged on a black leather bomber jacket and pulled on a black baseball cap. The cap clashed with the jacket but Joe wasn't concerned with style. The cap's function was to hide his blond hair. He grabbed a small black kit off the low shelves and stuffed it into his jacket pocket then leaned against the bedroom door and waited. He heard Nancy saying good-bye to Tasha. After Tasha exited through the front door of the office Joe stepped out of his room.
Nancy was waiting for him. She held up a piece of paper. "Here's the address Miss Romanoff gave."
Joe took the paper. "Okay, let's see if it's the real thing." He headed to the back door and to his truck parked in the alley behind the office. Moments later he was following Tasha's gray Volkswagen Jetta. The address Tasha had given was for a new development of condos in an upscale neighborhood.
Joe flipped down the truck's visor and followed Tasha through the late afternoon traffic wondering who she was and what secrets the envelope held.