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The entire point of getting a BBQ organised at the Morton's farm was so that Joe could meet the Mortons. It would do him good to already have some friends when he started attending school and the Mortons had always been such good friends to Frank. Chet and Iola were eager to meet Joe and determined to make him feel comfortable.

Frank hated that he had been surprised when, five minutes after they had arrived at the Morton farm, he had scanned the area and found he could not see Joe. The adults had been all present, sitting around a table and talking. Iola had been getting herself a drink and Frank had turned away for a moment to help Chet pump up a football so they could play some catch.

Joe had slipped away.

Not wanting to cause a scene, Frank had told Chet and Iola he would go looking for him. It wasn't hard for him to find Joe. As good as the young man was at avoiding being trailed in New York he had forgotten about the classic Bayport mud that had left clear footprints showing his progress through the fields surrounding the Morton house.

Frank had managed to catch up with Joe at the edge of the land. Joe was sitting on the wooden fence that marked the boundary. He watched Frank as he approached, making no effort to run.

"People are going to worry when they notice you're not there," Frank said.

"Is that normal?" Joe asked.

"People worrying about you? Yes."

"No. I mean that. The... the BBQ. People just randomly having barns on their property. Who owns a barn?"

"The Mortons," Frank told him. "They own two actually. If you head back, I am sure they'll be more than willing to give you a tour."

"No point," Joe said.

He pointed over Frank's shoulder. Frank turned, seeing Chet and Iola striding across the field toward them. The moment he realised who was being pointed out to him, Frank turned sharply back to Joe. He didn't want his brother slipping away again, especially not into the dense wood just beyond the fence on which Joe sat.

But Joe was still there, studying Chet and Iola with a look of suspicion and disdain.

"They're good people," Frank told him. "And they won't judge you. Friendwise, you could do a lot worse."

"I find adult conversation boring too," Iola smiled as she drew closer. "Running away always tempts me."

"I wasn't running away," Joe told her, firmly.

After all, running away seemed like a possibility that everyone was always alert for. He didn't want jokes to be flying around that might be misinterpreted.

"Well, we've got twenty acres of land to explore," Chet told him. "Can't imagine you got many wide open spaces in New York."

"None like this," Joe agreed.

Frank studied Joe. He seemed wary of the two Morton siblings but it was a sort of wariness Frank had not seen from him before. Normally Joe looked at a person like he was expecting them to attack. He didn't seem to know what to expect from Chet and Iola. Frank couldn't help but note that there was a trend. Joe was wary of adults. He had no idea what to do around people his own age.

But Joe had interacted with teenagers while they had been in New York. It took Frank a moment to realise that all those interactions had been transactional. Joe had talked to the teenagers around him because he needed something from them or they needed something from him. It appeared Joe had not had much time for fostering friendships that were not mutually beneficial.

He didn't know how to relax and be a normal teenager.

"Maybe you two could give us a tour?" Frank said, looking pointedly toward Chet and Iola.

Doing something besides just talking might take the edge off, give them a topic to talk about.

It was Iola who agreed first. She was all wide smiles as she began to tell them about the farm that the Mortons lived on. Frank knew most of it. The farmhouse the Mortons lived in had used to be part of the largest farm in the Bayport area but most of the land had been sold off when the farm had closed down. What remained had eventually passed to the Mortons who enjoyed having the space to host large gatherings for family and friends. They had the money as their father, Chester Morton, was a very big name in insurance.

The land itself was quite the playground for adventurous young people with several old outbuildings and legends about all sorts happening on the property. Frank had many happy memories from playing there with Chet and Iola.

He let Iola and Joe take the lead of the group, hanging back to watch them. Chet fell into step beside him.

"How is he doing?" Chet asked.

"We all have a long way to go. We're learning... Learning about each other. Learning to be patient with each other."

Frank watched as Iola and Joe ducked inside an old farm labour's cottage in the middle of a field. Frank had played there many times. A lot of old furniture remained even though the roof had caved in in places and almost all of the windows had been smashed. The place had been threatening to fall down for years but Frank had never worried about how stable it was until he saw Joe heading inside. Then a small part of him was thinking it was a death trap that needed to be cordoned off.

"Patience is good," Chet remarked. "I heard he-"

Chet was cut off abruptly by Iola screaming. Both older brothers broke into a run, Chet shouting his sister's name. They exploded into the rundown cottage, the entire building seeming to rock around them.

The front door immediately took them into an open-plan kitchen and sitting room that had not been redecorated since the sixties. There were dead leaves on the floor and muddy boot prints left over from the games Frank and the others had used to play in there.

Frank had expected to find Joe and Iola had had an accident involving a rotten floorboard or something.

Instead, he found that they were not alone in the cottage. Four heavy-set men were standing there, dressed in suits that bulged around their muscular frames. They had scowls on their faces, intimidating enough if not for how they stood.

Because two of them had knives, one at Joe's throat, the other at Iola's. The two teenagers were each being held close to one of the suited men, their heads tipped back slightly as they tried to avoid the blades. The man holding Iola was covering her mouth.

"Now look what you've done," one of the men snapped toward Iola.

Frank's gut told him that that man was the leader.

"Look, you don't need to do anything rash. You're in control here."

It wasn't like there was much debating with him. He had two hostages and enough muscle that Joe and Iola would likely be dead before Frank could reach them.

Still, his eyes flicked onto Joe. He had held Joe hostage in a similar position just before Marsden had shown the young man his true colours. He didn't want Joe to react badly. Heavily emotional responses would likely get Joe and Iola killed.

"That's right, kid. I'm in control," the leader said.

Frank recognised the accent. He was from New York. He could tell everyone else had noticed too. Chet was looking between him and Joe, begging them to do something. Iola had tears in her eyes.

"Now, me and my men are gonna take our new friends and-"

"Hey," the man holding Joe called. "Look at the hero. He's the other one we were asked to snatch."

Frank got the feeling he was meant to be 'the hero'. It was confirmed when the leader stepped forward, pulling a picture from his pocket. He held it up next to Frank, doing a comparison. Frank glanced out of the corner of his eye. The photograph was a long-distance shot of him and Joe from when they had been in New York. Joe was the one in focus, Frank a little blurry at his side, but it was clearly still a picture of the two of them.

"Oh, yeah," the man smiled.

"Then we should make a deal," Frank said.

He fixed his eyes onto Joe, trying to convey to him that he had a plan.

"If you are after me and Joe, you can have us. Just let our friends go."

Joe caught his gaze. There was a moment of silent communication between them, and understanding forming. Frank was glad that he and Joe were so good at communicating with just their body language. It seemed to be an innate skill they had been given simply for being brothers. And Frank desperately hoped that Joe trusted him, that he understood Frank was never going to let anything happen to him. He hoped he had proven that while they had been in New York.

"You'll trade your life for the girl's?" the leader snarled.

"You're going to come after me anyway, right?" Frank said. "Might as well make it easy for everyone."

The leader nodded. He turned toward the thug that held Iola and gave him a nod. But, just as the brute was relaxing his grip on the girl, the leader paused.

"You try anything and Joey pays."

To emphasise his boss' point, the thug holding Joe shifted his grip. The blade pressed against Joe's neck, causing the boy to hold his breath. He bit his lip to stop himself from reacting, eyes fixed on Frank.

"I'm not going to try anything," Frank lied.

"Then we won't have a problem."

The leader clicked his fingers and Iola was pushed forward. She glanced toward the Hardys before hurrying to her brother. Chet immediately wrapped his arms tightly around her, glowering at the men. Frank strode forward, his movements full of conviction. He let the thug who had held Iola grab him, turn him to face the Morton siblings. Then he felt the cold of a steel blade at his neck. He glanced toward Joe.

He could see his brother was trying to understand. He wanted to know exactly what Frank's plan was. But, in the situation they were in, Frank didn't dare do anything to try and clue him in.

"You two brats," the leader said, setting his gaze onto Morton, "I've got a warning for you. You are to leave, go off and continue like nothing is wrong. Because if we see an adult or a police officer or anyone, we'll kill these two and be on our way. You understand?"

"Yes," Chet said. "Why are you taking them?"

Frank knew from the way Chet's eyes flickered onto him and Joe that the question had been for their benefit. He was fishing for information, trying to give them something to work with. Frank had told him a little about what had happened.

"No. We're not giving you anything you could take to their dad," the leader growled. "Now go before we change our minds and take all four of you."

Chet and Iola studied the Hardys, hearts in their throats.

"Go," Joe said. "We'll handle this."

He sounded so confident that Frank almost believed that they were in no danger at all, that they would be able to handle everything perfectly.

"Stay safe," Iola said.

It sounded like such a lame thing to say but Iola had felt she needed to say something. Then the Mortons shuffled out of the cottage. The leader moved toward the window, watching them head off across the grounds. It took a few minutes for him to be satisfied that the two were a safe distance away and all that time Frank was trying to silently convey his plan to Joe. It seemed to work too. Just as the leader turned back, Joe was giving Frank the subtlest of nods.

"Now, I think it's time we get going," the leader said.

Frank and Joe were walked across the Morton's land, hands tied behind their backs. They weren't gagged but they had been told if they shouted they would pay for it. The four thugs circled around them, knives ready. If either brother slowed, they got a harsh shove for their trouble.

"I get taking me but why Frank?" Joe asked as they walked along.

"He's coming along as a hostage, make sure you behave," the leader said.

Frank nodded.

"So this is about Joe's past and not about who our father is?" he pressed.

"No. No. We're not doing this," the leader snarled. "No Jedi mind-tricking us with those detective skills."

"We just want to know who is so determined to see me that they're willing to go this far," Joe smirked.

If there was one thing that continued to astound Frank, it was Joe's ability to keep himself calm and in control when in trouble. He was acting like he was just going for a nice stroll, not being kidnapped.

"Rancid?" Joe asked. "Marsden still got people on the outside? Pretty sure that I settled my tab with Gloria."

"Wouldn't you like to know, brat?"

"That's kinda why I am asking," Joe replied.

Frank shot him a glare, warning him off antagonising their would-be abductors too much. They were still at a disadvantage, hands bound, the men armed. Joe's look of annoyance told Frank they should probably make their move before he couldn't stop himself from saying something that would get them both hurt.

So Frank stumbled.

He let himself hit the ground hard, grimacing. Hands bound, he rolled onto his back, making an act of not being able to get up.

"Can someone help me?" Frank called.

Joe strained against his ropes.

"I can't. I'm a little tied up right now."

There was stifled laughter from one of the thugs. The leader glared in his direction.

"Help him up," the leader snarled.

The thug hurried forward. He roughly dragged Frank to his feet, lingering close for a second too long. Frank capitalised. He kicked out as violently as he could, his foot slamming into the man's chest. It sent him toppling back, colliding with one of the other thugs. Both fell back into the mud. The other men looked around, confusion and panic setting in as they tried to work out how best to react.

Frank and Joe began to run, racing across the slippery mud. It was difficult with their hands tied. They skidded, struggling to keep their balance.

And then there was a gunshot.

The bullet dug into the dirt right next to Frank. The brothers stopped dead. Slowly they turned. The leader was standing there, gun pointed at the two of them.

"Knives are nicer - quieter - but you forced my hand. Now, both of you come back here or I'll be putting a bullet in Frankie and be taking Joey anyway."

Frank and Joe glanced at each other.

"It was worth a shot," Joe sighed.

Two of the thugs got into the back of the waiting car, the leader and one other climbing into the front. The vehicle looked to Frank to be stolen, left on a muddy field at the edge of the Morton land as the perfect getaway. The two thugs in the back were armed, one with the leader's gun, the other with a knife.

"Mr Mauve is going to be happy we got the kid," the thug in the front passenger seat grinned as the leader started the vehicle.

Joe stiffened. Frank saw it out of the corner of his eye. He knew the name even if it was an entirely new one to Frank. He guessed that Frank should have expected that. But there was something else. Joe was scared of the man. No, he was terrified. Terrified enough to let it show.

The leader set the car into motion. At least he tried to.

The car didn't move. The leader frowned.

"What's going on?" one of the thugs in the back asked.

"Car won't go," the leader snarled.

He turned, pointing an accusing finger at Frank and Joe.

"What did you do?"

"How could we have done anything?" Frank asked.

The leader snarled, climbing out. He circled the vehicle before he began to kick at the tyres. He threw open the back door, dragging Joe out.

"How did you do it?" he ordered.

Joe saw that the tyres of the vehicle were completely flat. They had been slashed apart. His eyes widened. But then he noticed drag marks in the mud. Someone had dragged themself under the vehicle. Joe glanced toward Frank, watched as he was wrestled out of the car and forced to the side they were on.

Frank seemed to immediately see the drag marks. He glanced toward Joe. Joe could tell Frank was trying to work out how to build a new plan around the new information. Which meant he had to get him space to work, keep all eyes on him.

"Looks like you might need a tow," Joe remarked. "Always got to keep an eye on that tyre pressure."

"You're lucky Mr Mauve wants you alive," the leader snarled, prodding Joe in the chest so hard he slammed against the car.

The teenager grimaced. Frank couldn't stop himself from watching Joe's reaction. Once again that fear at whatever fate Mr Mauve had in store for him.

But Frank forced himself to think of a plan instead, save Joe from that fate. Whoever was under the car - and he had his suspicions - had slashed the tyres. Which meant they had a knife or something sharp. Which meant…

"Can we sit down while you wait for a new car?" Frank asked. "My legs hurt."

All the men deferred toward their leader. He nodded, roughly shoving Frank and Joe to the floor. They shuffled back up against the car, Frank urgently gesturing toward the ropes. He felt a hand press against his, steadying him as a knife began to work back and forth to cut him free.

But then Frank had an idea. Joe was the one they wanted. Joe needed to be the one to get away. He gestured toward Joe, feeling the hands leave him and seeing Joe still as the knife began to work at his ropes. Within seconds, Joe was shifting, moving his now freed arms into a more comfortable position. Frank watched him out of the corner of his eye.

Then felt the knife return, working at his ropes.

The men in front of them were arguing as the leader made a call. Clearly, they were not happy that they were being forced to admit incompetence to Mr Mauve. They were scared of the man too.

"Get into the car," Frank whispered.

"It won't go," Joe hissed back.

"There's only one person under the car, meaning someone has gone to get help. We don't need to get away, we just need to get somewhere we can wait them out."

He saw Joe pause. He was considering the plan, clearly not liking the idea. Because he needed to trust other people to save them. He wasn't running away, escaping by his own strength. He needed to trust that people would risk their lives to save them.

"You'd better be right," Joe said.

He went to move but Frank stopped him.

"You'll need to get into the car too. These men aren't idiots, they'll work out you're hiding under the vehicle."

They heard something shifting beneath the car.

"I'm ready," a voice whispered.

"Go," Frank hissed.

As one, the three moved. They scrambled into the vehicle, pulling doors shut and locking them. Then they dropped into the footwells, trying to make themselves as small a target as possible. Joe looked across the car to see Iola Morton was with them, covered in mud, clutching a penknife.

"You two are lucky we noticed this car showed up shortly after you guys came for the BBQ," Iola told them. "Chet's gone to get our fathers while I delay them."

As if on cue, they heard shouting outside. There was a loud noise Frank recognised as a shotgun blast. And then someone tried the door.

"Hey, it's me," a familiar voice called.

The three unfurled themselves from where they were crouching to see Chet was standing at the door, peering in through the window. Frank unlocked the door and he, Joe and Iola poured out. Chester Morton, Fenton and Laura were standing there, Chester clutching his shotgun.

"Are you alright?" Fenton asked, hurrying forward.

"We're… We're fine," Frank sighed in relief.

"Who were those guys?" Laura demanded.

Frank glanced toward Joe, eager for an explanation as to who Mr Mauve was. He shrugged.

"Said something about wanting revenge. They'd be thugs from New York. I don't know who they work for," Joe said, sending a very pointed look in Frank's direction.

Frank felt like he was being challenged to contradict him. He kept quiet, watching Joe closely as the young man smiled brightly. The blond turned to Chet and Iola.

"You guys are alright," he told them. "Definitely great friends to have in a crisis."

Being forced to give witness statements ruined their opportunity to have a BBQ but neither the Hardys nor the Mortons were willing to let the day be entirely ruined. Chester and Fenton hastily constructed a bonfire while the others gathered smore-making supplies. Mrs Morton started a round of campfire songs and Laura had countered with a ghost story.

Even as the cold of the night had set in, none of them wanted to leave. Mrs Morton suggested she collect some blankets from inside the house but Frank offered to do it. He knew where the blankets were from the many sleepovers he had had at the house and had an ulterior motive. He nominated Joe to help him, half dragging his brother into the house.

"You lied to them," Frank observed as he weighed Joe down with blankets.

Joe glowered.

"I know detectives. First thing Mr Hardy is going to do is run off to New York to find him and then we'll be replacing our bench with a new gravestone. Trust me, Frank, there are some parts of my past you don't want anything to do with."

Joe went to push past him.

"But I want everything to do with your future. And your present," Frank said. "And if these guys aren't going to leave you alone, you need to tell Mum and Dad so they can protect you."

"Maybe I don't want their protection! I managed just fine growing up without any of you."

Frank wanted to respond but he let Joe barge past him and make his way downstairs with a bundle of blankets. He grimaced, grabbing a handful of blankets himself before following. He prepared to be asked by his parents why Joe was in such a foul mood, be questioned as to what exactly was going on. But Joe was all smiles and jokes as he rejoined the adults, Chet and Iola. If Frank hadn't have seen Joe as they collected blankets, he would have never known anything was wrong with him.

Which begged the question, what else was Joe hiding?

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