A/N: Thanks to Leyapearl, Xenitha (hey, I've been saying it's that Jamie since Vampire!), Caranath, MoonlightGypsy, AlecTowser, and DuffyBarkley for the reviews & comments!

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Exasperating, frustrating, irritating, aggravating — every single last word fit several times over to the nth degree, and Frank could add a whole thesaurus more to the list. It was his and Joe's case, Nancy had been snooping in his papers, and she accused him of interfering in her case.

On top of that, Nancy was shielded, according to Joe. She hadn't said anything when Mar had mentioned the Association, so it followed that Nancy wasn't part of it. Maybe it was all innocent. Maybe there was a simple explanation…but "innocent" and "simple" had been ripped from Nancy's particular thesaurus a long time ago.

No such thing as coincidence.

Breathing out, Frank let his irritation go. He had to stay calm. Getting angry would only give Nancy the advantage. He got off the Muni two blocks from the hotel; it was down on Market Street near the Tenderloin district: tall, plain, unremarkable save for a rusting fire escape and dirty tan bricks. For a long moment, Frank stared up at it, unable to believe that Nancy was staying hereor that any travel agency had even considered it.

People were bundled up against the buildings all along this street — though that wasn't unusual in San Francisco. Grimy and run-down, the hotel entrance was sandwiched between a cheap sub shop and a liquor store with steel roll-downs covering its front windows. Right next door was a theater advertising "LIVE NUDE SHOWS!" in big red letters on the marquee and posters of near-naked women splashed across the box office.

Nancy had probably been real happy about that.

As Frank watched, a limo pulled up in front of the hotel. He couldn't see in the limo's smoked windows, but given the theater right there, he didn't want to. Business-as-usual, unfortunately: male visitors tended to cut loose once they found out about the San Francisco sex scene. Shaking his head, Frank went in the hotel. About what he'd expected — just as grimy and run-down as its facade, everything with an air of dis-use, as if the owners had ceased caring. The lobby stunk of mildew, and the front desk clerk glared when she realized Frank was going to give her something to do.

"I'm here to see Nancy Drew," Frank said. "She's staying here."

Frank wasn't Gifted, but it was easy to see the woman's thoughts in her face and posture as she put her Harlequin book down, yawned, and pulled the register book over: get rid of him fast, go back to book. But rather than look up the names herself, she only shoved the register at Frank.

No use protesting. Frank opened the book, skimmed the list: checked in just over an hour ago, Room 712.

Given the decrepit state of the fire escape outside and what he'd seen so far, Frank wasn't about to risk the elevator. But seven flights of stairs in a stairwell that stunk of urine…stop, he told himself firmly. He'd climbed twenty flights in a burned-out shell stinking of char and smoke, after all. At least these weren't going to crumble away beneath him — hopefully.

The seventh-floor hallway itself was clean, if shabby. Frank knocked on the door of 712, and a muffled "one moment" answered. He heard shuffling and thumps, then the door opened — Nancy froze, then settled into an arms-crossed glare. Her hair was damp, her neck wrapped with a towel, and she'd changed into jeans and a red-striped pullover, with an elegant copper-wrapped quartz pendant hanging from a silver chain around her neck.

"If you open the door to just anyone here, you're not as smart as you think you are," Frank said before Nancy could open her mouth. "So are you going to let me in, or am I going to end up on the receiving end of a judo throw?"

"Are you always this polite?"

Take the high ground. "Not really. Not when I'm dealing with someone who's here under false pretenses."

"I'm using false pretenses?"

"You're the one who snooped in my papers. You made a lot of groundless accusations against me and Joe without giving us any chance to explain." Go for the jugular. "And you're shielded."

Blank non-comprehension. "I'm what?"

Not that Frank believed it. He took a step forward, making Nancy step back — though she did so in defensive stance. "Are you going to let me in?"

Outrage and curiosity warred on her face; curiosity evidently won out. Nancy stepped back further, gestured him in.

"Real nice," Frank said, looking around; the room matched the rest of the hotel in shabbiness. "This gig must be paying you real well."

"Did you come all the way out here just to irritate me? Because you're doing a great job of it."

Good, that made two of them. "You came all the way out here to spy on me and Joe. That deserves a lot more than irritation."

"I'm spying? You're the one who searched my bags!"

She hadn't denied it outright. Interesting. "I did not. Joe and I are working on something at the request of a friend in the fire department."

"Oh, right. SFFD hired two unlicensed amateurs to investigate arson. Try again."

"Maybe you missed what Mar said. About AHRD Security being a fully licensed private investigator firm. We work for them. Unless you have your own license, we're just as professional as you are." Rub it in, just a little. "Probably more so, because we're being paid."

Scowling, Nancy said nothing.

"Now if what we're doing crosses whatever your dad's working on, then it's coincidence, because I have no idea what that is," Frank said. "Other than spying on us, of course."

"Look, I don't know where you're getting this idea —"

"You're shielded," Frank cut her off. "Two different people confirmed it. It's not your shield, which means someone placed it on you, with or without your permission. Which means you know someone who's Gifted." So much for the plan to keep quiet and let Nancy make all the moves, but Frank wanted to shock her out of her cover story.

"Gifted." Arms still crossed, still scowling. "Should I ask what you mean by that?"

"Don't tell me you're going to deny it." Frank paused. "You are. You're really going to deny it."

"Only when it sounds totally insane."

Sounds, not is. Still no denial. Time for a shot in the dark. "So what did Harry Hammond tell you about us?"

Score. Nancy stiffened, her face going wooden.

"He asked you to spy on the Association, too." Frank already knew the answer.

"Wow," Nancy said. "All this out of me being 'shielded'. Whatever that means. You must really trust these people, if you're so set on making a fool out of yourself."

"You haven't denied a single thing I've said."

"I wasn't aware I needed to deny something that's totally insane!"

Still no denial. She hadn't even asked who Hammond was. "Calling my accusation insane isn't the same as denying it, and you know it, Miss Daughter-of-a-Lawyer." Frank had to admit, he was enjoying this. "So what did Hammond tell you?"

"Look, I don't know where you got this idea that I'm spying on you. You're the one who's interfering in my father's case!"

Something occurred to Frank — something she'd asked when she'd first seen Joe. Are you guys in trouble? "Hammond approached me and Joe, too, right before we came out here. He made a lot of insinuations, and none of them were true. He did the same to you, didn't he?" Frank watched her. "He told you we'd been recruited. That we were part of some subversive cult."

Nancy said nothing. Answer enough.

"Well?" Frank said. "Do I act like a brainwashed cultist? No one asked where I was going — no one cared. No one stopped you from leaving, either."

"You're here," Nancy said. "You followed me."

"You told me the name of the hotel when you called with your flight information," Frank reminded her. "San Francisco does have phone books."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Look, whatever your dad's working on, I don't know and don't care." Frank waited, then, when she didn't respond, "You're smarter than this, Nancy. The only reason you would run away like that is that you were scared."

"Scared." Nancy's tone dripped scorn. "I'm surprised you got your head through that sweater with that ego."

Not answering any of his questions, using insults to try to get him mad and draw him out…she was better at this than Frank had thought. Maybe best to do an end-run around the whole thing and short-circuit the argument. "Look…you're angry because you think I searched your dad's papers — which I didn't — and I'm angry because you searched my papers, which you admitted to. How about we both admit there's been a misunderstanding, and I take you to dinner?"

Surprise flashed across her face. Whatever she'd been expecting him to say, that hadn't been it.

"If you don't want to, that's fine." Frank turned as if to go. "That sub shop downstairs looked real tasty."

"If that's all you can afford, I'll pass."

Breathe. Stay calm. "No, I was thinking of a Japanese place over in the Castro"

Nancy studied him a moment. "Only if you explain the whole shielded, Gifted, and Association things you were harping on."

Well, he'd handed her the opening, and information-pumping could work both ways. "Over dinner," Frank said firmly. "I'm starved and I've had a really bad day with the cops, after all."

Nancy had the grace to blush at that. "Let me get my hair dried."

Frank nodded. "I'll wait downstairs." Give them both time to cool down and shake loose. Not to mention being outside was preferable to that stuffy hotel room and the mess masquerading as a lobby. He made it outside with a sigh of relief and squinted up: still a clear sky, no sign of fog or rain. Good. He also noted that the limo from earlier was still there, though a couple white men in suits and sunglasses now leaned against it, smoking cigarettes and watching the hotel doors — one looked exactly like the type of guy who'd troll for meat in front of a porn theater: balding, thick mustache, bit of a paunch, dressed in an expensive suit so women would hopefully think money and not focus on any shortcomings.

Great. Just what Nancy would enjoy seeing: rich pervs out for a night on the drag.

"Hey, white boy, slummin' again?"

Frank looked around — it was one of the street people he knew: an older man with tangled dark hair and heavy beard sat bundled against the bricks with a couple of his buddies. "Hey, Miguel. Yeah, you could say that." Frank nodded up at the hotel. "Waiting for my date."

Miguel burst into wheezing laughter. "Word's that you and your brother got busted over on Union. Truth?"

News went fast around the street folks. Frank walked over and squatted down to their level. "Yeah, unfortunately. Little chilly out here for chatting, though."

"Mig?" one of the others mumbled. "Whozzat?

"He's cool," Miguel said. "He's with Josh's crew." To Frank, "You after those fires? Figured your crew would be. They ain't right, none of them."

"We know. Kids got killed in that last one. We're looking into it."

"Heard about them kids," Miguel said, and fell silent.

Frank sighed, with another glance up at the hotel. "I'd offer coffee and subs so we could warm up a bit and chat, but I was serious about my date. She's not the type you keep waiting." That got another wheezing laugh from Miguel. Frank dug a ten out of his pocket and handed it to him. "I need to hear the news. You and your buddies get some subs and coffee so they won't run you off, and when I get back, I'll treat for more so we can talk. Deal?"

Miguel didn't answer right away; Frank didn't blame him. For someone like Frank to offer such trust to a street person like Miguel was unheard of…but "Josh's crew" did exactly that. "Coffee there sucks," Miguel said finally.

"We can hit up Connor's."

That particular bakery offered free coffee at their back window. It didn't hurt that the staff made "mistakes" that made various baked goods unsalable to customers, but still perfectly edible and handed out along with the free coffee. But then Miguel whistled, grinning to show his missing teeth. "Hooo, that your woman? You got lucky, boy."

Nancy had just come out of the hotel and stopped, staring at the sight of Frank talking to a group of homeless men. Frank only smiled, offered his hand to Miguel — Miguel returned it with a soul-shake, then settled back against the bricks to accept the cigarette being passed between his buddies as Frank stood up.

"Let's go," Frank said to Nancy. "Muni stop's this way."

"You didn't drive?"

The suits leaning against the limo had straightened, staring at Nancy…then at Frank. White, in suits, and in this neighborhood made it unlikely they were gang-members. Expressionless, Frank shifted his stance just enough: a wordless don't mess with her or me.

Both suits casually settled back against the limo; one of its windows cracked open and the suits turned to talk in low voices. At that, Frank dismissed them: suits in this neighborhood were likely waiting for a prostitute…or worse. "You can't pay me enough to deal with downtown parking," Frank said to Nancy. He looked her over: slacks, sensible shoes — no heels. Good.

Nancy returned it with a look of her own. "Do I meet your approval?"

"You could say that. C'mon."

But Nancy's attention had been caught by the limo. "Bit rich for the neighborhood, there."

Frank took hold of her arm. "Not here. Move." By some miracle, Nancy actually held her silence and followed his lead — until they were halfway to the Muni stop and out of earshot of the limo, anyway. But when she jerked out of Frank's grip, he didn't give her a chance to protest.

"Don't stare at guys like that," Frank said, quiet matter-of-fact. "Especially down here. They were trolling for hookers. Or they're waiting for other business, and I'm not trained to deal with that."

Nancy looked away. "Sorry. I'm still rattled, I guess. The Apple's horrible for that stuff, too."

Frank nodded. "Treat it like you would in New York, and you'll be fine."

From there the chat stayed small, mostly Nancy asking about things they passed on the Muni ride to Castro Street. But she kept glancing at the other passengers, especially the ones closest to them — Frank kept his sigh strictly internal. He could see her questions building; this was just a temporary lull in the storm.

Castro Street was already crowded, typical Friday early evening: folks lining up outside the cinema, hanging around the various cafes, waiting to get into the clubs. Burn The Tail wasn't too busy; Frank glanced at his watch. Still a bit early for dinner rush.

"Here?" Nancy said in an undertone, as they stood in the elegant lobby of polished wood and hanging Japanese sumi-e. "Are you sure?"

Frank only smiled; he wasn't about to let her bait him that easily. The hostess came back, Frank had a quiet word (slipping a couple bills onto the podium), and they were taken to one of the back tables. The restaurant itself was a calm sweep of polished wood and burnished metal, with one entire wall taken up by an enormous aquarium filled with goldfish and exotic coral. Their table was screened by a wood-and-rice-paper shoji, just right for a private chat.

"There's no rush," Frank said to Nancy as they sat down. "And order whatever you like. I really recommend the akachan no tako for an appetizer, though." That was the baby octopus, grilled & served over marinated seaweed. Maybe Joe and Jamie would show up in time to enjoy the show.

Nancy just looked at him. When the waitress stopped by to give them water and take their initial drink order, Nancy gave Frank the smallest of smiles and then, to the waitress, "The tempura squid, please, to start. With extra tentacle parts."

Frank had been taking a drink of water, somehow managed not to choke.

"Care for round two?" Nancy said sweetly, after the waitress left.

"Hey, good-looking, am I interrupting?"

Frank looked up; a chunky Japanese man dressed in white chef duds peered around the corner of the shoji screen. "Not at all, Godz. This is Nancy Drew — Nancy, Ryuu Tanaka, a.k.a. Gozilla. He's Josh's mate and one of the chefs here."

"Gojira," Nancy said, smiling.

Godzilla blinked. "Another aficionado? Wow, Frank, you're finally developing good taste. I saw you come in so I snuck a bit of a break. Had to let you know the maguro's only okay tonight, but the hamache, sake, and hotatagai are simply divine —"

Nancy said something that made Godzilla stare at her…then he broke into a wide grin, and the two started talking in Japanese. Frank sat there, trying not to look completely lost, until Nancy shook her head at something Godzilla said and switched to English.

"I'm not that good yet, sorry. Daddy's trying to find a better tutor."

"Really good taste," Godzilla said, still grinning, to Frank. "Maybe she'll finally civilize you." Someone called something out from near the sushi bar, and Godzilla sighed. "Duty calls. I'll let the waitress know you're friends so she'll clue me which stuff's yours." He winked and scurried off.

Frank wasn't going to react. He was simply going to wait for an explanation.

Nancy smiled. "Japan's expanding its business interests in NYC. Daddy doesn't want to rely on their translators, so I'm taking classes." Her smile widened to a wicked grin. "Need help translating the menu?"

Now Frank laughed. "All right, I surrender. Though the baby octopus was Joe's idea — he was going to pay for dinner if I got you to order it."

"We can get a to-go order and take it back just for him."

That was an idea. With a bit of luck and a bit of conspiracy with Jamie, maybe they'd end up with a tale to eclipse the one about the grapes. But Frank wasn't about to let Nancy in on that particular story. Not yet, anyway.

"Now that I've explained," Nancy said, "you've got some explaining to do."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "I do?"

"Arsons." Nancy lowered her voice. "Association. Shields. Gifted. Now." When Frank said nothing, she gave him a look. "I'm not stupid. You can't tell me it's coincidence that you're looking into the same businesses I am, Hardy."

There's no such thing as coincidence. It was one of the Blades' run-rules. "And I have no clue what businesses you're looking at, Drew." Frank fell silent for a moment. It wouldn't hurt to give her the bare-bones; maybe it did tie in, somehow. "The only 'business' thing I know is that all of the buildings so far are owned by the Rathbone Foundation. Joe found that out today, and we passed it on to SFFD. We're just looking into the arsons, that's it."

"Really."

"Really. But if these arsons tie in to what you're doing, then you'd better talk to Matt. He's our contact with the SFFD."

"You really expect me to believe they hired you for that?"

"Pardon me, are you Nancy Drew?" The waitress had come back to their table; she looked apologetic.

"Yes?" Nancy said.

"There's a phone call for you up front. The caller said he's your father."

Nancy looked startled. "Daddy? Calling here?"

"Joe knew I was taking you here," Frank reminded her. "If your dad called our place, Joe would've given him the number. Go on."

"We're not done with our chat," Nancy said as she got up. "You're not getting out of it that easy."

"Neither are you," Frank said.

She gave him another look, but followed the waitress to the front. Frank blew out a breath. Exasperating, irritating, annoying, all of that, plus too quick, too sharp…

And beautiful. And intelligent. Yeah. He couldn't forget that part. Trying to relax, Frank settled back and watched the goldfish in the wall aquarium. He was now regretting he'd let slip the shields and Gifted part. No one at the Center would be happy if Frank broke their privacy, especially if Hammond was involved.

Oh, yeah. Hammond. Frank had meant to press Nancy about that first thing, but she'd sidetracked him again.

Shrieks erupted from the front of the restaurant —

— followed by a gunshot.

Frank shoved to his feet and charged through the sudden chaos, dodging around tables and waiters, panicked customers scrambling away from the front, people cowering in the lobby, the hostess screaming for the manager —

Nancy wasn't anywhere in sight.

A yelled "Frank!" jerked his gaze up. Through the glass doors, Frank caught sight of struggling, a car door slamming, and he charged out —

— in time to see a black limo with smoked windows speed away.