A/N: Yes, I have updated at last. We get a very Nancy-centric chapter. Once again, I am dropping very little in the way of explanation. That, I promise, will come very, very soon. (Like next chapter soon.) ENJOY!!

Chapter 6

A young woman with dark brown hair, who, if asked her name, would reply 'Joan Foster', was spending her morning hunting for a job and an inexpensive place to rent. The rising sun was doing little to burn off the fog that had rolled in thickly from the Bay, obscuring the famous landmark, the Golden Gate Bridge. It only added to the sense of sadness, depression and...doom...that's what it was. Doom. Gloom.

Of course San Francisco was a nice place, but she just felt so damned lonely. Seeing Frank and Joe Hardy had only deepened that sense of feeling abandoned and forgotten. It was better this way, of course, for almost everyone to think she was dead. That way there would be little chance of her location being leaked, little chance of being found by those who wanted to make sure she really was dead.

She was always the most impatient and homesick on those days that were specifically scheduled for the secured conversations she was permitted to have with her Father, Carson. He was the one person she would not have been able to bear being left in the dark about her predicament. As it was, he had been involved with the case from the very beginning, anyway. She knew he worried about her constantly, but had to hide that worry, and instead play the role of grieving parent. He had to be careful not to say anything to anyone that he knew she was not drowned in Lake Michigan.

While it was always a relief to hear his voice on the phone, it was heart-wrenching each time they had to end the call. Of course she could never tell him where she was, and he never asked, although she knew he was tempted to do so. Both knew that knowledge could slip out, however inadvertently. And that could have terrible consequences, as it had in the past, and as it very well might now that the Hardys had made her in New York. Time would tell how much damage that incident would cause.

'Joan', shaking these thoughts free, walked about Union Square, a four-square-block park in San Francisco, which was easily accessible by public transportation like Muni and BART. It was that very convenience that prompted her to investigate it for possible employment, also hoping there would be a place to rent that was affordable, especially for someone presently without an income.

The streets were quite busy with vendors peddling their wares, musicians busking, vagrants and other members of society's less fortunate. Traffic was very heavy, prompting 'Joan' to be thankful for the excellent transit situation, as having a car would mean sitting in congested streets most of the time – not that a car was in her reach at this time anyway. She fleetingly thought of that little third-hand Toyota she had been able to obtain back in New York...hopefully it had been thoroughly combed by agents and relieved of any evidence of her presence, just in case some assassin was sent there to hunt her down.

With her new driver's license, social security number and a lone credit card with a rather paltry limit, 'Joan' nevertheless tried to make the best of the situation. There was only so much the Federal Witness Program could pay for, and 'Joan' knew that aside from staying alive, her top priority was to find a living space and a job.

This was the fourth time she had had to do this – this job hunt where she would have to convince someone to hire her without the benefit of credentials, qualifications, educational background...The witness program staff was not going to provide false references for her. Something as near to anonymous as possible seemed in order this time, as Agent Phillips had suggested, after what had happened at the bistro in New York.

'Joan' felt her spirits sink. Having to lie to Frank and Joe had hurt more than she realised. She remembered the questioning look in Frank's eyes; knowing he recognized her, knowing he wanted to be able to help her. And Joe's gentle probing; causally mentioning how much she resembled Nancy Drew. He did that, she knew, to see how she would react, to see if she would let them in on what was going on.

Frank and Joe. They'd all worked together so well in the past. Those days seemed so long ago. They had all moved on with their lives, starting successful careers in their chosen fields. But in doing so, had drifted apart and lost touch.

And now with my life a shambles, the Hardys come crashing back in, just as unexpectedly as they always did, only this time their timing is truly horrible.

Back in the 'good old days', meeting up with them had always been a wonderful experience. Those cases they'd worked and solved together, even those in which their lives were in jeopardy, were child's play compared to what was happening now. Things seemed so insurmountable now. What, if anything, would the Hardys be able to uncover? Good Lord, even knowing she was alive was dangerous!

Well, whatever they found, Agent Phillips had promised to keep tabs on any development. His colleagues in the Chicago field office that were still assigned to her case had been notified, and would report any activity or inquiries made by the Hardys.

'Joan' sighed softly. How long would it take the Bureau to break the case open, make the arrests that needed to be made, and secure a conviction? It had already been a year since it all started. But it was evidence that was so sorely lacking...Proof of wrongdoing so hard to obtain...the parties involved so difficult to touch... How long would she have to remain in hiding, always looking over her shoulder for fear that the next stranger behind her held a loaded gun, intent on killing her?

She remembered the first time it had happened, a couple months after the drive-by shooting in Chicago. It was shortly after Christmas, and she had been returning from her little job at a small coffee shop in Phoenix, Arizona. Her name was 'Marie Davenport' then. She had just rounded the corner and was approaching her tiny apartment block when Agent Phillips had walked briskly down the street and intercepted her. Stiffly taking her arm in his, he turned her around and whisked her into a waiting car, with a driver all ready to take off.

"What's going on?" she had asked, picking up on the tension in the air.

"We think you've been found," he said tersely, closing the backseat door quickly.

"Are you sure?" she whispered to him, feeling a sudden dread as the car sped away.

"There's been a car parked outside your apartment for the past two afternoons. Yesterday, we made the same car outside your coffee place. We think you've been watched and followed. We didn't want to wait around to see if and when the guy waiting inside the car tonight would pull out a gun."

"Phil," the driver's worried voice broke in suddenly, looking back hastily at Agent Phillips.

"What?"

"We're being tailed. It's that car we've been watching."

"Lose them, now!" Agent Phillips commanded.

"I'll try!"

"Hurry!" urged Agent Philips. "Marie, get down on the floor. If this guy starts shooting, I don't want you to be any kind of target."

She remembered crouching on the floor, uncomfortably wedged between the front passenger seat and the backseat, trying not to get sick as the car swerved this way and that, took corners at top speed, the centrifugal force further disorienting her. Once she dared to raise her head and look up. The colourful Christmas lights that were still up in the storefront windows all blurred together as they whizzed past, and Phillips barked, "Keep your head down!"

She'd ducked even lower, crossing her arms over her head, as if that would somehow offer her protection from well-aimed bullets fired from a professional killer's weapon.

After what seemed like an eternity of enduring reckless driving, she began to feel the car slow perceptibly. She was relieved to hear the driver say the words she'd been praying to hear: "We lost him."

The 'Marie Davenport' identity was shed that night, and she was on her way to another city early the next morning in Louisiana.

Marie Davenport; Dana Farrell; Molly Jenkins; Joan Foster.

Arizona; New Orleans; New York; California.

How many more names? How many more states? 'Joan' wondered miserably, as she stood on the sidewalk, almost oblivious to the passers by. How can things have turned out so wrong?

Impatiently shaking her head and growing angry with herself for wallowing in self-pity, 'Joan' continued down the sidewalk, keeping her eyes open for potential apartment vacancies and 'help wanted' signs. But she could not keep her mind from wandering back to Frank and Joe Hardy, and the inevitability that they would be actively digging into her case. She was distressed by the knowledge that the deeper they dug, the more they were exposing themselves to the same danger that she had been forced to flee.