I want to thank ronniegirls, Destiny J. Adams, KennaC, PrincessSkywalkerOrgana, dares to dream and SarahE7191 for your lovely comments and everyone else who has stopped by to read and too shy to comment. I am so happy that you guys are enjoying this.
But also with the good, there has to be bad. I wanted to point out this review that I got from an anonymous reviewer named Clara: Joe in jep. Nancy in jep. Frank doing nothing but standing around and worrying. Z. Knew I was only skimming this story for a reason. I'll move on to something more promising now.
I point this out because I want her to know that this doesn't phase me. You can flame me all you want and I am still going to write a story how I want. If you don't want to read it, that perfectly okay with me. But if you leave a comment like that then you better believe I am going to see the positive in it and just be on my merry way smiling. Maybe she didn't realize that that review, whether bad or not, still counts as review for me. And every single time she "skimmed" my story, that counted as a hit for me. The fact that you had to take the time to tell me that my story was bad shows me you have nothing better to do with your time and you enjoy belittling people. It has to make me wonder if you're a writer and if you are, please show it so I can see what true talent is since I obviously don't have any.
And while I may be okay with a flame, it isn't right to do it to others. You will never see me reading a story and leave a comment telling them how bad it is. There is nothing wrong with leaving a concrit—tell a writer what it is that you think needs improvement and I am sure they will appreciate it and try to work on it. Everyone always wants to get better at their craft, but they won't do it if you're downright mean about it.
Okay, long rant is over—on with the chapter. We pick right back up with Joe since I left ya'll with a cliffie…
As always, all mistake are my own and let me know what you think, good or bad.
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Chapter 8
Joe groaned, feeling blood ooze down his face from where his head hit the steering wheel. Muscle protesting the movement, Joe sat back in his seat as gingerly as he could. The droning of rain could still be heard but it was nothing compared to the pounding in his skull, almost as if a drum major was giving the show of his life and Joe unfortunately had front row seats.
Hearing the sound of a car door slam, Joe squinted as he turned his head to the left to see who was standing outside his window. He wasn't sure if it was the person who had tried to run him off the road or a Good Samaritan offering him help. Whoever it was, he wasn't in much of a position to do much—there was an excruciating pain in his right arm and he didn't need a doctor to tell him it was broken. Add to that, pain shot through him no matter how little he moved and his vision was blurry, at best, especially in his right eye, blood from the wound on his forehead caking it closed.
The driver's side door opened and Joe tried to scoot away as the rain soaked him through, but the pain made it impossible to move too far.
"I really wouldn't move if I were you, Joe," a male voice said mockingly, sending chills down the young Hardy's spine. "You may hurt yourself."
Joe knew that voice—there was no mistaking it. Turning his head slightly, even through his blurred vision, he would know those blue eyes anywhere. "Shepard."
Dominic Shepard smiled. "I'm flattered you remember me."
"You're supposed…to be…dead," Joe gasped out.
Dom smirked. "Got better."
"So what? You're going…to kill me?"
The killer cocked his head to the side. "As fun as that may sound, you're not the one I want. You're just the one to deliver the message."
"What…message?"
Dom lowered himself so he was eye level with Joe and pulled out a knife from a sheath at the back of his jeans. He smiled when he saw Joe's eyes widen in shock. "Tell everyone I'm back and this time, it's going to take more than a gunshot to get rid of me."
Before Joe could react, Dom thrust the blade of the knife into his gut, his yell of pain drowned out by a clap of thunder.
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"Thank you so much for lunch, Gwen," Frank said, sitting back in his chair with a contended sigh. The District Attorney had treated them for Alfresco's, an Italian restaurant a couple of blocks away from Carson's law office.
"It was my pleasure," Gwen said with a smile. "It's not very often that I get to do this. I'm always so busy, I don't get a chance to relax, much less taste my food when I eat," she added with a chuckle.
Frank nodded in understanding. "I know the feeling."
"You two are still young," Gwen protested. "You shouldn't stay so busy—you have the rest of your life to work yourself to death. Now's the time to just be together. Believe me, I wish I had learned that lesson when I first got married."
"I didn't know you were married," Nancy said, surprised.
The elegant woman nodded. "When I got out of college—he was my high school sweetheart. I was too focused on my career and he couldn't deal with it so we got a divorce."
"I'm so sorry."
"Don't be." Gwen glanced over at Carson and smiled. "I found your father. If I had still been married, I wouldn't know what an incredible man your dad is."
"I think you're slightly exaggerating," Carson commented, a slight blush creeping up in his cheeks.
"Don't sell yourself short, Dad," Nancy said. "I have to agree with Gwen."
Frank's cell phone rang, cutting off Carson from replying. I thought I had put that on silent, he thought. Frank was one of those people who couldn't stand to talk on a phone in a restaurant—it wasn't the place for it and he did his best to avoid speaking on it at all costs.
"Sorry," he apologized as he reached into his pocket and pulled it out. He glanced at the screen to see an unknown number. "I thought I'd turned it off. Excuse me."
Getting up from the table, he clicked it on and walked towards the lobby. "This is Frank Hardy."
"Mr. Hardy, my name is Michelle Carter. I'm a nurse at Northwestern Memorial Hospital. I'm calling in regards to a patient that was admitted here—Joe Hardy."
Frank felt as if the floor fell out from underneath him. He glanced back at the table, his wide brown eyes catching Nancy's blue ones. "That's my brother…what happened?" Frank was almost too afraid to ask.
"I'm afraid that your brother was involved in an accident. We have him stabilized for now but he is unconscious and has been since he was brought in."
Frank sank down onto one of the booths, thankful that it was there. "How bad is it?"
"It's…not good."
"Oh, God."
"We have him placed in the ICU ward."
"Thank you. I'll be there as soon as I can." Frank slowly lowered the phone from his ear, his mouth dry. Joe couldn't be hurt; he had to be okay. Frank couldn't accept it any other way, not when it came to his little brother.
"Frank, what's going on?" Nancy asked softly, a slight edge of fear to her voice.
Frank figured his expression had to be scaring her to death and he was glad there wasn't a mirror nearby. He cleared his throat. "Um, it's Joe…there was some kind of accident. He's at the hospital right now—they said it's not good."
"Oh my God," Nancy gasped, bringing her hands up to her mouth.
"Are you kids okay?" Carson asked, joining them with Gwen in tow. "What happened?"
"Dad, we have to go back to Chicago," Nancy answered quickly. "Joe was involved in an accident."
"Is he okay?" Carson asked, concern in his voice.
"I'm not sure," Frank answered standing up, clutching Nancy close to him. He needed something real to hold on to. He needed the strength she possessed afraid that if he didn't have it, he would just lose his mind right there. "I'm sorry to cut lunch so short."
"Don't be crazy—you have to go to Joe," Gwen said.
"Yes, don't worry about us," Carson agreed. "Be careful on the drive back and please, give your brother our best."
"I will." Frank dug the keys out of his pocket and handed them to Nancy. He didn't trust himself behind the wheel, not right now. He didn't want to put him and Nancy in the same position as his little brother. "Will you drive?"
Nancy nodded. "Sure."
As his wife led him towards their car, Frank couldn't do anything to quell the fear in his chest. Please, just let him be okay.
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"Frank, he's going to be okay," Nancy said for what had to be the fiftieth time or so. If truth be told, Frank lost count after the tenth time she said it. He knew she was saying it as much for her benefit as for his but her voice was starting to lose its confidence and optimism.
"Yeah," Frank agreed weakly, if only to assure her he appreciated the effort.
They were almost to the hospital, Nancy having driven past the speed limit for most of the drive until they'd hit Chicago, where the streets were wet. Even now, a light drizzle fell on them as she weaved her way through the traffic.
Frank had spent a good portion of the ride filling in Fenton and Laura Hardy on their youngest son's condition. His mother had wanted to board a plane right then and there but Frank had convinced her it wasn't necessary, that he would keep them up-to-date with news as soon as he got it. She had still seemed unsure but Fenton had told Frank not to worry about her, that he would calm her down.
"Hey, we're here."
Frank jerked at the sound of Nancy's voice, surprised to see they were in the parking garage of the huge hospital. He watched her as she grabbed her purse from the backseat, his eyes never straying as she tossed the keys and her cell phone into the bag. Seeing that she was opening her car door, Frank followed suit in a trance-like state.
Meeting him in the middle, Nancy grabbed his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. She didn't say anything, only gave him an encouraging smile though he could sense how clearly freaked she was, whether it was from Joe's accident or Frank's response to it.
Probably both, Frank thought. I don't think she's ever seen me like this.
In fact, Frank couldn't understand his own reaction; sure, he'd seen Joe get hurt lots of times, but all those times Frank could remember exactly what led to it and just how badly his little brother was hurt. Frank really thought it was the fact that he didn't exactly know what he was walking into. The nurse had been vague at best and Frank couldn't help but worry that he was about to be faced with a lot worse.
The older Hardy liked to know what he was dealing with—he didn't like surprises, especially when it concerned the ones he loved.
Looking on the building directory placed in the middle of the lobby, the couple saw that the ICU ward was on the eighth floor. Riding up in silence, as soon as the doors opened, they walked to the nurses' station.
"Excuse me," Frank said, causing a nurse who was working at the computer to look up at him expectantly. "My name is Frank Hardy—I got a call saying my brother had an accident and he was up here."
"What is your brother's name?" She asked, pushing her gold-rimmed glasses up on her nose.
"Joe—Joe Hardy."
The nurse consulted a chart sitting on the counter and nodded. "I'm afraid your brother hasn't woken up yet."
"Is there someone I can talk to about him?"
"Actually, his doctor is speaking with the police about him right now. Just keep going straight down this hall and it's the second door to your right—they're in a conference room."
"Thank you."
Nancy and Frank walked hand-in-hand to the door the nurse pointed out. Knocking softly, Frank opened it when a voice offered an invitation in. Seated around a table was an older doctor with salt and pepper hair wearing a lab coat, along with a uniformed policeman and another man dressed in a suit.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Frank said apologetically. "The nurse said you could tell me about my brother—Joe Hardy."
The doctor rose from his chair. "I'm Dr. Walker. Please come in and have a seat."
"Thank you," Frank said. He held out his hand towards the doctor. "I'm Frank and this is my wife, Nancy."
The doctor shook his hand and Nancy's before introducing the other two men. "This is Officer Allan and Detective Chesney. They're working on your brother's case."
"What exactly is his case?"
"Joe was found on the side of the road in his truck by a passerby an hour or so ago. At first appeared he's just had an accident," Chesney explained.
"What do you mean 'appeared'?" Nancy asked.
"Well, there was damage to the back and the driver's side of the truck, consistent with being rammed into."
"You're saying Joe was forced off the road?" Frank asked, horrified.
"That's our best guess right now," the detective replied. "Also, it also seems that your brother was stabbed."
Nancy gasped. "Stabbed?"
"We're not sure if it happened before or after the accident. Joe will have to answer that for us when he wakes up," Chesney answered and turned his head to look directly at Frank. "Does your brother have any enemies that you know of?"
Frank scoffed. "Where do I start?"
"Excuse me?"
"We're private detectives," Frank explained quickly. "We've been doing it for years. I could fill a phone book with the people who would love to give us some payback."
Detective Chesney's eyes narrowed. "Hardy…I know that name—you give us guys at the police department a bad name."
Frank didn't say anything. He wasn't about to be baited into anything the detective said. He could even tell Chesney that he had nothing but respect for the police since his father used to be on the squad at the NYPD, but he knew it wouldn't serve any purpose in the long run. Instead, he focused his attention on the doctor.
"Is my brother going to be okay?"
Doctor Walker took a deep breath. "It's hard to say right now, considering Joe hasn't woken up yet. He didn't appear to have any serious head trauma besides the bump he took from hitting the steering wheel. He did have quite a bit of internal bleeding and a broken arm, not to mention the stab wound."
"Did it hit anything?"
"No—whoever stabbed him didn't want to kill him, I don't think. But Joe did manage to lose quite a bit of blood before he was found and that does deliver a shock to the system." Walker spread his hands out in a helpless gesture. "His body is trying to get over the shock—it's working on a generator now, if you will. Other than that there's really not much more that I can tell you until he wakes up."
Frank nodded.
"Doctor, how long is it before you really start to get worried?" Nancy asked.
"Ballpark, I would say thirty-six hours. If he isn't awake by then, then I think we need to start to worry."
"Thanks, doc."
"Can we go in to see him?" Frank asked.
"I would rather you hold off until tomorrow if you could," the doctor requested. "He's in a delicate condition right now and I don't want anything to set him off."
"I understand." Frank stood up. "Will you at least call us if there's any change? I don't care what time it is—I want to know."
Walker nodded. "That won't be a problem."
Detective Chesney and the officer stood up as well. "We would like to know as soon as he wakes up as well."
"My brother will talk to you when he's able. I'm not going to force something out of him the second he opens his eyes," Frank said.
"Aren't you worried this could be that freak whose terrorizing the city?" Cheney arched a brow. "You two are working on that case, aren't you?"
"We were hired to look into it, yes."
"If this guy is responsible, don't you want him caught?" His eyes lingered to Nancy. "Especially before someone else has to get hurt—if I'm not mistaken, he's going after your type."
Frank stepped protectively in front of Nancy. "What exactly are you insinuating, Detective?"
"I'm not insinuating anything," Chesney said, smirking. "I'm just making sure you realize what's at stake, Mr. Hardy. You've already a loved one put in here—don't let it happen to another one."
Frank glared at Chesney's back as the detective left the room, accompanied by the officer. Frank didn't like feeling bullied by anyone—not even the police. But as much as he hated to admit it, he knew the jerk was right.
Frank couldn't afford for anyone else to get hurt—or killed.
