A/N: Okay, so I'm feeding you a little more info in this chapter, but of course not everything. Be warned: violence contained within. Enjoy nevertheless.

Chapter 4.

Rather than waste time looking up an address for a 'Molly Jenkins' in New York City, a search Frank instinctively felt would be futile, the Hardys instead started off from their hotel before dawn. Frank was at the wheel of a rental car, intent on driving the full 13 or so hours it would take to reach Chicago. Joe sat silently in the passenger seat, having totally relinquished driving duty after offering to share the task and being rebuffed numerous times. They were presently heading west on the I-80, and would be on that course for another 700 miles.

"I guess we're at the halfway point," Joe spoke up.

"Yeah," Frank muttered.

"Listen, Frank, I don't know what you expect to find in Chicago...but after what that Sergeant Garrison told you last night, and if we think Nancy really is under protection, do you really think it's wise to start digging around? I mean, you yourself said if Nancy was into something that required her to keep her identity secret, we should respect her wishes."

"What Sergeant Garrison told me is the very reason we're going to Chicago. It sounds to me like nobody over there gives a damn about what happened to Nancy. You didn't hear him, Joe. He sounded surprised I was even asking about her. He sounded – I don't know...like if Nancy's disappearance and presumed death was like losing a shirt button: a bit of a nuisance, but not that big a deal. Something stinks. It's like someone wanted the whole thing swept under the rug – and got their way."

"Don't you think we should have spoken to Mr. Drew first?" Joe asked. "He might have information we need."

"Maybe..." Frank mused, "that actually hadn't even crossed my mind...but I don't want to involve anyone unnecessarily. If we get stonewalled in Chicago, then we'll go see him. But I just want to get down to Nancy's precinct or district or whatever, find out what she was working on, and see if we can find out what happened to her and why."

"And then?"

"And then? Then we find a way to make it safe for her to come home."

The woman who called herself 'Molly Jenkins' knew that would probably be her name for only another few hours. A new one would be awaiting her when she touched down in San Francisco. She leaned back in her airplane seat, tried to get comfortable in the reclining position. She knew that sleep wouldn't come easily. It never did anymore.

Frank and Joe Hardy would not take kindly to being told to discontinue an investigation into her situation. Even if someone from the Bureau got to them discreetly, it would only confirm to them that something terrible had happened. And knowing the Hardys, they'd stop at nothing to see that things were set right.

Stubborn.

Tenacious. That's how she thought of them now.

But also dedicated and loyal.

Only this time what we're battling against is more than you can handle on your own, 'Molly' thought. The more you find out the more dangerous it will be for you; for me; for anyone else involved.

'Molly' felt tears of guilt and remorse stinging her eyes, and she quickly brushed them away. The memory of what had precipitated this nightmare was always hovering near the surface of her consciousness, hardly ever giving her a moment's peace. Even a year had not dulled its emotional impact.

Was it really a year ago?

A little over a year ago a person named Nancy Drew had just been promoted to Detective, the newest member of her department's Homicide squad.

A little over year ago, she had been partnered with fourteen-year veteran Thomas Morrison, and the pair had been assigned to a team investigating a series of brutal murders.

A little over a year ago, she had been getting to be friends with Tom Morrison's wife, a medical examiner with the county coroner's office, Dr. Debra Gray.

A little over a year ago, she had the love of a man named Ned Nickerson.

And alittle over a year ago, all that had suddenly, tragically changed.

'Molly' turned her head towards the window, watching the tiny pinpoints of lights from cities far below, trying not to let her seatmate see her battling with her memories, memories that threatened to completely undo her...

It had been a Friday in early October. The Fall evening was warm, and cousins Bess Marvin and George Fayne had come into Chicago from River Heights to visit their old friend, Nancy Drew. They chose an outdoor café for dinner, ready to do some much-needed catching up.

"It's so good to see you guys again," Nancy said, after embracing her friends warmly and sitting down at their table.

"You look tired, Nan," Bess said in mock reproach.

"It's been a real week," Nancy replied wearily.

"So tell us about it," said George.

"I'm not so sure you want to hear. Doesn't make for pleasant dinner conversation."

"Come on, Nan, lay it on us. Unburden yourself," George said encouragingly.

"Yeah...we miss hearing about your cases ever since you abandoned River Heights for the excitement of Chicago's mean streets!" Bess added.

"Mean streets indeed," Nancy said ruefully. "You've heard of this serial case going on here?"

The cousins nodded gravely.

"I read his victims have all been young women with dark hair, and that he strangles them with the electrical cords he finds in their houses," George said with a shudder.

"That's right. I'm one of the detectives working on the case," Nancy said. "Or should I say was working on it. I guess I still might, depending on what happens with my partner, Tom Morrison."

"Why, what happened?" Bess asked, concern crossing her face.

Nancy looked very solemn for a few moments. "This hasn't been an easy case at all, and we brought in the Feds recently to lend us a hand. It's an ugly case. There have been six women killed in and around the Chicago area, and today, unfortunately, we found a seventh."

"Oh, no!" Bess said in a small gasp.

"The most horrible part is who this seventh victim was..."

"Well, who was it?" George asked.

"It was Tom's wife, Debra. And now they've taken him off the case."

"Because they think he'll be too emotionally affected by it..." George said softly. "Poor guy. How's he holding up?"

"Not so good. He lost it completely when we walked into his living room this morning. Just seeing Deb like that..." Nancy closed her eyes as if to block out the memory of it. "Anyway, the whole department is shaken by this, too. Debra was with the county medical examiner's office, and a lot of the detectives had worked with her for a number of their autopsy reports and so on. Depending on what my commander decides, I may be off the case, too. But I don't want to be left out of this one. Deb was becoming a good friend. She just didn't deserve to die like that. I want to nail the guy that did this more than anything."

"These kinds of cases are a far cry from missing jewels, kidnapped heirs, and stolen art, huh, Nan?" George asked with a hint of irony.

"It is indeed," Nancy replied wryly. "It's really putting my detective skills to the test."

"Not that we didn't have fun on some of your cases, but I'm very happy to leave these horrible serial killing cases to you, Nancy," Bess said, taking a sip of her drink.

"Okay, guys, enough depressing talk. Time for gossip! What have I been missing on the home front?"

A look of relief crossed her friends' faces.

"You will never believe what's been going on," Bess started, her eyes dancing merrily.

"Hold that thought for just a minute," George said, rising from her seat. "I've just got to visit the ladies' room for a moment. So excuse me, I'll be right back!"

No sooner had George pushed her chair back did she suddenly fly forward onto the table, as if violently shoved there by an unseen force. At that exact instant, Nancy heard the squeal of tires and several popping noises – a sound alarmingly familiar to her ears. Immediately she knew that someone was firing a weapon at them!

"Get down!" Nancy screamed, just as she heard Bess cry out. Dropping to her knees, Nancy had a vague impression of a dark sedan speeding past them in the street, the tinted driver's side window rolled partway down; the successive flashes of a muzzle. Glass was flying about, and Nancy tried to shield her face from the debris.

Frightened screams from other patrons filled the night air, until the sound of the shots died away and the roar of the engine from the speeding car faded in the distance.

A burning sensation in her left arm brought Nancy back to herself as she cautiously stood up.

She put a hand to the source of discomfort and felt the wet, shredded sleeve.

I've been shot, the thought registered slowly. Oh God, what about Bess and George? Nancy looked wildly around. Bess lay crumpled on the ground nearby; her pretty features distorted and pained. Her upper right shoulder was stained with blood.

"Bess!" Nancy cried, rushing to her friend's side. "Can you hear me?"

Bess opened her eyes slowly, and through gritted teeth said, "Nan...What happened?"

"Someone shot at us. A drive-by. Don't move; you've been hit." Nancy pressed her hands to the only source of oozing blood, realizing the bullet must have struck Bess' collar bone and possibly been deflected, which would account for the lack of an exit wound.

"I think you're going to be okay, Bess," Nancy said, trying to sound calm. "Your collar bone may be broken, though."

"George..." Bess murmured weakly, "where is she?"

George...Oh, no...

Nancy sprang from Bess and was horrified to see George still sprawled on the tabletop, unmoving, bleeding profusely from wounds in her lower back and right shoulder blade.

Call for paramedics! Nancy's more rational side shouted at her.

"You! In the white," she called out, pointing directly to a waiter standing stock-still at the entrance to the indoor section of the restaurant. "Call nine-one-one now! Tell them we have at least two very serious gunshot victims here that require immediate medical attention! Report back to me that they're on their way. Got it?"

The young man, jolted into action, nodded and took off.

Nancy now took another quick glance around her at the rest of the restaurant patrons. A few appeared to still be in a state of shock, huddling together, and a couple of them were crying. As a police officer, she knew one of her first priorities was to secure the scene.

"I'm a detective with the Chicago Police Department," she called out. "Please, everyone remain where you are, and remain calm. If you need medical attention, sit tight – ambulances are being dispatched. I repeat, don't leave the area!"

When Nancy saw that no one, thankfully, was defying her order, she turned her attention back to her injured friends.

George appeared to be the most gravely injured, Nancy realized with alarm. She was unconscious and unresponsive. Nancy was relieved, however, to see that her friend was still breathing, however shallow those breaths were. Pulse, weak.

Please let those paramedics arrive soon, Nancy prayed. She knew George could probably bleed to death in a matter of minutes if a major blood vessel had been struck. But it was the ugly wound to George's lower back that caused Nancy the most concern. It looked frighteningly close to the spine.

What if she stops breathing? Nancy thought desperately. Do I dare move her? It could make her injuries worse. Can I make a 'life over limb' decision?

"Hang in there, George," she said softly, placing her hand over George's outstretched arm. "Keep breathing...just hang in there..."

With a modicum of relief, Nancy heard the wail of emergency sirens approaching.

"Molly? Are you okay?"

'Molly' was stirred from her thoughts by the concerned voice of her seatmate, Agent Robert Phillips. There was a dull ache forming somewhere in her head, and she knew her eyes were probably swollen and red.

"Sorry...Yeah, I'm fine. Just...memories, you know?"

Phillips nodded. He wished there was more he could personally do to help this young woman he was charged with protecting. He wished he could bring her safely home. This was surely no way to live, running and hiding because evil people wanted you dead.

One day, Phillips vowed. We'll get you home one day.