A/N: YES! The chapter you've all been waiting for! (Well, not really, but I did promise you more information this time around, and I'm giving it to you.) Please enjoy, and thank you, one and all, for all the encouraging reviews! You make this writer very happy. Please continue to send them – the story is far from being over.

Chapter 7.

Sergeant Matt Mahoney closed his door office door securely. Sitting down at his desk, he collected his thoughts, planning what he would say when he called Sergeant Joseph MacMillan. His own meeting with Frank and Joe Hardy had gone as well as could be expected. He hoped the information he had provided them with was enough to stem their curiosity and that they would leave Chicago satisfied, though he got the feeling they were withholding something.

And they still wanted to meet with MacMillan and with Tom Morrison.

Damn. Tom Morrison was the last person Mahoney wanted the Hardys talking with. Oh, well. He really couldn't begrudge them that request; they'd probably find a way to contact Detective Drew's former partner on their own, anyway. What a real mess this was turning out to be! If only those Hardy boys weren't so damn nosy. But, one really had to admire their determination.

Sighing, Sergeant Mahoney dialled the number he knew be heart and waited while the other line rang.

"Sergeant MacMillan," a deep, serious voice answered.

"Hey, Mac, it's Mahoney here…how're things?" Sergeant Mahoney leaned back in his chair, holding the telephone against his ear with his shoulder as he twiddled with the cord with his fingers. Then a rather upsetting thought entered his mind and he dropped the coils in disgust and irritation.

"Can't complain, Mahoney," came MacMillan's amiable reply. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm sending over some gents to see you. I was hoping you could make time for them this afternoon."

"Who, and why?" came MacMillan's swift, no-nonsense response.

"You might know their names by reputation: A Frank and Joe Hardy. They're asking questions about the Drew case."

Sergeant MacMillan exhaled slowly, emitting a low whistle. "Is that so? What have you told them?"

"The 'official' story. Nothing more."

"Good. So, what do you think they're up to, poking around like this?"

"Not sure," Mahoney said. "It seems the Hardys and Drew were real chummy a few years back. I've checked into that and it's true. The three of them were out solving some serious cases back when they were kids. Well, not kids, but you get my drift."

"Sure. So these Hardys are on the level, apparently."

"Apparently," Mahoney said cautiously.

"So, Drew and the Hardys…Old friends. Hmmm…Now they're here, I suppose, expressing natural curiosity into what went down, right?"

"That's what it seems like. Just the same, Mac, when you meet with them, be careful. Things are at a pretty precarious position right now. If the Hardys become more deeply involved, their interference could very well mess things up."

"I'll be careful, Mahoney," Sergeant MacMillan promised. "I know exactly what's at stake."

"Good. So, what time works for you?"

Mahoney hung up after confirming with MacMillan a time that he would be willing to meet with the Hardys. He called the cell phone number they left with him, and when Frank answered, let them know the time they would be expected.

It was shortly after twelve, noon when Frank parked the car in the driveway of the Drew house.

Apprehension almost made him freeze as he watched Joe get out of the car.

"Are you coming?" the younger man called out. Willing himself to move, Frank unbuckled his seatbelt and followed Joe up to the front door.

Joe pressed the doorbell, and stole a puzzled glance back at Frank, who slunk behind as if he were trying to hide.

"What's the matter with you?" he whispered under his breath.

"Nothing," Frank whispered back. "Just…I just don't know what we're going to say to him…"

The front door opened. Standing before them was a tall, lean, distinguished-looking man in his late fifties. His temples were pure white, and his dark head was attractively flecked with silver. His handsome face, however, was noticeably lined.

Worry lines, Joe thought to himself immediately. Who can blame him?

"Good afternoon, Mr. Drew," Joe said, shaking hands firmly with Carson Drew.

"Joe; Frank, it's good to see you. It's been too long." Carson said heartily, also taking Frank's hand. "Please, come in."

The trio entered the foyer and Carson led them into the spacious living room.

"Can I offer you two something to eat? Drink? I'm afraid Hannah has - taken some time off, so what you'll get won't be anywhere near her legendary desserts," the older man remarked with a wry smile.

"Uh, we're fine thanks, Mr. Drew. We stopped for a bite on the way over here." Joe said.

Carson simply nodded. "Of course. Well, have a seat then, won't you?"

Frank chose a club chair and Joe sat in a recliner next to his brother, while Carson took the roomy love seat opposite, so he could face them.

A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between the men. Joe shifted his eyes to Frank in an expression that said: Well, get started! Say something!

But it was Carson who spoke:

"You've seen her, haven't you?"

Stunned by the question, Frank and Joe stared at each other momentarily.

Frank looked directly at Carson. "Yes," he said slowly. "We have."

A pained expression came upon his face, and he looked away. "I thought so…When you called me today…I just had a feeling…"

"What's been going on here? Something is very wrong. We just had a meeting with Nancy's Sergeant, and he told us about the drive-by shooting a year ago." Frank tried to engage Carson in the conversation.

The other man was not meeting his gaze.

"Mr. Drew, what happened that night?" Frank pleaded.

Their host at last looked up, the stricken expression still haunting his eyes.

"Why did Nancy have to go on the run?" Joe prodded. "Everyone else thinks she's dead. We know now she's not. What happened?"

Carson closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"That night…I got a phone call from Nancy, telling me what had happened and that she was about to be transported to Mt. Sinai Hospital… You don't need me to tell you how shocked I was by the news that she and Bess and George had been shot. I was about to rush off to meet her there when the phone rang again. I was going to let the machine take it, but then I thought maybe it might be Nancy calling me back…"

Carson recalled that he gingerly reached for it, and answered slowly, "Hello?"

A voice, low and monotone said, "Mr. Drew…don't say a word. Just listen and do as I say: Get your daughter out of Chicago now."

"What? Who is this?" Carson questioned. There was no answer.

"Who is this!" Carson heatedly demanded once again, becoming increasingly unsettled. "What do you know about my daughter!"

A sigh came from the other side of the line.

"Look, we don't have much time," the stranger's voice on the phone became more audible, abandoning its earlier hushed tone. "The people who hired me to kill your daughter are real bad news. If they knew I was talking to you…"

"You tried to kill Nancy?" Carson exclaimed.

"No..! I mean yes, well, I was hired to, but…"

"But what?"

"Listen, like I said before, they find out I'm telling you, I'm dead. I may already be dead for not following through…"

" 'Not following through'!" Carson was incredulous. "What the hell do you mean? You shot my daughter in the arm, and another young woman in the back, and she may very well die!"

"Look – it was either your daughter or your daughter's friends, okay? I did the best I could to make it look good-"

"Make it 'look good'!" Carson echoed in a shocked tone.

"Hey - I can at least claim I missed the target because the friend got in the way. Now, I'm not gonna say it again. Take my warning seriously: Get her out of town right now, because I've got to make it look like I've done everything I could possibly do to eliminate her."

"But why do they want her dead? Who wants her dead? Who hired you?"

"What are you, kidding me? They don't tell me things like that. Just who the target is. But if the payoff I'm getting and the middle-men who contracted me are any indication, we're talking seriously bad people…Now quit asking dumb questions and get her outta Chicago. Because if I don't do it, they're gonna get someone else to do it, and they're not gonna stop until she's dead!"

"Why are you doing this? Why are you telling me this if there is such a risk to your own safety?"

There was silence for a moment, and Carson was afraid the caller had hung up. Then:

"Just consider it a favour being returned. You helped me out many years ago when I was in trouble. The fact that things still went sour in my life is no fault of yours. Now go and get your kid outta here!"

Then there was a decisive click on the other end.

"And that's how all this madness started," Carson said grimly.

"You have no idea who that caller was?" Joe asked.

"Not in the beginning. I was much too concerned about getting Nancy to safety."

"I see," Joe said. "So what happened after that? Did you report the call?"

"Of course I did. Based on the drive-by incident and that telephone death threat, the FBI stepped in and placed Nancy under protection immediately. That very night, in fact. The prevailing theory is that some very serious mob activity was going on – and it's been by an organization that the Feds have had their eye on for quite some time."

"That's what Sergeant Mahoney said, too," Joe added. "He's also going to put us in touch with Thomas Morrison and Sergeant MacMillan. We understand MacMillan's tactical team caught the drive-by investigation."

"Yes," Carson confirmed. "They were co-operating with the FBI."

"I'm not sure I'm all that familiar with organized crime in Chicago, Mr. Drew. Whose gang does the FBI suspect in the drive-by and the death threat against Nancy?"

"Gus Marouelli," Carson said grimly. "Crime boss. Runs numbers rackets, 'protection', guns, drugs, prostitution, you name it; he's in it."

"And Nancy's car…" Frank said.

"That was done to hopefully throw them off the scent. The afternoon after the shooting, I went in and reported Nancy's 'disappearance'. Of course, Nancy really 'disappeared' into hiding. Since the Feds knew that Marouelli's thugs had failed to kill her the night of the drive-by, and that the 'missing' story might be wearing a little thin, they staged an accident two months later in which the cover story was a diabetic driver going off the pier. Discovering Nancy's car was the real aim in that exercise. It was hoped that would keep Nancy out of danger while the Feds tried to build a case against Marouelli's organization. If they thought she was dead, they'd stop looking for her."

"And no one, except Nancy's handlers know her exact location, right?" Frank guessed.

"Right," Carson said with a sigh. "It's nearly driven me insane not knowing where she's been for the past year, but I know it's for the best."

While the Hardys knew Carson was being honest, his tone suggested he was deeply troubled and quite emotional about the entire situation.

"Mr Drew, we understand Nancy was working on the serial killing case before the attempt on her life. What possible reason could Marouelli's organization have for targeting her? Is there anything else about that night – anything at all – something Nancy may have said in passing, some minor detail that seemed insignificant at the time, but could be important now that might help?"

Carson looked uneasy. "Frank…What do you hope to accomplish by this?"

"Well, we want answers, just like you do," Frank said, a little taken aback by Carson's question. Why was everyone so seemingly against them investigating this matter?

"Answers…" Carson mused. "I'm afraid answers will not be easy to come by. I know you want to help, guys, but I'd advise you let the proper authorities deal with this one. They have the resources. They have the people in place."

Frank was getting frustrated. "If that's the case," he said, trying to keep his tone even, "then why haven't they brought the perpetrators to justice and brought Nancy home?"

Joe, with a warning glance, reached out and put a hand on his brother's arm. The gesture was obvious: Cool it!

But Carson understood. "Believe me, Frank, I want nothing more than to have my daughter safely back. But there is a right way and a wrong way to go about this. The situation is very delicate. I can't stop you from doing what you think is right, but the Bureau just might think you're interfering with their own investigation."

"But me and Joe – we're outsiders. We're not Bureau or CPD. We might be able to go places and get answers through unofficial channels. We've got to do something."

"Then my advice to you is to do it very carefully. If Marouelli's gang gets wind of what you're up to and thinks you're getting too close, you'll be next on their hit list." Carson's voice took on a wary tone. "That organization has been suspected but never convicted in several murder cases. That's how they work: those who try to testify against them never make it to the witness stand. I should know: I'm a criminal defense attorney and I've heard the rumours. Defense attorneys are usually thrilled when witnesses for the Prosecution don't show up, but when the reason they don't show is due to foul play, we're not so thrilled. The ethical ones, anyway."

"So Nancy's just going to remain in hiding until the Feds bring down Marouelli?" Frank asked, a stony expression on his face.

Carson did not speak but simply nodded. It seemed to Frank that Nancy's father did not like considering just how long her stint in the protection program might last.

"Mr. Drew, how are Bess and George? Do they know about Nancy?" Joe asked, trying to change the subject, and assuage his own fears about the recovery process of the young women.

"They're coping remarkably well, considering the circumstances," Carson replied. "They have no knowledge of Nancy's being under protection."

"That's gotta be rough, you keeping up this charade, lying to everyone you know…" Joe said.

"Funny you should say that. Bess in particular has not been buying the story that Nancy's dead," Carson said. "You see, something strange happened last year just around Christmas."

"What was it?" asked Joe.

"An old school friend of theirs, a girl named Lisa Scotti-Turner was visiting. Lisa used to be a nurse here, at Rosemont Hospital. She married and moved out to Phoenix with her husband Alan Turner, but came back to see her folks for the holidays."

"Yes, go on," Joe prompted, and Frank leaned in closer to hear the details of the story.

"A lot of the old school pals had gotten together for a Christmas party one day – Bess was among them - and Lisa of course, was shocked to hear about what had happened to everyone. But then she related that she could have sworn she saw Nancy, or someone like her, at the hospital that she works in Phoenix."

"Exactly when did Lisa claim to have seen Nancy?" Frank asked.

"A few weeks prior to that, around the end of October." Carson answered.

"Did Lisa tell them why this person looking like Nancy was in the hospital?" Frank could feel his heart beating faster.

"Well, because Lisa had only seen the person she thought to be Nancy in passing, and because she was making her rounds, she didn't get a chance to look anything up until later in her shift. By that time, the look-alike had been discharged, after having been treated for an infection in the upper left arm. But the name on the chart said 'Marie Davenport', not 'Nancy Drew'," Carson explained. "Of course, when Lisa saw that name, she decided it could not have been Nancy. She had all but forgotten about the incident until she found out about the drive-by and Nancy's 'drowning' in Lake Michigan when she came out here."

"But I bet Bess must have been wondering about that upper left arm thing," Joe said astutely. "Is there a way we can contact this Lisa in Phoenix?"

Carson shook his head. "No, sadly. And that's another reason why Bess has been suspicious about the whole cover story. Shortly after Lisa went back home, she was the unfortunate victim of a fatal car accident. Her car plunged off an overpass on the way home from work."

"You're kidding," Joe said, aghast. "And Bess somehow thinks there's a connection?"

Carson nodded. "I can't say I blame her, either. If indeed Lisa did see Nancy at the hospital in Phoenix, and she had details about Nancy's whereabouts in that city, whoever has been hunting Nancy down would have made a beeline for Lisa."

Frank shook his head. "Unbelievable. That means word of Lisa's encounter with Nancy in Phoenix must have gotten out and been heard by the wrong people. I don't like how this is developing at all."

Carson nodded. "Walls have ears," he said grimly. "Except these, of course. The Bureau came in and planted some bug killers in the house. No one is listening in to anything we're saying – just in case you were wondering about that."

"Mr. Drew, I'd like to be able to meet with Bess," Joe said, thinking now of the attractive, bubbly, outgoing and fun-living blonde. She probably wasn't quite so bubbly these days; not after the hellish experience she'd been through. "And George, too. We've got to know exactly what happened the night of the drive-by."

"I can let them know you'd like to see them," Carson said. "I think they'd be glad to see you. But I've got to warn you, Joe. Please – you can't let them know what you know about Nancy."

"Don't worry; we won't." Joe vowed.

Frank looked suddenly at his watch. "Uh, Joe," he murmured, "we'd better move. We've got to get back into the city for that appointment with Sergeant MacMillan."

"Don't let me keep you, then," Carson said as he stood up. "If you're going to truly pursue this, I beg you to be careful, and to consider what's best for Nancy's safety."

"Nancy's safety is my only consideration," Frank said solemnly.

There Frank goes again, Joe thought to himself, opening his big mouth and spilling his guts – in front of Nancy's father, no less! He might as well put up a billboard saying 'Frank Hardy loves Nancy Drew'!

In the car heading back into Chicago, Joe turned to Frank.

"You're starting to let your emotions get away with you."

"What are you talking about?" Frank asked.

"You know what I'm talking about," Joe replied. "You've always felt something a little more than a simple professional friendship with Nancy. Everyone knows it."

"Who is 'everyone'?" Frank countered, "you?"

"Don't play ignorant, Frank. You never pursued it because you and Callie were an item. And since that relationship didn't work out, you're finally thinking you have a chance to get closer to Nancy. And let me just say that if you're going to start making this as personal as I think you're making it, you're going to have lapses in judgment."

"I suppose you're an expert on lapsed judgment, aren't you, Joe?" Frank said coldly.

"Hey, that was a cheap shot, Frank. I'm only telling you as your brother. I'm all for helping get Nancy back to a normal life just like you and her father. But if you're doing it because you've got some notion in your head that because you're in love with her you can-"

"I'm not 'in love with her'," Frank spat, "how dare you judge my motives? And even if I was in love with her, then all the more reason why I should be involved. Because then there would be a guarantee that Nancy's best interests would be taken into consideration."

Joe stared at Frank evenly for a long time, then shook his head. "Forget I said anything. Just drive."

The brothers spent the rest of the drive back into Chicago in icy silence.

When they finally reached their destination of the 19th District, they were still not speaking to each other. Wordlessly they left the car and approached the entrance. There was a white man that appeared to be in his early 40's standing there, smoking a cigarette. He was wearing a bomber jacket and khakis, and his unruly hair was just beginning to show signs of greying. When he saw them approach, he dropped the cigarette and ground it out with the toe of his shoe.

"Frank and Joe Hardy?" he asked.

"Yes," Frank answered for the two of them.

"I'm Detective Thomas Morrison," he said quietly, shaking their hands in succession.

"We were hoping to meet with you sometime soon, Detective Morrison," Frank said.

"I know," replied Morrison. "That's why I'm here now. I also know you've met with my Sergeant, and that you're gonna be speaking with Sergeant MacMillan shortly."

"That's right," Joe said, then asked "what time is convenient for you?"

"Actually, I was hoping I could talk to you really quickly, right now, before you went up to see Mac," Morrison looked around carefully, as if afraid someone was watching.

"Why is that?" Frank asked, noting his sudden change in demeanour.

"To warn you," Morrison answered cryptically.

"About what?" Joe queried.

"Sergeants Mahoney and MacMillan. You're not from around here, so you don't know. Hell, most people in his station don't know either…But ten years ago, both Mahoney and Mac were implicated by some very shady characters in some very serious business."

"What sort of implications are we talking about?" asked Frank, suddenly feeling tense.

"That they had been bribed by crime boss, Gus Marouelli, and that they were actively, though secretly, recruiting cops from the ranks of the CPD."

"Are you suggesting that your Sergeants are crooked, Detective Morrison?" Frank asked, incredulous at the allegations.

"I know how it sounds," Morrison replied hastily, "and the charges never really made it out in the open, and Mahoney and Mac were never investigated. Look, I know you're here because of what happened to my partner. If you really want to get justice for what happened to her, you've got to know who you're dealing with. My advice to you: don't trust a word Jospeh MacMillan says."

A/N: Rosemont Hospital locale and character Lisa Scotti appeared in the Nancy Drew Mystery Stories #61 entitled: 'The Swami's Ring'.