I'm just going to push the rest of these chapters out now! Thank you for your kind words novembershowers, Drumboy100, angelicalkiss, and Candylou. Stay amazing!

Nancy

Nancy Drew tried to quell her panic as her car arrived at the art fair. It navigated around the flocks of people, the driver searching for a vacant spot. They signaled to turn as a woman returned to her car. But she was taking too long. Nancy imagined she was fiddling with the stereo, answering the phone, acting like she didn't have a care in the world. Any other day, Nancy would have smiled and wondered what sort of music the woman liked. But today wasn't that day.

The driver had slowed right down to a crawl and hadn't stopped yet when she made a split-second decision and jumped out of the still-moving vehicle. She strained her eyes for the Hardy brothers but couldn't see them in the thick crowd. Her dad's fears that people were too absorbed in their phones to appreciate art and literature "these days" were evidently unfounded. It seemed everyone had turned up to see what all the fuss was about.

The young FBI agent wove her way through the tightly pressed bodies, moving around stands, booths, and stores. People were shouting and laughing. And Nancy had to avoid children running and playing between hundreds of feet. As she walked, she tried to dial Frank again. But he wasn't picking up. Shit.

She suddenly saw Callie Shaw's booth seemingly rising out of the crowd. The paintings and prints stood out against the surrounding photographs and monochromes. They really were striking. Nancy wondered where Callie Shaw's passion came from. It must be stored deep within because the artist seemed so calm and collected all the time.

She knew that she was hardly an expert. If anyone knew Callie it was Frank. And he was… well, he was MIA, and the thought of him being missing caused Nancy's heart to race.

"Do you know where Callie Shaw is?" she asked the man behind the counter. He didn't look like the rest of the art fair employees and volunteers. He was wearing an old-fashioned pin-striped suit and broad tie. There was a name badge on his chest, but it was obscured by his thick wool scarf. She gave up trying to read it. "I was hoping to find her here," she added.

"No. She called me and asked me to look after the booth for a moment."

"Did she say why?"

"Nope. But this sort of thing happens. Artists need coffee… toilet breaks. She's needed to use the restroom plenty of times, being pregnant and all that…" his eyes narrowed as he realized he'd said too much. "Sorry, who are you? Are you interested in buying an original? I can show you-"

"No, sorry. I'm not really in the market for art. Are you her agent?" What else made sense? He looked familiar, was a bit overdressed for the casual affair... And Nancy could see an "n" and a "t" peeking out from under the scarf.

"That's me." He'd lost interest, knowing he wasn't about to make a sale. He started arranging greeting cards with Callie's art on the front. "What's it to you?"

"I'm a friend. Say, do you know Ted Hollis?"

"Yeah." The man straightened a card. "He's a piece of work. You say you know Callie, huh? You'd have heard all about it, I reckon. He liked the status, being her agent. But his gambling and that worthless brother of him got him in enough hot water that he lost all his clients, aside from her obviously. When they got involved, had a baby on the way she said it'd be better for their relationship if they separated their professional lives. You can guess how that went down."

"I've worked it, I think. But Callie is so private."

"You can say that again. Look, it didn't come from me, but I'd watch her if I was you. He's not a good guy and he's so jealous of her success I wouldn't put it past him to do something messed up. I've seen him yelling and pushing her around. It could get real nasty quick."

Nancy started to ask something else when a young couple approached to ask about a piece hanging on the wall behind Callie's agent. He became animated, telling them about the techniques used to fuse the layers of warm burgundy and crimson together to form something of an abstract flame. She could tell she'd lost his attention and turned to resume her search for Joe.

"Nancy!" a familiar voice cried, and the younger Hardy threw himself upon her. "Where have you been? What's been going on? Are you okay? Is that blood? Are you hurt?"

She tried to answer all his questions but found her voice muffled by his broad chest as he gave her a hard, wholesome hug. She realized the answers could wait because she was suddenly overcome with weariness and the heaviness of emotion. She could enjoy the safe harbor for a moment, couldn't she? She just needed to block out the sights and sounds.

He pulled back too quickly. His eyes roved over her, blue as the ocean.

"I'm okay. There was a car accident. My colleague is hurt, but he's in safe hands. I've been looking for you both. But I might have found something out." She filled him in on the agent's gossip and Joe listened closely. He was good at that, standing mute, hands deep in his pockets. He only interrupted to nod and make sounds of agreement.

"So, he is after Callie."

"Yeah, I think so. It makes sense, doesn't it? If he's in debt he tried to steal the painting. But then Callie called us in, and he tried to get rid of me. But this bomb angle doesn't make sense. Has he given up on getting a payday? If he attacks this art fair it won't only be Callie who gets hurt…"

Joe stroked his chin. "God, I wish Frank was here. This thinking bit is his domain."

"Where did you see him last?" Nancy asked urgently. "Because Hollis got away and I think he came straight here. If he's at the art fair he might have Frank!"

The pair made their way to the parking lot and looked about. But Frank's tall, slender form was nowhere in sight. It was like he'd vanished off the face of the earth!

"Wait!" Nancy called out. "That's the car!" she pointed at the damaged vehicle that had rammed her and Finn on the route. She recognized the make and model, right down to the damage. She had to swallow hard to tear her thoughts from the scene, the motion of the vehicle barreling forward and slamming into theirs. The indent on the frame so closely resembled the damage on their car. She could see it, taste the blood, smell the burnt rubber and fuel…

"And Frank was here," Joe said soberly. He was holding up a small circular object.

Nancy took it from his hand, taking in the brass keyring. It had the initials F. H. engraved on it. Beneath, were the italics bold, courageous. She recognized the object. Thinking back to the night she'd helped carry pizzas into Frank's apartment, he'd juggled takeout and wrestled his key into the lock. She'd been struck by the keyring. It certainly belonged to Frank.

"Hardy means bold and courageous in French. Well, "hardi" that is. He had a family history phase. Got the charm made in Nantes. That's where our family comes from. Way back, anyway."

Nancy didn't know that. She thought for a second that it made sense. And their name certainly suited not only the brothers but their family as well. Bold and courageous. It was fitting. But she didn't have time to think about that. She returned the keyring to Joe.

"If Frank was here, where is he now?"

"And where is Ted Hollis?"

Frank

Frank glowered as Ted Hollis threw a rope at him.

"Tie yourself up," the man snapped. "If you mess it up, I'll shoot you." And he would. That much was apparent. He had a gun and it was pointed squarely at him. Frank wasn't afraid, but he was pissed off. He hated being told what to do. Especially by some psycho.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, knotting the rope around his ankles. Then, he started on his hands but struggled to tie them with his wrists pressed together.

"Shut up!" Hollis yelled and set his gun aside, wrestled Frank's hands together.

The older Hardy winced as Hollis pulled the rope tight, chafing his skin. But he gritted his teeth, determined not to show that he was in pain. He tried to distract himself, tried to keep the man talking to buy time. After all, if Hollis was in the storeroom with him, he wasn't hurting anyone, right. "Is this all about Callie? I don't understand."

"I thought you would understand. She's your ex. You'd know all about it."

"But I don't. She never made me want to her as you have." Frank meant that. He'd seen Callie's frustrating side. She never backed down in a fight, never let him win. She also never knew when to stop poking and prodding. But he mostly remembered the good times. "I always wanted more from her than she could ever give me. And she gave it to you: the marriage, the kid. If I was in your shoes, I'd be the happiest guy. I always wanted her to think I was enough."

"Well, I'm not. She wants me to spend less money, more time with her. She's always giving me grief about my brother like I can do anything about that. She never quits."

"I wouldn't either. Your brother isn't exactly going to win any prizes for his contributions to society, any day soon," Frank quipped.

Hollis smacked him hard across the face with the butt of his gun.

Frank tasted blood and saw red. "Take it out on me all you like!" he cried out. "But you're dumb as bricks if you think that'll solve this. You made this mess all by yourself, and you've dragged others into it, all because you couldn't walk away like a normal person."

He saw Hollis' face color. "I'm right, aren't I? You're acting out because you hate Callie. Well, let me tell you this: you're already in shit. You've hurt people, killed people. But if you bomb this art fair, you're not just a killer. You're a terrorist. A mass-murderer. You need to stop now."

"No. You need to stop." Hollis stuffed a rag in Frank's mouth and stepped away, pressing his phone to his ear. He spoke just loudly enough to hear him say, "you there? You've got fifty minutes to pay up, just like I said. Otherwise, this place goes up in flames."