Thanks to Cherylann Rivers, Caranath, EvergreenDreamweaver, Paulina Ann, max2013, Guest, Barb, hlahabibty, centaurdy jackson007, Jilsen, SsowkiN, SnowPrincess88, and all who read but didn't review. (You know who you are...)

Chapter 4

Despite having been woken up three times before the sun rose, Joe had risen feeling much better than he had the day before. His vision was nearly back to normal and the aches in his muscles had subsided, but seeing the expression on the detective's face once they had gotten to the station had almost completely destroyed his good mood.

Detective Rodriguez had apparently gotten up on the wrong side of the bed that morning.

"You're late," she said as she entered the interview room where he and Frank had been sitting for nearly fifteen minutes.

Someone hasn't had her coffee yet, Joe thought, throwing a glance at the large travel mug Frank was gripping in his left hand.

"Good morning to you, too, Detective. And, yes, I am feeling better. Thanks so much for asking." He let the sarcasm wash over her for a moment before continuing. "Any idea who it was who attacked me?"

Frank shot him a look, and he shrugged. That he had apparently been drugged and tied to chair seemed to be something Rodriguez kept conveniently forgetting, and he would be damned if he would allow that to happen.

The detective sighed. "We're looking into it. If you could tell us what happened last night…?" She let the question hang in the air.

"Nope." He popped the 'p' at the end of the word. "No clue. Any leads on the art?" He felt a sharp pain in his instep as Frank whacked it with his heel.

Rodriguez bristled visibly. "I was hoping you could enlighten me as to what happened."

"While I was unconscious?" Joe snorted. "Not likely."

This time Frank hissed, throwing a side glance at his brother. "Look, Detective, we'll be happy to share whatever information we've got on the art, the set-up of the gallery, the..." There was a faint buzzing noise, and he broke off, grabbing the phone from his pocket and glancing briefly at the screen before bringing his eyes back up the officer's. "I'm sorry. I have to take this." He flipped the phone open as he walked toward the door. "Hardy." The door closed behind him.

Joe leaned back in his chair and tilted his head to one side. "So, any other questions?"

The detective glared at him. Without moving her eyes, she reached into the pocket of her blazer and brought out the notebook she had been carrying the day before, this time with the pen clipped to the coil binding it together. She let the book sit on the table for a moment before opening it, flicking her gaze down at the pages as the turned them. When she had found what it was she had been looking for, she cleared her throat.

"How did you come to work for the Michaels Gallery, Mr. Hardy?"

Just answer the questions asked, Joe thought. That's what Frank wanted me to do yesterday, so that's what I'll do.

He shrugged. "The usual way. They called, we met, they hired us."

Rodriguez scribbled something on the page. "Us?"

"Us." He let out a breath. "Me and my brother."

"But you were the only one at the gallery on Thursday night." There was an edge to her words Joe didn't like.

He took a breath and let it out slowly, enjoying watching the detective's jaw starting to clench as she waited for his response. "That's right," he finally said. "I was there alone."

Her nostrils flared. "And your brother was where?"

Joe flashed a grin at her. "No clue. You'll have to ask him." He scratched his chin with one finger. "Although, he might not be able to tell you since it's probably classified." He knew he was baiting her, not following Frank's advice, but he simply couldn't help himself.

"And you expect me to believe that?" She slammed the pen down on the table, and Joe shrugged.

As he opened his mouth to respond, the door opened, and Frank walked back into the room, his eyes still on the screen of his phone.

"It was Flunitrazepam." Frank snapped the phone closed and slid it back into his pocket before looking up. "What?"

Rodriguez's eyes narrowed. "And just how did you get that information so quickly?"

"I called in some favors." Frank raised an eyebrow. "Does it matter? We know for sure Joe was attacked."

"And just how do I know your information is reliable?"

"Guess what, 'bro? The detective thinks we might have set up the attack," Joe said, unable to keep a smirk out of the words. "That we were in on the theft together."

"Really?" Frank regarded her with eyes like frozen stones. "Do you find the lab at Quantico unreliable, Detective?"

"You have connections at Quantico?" The woman's tone expressed complete disbelief.

Frank stared at her for a long moment, his jaw clenched, then he rattled off a phone number.

"You can call that for verification of my credentials," he said. "As well as confirmation of my whereabouts for the last few weeks." He turned to Joe. "I think we're done here." As he reached for the doorknob, he looked back at the detective. "In case you didn't get that, you can just call the local office of the FBI and ask for Special Agent Kara Malone. She'll fill you in on my connections." He swept through the door.

Joe pushed his chair back from the table, scraping the legs against the floor with a metallic growl, glaring at the woman on the other side of the table as he stood. "I'd say this was fun, Detective, but really, it wasn't. A word of advice? Look somewhere else for your prime suspects. It wasn't us." He walked out the door without looking back.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After the precinct door closed behind him, Joe managed to wait a full ten seconds before grabbing Frank's arm. "They're sure?"

Frank nodded, his face still an arctic landscape. "They ran the test twice."

Joe shook his head. "I don't understand how they got the results so fast."

"Oh, that… I had someone from the agency contact the hospital. They overnighted the samples and ran them as soon as they got there," Frank said. "Like I said, I called in some favors."

"So, it was an inside job then. Great." His voice was wooden.

Frank stopped, watching as Joe walked past him, the coldness in his eyes thawing slightly at his brother's tone and demeanor. He stood for a moment, then strode forward.

"Joe," he said, placing a hand on Joe's shoulder, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he answered, tension radiating off of him in waves.

"No, you're not." Frank let out a breath. "Talk to me."

Joe snorted and turned around. His eyes glittered like frozen water, and the tips of his ears were bright red. "I don't like being played for a fool," he said through his teeth. "Someone hired us specifically to set us – me – up to take the fall for this, and I don't appreciate it."

Frank nodded. "The evidence certainly points in that direction." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Now we need to figure out how we can get in there to find out who that was."

"What?" Joe's mouth dropped open. "'Bro, how the hell do we manage that?" He waved a hand at the police station's front door. "The cops think it was me! I don't think they're going to be all that interested in sharing their findings with us. And I'm guessing the gallery won't want me within twenty feet of the premises." He snorted. "Wouldn't surprise me if they already have a restraining order in process."

"All valid points," Frank said, raising an eyebrow at him, "and they probably do. Have a restraining order in process."

Joe let out a breath, the color in his ears fading slightly. "You're not helping. You know that, right?"

"But they don't know me."

Joe's head snapped up. "Wait… Are you saying?"

Frank tilted his head to one side, his brown eyes glinting. "I think it's time to call in some more favors."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Two days later, the brothers sat in Frank's office, waiting for their guest to arrive.

"Are you sure about this, 'bro?" Joe was perched on the edge of one of the chairs set out in front of Frank's desk, his right leg bouncing up and down in a frantic rhythm, a pencil tapping on his left thigh. "I mean, what if he says no?"

"I'm pretty sure he won't," Frank said. "It's not like we've asked for this before. Or plan on doing it again. Ever." He sighed and took a long pull from his coffee cup. "I just can't think of any other way to get what we need."

The door to Frank's office opened, and an older woman with short dark hair stuck her head in, the bright flower pattern of her shirt contrasting with the plain and somewhat severe frames of her glasses.

Frank looked up. "Is he here, Patricia?"

"Not yet, Mr. Hardy… Frank." The woman's lips were pressed together. "Can I come in?"

Joe stood and waved her into the office, holding out a chair for her before seating himself back down. "Of course. Is something wrong?"

"Several newspapers have called," she said. "I've tried telling them 'no comment' but they're pretty persistent."

"Pushy, you mean," Joe said, running a hand through his hair. "This will not be good for business..."

"Hang up on them if you need to," Frank said. "We'll have to figure out what to do if they start coming by. Or camping out." He shook his head.

The office manager wrung her hands in her lap. "And this probably isn't a good time to say this, but I am going to have to tender my resignation."

Both brothers stared at her.

"It's not because of this," she said, looking down at the floor. "My mother's health has taken a turn for the worse."

Frank nodded. "You mentioned when you started here that you were worried about her. Did something happen?"

Her shoulders slumped. "She had another fall. My brother has children in college and can't take more time off to go out to Arizona to help her, so I'm going to move out there so she's not alone."

Joe jumped to his feet. "Of course, we completely understand." He reached down to hug the woman. "We'll miss you."

"How quickly do you need to go?" Frank's voice was subdued.

"I can give you the standard two weeks' notice..."

There was something in her voice that made Frank sharpen his gaze. "Patricia, how bad was her fall?"

Her face crumpled. "She broke her left hip. And her elbow." She took a breath. "She's in the hospital right now. They're trying to find a rehab facility that can take her once the surgery is done." She stifled a sob as Joe tightened his arm around her shoulders.

Frank reached into his desk and pulled something out of a drawer. Joe looked over the edge of the open laptop and saw it was the business checkbook. He nodded in approval at the amount he saw his brother writing.

The sound of the paper being torn from the ledger made Patricia look up just in time to see Frank holding the check out. "Take the two weeks to make whatever arrangements you need to so you can go to her. We'll manage without you, but Joe's right, we'll miss you."

Her eyes widened when she saw the amount written on the small piece of paper. "Frank, this is far more than I'm owed..."

"Consider it combat pay," Joe said, squeezing her around the shoulders again.

Frank nodded. "And let us know when you get settled and how your mom is doing."

Patricia wiped her eyes. "Thank you. I'll miss you boys. This job has certainly kept me on my toes." A smile cracked at her lips. "Which is a neat trick for an old woman like me."

"You're younger than I am," Joe said, flashing her a brilliant smile.

"Why don't you take the rest of the day to get started on what you need to do," Frank said. "And, Patricia, thank you for everything."

When they heard the outer office door shut, Joe sat back down in his chair. "Things come in threes, right? I can't wait to see what the last one is."

"The last one what?" asked a voice from the door.

Both brothers looked up to see Fenton Hardy standing in the doorway.

"Dad," Joe said, reaching a hand up to his father, "are we glad to see you!"

"I'm glad to see you, too, son." Fenton ignored the hand and leaned over his younger son's chair, giving him a quick hug around the shoulders. "But you didn't answer my question, the last one what? And why is your office manager crying?"

Frank let his face fall into his palms and exhaled. "It's a long story. Have a seat. This might take a while."