A/N: Okay, you don't really expect more information yet, do you? Not after all those lovely revelations last time! This chapter is Nancy-centric again, and hopefully rounds out her past experiences a bit more. I do promise we'll be moving on with the meat of the actual plot soon enough. Enjoy! And once again, thanks for all the reviews, folks! Your encouragement is incredible.

Chapter 8.

Her name in this place was officially Joan Foster, but to the person she had just spoken to, she was someone else: she was her real self. It felt so good to be called by her real name, even if it was just once a week that it happened.

Carson Drew always used her real name when they were able to speak.

'Joan' reflected miserably on this most recent conversation with her father. He had not mentioned Ned Nickerson, nor had she brought him up. She was apprehensive about what she might hear from Carson if she did. It was worrisome that her father had not talked about Ned in the past few months at all. Carson's reluctance to talk about Ned might be a sign that the young man was moving on with his life, and 'Joan' did not want to face that possibility yet. She didn't want to think that Ned wouldn't be there for her when she was at last able to come home.

She remembered it had been so difficult learning how her friends were bearing up in those first few months while in the protective custody program. She had been desperate to know how Bess and George were doing, especially George. As 'Marie Davenport' in Phoenix, she had had to wait an interminable two weeks before she was able to speak to Carson after she'd been secreted away from Chicago. Not knowing any details about her friends at that point had been making her crazy.

"Oh, Dad," she'd wept, during the very first secure phone call they'd been able to share. "It's so good to hear your voice. I've been losing my mind not being able to contact you or anyone else."

"I know, Nancy," Carson had replied, his voice obviously strained with emotion. "I'm just overjoyed that you're safe. I love you so much…"

"I love you, too, Dad," she whispered between tears.

"Nancy, your arm – are you really okay?"

"Um, it's a pretty nasty wound. Still hurts some, but it seems to be healing…Dad – it's been driving me insane not knowing anything about Bess and George…are they okay?"

There was a pause that Nancy did not like, and her fears that her friends' situations were dire increased a hundredfold.

"Bess is going to be fine," Carson answered. "She underwent surgery to repair the damage to her collarbone. She's in some pain right now, and she'll need some physiotherapy to help with maintaining mobility in the shoulder and arm, but otherwise she's expected to make a full recovery."

"Thank God," Nancy breathed, then was terrified to ask, "…and George?"

"George…" Carson said, voice wavering, "George almost didn't make it. Her injuries were extremely critical. The first bullet shattered her spine and the second one split her right shoulder blade, and she lost a lot of blood. She was comatose for a week, and she's still in very serious condition. She's paralysed, Nancy."

"No," Nancy gasped, overwhelming dread washing over her. "Not George…Oh, Dad, is it permanent?"

"I'm afraid so."

Beautiful, strong, athletic George, confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life! How could this be?

Why George? She'd wanted to scream. Why not me? I was the real target! It was me they wanted to kill. Instead, my friends are suffering the consequences!

"Nancy," Carson said, sensing that she must be feeling responsible for the tragedy, "George is thankful – we're all thankful that she's even alive. The doctors said that it was mostly due to her incredible level of fitness that she survived. Eighty percent of people in her situation would not have made it. It's a small miracle. You must not blame yourself for what happened."

She knew he was trying to raise her spirits, but it did little to improve her wretched state.

"Dad," she started tentatively, "do they know about me?"

"No. As of now, you're officially 'missing'. They can't know the rest of the story. It's going to be hard on them, I know, but it's the only way to guarantee that you're kept safe until the FBI can mount enough evidence to bring Gus Marouelli and his cronies to justice."

"And Ned?"

"Ned," Carson paused, mentally arranging his words in a manner that would be least upsetting to Nancy. Then he realised that being totally honest with her was the best option: "Ned's completely devastated; heartbroken. I'm so sorry, Nan. He's been dealing with it as best he can, though. Right now, the media is reporting that 'hope is fading in finding missing detective alive'. The whole thing has been very distressing for him. Some of those tabloids are really hounding him. He's had to leave his phone off the hook a couple nights. He keeps saying he just can't believe you're 'gone'."

Her heart was crushed at her father's words. Nancy had wanted to somehow telegraph her thoughts to the man she was in love with.

Ned, Ned…I'm alive! I never wanted to break your heart. Not like this. I'm so sorry you've got to be put through all this madness. Keep hoping, Ned. Don't let go of that hope that I'm coming back to you!

"And what about Hannah?" Nancy then asked, remembering their long-time housekeeper who was so much more than just hired help. "Dad, I can't tolerate the fact that she's got to be kept in the dark about this. She's been my surrogate mother. She's family."

"Hannah has taken it very hard, I fear. I don't know what I'll do when the time comes to stage your 'memorial service'."

"Oh God, are you really going to go through with it?" she asked, appalled at the notion.

"The Bureau is cooking up a plan to make it look like you died in a car accident. I don't have the details myself, but they assure me it needs to be done in order to make Marouelli's thugs stop looking for you. I think they're going to be doing it in the next few weeks."

"Then everyone will think I'm dead for sure," she said with dismay. The thought made her ill. What would her friends do? What would Ned do? Would he give up hope of ever seeing her again? What would come of their well-laid plans? The talk of marriage had been a frequent topic of conversation before all this happened. Were those dreams now going to be empty and buried, just like the casket that would be buried at her fake funeral?

"Stay strong, Nancy," Carson said bravely, at the conclusion of the call. "I know it's hard. But we're going to beat them. Just promise me you'll stick with the protection program and stay safe."

"I promise," she said through tears that were still streaming down her face. "I love you, Dad,"

"I love you, too, sweetheart."

As 'Joan' now sat on the poorly padded couch of the safe house in San Francisco, she wondered how many more weeks, months, or - Heaven forbid - years she'd spend like this, having to speak to her father on the telephone and relying on him for information about the state of things back home. At what point would she just give up, lose heart, and just wander around in a daze, living a life that was a lie?

How long until she bumped into someone else she knew who would blow her cover? How long until Marouelli's hitmen tracked her down and finished the job?

No. She couldn't start to think like that.

Don't let the depressing thoughts get to you, Drew, she warned herself severely. But even so, she was unable to prevent herself from rehashing the first call she was able to make after being whisked off from Arizona to Louisiana. It was at the beginning of January, a few days after the harrowing car chase in which they'd thankfully managed to lose her pursuer.

As 'Dana Farrell', she learned from Carson about the rumour going around that she had been spotted in Phoenix.

"Who said I was there?" she'd asked, trying to sound amused by the report.

"Lisa Scotti-Turner was in town for Christmas," Carson started to say. "There was a get-together, and Bess was there. She told Lisa all about the drive-by shooting and the recent finding of your car in the Lake. Bess said Lisa mentioned she could have sworn she saw you at the General Hospital in Phoenix where she works, back at the end of October. Then when she checked the chart, the name said 'Marie Davenport'. "

Lisa Scotti! The hospital in Phoenix! She'd completely forgotten her old school friend had married an Arizona native and moved there three years ago.

"Nancy, Bess is very upset about this," Carson said gravely. "She thinks you're in hiding and that 'Marie Davenport' is an alias you're using. She made Lisa promise to dig up that report of the hospital visit, the one belonging to 'Marie Davenport'."

"Dad," she said, trying to sound calm, "If there's one thing I can tell you, it's that I'm not in Phoenix." Not anymore, anyway, she'd wanted to add.

"Well good," Carson replied with relief, "good…Because Bess was all set to head up there to investigate herself. But Nancy, I do have some very sad news. We found out the other day that Lisa was in a terrible car accident."

"What?"

"She was apparently heading home after a late shift when she crashed through the guardrail on an overpass. It was a 30-foot drop."

"Oh no, Dad! Is she going to be okay?" Nancy felt as if the walls of the room were closing in around her.

"No, Nan. Her injuries were just too severe. Bess told me her husband decided to terminate life support. The traffic cops there don't have any witnesses, but they surmise she fell asleep at the wheel."

Nancy was extremely distressed at this latest development. That was no 'accident', she realized. Marouelli's men must have found out about what Lisa told Bess! They must have come to Phoenix, followed Lisa and somehow forced her off the overpass!

That means Lisa must have gone ahead and pulled up the report of my hospital visit, Nancy thought miserably. That's what they must have been after. If only my gunshot wound hadn't become so badly infected, I would not have needed to see a doctor about it.

But as soon as she'd shown Agent Phillips, he had recommended she seek immediate medical attention. Now, because of that action, a friend was dead.

'Joan' wiped a tear away that had slipped down her cheek. If that had been Lisa's fate, what, then, could happen to Frank and Joe Hardy if Marouelli's gang thought they knew something about where she was? She did not want to even consider the possibilities. She only prayed the Hardys would stay on the alert, since she was certain they would not flag in their pursuit of the truth behind her disappearance and supposed death.

The door to the safe house opened quietly, and 'Joan' looked up expectantly.

Agent Phillips entered with some supplies that were supposed to tide her over for the week, or at least until she was able to find a job and bring in a paycheck.

"How goes the job hunt?" Agent Phillips asked with a sympathetic look, realising she must have just been crying.

"Pretty poorly," she replied, forcing herself to respond to his question. "But it looks like there's a spot in the Tenderloin area that might be within my range as far as affordable housing."

"The Tenderloin? Not the safest place to be at night," Phillips observed. "You got your dealers and druggies, vagrants, panhandlers, hucksters…But it is low-income…"

Dealers…Druggies…vagrants…panhandlers...hucksters...

"Dealers and druggies…" 'Joan' murmured.

"What?" Agent Phillips asked.

"Nothing, really. I was just thinking out loud. Just thinking I wish you'd take me up on that plan I'd devised to get back home."

"Your 'plan' is dangerous," Phillips remarked dryly.

Undaunted, 'Joan' continued. "Look, I've been running here for a year. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to take it! I talk to my Dad once a week, and I can hear in his voice how much of a toll this is taking on him. I want to get back to my life, Agent Phillips. How much longer until they find me? And even if they don't find me, it's my friends and family that are being hurt the most. It's my friends that are ending up dead. If anything happens to Frank and Joe Hardy…"

"You can't wig out on me, Joan," Phillips said, placing strong hands on her shoulders. "We've discussed this before. Your 'plan' would put you out in the open. Even in the best of scenarios, that's far too dangerous for us to attempt. We are in the business of protecting you, not putting you in harm's way."

"I know that! I know! But how much progress have they made back in Chicago? How can you combat corruption when no one talks, and those that do end up dead?"

Agent Phillips stared at her.

"Please. You have to let me try." She knew she sounded like she was begging.

"Do you have a death wish or something?"

"No," 'Joan' retorted, upset at the insinuation. "But this – this existence – this is no way to live, either. You know I can very easily brush off the Witness Protection Program."

"You do that and we can no longer help you. You know that."

"I know. And I guess that's not what I'm asking. I want to go back to Chicago with your protection."

"Nancy-"

'Joan' was almost startled by Agent Phillips' use of her real name.

"I want to go back. I can do it without you, but I need you and the rest of the Bureau working the case in Chicago to help me. That's the only way we're going to be able to end this, and you know it."

Agent Phillips sighed. "You're really convinced your plan can work, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

"You've got to be patient, Nancy. From what I'm getting from my colleagues back in Chicago, we're getting very close."

"Will you at least broach the subject of my plan with them? I'm tired of feeling helpless. Let me take an active part in securing my own freedom."

"I'm not making any promises, Nancy," Agent Phillips said in a warning voice, "but I'll see what I can do. But just so you know, I still think your plan is flat-out suicide."