Thanks to Candylou, max2013, EvergreenDreamweaver, sm2003495, zenfrodo, Caranath, BMSH, Jilsen, Xenitha, Paulina Ann, neoxer, Mara-snh, and all who read and enjoyed. Now, let's see how Frank is doing..

Note: I reposted after fixing a couple of typos I found (too late) and smoothing out the wording in the last couple of paragraphs. The main content hasn't changed. - Leya

Chapter 11

Joe pressed the 'end call' button on his phone for what seemed like the fiftieth time.

Dammit, Frank, he thought. Just call back already…

He had been calling all evening, desperate to tell his brother about the results of his visit to the O'Brien's home and getting shunted to voicemail each time.

The insurance agent they had called after finishing their tea and scones had been more than a little surprised to hear from Grace O'Brien and shocked to the point of speechlessness to realize the policy had been written without her name on it.

"You see, dear," the older woman had said, her voice honey sweet, "as it's my art that was stolen, I am feeling bereft. Can you help me to understand why I wasn't named in the policy? Or why I wasn't even told there was a policy?"

The agent spluttered, every sound coming through loud and clear on the phone's intercom. "Ma'am, I… I am very, very sorry, but.." There was a long pause. "I don't have an explanation for you. The policy was written by..."

There was the sound of paper being shuffled, and the agent said a name Joe didn't recognize but wrote down to check on later.

"I can assure you, ma'am, I will look into this for you. I don't know how this happened. Please accept my apologies on behalf of the company."

"We'll see," Calvin's grandmother had said. "I expect a call back tomorrow with whatever you have found."

The agent had apologized again, copied down the O'Briens' phone number, and agreed to contact them every day until he got to the bottom of this.

Once the call had been disconnected, Grace turned to Joe. "Well, that was fun. But does it help us?"

Joe nodded. "It gives us another link to someone in the gallery being responsible for the theft. I'll see what I can find out about the agent who wrote the policy." He grinned at the older woman. "I imagine they'll be very cooperative once they find out they helped commit insurance fraud." He stood and pushed his chair in. "Let me know the details of the call tomorrow."

Calvin stood as well.

Joe gave him a puzzled look. "Why are you getting up? You live here."

"We're going back to the office, aren't we?" He was standing at parade rest again.

"It's almost the end of the day," Joe said, waving a hand at him. "And you're already home. Don't worry about it. I'll see you tomorrow."

As he left, he pulled out his phone and called Frank, eager to tell him what they had found out. The call went right to voicemail.

He tried again an hour or so later. Again, voicemail. As the evening wore on the calls became more frequent, his frustration growing. Now it was past midnight, and he was about ready to kill his brother for not answering his phone all afternoon and evening.

He hit the redial button again, fully expecting to get the generic voicemail box. Again. This time, however, he heard breathing.

"Why haven't you been answering your phone?" Even if he had been able to hide his irritation, he didn't want to. "I've been calling since this afternoon, and it's been going straight to voicemail."

"Long story." Frank sounded tired. His voice was soft and a little gravelly. "I just turned it back on not that long ago. I had to get rid of Liz first."

"Wait until you hear about…" Joe stopped, his brain catching up to what his ears were hearing. "Liz? You haven't been answering your phone because you were with Liz? My Liz?"

"She's not yours. She not even mine, either, now that you mention it. She went out with Paul, not me."

"But you're Paul!" Joe was having a hard time comprehending that his brother had gone out on a date while they were on a case. Or that he had gone out on a date at all. That it was with Liz completely blew his mind.

She's not at all the kind of girl he would usually go for, he thought, running a hand through his hair. She's just too, too...

"I'm really not. Do we have to do this now? I found something. I'm uploading files as we speak."

There was a pause, and for a moment all Joe could here was his brother breathing softly on the other end of the line.

"Found something? Frank, where are you? Never mind. There's an insur..."

"I have to go," Frank said, cutting him off. "I think I hear something." The line went dead.

"Shit." Joe fought the temptation to hurl his phone against the wall. Then he took a deep breath.

He'll call back, he thought. He always calls back. I just have to wait.

He paced around his apartment, holding the phone in his hand and alternating between staring at it and glancing up the clock by the door.

One minute passed. Two. Five.

Still no call.

This wasn't like Frank. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his gut.

He took a deep breath, slapping the phone against his open palm, and replayed the conversation in his head.

He didn't say where he was. But he did say who he was with.

He scrolled through the contacts in his phone, keeping his fingers crossed as he hit the 'call number' button next to the name.

The phone rang twice before a sleep voice said, "Hello…?"

"Liz. It's Joe Hardy. Look, I'm sorry to be calling so late, but I need your help."

Silence.

He tried again. Maybe she's not awake yet. "Liz? Are you there?"

"Yeah." Her voice sounded slightly more alert. "Joe? It's almost two in the morning. Why are you calling now?" There was a sharp intake of breath. "Wait… I shouldn't even be talking to you."

"Don't hang up," he blurted out. "Please."

"Give me one good..."

His words came out in a rush. "I think something's happened to Fr… Paul."

He heard another breath.

"How do you know Paul?" Her voice was ice. "Have you been spying on me?

"No!" Outrage rang out in the word. "Not spying. Investigating. The gallery. Not you." He let out a breath. "I'm trying to clear my name."

"Really?" The ice was still there.

"Liz, I was set up." He had to work hard to keep the anger out of his voice. "I had nothing to with the theft. We have to find out what happened, and the only way to do it is from inside."

"We?" Her voice had thawed, the ice replaced by a squeaky curiosity.

"We." He cleared his throat and counted to ten, deciding to take a chance on trusting her. "Carmine used to work with my dad. He's doing us a favor."

"And Paul? He knows about this?"

Joe nodded, then realized she couldn't see it over the phone and let out another breath. "Yeah. Look, I need to know where he was when you left him."

"At the gallery," she said, the words coming through a yawn. "He was looking for his cell phone."

He swallowed. "About that..."

She let out a breath. "It was a ruse so he could be in the gallery alone," she said, "wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"I kind of guessed that from what you just said." She sighed. "I can meet you there in twenty minutes."

"No!" Concern for her safety coursed through him, and he started pacing the floor again. "I don't want you mixed up in this."

"Joe, you can't get in without me. You don't have a key." He heard a rustling sound in the background, most likely covers being thrown off a bed. "I do, so I have to be there. If something's happened to him..."

"I know." Joe closed his eyes, his throat suddenly tight. "I'm sorry. And thank you. If there was another way..."

"Twenty minutes," she said, and the line went dead.

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

It took longer than twenty minutes for him to get there.

His first impulse had been to hail a taxi, but he knew if he did there was a good chance he would be indentified, so he ended up on the subway, keeping the hood of his sweatshirt over his face as he passed by the security cameras and wincing as the cars stopped at every single station between his apartment and the gallery.

When he finally arrived, it took him a few minutes to find her. She was standing in the shadows of the doorway, her arms wrapped around her stomach.

More nerves than cold, Joe thought. I wonder how long she's been here?

He rushed over to her. "Are you all right? Have you been here long? No one's bothered you, have they?"

She looked up at him. With her hair in messy ponytail, no makeup, and a long duster over a sweatshirt and jeans, she looked about twelve.

"I'm fine," she said. "It's fine."

He reached out and took her hands in his. "Thank you."

She nodded and slid her hands free. "Let's go in." She reached into a pocket, pulled out a key, and turned it in the lock.

Joe took note of the fact the key turned smoothly and easily, not how he remembered it working when he had first tried opening it.

As they walked inside, Liz automatically turned to flip the lightswitch beside the door. He grabbed her hand.

"Don't."

Her body was in the shadows, but he could just make out the puzzled expression on her face from the indistinct light of the streetlamp outside. "Joe, it's dark in here. If we turn on the lights..."

"It will be obvious someone is here," he said, finishing her sentence. "At at time when the gallery is supposed to be empty. Someone might notice and call the police. And we really don't want that right now."

"Oh." She shrugged, the motion cutting into the faint illumination on her face. "I didn't think of that. Sorry."

"It's okay," he said, pulling a flashlight from the pocket of his sweatshirt. "This isn't really a typical situation."

He swept the faint beam around the room. It only showed a few feet of the floor. He sighed. At this rate, it was going to take at least an hour to cover the entire gallery.

"What's wrong?" Her voice was a whisper in the darkness.

"Nothing. This is just going to take a while." He sighed again. "I'm not very patient."

She reached up and squeezed his bicep. "If we're lucky, he won't be here. That will mean he's okay, right?"

Joe's blood ran cold. If he's not here…

He swallowed. "Yeah," he lied. "Most likely we won't find him, and he's somewhere else."

They moved methodically across the large room, sweeping a few feet at at time with the flashlight's faint light. When they were about halfway to the office, Joe thought he saw a shadow. He took a few strides forward, Liz holding onto his arm in the darkness, and scanned the area. The shadow grew longer.

It's a funny shape, he thought. Almost like… Feet…

He swore and rushed forward, Liz's hand sliding off his arm as he moved. He kept the beam trained on the spot where he had seen the object until more of it came into view. He skidded to a stop and ran the beam along the shape he could now make out.

Lying on the floor, just a few feet in front of him, was his brother. And it looked as if he wasn't breathing.

Joe froze, his heart stuttering.

Liz stumbled up behind him, crashing into his back. "Joe! What's going on! Why did you…?" She moved to his side, grabbing onto his free arm, her eyes following the beam of light. The moment she saw the body on the floor, she dropped his arm, brought both hands up to her face, and screamed.

The noise jolted Joe from his shock. Still holding the flashlight, he dropped to his knees, scooted forward to where Frank lay, and put two fingers to the side of his brother's throat.

A faint pulse beat beneath his fingers. "Thank G-d," he whispered as he sat back on his heels. He let out a long, stuttering breath before turning back to Liz. "He's alive."

The screaming stopped. Liz bent in half, her arms wrapped around her stomach, huge, shuddering breaths making her shake.

Joe held the flashlight out to her. "Liz?''

She looked over at him.

"Can you hold this? I want to check him out."

She reached a trembling hand out toward him and grabbed the light from him. She moved a step closer to them, the beam of light jumping around on the floor.

Joe reached out, noting his brother's body position, and started lightly running his hands over his brother's legs, then arms and torso, checking for injuries. When he got to Frank's chest, he thought he heard a hiss, but Frank's breathing was so shallow, it was hard to be sure. As he checked Frank's neck and the side of his head, the wig Frank had been wearing slid off in his hands. He held it up and suddenly the room was plunged into darkness again.

Liz had dropped the flashlight. Then, the screaming started again.

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

There was noise penetrating the fog blanketing Frank's brain.

Screaming, he thought, struggling back to consciousness. Someone… needs… help. He worked on trying to open his eyes.

Something touched his legs. Gentle hands working their way up his body, checking his limbs. When they ran across his ribs, it felt as if a burning poker had erupted in his chest, the pain almost sending him spiraling back into oblivion. When he was able to focus again, the screaming was back. And a voice. One he knew.

"Liz, it's a wig! There's nothing wrong with his head. Well, not that I can tell. I need to see if he's got a head injury. Where's the flashlight?"

"Joe?" His voice was a wheeze, barely audible even in his own ears. He took as deep a breath as he could, feeling his ribs creak as he did. "Joe."

"Frank?"

"Yeah."

A beam of light appeared in his face, and he squeezed his eyes almost shut so as not to be blinded. "Heard… screams… Who?"

"Who's Frank?" The voice squeaked up an octave from the first word to the second.

Liz, Frank thought. Why is…?

"My brother," Joe was saying as he knelt on the floor. "We'll explain." He turned his face toward Frank. "Are you all right?"

Frank tried to lift his head and couldn't. He grunted and lowered his head back to the floor. "Ribs."

"Your head?"

"Wig… took… some of the… brunt."

"What's going on here?" Liz sounded both scared and angry, and Frank felt a wave of guilt rush over him.

"Liz… So sorry…" He wheezed a few times, trying to get more oxygen into his lungs. Things were getting fuzzy again. "Attacked."

"Oh, my G-d." Her tone had changed to one of concern. She grabbed the flashlight back up and held it so she could see both of them. "Should I call an ambulance?"

Joe looked down. "If your ribs are broken, we'll have to."

"Not… here..." Frank wheezed out. "Too… dangerous."

"I don't like where this is going, 'bro."

"Get… outside… Then… call."

"No." Joe voice had a note of panic in it. "If you ribs are broken, you could get a punctured lung if we move you."

"Beats… jail… time… for… you."

"No, I won't let..."

"Joe!" Frank fought hard to put steel in his voice. "Losing… time." He watched as his younger brother's shoulders slumped in the flickering light and closed his eyes against the pain he knew would be coming in a few moments.

"I don't like this," Joe muttered.

"I know," he whispered. "Limited… options."

"I don't understand," Liz said. "We're bringing him outside?! Why?"

Joe sighed. "Once he's outside, you can call nine-one-one and report a collapsed person on the sidewalk. You work here, and there's an investigation going on, so it won't be too weird for you to be here." He shook his head. "Officially, I won't be involved."

Liz threw her hands up in the air, the beam from the flashlight crawling up the wall to the ceiling, then falling back down. She shifted the light back to Joe and pointed an index finger at him. "Tomorrow, you are explaining all this to me."

He nodded. "That's fair." He let out a breath and turned to his brother. "You ready?"

Frank took another shallow breath. "Minute," he said. "Disguise."

Joe looked down at him. "Isn't it going to hurt if I rip the mustache off?"

Frank opened his eyes. "Not… compared to… what's… coming."

"Point," Joe said. "And I apologize in advance." He leaned over and loosened the adhesive attaching the mustache to his brother's upper lip as best as he could, then pulled false hair off with one smooth motion. He waited for a moment, then looked in his brother's eyes. "Ready?"

"Go." The word was a whisper.

Joe let out a breath. "Liz, you walk in front. As soon as the door is shut behind us, make the call."

Frank closed his eyes again. He felt Joe reaching an arm underneath his back and gently pushing him to a sitting position. "Shit!" Bright sparks of light appeared behind his eyelids, and he could feel his consciousness deserting him again.

"Frank, bend your knees."

"Can… walk..," he whispered, even though he could feel the room starting to spin.

"No," Joe said, a hint of exasperation in the word. "You can't. Now bend your damn knees."

He did.

He could feel Joe's right arm around his back like a band of steel. Then his brother's left arm settled under his knees.

"On three," he heard Joe say. "One. Two. Three."

There was a jolt as his feet left the floor. Joe's right arm slid down his back an inch or two, sending a shooting pain straight into his chest. He hissed as a flash of light exploded behind his eyes, then the light faded, and he knew nothing else.