I hope you enjoyed the last chapter. Your reviews were so wonderful and meant so much. Fenton and Joe are going to have a bit of a heart to heart in this one.

Laura let Joe stay home from school that day. Joe was glad for it. He wasn't sure he would be able to face anyone on the wrestling team, including Biff. He certainly didn't want to be in any building Watkins was in.

Frank called by his room that morning, trying to get Joe to talk about what had happened. Joe refused.

Despite his throat being dry, Joe didn't go downstairs until he heard Laura's car leave. Frank would be inside, getting a lift to school. Joe would be home alone. He would try to work out his next move.

A terrible part of him longed for Marsden back. He least Joe knew what would have happened if he had messed up so badly. And he would know what he needed to do – stay away from Marsden until he calmed down and welcomed him back.

There was someone in the house. Joe realised that as he made his way down the stairs. He could hear movement from the sitting room.

Fenton.

Joe had hoped the detective had run off to New York again, left him alone. Things were easier when Fenton wasn't there. Joe was getting pretty good at navigating things with Frank and Laura. They were both so patient with him. they let him speak.

He prepared to turn, go straight back to his room, but the movement made a noise. He heard silence fall over the sitting room. Fenton had heard.

"Joe?" he called.

It wasn't the sort of implied order to come over that Marsden would have worked into the name. It was more of a question. Fenton wanted to know if the noise he had heard had really been his son. Joe was sure the detective already knew the answer, however. He supposed Fenton was trying to work out whether Joe was prepared to speak to him.

"Coming," Joe said.

He moved into the sitting room. Fenton was sitting on the sofa, the coffee table pulled up against his knees. He had a file spread across it.

Joe stood to attention on the other side of the table. That was what Marsden would have expected him to do.

Still, Joe couldn't stop his eyes from wandering down to the file in front of the detective. His heart sank when he realised it was about him. There was a list of all the crimes he had confessed to, photographs of the bruises he had had when he had gone to the police, piles of statements from various witnesses.

"I want to apologise," Fenton said. "I made a mistake last night. I never should have threatened to send you away."

"You already apologised," Joe said, tensely.

"But you didn't accept it."

"Because you lied."

Fenton sighed and nodded.

"I did lie," he admitted.

He asked Joe if he wanted to take a seat. Joe decided to stay standing. He preferred it that way. If Fenton did decide to take a swing at him, the coffee table would block his path. From a standing position, Joe could be out of the house by the time Fenton was out of the sitting room.

"I'm sorry I lied. I never meant to hurt you. I… The things you've been through, Joe. It would be hard enough getting you to adjust to a normal family environment and, despite my best efforts, this is not a normal family. You have been forced to swing to the complete opposite end of the spectrum, from living with criminals to living with a detective. And you are coping so much better than anyone could have hoped."

"You had to pull me off a kid," Joe said.

He wasn't sure why he was reminding Fenton of that, why he was giving him ammunition against him. Fenton sighed.

"From what I have heard about that young man, I can't imagine it wasn't at least somewhat provoked. And from reading your file… You lived your life for ten years being taught violence was not only acceptable, it was the correct response. I've read some of the statements you gave and they break my heart."

"I told the police that on the promise they never let you read them," Joe snarled.

"I begged them to. Joe, I keep going to New York because I know your past hasn't let you go yet. There are still people there who want to hurt you and that is not something I am ever going to be able to accept. That's what happened. You remember a man named Vinnie Pawley?"

Joe's blood turned to ice at the name. He nodded. Vinnie Pawley was a cheap man's contract killer, an ex-military thug who had a reputation for staging random muggings to take down people's enemies for the reasonable price of ten thousand dollars a kill.

"You gave a statement about him. You said he once came to the Brampton House for dinner, that Mr Brampton and him talked in his office a little while later."

Joe nodded. His throat was too dry for him to get out words.

"You said it seemed like they were making a deal and you knew who Vinnie was so you knew what sort of deal it was."

"Esther Rook," Joe managed.

That was the name of the woman Vinnie had killed for Mr Brampton. Mr Brampton had been trying to get his hands on an old theatre building cheap and Esther Rook had been the head of the group trying to keep it open. Joe hadn't met her but he'd followed her, knowing what Vinnie had been about to do. He wasn't sure why. He had only been twelve and Vinnie was a mountain of a man. Joe had been unable to stop Vinnie from killing her. He'd not even been able to find it in himself to make an attempt. He'd just watched from the shadows as Vinnie pulled out his gun and fired off two shots.

But Esther Rook had a daughter, six years old, who had been with her mother when Vinnie had decided to make his move. And the moment Vinnie had turned the gun toward her, Joe had reacted. He could remember shouting for the girl to run, tackling Vinnie and trying to knock the gun from his hands. Within moments Joe had been pinned to the concrete of a parking lot, a hand clamped on his neck, a gun pressed to his forehead.

Vinnie had recognised him as Mr Brampton's son. He'd pistol-whipped him into a daze, shoved him into his car and drove him back to the Brampton house, said they either kept him quiet or he'd be silenced forever. The Bramptons had called Marsden who'd kept Joe tied to a chair in his office so he could check the pistol whip hadn't done serious damage and then he'd beaten enough sense into Joe that he'd never talked about what had happened with Esther Rook until he had found out who he really was.

"Vinnie was arrested the early hours of yesterday," Fenton said. "They convinced Brampton to give evidence against him in return for giving him a lighter sentence in regards to what happened with Esther Rook. Brampton was able to give the police other names, people Vinnie killed, people who paid him. But I have a feeling there are still people on the take in the police force, like Walker was. And I was nervous that Vinnie might get jumpy."

Joe shook his head, saying Vinnie wasn't the sort to run. New York had been his hunting grown for far too long.

"He's the sort to kill witnesses," Fenton said. "Brampton. You. You were in danger. So I went out and made a citizen's arrest. Unfortunately, Vinnie got in a few good blows before I was able to take him down. It's not over. There are still a lot of people in New York who mean you harm but I get enough of the bigger fish arrested and the smaller ones will decide it's not worth the trouble."

He nudged the coffee table away, patting the sofa beside him. Joe moved to sit down in the armchair instead. He could see the pain in caused Fenton to see him being so weary but the detective didn't comment on it.

"I really like it here," Joe said tightly. "I like Bayport. I like my friends. I like you guys. But it is so hard sometimes. I'm not used to… All of this. And I'm trying to learn but it feels like I have to relearn everything. And I am terrified if I screw up I am going to lose all of this."

"You're used to living precariously," Fenton said. "Safety is hard to adjust to."

Joe shook his head, saying that it was more than that.

"This life is worth having. In New York, I was fighting to keep that life because the other options were horrific. Now, I want to go to school and I want to be on the wrestling team and I want to eat meals with Frank and Laura and I want to-"

Joe winced. He realised he had missed off a name. He glanced toward the door, planning his route. But Fenton managed a sad smile.

"I do keep leaving, don't I?" he said. "I promise you, it is for a good reason. But I understand this too. I'm not there and, even if I was, you don't have very good experiences with detectives or the police."

"I'm trying…"

"I know you are," Fenton said. "Everyone knows it. Look, they won't need me in New York for at least a few weeks. I'll tell Sam I'm taking leave. I'll be a stay-at-home dad for a bit. But don't feel obligated to spend time with me. I have plenty of files I need to reorganise if you have things you would rather be doing."

Joe nodded, he shifted in his seat.

"It terrified me when you said you wanted to send me away."

"I was scared. Vinnie knew you were my son. He made threats about you, about Frank, about your mother. When he was being taken away, he said that he was going to make sure you never saw your fifteenth birthday. After hearing that in the morning, you getting out of the car at night to walk home alone… it terrified me. But I overreacted. I didn't think about what me saying that might do to you. I am so sorry."

"Apology accepted."

A silence settled over them. Both shifted about, trying to find some topic they could bring up. Joe's eyes fell upon the folder in front of Fenton. There were lots of names in the statements he had given. Ten years' worth of seeing the worst side of New York. Joe wondered if Fenton was hoping he would talk about it. He didn't feel like it. He wasn't sure if he would ever feel ready to discuss those things with his parents. It had been almost easier with the cops, despite how much Joe had hated them. At least then he had been able to shut down all emotion, tell himself the horror and pity they were giving him was fake.

Fenton's phone buzzed. Joe raised an eyebrow at it as Fenton reached for the phone.

"I called Doctor Miller first thing this morning," Fenton said. "Watkins had already called him about what happened. I wanted to discuss steps moving forwards. He has suggested a martial arts coach who specialises in teaching children with anger management issues and he wants to try you on a different type of therapist."

Joe's brow furrowed.

"But I like him."

"In addition to him," Fenton rushed to assure Joe. "He was thinking he might try you with an art therapist. He through it might help you open up a little since you seem to treat conversations like you are playing a game of chess."

Joe shook his head sceptically, saying he wasn't sure painting pretty pictures was going to really help him. Fenton said he didn't think Joe was going to be forced to paint fruit bowls.

"He almost mentioned that it might make it easier for you to attend these extra therapy sessions if a few of them were sessions with other people. You and Frank. You and Laura. I think me and Joe might find it very beneficial to go to a few together, see if we can stop playing chess with each other and actually talk."

"I'd like that," Joe said, smiling.

Fenton and Joe spent the day playing video games. Fenton knew, in different circumstances, Laura might have admonished him for spending the entire day doing nothing productive but Fenton knew she would understand that the goal had been to spend time with Joe. And they had been working pretty well as a team by the time Frank arrived home from school.

Frank was not alone as he walked in the front door. Chet, Iola, Biff and Callie were all in tow, talking loudly and excitedly. Biff and Chet were looking a little worse for wear, looking like they had been in a scrap.

"What happened?" Fenton asked, getting an icepack for a swelling bruise around Biff's eye.

"Frank needed a distraction," Chet answered.

"For what?" Joe questioned.

Frank reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a golden medal. He held it up proudly.

"Couldn't stand to see Watkins with it. He had it pinned up in his office like some sort of hunting trophy," Frank proclaimed.

Fenton raised an eyebrow. He looked about to scold his son before his eyes trailed onto Joe. The boy's eyes had lit up, looking between his friends in disbelief.

"You did that for me?" Joe asked.

"Of course," Biff told him. "Will's a nightmare. He goes around looking for a fight after every match he loses."

Frank had the honour of hanging the medal around his brother's neck.

"Back where it belongs."

Fenton got snacks for his sons and their friends, letting the six hang out in the garden. He was ecstatic to see his sons so happy. The pain in his neck, the stinging of his black eye, none of that mattered knowing his boys were safe and happy. He would take ten times the beating to ensure his boys got moments like the one they were enjoying in the garden.

He was just preparing a pitcher of lemonade for them when his phone rang. It was Detective Grover. He had been the one heading up the attempt to arrest Vinnie. He had not been particularly happy when Fenton had marched the man into police headquarters the day before but he had accepted Fenton's reasoning that they couldn't let such a dangerous man stay out on the streets. Grover had a son and a daughter of his own after all – he knew what it was like to be a father.

Fenton had specifically asked Grover to call him with any new information. Just because he was planning to stay in Bayport for a bit didn't mean that he couldn't keep on top of the situation in New York.

"Did they find anything on Vinnie?" Fenton asked.

He needed to know. He had a terrible hunch about something.

"Not on his person," Grover said. "But the guys just finished searching his house."

"And?" Fenton said, impatiently.

"It looks like he had a new job. Ten times his usual fee."

Fenton gave a long low whistle. After what Joe had done, the power structure of New York's criminal element had begun to shift. Clearly Vinnie had been one of those who had moved up in the world.

"Who was he contracted to kill?" Fenton asked.

"It wasn't a hit," Grover said. "A kidnapping. But it's in code."

Fenton scrambled to grab the notebook Laura normally wrote out her grocery lists on. He asked Grover to tell him what the code was.

"Kidnap $10,000 – JIH – BP, OLH – Mauve."

"Mauve?" Fenton said. "You're sure it says Mauve?"

"Why?" Grover asked. "That make any sense to you?"

Fenton grimly said it made a lot of sense. He thanked the detective, saying he would be back in touch. Then he studied the page.

JIH had to stand for Joseph Irving Hardy, Joe's full name. Clearly he was the intended target of the kidnapping. Mauve must have been hiring Vinnie to try and abduct Joe again. Fenton wondered if that was what Joe's life was going to become, a string of progressively more serious kidnapping attempts.

BP, OLH. Fenton took a few moments to make sense of it. BP had to stand for Bayport but OLH didn't match up with any of the places Joe normally frequented. But then again, it couldn't be the place Joe was going to have been taken from because there was no time or date to go along with it.

It had to be where Joe was going to be delivered to once he had been abducted.

Fenton jumped as a figure hurried into the kitchen. It was Iola. She grinned when she saw the lemonade, saying she had just come in to get a drink.

"I'll bring it out in a moment," Fenton said. "Can I ask you a question. Some cops are looking at a series of texts and someone put down OLH for a location in Bayport. They can't work out where it could be. Do you have any teenaged insight?"

He asked as casually as he could. If he made her suspicious she was sure to pass those suspicions on to his sons.

"OLH? Uh… Probably Robson's Point, the abandoned lighthouse there is normally called the Old Light House."

Fenton thanked her.

He waited until his sons were asleep before Fenton left the house. He told Laura he was just checking something for a case. He didn't want her to worry. Still, he couldn't stop himself from checking that she would be able to get to the gun he kept in the house if something happened while he was away.

Then he drove out to Robson's Point.

The night was eerily still as Fenton made his way toward the old lighthouse building. It hadn't been operating in all the time he and his family had lived in Bayport and had begun crumpling down long before that. But that didn't mean it wasn't still used. A lot of kids went to the Old Lighthouse to drink or hang out when the weather turned bad. It wasn't safe but it had been unsafe for long enough that no one really believed they would be the one it fell down on top of.

Fenton had no trouble getting past the metal fence meant to seal the place up. It had been permanently open for years.

As he approached the building, he tried not to imagine the terror his son would have felt being dragged into the lighthouse by a killer, being taken away from his home to be handed over to Mauve.

The ground floor of the lighthouse was simple. There was a set of spiral stairs leading up to the light and three rooms coming off the circular entrance hall. The three rooms had been the living space for the lighthouse operators. Fenton pulled out his torch and looked around.

The beam glinted off something metal in one of the rooms.

He closed in on it, feeling sick.

It was a cage. A heavy-duty metal cage with pieces of boarding to create a continuous floor over the bars on the bottom. It only reached Fenton's waist in height but there was more than enough room to lock away a teenaged boy. And there was a note attached.

"Call original number and declare package delivered. Boat will come to pick up JIH within the hour," Fenton read aloud.

He pulled out his phone, preparing to call Collig. They could come up with a plan, maybe get a proper lead on Mauve so he wasn't just chasing rumours. That had been the entire reason he had been so interested in Vinnie in the first place. He had heard rumours Vinnie had been approached about a big job and his gut had told him Mauve had been involved. Grover had simply confirmed that.

Just was Fenton went to make the call, the shadows around him moved. He turned to get a better look, seeing a fist swinging toward him. The blow dazed him. He stumbled, catching the side of the cage to keep himself upright. He felt a hand grab at his neck, felt someone swinging his head around.

And then he was slammed face-first into the cage. He'd lost consciousness before he hit the floor.

Fenton came around still in the lighthouse. He felt nauseous as he stood, holding his head. He was alone in the room. Whoever had attacked him had gone.

And they had taken the cage. Fenton was a little glad he didn't have to see the sickening sight of a cage intended for his son but then came the rage. He had lost his viable lead. He felt like he had failed Joe entirely.

Mauve was beginning to really dislike the Hardys. First Frank and Joe escape what he had to admit was a somewhat misjudged kidnapping attempt. Then Fenton Hardy arrests the man he had wanted to abduct Joe before Vinnie had even had a chance to travel to Bayport.

Of course, Mauve hadn't really wanted Vinnie to kidnap Joe. Rather he had hoped that it would scare the boy. Certainly Mauve had had no intention of sending someone to pick up the cage unless Joe had seemed broken enough to be compliant. No, scaring him into submission seemed to be the best plan. After all, why would he want to hire someone who wasn't difficult to keep a hold of?

But the worst thing of all was that Fenton Hardy clearly knew. He knew about him. Mauve couldn't imagine Joe would have told him but Fenton was a skilled detective.

Thankfully, Mauve had other ideas. He was going to get his hands on Joe. Might as well do a favour for the rest of the criminal underworld and decimate the Hardys while doing it.

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