Chapter 4 is now live! Keep your lovely reviews and comments coming! I've loved reading about how you all came to Nancy and the Hardys.

The prompt for today is: who is your favorite minor character?

I'll start! I love Callie Shaw, and Biff Hooper (basically the Hardy squad) and I've written some short scenes with them. If anyone is interested I'll put them up!

Joe and Bess started as they heard a loud thwack.

Frank had thrown his heavy book at the wall.

The three hadn't gone far. They were doing the only thing they could think of: sleuthing. Frank had spent hours on Nancy's alleged emails about Chircop. But he'd given up some time ago and was looking through all his legal resources, trying to understand the position Nancy was in, and find loopholes to get her out of jail. And Joe was back to council codes, their dad's case notes, and CPD's drug bust records.

"I can't do this," Frank exploded.

"Can't do what? Read? You're a nerd, though. It's kind of your forte."

Frank ignored Joe, raking a hand through his hair. The agitated movement caused his thick, dark hair to form jagged peaks, sticking out at all angles. At any other time, he might have looked humorous. But no one was laughing right now, no matter how hard Joe tried.

"I can't focus. I'm scared, Joe. I'm stressed. I need to move."

Frank was starting to sound like Joe, but he didn't care. He couldn't stay in one spot much longer. He had to get his blood flowing. He had to do something with purpose.

"I'm going."

"Where?"

"To… the gym."

As Frank grabbed his sweater, Joe started to move. But Bess's hand closed over his arm and her full lips mouthed "let him go. He needs space." Sure, but he also needed someone to make sure he wasn't going to do something dumb. Joe knew that wild, strung-out look. It was one he'd worn enough times to be wary of.

But Bess was right. He sunk back, all out of the fight, as his brother hurried out of the room.

Frank wasn't going to the gym. He'd always preferred exercise with purpose: martial arts lessons runs out in the elements. He just let his feet move, head far away.

He found himself outside the CPD headquarters, where he knew Nancy was being held. He still had a lot of blanks that Carson hadn't been able to fill: was Nancy being charged? What was their evidence? He'd of course looked into the IT angle. But there hadn't been much. Nancy's account had been neglected until recently when a password reset request had been filed. Since then, it had been used predominantly to email him.

He hadn't been aware that his own account had been hacked, as the responses had all been deleted, and his account hadn't been used to sign up to anything else. But he'd changed his password since. Maintaining his own email security wasn't tampering. Of course, poking around in hers was. But he'd found out what he needed to know: there was no way to prove that Nancy hadn't been the one to reset the password. He'd have to talk to her about internet security after all this was over. If it was going to be over.

Frank looked up at the imposing façade. If he could just walk in there…

He was wondering what his next move should be when he heard the sound of the electronic gates swishing open. An unmarked car was driving out onto the street. He barely gave it a second glance. But when he did, he saw a familiar, taut face behind the wheel.

Karen Chircop.

Frank hurriedly waved down an errant cab. "Follow that car," he said urgently.

"What's this, some Mission Impossible shit?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Whatever. I wouldn't know. Tom Cruise is a creep, huh? That Scientology stuff…"

Frank tuned out the cab driver's mutterings, focussed instead upon the car in front of them. It was gathering darkness outside, but the cab kept Chircop in their line of sight. He could see the two brake lights winking in and out of the traffic.

Chircop stopped at her house, and recognizing the street name from conversations with Nancy, Frank told the cab driver to drop him at the end of the street, away from Chircop's house. Then, he paid with a handsome tip and slipped out into the night.

He waited until the cab crept away, before approaching the small house. As he neared the front yard, the front door opened and Chircop wandered out, shaking a bag of cat kibble and calling for some invisible feline friend. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, now that he was standing on the periphery of her small yard. He hadn't planned this far ahead. But he hadn't come out here to sit and watch the stars. He couldn't waste this opportunity. He had to seize it and make the most of it.

With unfamiliar impulsivity, Frank waited for her to wander further into the front garden before he slid through the foliage, up to the porch and then inside the house. He glanced back outside. She was calling out, straining her eyes in the dark. He felt his way along the dark hall until he found himself in the kitchen. Karen Chircop's shoulder bag was sitting on the kitchen counter. Her firearm and phone were lying beside it, out in the open, for all to see.

When she returned inside holding an overfed ragdoll, Frank was sitting at the counter, holding her gun, which he pointed at her.

He had no intention to use it. But he didn't want her to know that. At that moment, he was overcome with anger and fear. The games had to end now.

"What do you want?" she asked, dropping the cat to the ground.

"Answers. I won't hurt you if you tell me what I need to know."

She stood frozen in the hallway, face pinched as she tried to discern his features in the gloom of her unlit home. She still wore her uniform, shirt untucked. And her hair was free and disheveled. Frank knew the look. He wanted her to be able to order takeout, sink into the bath to wash off a terrible day. But she'd brought this mess upon herself, without any heed for him or his friends and family. And he wasn't going to get the answers by being his usual kind, compassionate self.

"Answers about what? Who are you? Do I need to call 911-?"

"Please do. Then you can tell them about how you abducted Fenton Hardy. Where have you moved him to? And don't play dumb. We saw you at the warehouse."

She grew pale. "I didn't abduct him. I don't even know who he is."

"But you moved him."

"…I took some of the things left at the warehouse. That's all."

"For whom?"

She pursed her lips at that, fixing her gaze on her feet. He could see her trembling with fear, but she was brave, he could give her that. But he needed her to spill her secrets, split at the seams. If she resisted, he might not see Nancy again.

"Fine. Nancy Drew. What's your beef with her?"

Chircop's eyes flickered. "So, you're one of her friends? I should have guessed. Well, you tell her that I hate her. She's so pretty and perfect. She's had a perfect life. She failed my brother. She let him die. She can face her punishment. It's what she deserves."

"Not if it's all fabricated by you! You know who killed him. You know it wasn't her! Karen, if you're not the one pulling the strings, who are you working for? Who killed your brother? And who took our father? You have to tell me now. Before you go down for their crimes."

Her face fought for a moment. He could see her lips twisting, as she tried to find the right words. But it was her eyes that betrayed her internal turmoil. They were fearful. But not of him. Frank got the strange, heavy feeling, pressing in upon him. It was dread. He'd opened a Pandora's box. And Karen Chircop wasn't the crux of this. She might even just be a pawn.

"Karen-" he started to say.

Then, he heard it. Sirens.

"I heard something when I came inside," she hissed. "I triggered my alarm. You're going to go down for this. You and all your little friends."

Frank raced for the back door, as quick as a shot. Had he made a huge mistake?

"You did WHAT?" Joe exploded, as he watched Frank change into his pajamas.

Frank didn't reply. He was in shock too. His actions had been like those of someone else. He'd felt helpless like he was watching another person drive his body, his thoughts. But he'd do it again. He knew that. He cared too much about Nancy and his dad to let this all come undone. He'd had to do something.

Joe shook his head. "Tell me you wore gloves at least."

"I dropped her gun in her garden, and the gloves are in two dumpsters: one at a McDonald's and another behind a CVS two blocks away. I caught an Uber and two cabs. Besides, she never saw me. It's safe, Joe."

"You think? The police are over us like a rash."

"I think I know why," Frank recalled his conversation with Karen Chircop.

"And you believe her?" Joe looked skeptical.

"You had to see her face, Joe. She doesn't know who our dad is. And she's scared. Wouldn't you be too, if someone killed your brother and you had to stay quiet?"

"I wouldn't. Not if someone hurt you." Joe's eyes blazed.

Frank felt the hotness of love in his cheeks, the tightening in his chest. He flashed Joe a grateful look. "Yeah, but she's not like you. She's genuinely scared, bro."

"I wonder who she's scared of."

"And why. She's a cop, not some damsel in distress."

"Yeah, yeah. And she's got it out for your girlfriend. You might have just put another nail in Nancy's coffin, brother."