A/N: You naughty reviewers! Bad, bad, bad reviewers. Wanting this to be a Frank/Nancy relationship story. Hmm…Isn't it much better to have that 'tension' between Nancy and Frank continue as it always has? Why ruin a beautiful friendship by getting into a romantic entanglement?

All I can say is this: enjoy the story! Otherwise, I can very easily turn it from a simple Mystery/Suspense to an Angst/Tragedy. (And don't think I won't!)

But seriously, folks. I think if you stick with the story, you just might find everything you want in a Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys story (within the confines of PG story, of course!)…if you behave long enough! Muahahahaaha…ahem.

Right. On to the next chapter: one which has some developments I think the Nancy/Frank shippers may have been waiting for, one which I already had planned, but wasn't expecting to use so soon. But ya forced my hand! This chapter is very important. Please enjoy it.

Chapter 11.

In her dream, there was a tall man, standing at a distance. His back was to her, but she could see his strong, broad shoulders; his lean but muscled body. She felt her heart surge at the sight of his dark brown head of hair.

"Ned!" she called out joyously, and started running to him.

The man turned around.

Nancy stopped short. It wasn't Ned. It was Frank Hardy. Instead of seeing the recognition she was yearning for, those brown eyes were filled with confusion…and something else…

'Joan' woke suddenly. Groggily raising herself from the small bed, her heart took a disappointing dive. It had all seemed so real. It would have felt so good to be in Ned's arms, even if it was a dream!

What was Ned doing now? Was he still mourning her? Could she really expect him to hold onto some small hope that she was really still alive? That she had survived against all odds?

The thoughts tortured her.

She reflected on the dream. It hadn't been Ned, after all; it had been Frank Hardy. While the two didn't look alike, she had to admit there were striking physical similarities between the two. The 'tall, dark and handsome' label could easily apply to either man. Why had Frank replaced Ned in the dream?

Staring into the darkness, 'Joan' tried to make sense of her nocturnal visions. That expression in the eyes of the dream version of Frank…there was a warmth and an intensity there, she was startled to realise. Impatiently, she lay back down and turned onto her side, convincing herself that she was getting fanciful; it was a dream after all.

Dreams are irrational, you idiot, her thoughts whispered in self-mockery. You're only imagining the attraction. You're in love with Ned, and Frank's in love with Callie Shaw. That's how it's always been; that's how it's always going to be.

Then her thoughts snapped back to the reality of her situation, and she made a mental note to ask Agent Phillips if he had gotten any word about what the Hardys were doing, and if he had made mention of her own plan to his colleagues working the case in Chicago.

With a sigh, she curled up into a fetal position, and again tried to get some sleep.

It was shortly before 10:00 a.m. the next morning when Frank and Joe pulled into the area designated for visitor parking near the apartment complex in which Bess Marvin resided.

The evening before, Carson Drew had contacted them and let them know Bess was eager to meet, and would welcome a visit from them.

"You'd better watch yourself, bro," Frank said in a teasing manner, as he shut off the ignition. "Bess always was flirty around you."

"Yeah, sure," Joe replied with a grin. "Though I don't think she's willing to see us just because she's desperate for someone to hit on."

True to their word, the pair had resolved not to tell Bess about seeing Nancy in New York. They planned to play out the visit as if they were there to officially offer their sincerest condolences about Nancy's 'death'. Hopefully, they would be able to ask her questions about the night of the drive-by without rousing her suspicions. They also hoped Bess would be able to remember if Nancy had said anything or voiced any concerns that would lead them to a reason why she had been marked for murder.

Frank rang the doorbell, and the brothers waited expectantly for the familiar fair-haired young woman to answer.

The door opened, but instead of Bess, the brunette, George Fayne, seated in a wheelchair, greeted them.

"Frank and Joe Hardy," she said with a smile, and manoeuvred herself backwards to allow them space to enter. "It's been much too long!"

While the two men were fully aware that George now required the use of a wheelchair, it took them a few moments of stunned silence to get over seeing her in that manner.

"Aren't you going to come in?" George asked, a bemused expression on her face.

"Hey, George," Joe said heartily, stepping inside. He felt a rush of sympathy and compassion for her, and bent down to give her a hug and brief kiss on the cheek. "It's really great to see you," he added as he straightened up.

"I'm glad to see you, too, George," Frank said, also offering her a hug and quick peck on the cheek. "We're surprised to see you. Mr. Drew didn't tell us you'd be here as well."

"I had to come," she said, in answer to his implied query. "Bess phoned me up last night to tell me that you were in town. Come on, you can follow me into the living room. Bess will be out in a couple seconds."

The Hardys had to quicken their pace to keep up with George, as she wheeled herself swiftly down the hall into a fairly large area that doubled as a dining and living room, with a small kitchen off to the right.

"Grab a seat," George said, and brought her chair to a halt in a corner that allowed her a view of the entire room.

Frank and Joe chose the leather couch, thinking to leave the matching recliner-type chair for their hostess, Bess.

"So, I guess you guys heard all about our little misfortunes and tragedies," George said matter-of-factly.

Frank looked at her with admiration. He didn't really know what state he expected to find her in, but from all accounts, George Fayne was talking and behaving as if she did not have a disability, or at the very least, was not bitter about it. Dressed in a black tank top, her long, graceful arms looked strong and toned. Her shoulders were heavily muscled, though not unattractively so. Her face had a healthy glow, her complexion immaculate. Quite clearly, she had not let her physically devastating injury prevent her from remaining active and fit.

Good for you, George, Frank thought triumphantly.

"Do I pass the inspection?" asked George with a small smile and raised eyebrow.

"Sorry, George," Frank said, aware that he and Joe had not responded to her first comment, and that they had both been keenly observing her. "It's just that it's still a shock to us. We were totally unprepared for the news that you'd been paralysed, and again, we weren't expecting to see you here today."

"No need to apologise," George said knowingly. "I do appreciate that it's a shock to you. It's been an adjustment for all of us. I know it takes a long time to get used to it."

"George, we're deeply sorry about what happened to you, Bess, and Nancy," Joe said solemnly.

"You've all been good friends to us whenever we ran into each other, for whatever cases fate threw at us," Frank added. "I know I valued Nancy as a friend - so I know how terrible it must have been for everyone when they found her car in Lake Michigan."

George's expression became grave as she nodded in response. "I was still in hospital when they found her car. I can remember that in the weeks before that, I really had no idea what was happening. Nobody would tell me much of anything. I mean, I knew we'd been shot at – I knew the extent of my own injuries and Bess' as well, because Bess would visit when she was allowed to. Nancy never did. I'd ask Bess why, and if Nancy was okay, but she was always evasive."

"What was I evasive about?" came a voice from the hallway connecting to the bedrooms. It was Bess.

Frank and Joe stood to greet her. They embraced each other affectionately in a group hug, and Bess apologized for not being completely ready for their arrival.

Frank and Joe sat down again, and Bess retreated to the recliner. If George's appearance had surprised them, so did Bess', but in a distinctly distressing way. While she was never really 'overweight' in the past, she was still usually on the slightly plump side. The effect of that little 'extra' weight served to make Bess seem more youthful looking. Today, the Hardys could see that Bess had dropped her weight by probably twenty pounds or more. Her face was gaunt, and her blue eyes held none of the sparkle and lively spirit they'd known. Clearly, Carson Drew had understated Bess' obsession with learning the truth about Nancy, and the adverse effect it was having on her health and look.

"So, like I was saying," George continued, breaking the awkward silence, "you, Bess, were reluctant to tell me what had happened to Nancy when I was still laid up and recuperating."

"Her doctors didn't think it would be wise," Bess explained to the Hardys. "They didn't want any additional stress for her."

"We only found out a few days ago about what happened," Joe said. "We wanted to tell you both in person how deeply sorry we are. I know offering condolences a year after the fact is pretty late to be doing so, but we offer them sincerely. Nancy was a great friend and a great detective. We'll miss her."

George shot Bess a concerned look as she muttered something indistinguishable under her breath.

"What did you say, Bess?" Joe asked.

"I just wish people would stop using that word 'was' when talking about Nancy. She's not dead. Until I see a body, nothing the cops, her dad, or anyone else says is going to convince me otherwise."

"Bess, please," George implored. "Don't start this again. You'll make yourself sick, or worse."

Bess clamped her mouth shut and angrily looked away.

Frank and Joe felt like they'd stepped into a long-standing argument.

"Guys, I'm really sorry," George said. "Bess hasn't let go of the possibility that Nan could still be alive, even after all this time."

"Don't talk about me as if I weren't in the room, George," Bess retorted, narrowing her eyes.

"Bess," George said helplessly, "don't you think if Nancy was still with us, we would have heard from her by now? Do you think she'd torture her father and Hannah like that? Would she do that to Ned? To us?"

"She would, if it was too dangerous to make contact with us," Bess shot back.

George shook her head in resignation.

"That's why I'm glad you guys came," Bess said eagerly to Frank and Joe, who were trying to decide how to weigh into the conversation. "You can help me. No one has been willing to look into the possibility that Nancy made herself scarce because her life was in danger."

"Stop, Bess," George pleaded.

"Nancy must be in danger, and because of that I think she's in hiding," Bess continued, ignoring her cousin. "Did you hear about what happened in Phoenix? Did Mr. Drew tell you? Another friend of ours swears she saw Nancy there, a girl named Lisa Scotti. And now Lisa's dead, under dubious circumstances, I might add."

"Um, I think he did mention it," Joe said uncomfortably.

"It was an accident, Bess," George said, with a tone of exasperation that indicated they'd been over this a number of times.

"They say it was an accident," Bess spat disdainfully, raising her fingers to make a 'quotes' gesture when she said the word 'accident'. "An accident…just like they want us to think that drive-by shooting was an accident. That we were all just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

George dropped her head in her hand in a manner that said, 'here we go again'.

"We know they never caught the people responsible for the shooting," Frank said soothingly. "We spoke with Nancy's commanding officer-"

"Sergeant Mahoney?" Bess said in surprise. "Probably told you that he was really sorry about what happened to Nan and that it was Gus Marouelli's gang behind it."

"Uh, no, he just said it was believed to be mob-related. Sergeant MacMillan and Mr. Drew told us about Marouelli," Frank answered.

"Whatever. If it's Marouelli, and they all know it's Marouelli, why haven't they arrested him? What is taking so long? If you ask me, that's all a smokescreen. Nancy must know something someone doesn't want her to know – whether it's that Marouelli guy or not – and because of it, that someone wants her dead."

"Bess!" George cried out sharply, pounding her fist on her armrest. "Nancy is gone! She's dead! We may never know why, and we may never know how, but we're all going to have to learn to live with it. Why can't you accept it? Why do you continue to torture yourself like this?"

Frank cleared his throat uncomfortably in the ensuing silence following George's outburst.

"We want to help you, Bess," Frank said carefully. "When we heard what happened, me and Joe – well, we resolved to get to the bottom of it, too."

He hated keeping up the charade, but knew he had to.

"Even if it means that at the end of our investigation we find out who was responsible for…for what happened to Nancy…we're going to stick with it."

"But you don't believe that Nancy's alive, do you?" Bess asked, searching Frank's eyes.

Frank, knowing that he would probably reveal his feelings if he wasn't careful, could not hold Bess' gaze and had to look away. Lying through his teeth, he dropped his voice. "No…I don't."

Frank's cell phone started to ring as soon as they opened the door of their hotel suite. The pair of investigators stepped inside and Joe shut the door as Frank answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Frank Hardy?" a woman's voice queried.

"Yes, this is he," Frank answered.

"Oh, thank God! This is Greta Forzani. You gave me your card a few days ago, remember?"

"Right!" Frank said, instantly recalling the woman who was the manager of the little bistro in New York's Greenwich Village. "What can I do for you? Have you heard from Molly?"

At the sound of the name 'Molly', Joe looked up in interest.

"No, she never came back to work, and I haven't got no answer at the contact number she'd put down in her personnel file."

"Okay," Frank said. "Has something else happened?"

"Yes, something very strange. I thought you should know, since you and your brother seemed so interested in Molly, and because I know you're such great investigators…This afternoon, a man came by asking about Molly."

"Really?" Frank's chest tightened with shock. "Did he ask for her specifically by name?"

"Well, no, he showed me a picture. Asked me if I'd seen her. I said, 'Who's asking?' and he goes, 'Her boyfriend'. So I'm thinking to myself, this guy is the guy Molly broke up with? 'Cause he was sorta shady-looking, you know? Dark hair; slumping shoulders; shifty eyes. I didn't like the vibes I was getting from him. I told him Molly didn't work here no more."

They know Nancy was in New York! Frank's thoughts shouted urgently. How did they trace her to Greta's place?

Joe was starting at Frank, impatiently awaiting details of the conversation.

"Greta, did he give you his name or anything at all?" Frank asked.

"Yeah, he gave me a number to contact him at, just in case Molly turned up again, he said. Told me his name was 'Ned', and that she'd left him and he wanted to patch things up with her."

"Could I please have that number?" Frank begged.

"Why, sure! It's 917-555-9264. It's a New York number, so I think he's staying somewhere here."

"Thank you, Greta," Frank said gratefully, "and if he comes back, I want you to call me immediately."

"Is Molly in some kind of trouble?" Greta asked suspiciously.

"Yes, we have reason to believe she is," Frank said. "In fact, if that 'Ned' fellow comes back around, call the police. Tell them he's been stalking Molly, and that he's possibly armed and dangerous. Okay?"

"Oh my God," Greta exclaimed. "How do you know this?"

"It's what we do, Ms. Forzani: we investigate things," Frank ad-libbed, "When Molly took off, we knew something had to be very wrong. We found out some very interesting things about her in the past few days, and we want to help her."

"Well, God bless you fellas for that," Greta said, "Molly was a real nice girl. I don't want nothing bad to happen to her."

"Neither do we. I beg you to be very careful from now on," Frank warned. He didn't want to alarm her by telling her he thought her life could be in jeopardy. But since Greta wasn't the only one 'Molly' had been working with over the last two months, Frank didn't think it was likely Greta would be harmed.

"I sure will, Mr. Hardy," Greta promised. "And you and your brother come back here soon, you hear?"

"We will, Ms. Forzani. Thanks again for calling us – your information has been extremely helpful. Good-bye!"

Frank shut his cell phone.

"What's happened? What did she say?" Joe almost could not contain himself.

"Greta Forzani, it seems, was paid a visit by someone claiming to be Ned. He was looking for Nancy. But from the description she gave me, it wasn't Ned."

"No way," Joe breathed. "How on earth did they know to look for her there?"

Frank's heart began to sink. "We've been so stupid! We've only been driving around in a rental car with New York plates for the past few days. Anyone could have noticed that."

"That's true," Joe mused, "but how did they know to look at Greta's restaurant?"

"Well, we paid our bill with a credit card," Frank muttered, deep in thought. "Obviously, whoever is looking for Nancy knows we're investigating. They must have run a check on our credit purchases. That's the only possible way they could have found Greta."

"Oh, God, Frank!" Joe said loudly, putting a hand to the side of his head. "Because of that, we led them right to Nancy's last known location! We could have been the cause of her death, and have been totally oblivious to it!"

Frank shook his head. "And that means whoever is behind this is watching us closely. Damn. We've been careless, Joe. If they eventually succeed in finding Nancy, I will never forgive myself!"

"At the time, we couldn't have known, Frank," Joe said reasonably, "we can only beat ourselves up for it for so long. We have to plan now what to do so it doesn't happen again."

"I guess now we know exactly why Nancy ran out that night," Frank sighed miserably. "She knew as soon as she saw us that we'd want to know what had happened to her."

"Then we can at least assume she's not around for this 'Ned' impersonator to find her. That's the good news. What do you want to do next?"

"I'm going to call this number Greta gave me right now," Frank said with resolve. "See who answers."

"Are you sure that's safe? Shouldn't we give it to the CPD?" Joe asked.

"No," Frank said slowly. "I'm not so sure who we can trust there anymore."

"Why not?" Joe questioned, a confused look on his face.

"Something Bess said," Frank replied. "Think about it, Joe: We've heard so far that the cover story for the drive-by was that Gus Marouelli's gang was doing it to scare Carlo Fatelli, because he refused to pay them for 'protection'."

"Yeah…" Joe said slowly.

"But because of the call received by Mr. Drew, we know that's not the case. We know that it was a deliberate attempt on Nancy's life. It was Nancy's extreme fortune that the fellow hired to do the job had his resignations about doing it and botched the job."

"So what?" Joe asked.

"So why does the CPD still insist that Gus Marouelli is involved? What proof do they have that it's Marouelli that ordered the hit on Nancy?"

"You're right," Joe said in agreement.

"I keep thinking about what Nancy's partner, Tom Morrison said – that Sergeants Mahoney and MacMillan were once suspected of being on Gus Marouelli's payroll…What if Nancy found irrefutable proof of that, and then they tried to have her killed?"

"It's possible," Joe said thoughtfully, "but why would they point the finger at Marouelli if they were working for him?"

"It could all be a bluff! They can say they think it's Marouelli's gang, but drag their feet investigating him. Claim they're never going to find any proof because he's so 'untouchable', when they never really work to bring him to justice. That way, no one ever looks at them for trying to have her killed."

"That is a very scary theory, Frank," Joe murmured, "and it means we've stumbled onto something we may not be able to handle. If these guys have been able to track our every move, we're not safe. We can assume they know that we know Nancy's alive…"

"I know," said Frank, "and that means we could be in serious trouble."

"Are you sure that making that phone call is such a hot idea after all?" asked Joe.

"Maybe not," Frank answered. "If I do, it wouldn't be too difficult for them to trace it right back to us…"

Just then, the cell phone rang again.

"Hello?" Frank answered.

"Mr. Hardy? This is Detective Thomas Morrison."

"It's Detective Morrison," Frank whispered to Joe.

Joe nodded quickly.

"Good evening, Detective," Frank said. "What's up?"

"We never really got to talk at length the other day. I was hoping you and your brother could meet with me tonight. There are some things I hope we can discuss."

"Sure, Detective," Frank said, "when and where?"

"Uh, I was thinking 'Santorini'. That's in Greektown. You like Greek food?"

"We'll eat anything," Frank said dryly. "How do we get there?"

"It's 800 West Adams Street," Morrison informed Frank. "Can we meet in about an hour's time?"

"Yeah, I think we can," Frank said in affirmation, and hung up.

"So what's going on?" Joe asked.

"We're headed to Greektown to meet with Detective Morrison. Maybe he will be able to provide us with answers as to what Nancy was up to before she had to go into hiding."

"Just the same, I think we ought to be on high alert," Joe said. "I don't know if we should be trusting anyone!"

"Agreed," Frank said.

Navigating for Frank, Joe, from the front passenger seat, held a map of Chicago on his lap.

They had just merged onto the Kennedy Expressway when the engine started racing. The speedometer began to climb as Frank started in bewilderment.

"What are you doing, Frank? Do you want to get nabbed for speeding?" Joe asked.

"I'm not doing it," Frank answered in a confused voice. He took his foot off the accelerator pressed the brake pedal forcefully, but the car continued to increase in speed. "The brakes won't respond!" he cried out in alarm.

Joe was becoming more unsettled. "What's wrong? What's happening?"

"The car's not responding to anything I do!"

"Pull the parking brake!" Joe yelled.

Frank grabbed the lever and pulled – to no effect. "It's seized up! It's not working!"

By now, the speedometer had climbed past 85 miles per hour, and was continuing to climb.

Frank was using all his skill to avoid other drivers who were abiding by the speed limit. Several honked madly at them as the car rushed recklessly by.

Palms sweating, Frank once again tried the brakes. Again, the car failed to slow. He was continuously honking the horn himself now, hoping to alert other drivers that he was barrelling through. The last thing he wanted was to cause an accident, though that seemed inevitable.

They were quickly approaching an exit. The speedometer read 105 miles per hour. Frank flipped on the indicator.

"I'm headed for that exit," Frank informed Joe. The car flew across the road to the right, tires squealing as Frank forced the car to obey the direction he was turning the steering wheel. The centrifugal force pulling them to the left, and Joe held on to the door handle.

They heard the side of the car grating against the concrete barrier. Frank's side mirror was torn off, and it bounced and clattered to the asphalt behind them.

We're going to die, Joe thought to himself. Unless we can stop this car safely, we're going to die. I just hope we don't take anyone else with us!

The car continued to roar along, despite Frank's efforts to stop it. He tried pulling the parking brake again, to no avail.

To their horror, they were fast approaching a busy intersection. Looking up at the light, Frank's breath caught in his throat. It was red, and just entering the intersection was a large transport truck.

"Hold on, Joe!" Frank cried out, trying to turn the car so they would avoid a direct collision.

"Frank, get your head down, now! Just duck!" Joe shouted in desperation.

There was a deafening crash, and a sickening, scraping sound. The smell of hot metal, rubber and exhaust filled their nostrils as the car's roof and windscreen was caught and mangled beneath the truck's bed.

The truck's brakes moaned loudly. After a series of jerks, it last came to a stop.

Joe opened his eyes. Darkness.

No pain. This is good. Movement? He flexed his fingers and wiggled his toes. Everything seemed in working order.

"Well, I don't think we're getting our damage deposit back," Joe quipped from his uncomfortable position. His head and shoulders were pinned between his knees and the dashboard. He dared not raise his head. He was just thankful he still had a head. He knew he could have easily been decapitated.

"Frank?" Joe called out carefully, his voice muffled.

There was no response from the driver's side.