Hello! Thank you for your amazing reviews from the last chapter. I hope you enjoy this one!

Fenton Hardy liked to think he was a patient man. It was a skill he thought all detectives should possess, one he had spent much of his young life cultivating. And he liked to think he was not only a patient man but a very patient father. After all, he had managed to survive Frank's near endlessly questioning of why, get through every outburst from a boy tormented by the loss of his brother.

He wanted Joe to see him as patient, to see him as someone who was willing to wait for him to be ready, that there was no pressure coming from him.

But there was one issue on which Fenton refused to be completely patient: he needed Joe to trust the police.

His boys had almost been kidnapped once. He needed to know that Joe would call the police if he was in danger or that Joe felt like he could flag down a police officer as someone who would help protect him if he felt unsafe. With the safety of his son on the line, Fenton was trying not to be frantic and that meant Joe would have to settle for a little pushing.

Which was why Fenton had decided to swing by the police station with Joe in the car. They had been at the skatepark. Joe liked to go to the park when it was quiet. Fenton had first thought that the boy might have been worried that he was going to find out his skateboarding skills were lacking compared to the Bayport crowd. Watching Joe for five minutes had proven that was not a concern. He liked to go when the place was quiet because it meant he could really open up. He could put everything into his tricks, putting Fenton on edge in the process. They insisted on Joe wearing full pads and a helmet. Joe acted like it was a punishment but Fenton had seen the small smile that had lit up his face the moment they turned away after presenting him with the safety equipment. He loved that they cared enough to invest money in his safety

He longed for that look on his son's face as he pulled up into the car park of the Bayport Police Station. Joe looked like he was about to start shouting. He snarled out a question about what they were doing there. The venom in his voice almost made Fenton wince.

"Like I said, I need to pick something up."

"I'm staying in the car," Joe said, firmly.

Fenton shook his head.

"I'm not going to leave you in the car. It's not safe."

Joe glowered.

"You don't have to come in any further than the receptionist. I just want to know there are people about who can keep an eye on you."

Joe sat on the drunk bench at the police station. It was too early in the day for it to have been occupied but Joe could still smell the alcohol on it. He didn't like the smell. Alcohol made him very nervous indeed. Mr Brampton had drunk a lot. Sometimes he would be rude, snarling insults at Joe about how he had never really wanted him, about how he was a disappointment, that they should just let Marsden keep him. Joe could take that. He had thick skin.

But thick skin didn't exactly protect from vases being thrown at you or rough hands aiming blows.

Marsden would drink occasionally. But he would never get so drunk as to lash out. He would warn Joe against that, say it was important to always stay one step ahead. And he'd point Joe at his thugs, who would get very drunk, point out how they often showed themselves for what they really were when drink gave them the confidence. A lot of them had been violent, especially toward Joe. At least they'd wanted to be. Marsden had protected him. It had made Joe feel like a prince, untouchable, the heir to an empire with the emperor willing to banish anyone who wished him harm. The thought lingered in Joe's mind, making him long for those moments when he had felt so secure. But he told himself he was remembering only the version of events Marsden had wanted him to.

He hadn't been a prince. He had been a prize.

He was the way Marsden could taunt Fenton Hardy, feel victorious. And Joe guessed on some level Marsden was still winning because Fenton Hardy's son was sitting on the drunk bench in a police station, tracing the marks of handcuffs on the armrests and glowering at police officers.

He was suddenly drawn from his thoughts by a police officer approaching. He knew enough about the police to tell the man before him was important, if he wasn't in charge of the place. The man gave him an unsteady smile.

"You're Joseph Hardy, aren't you?" he asked.

Joe kept his gaze fixed firmly on the police chief. He didn't answer his question but that seemed to just confirm the man's suspicions. He lingered beside the bench.

"I can remember when you were a little one," he said. "Your father was so proud of you. Of both you and Frank. He couldn't go an hour without telling someone about what you and your brother had gotten up to.

Joe grunted to acknowledge that the police chief had spoken to him. He hoped that the man would leave but instead he came to sit next to Joe. He offered out his hand.

"My name is Chief Ezra Collig. I have been the chief of Bayport PD since before you were born."

Joe ignored the hand, turning to glower at the floor. He didn't want to move away. It felt important to hold his ground. He wasn't sure why. If he had been in New York, he would have fled from a police officer without a second thought. Maybe he was nervous it wouldn't make him seem guilty, that the police would use it as the perfect excuse to lock him up. Joe didn't want to admit to himself that was probably it. And the thought of ending up in a cell made his stomach turn.

Collig patiently took his hand back. He drew in a deep breath.

"When your father first moved to town, people used to joke it was an insult. Such a renowned detective deciding Bayport was the place to set up business - clearly he thought I didn't know how to do my job. But your father heard about the rumours and he told me it was the opposite. He could travel for work but he needed a safe place to raise his family. It was one of the greatest compliments I have ever received."

Joe just nodded. He glanced down the corridor his father had disappeared down, willing him to come back. His skin was crawling. The police chief seemed nice enough and Joe wanted to like him but he could only remember the sort of things Marsden had said about the police. And he couldn't stop thinking about being trapped in the room with Walker and Frank, knowing the corrupt cop was planning to abduct the two of them and, eventually, kill them. A small voice was asking Joe which gang he thought Collig belonged to, who he was selling out the police to. That was the only reason he would be interested in him, right?

"I'm going to wait outside," Joe said, going to stand.

Collig frowned. He went to say more but Joe was already moving.

Fenton entered the lobby so fast that Joe was sure he had been watching the scene from a nearby corridor. He hurried toward them, holding a folder that didn't look so important that they had to have gone out of their way to visit the police station.

"Hello, Ezra," Fenton said.

"Fenton," Collig smiled. "I was just reintroducing myself to Joe."

He went to pat Joe on the back but the look the teenager gave him warned him off trying to touch him. Joe carefully moved into position, ensuring he would not have to duck past either man to reach the door. He was sure Fenton had noticed but he simply didn't care. He felt safer knowing he could run the moment the handcuffs were brought out.

"I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of him around the station," Collig said.

"No," Joe said, firmly.

He turned sharply on his heel, striding toward the door. Fenton sent Collig an apologetic look at the police chief matched. And then he chased after his son.

Joe was waiting for him at the car, pulling at the door handle restlessly. Fenton told himself it could have been far worse. Joe could have sprinted across the car park and disappeared into the town. Fenton unlocked the vehicle as he approached, watching as Joe immediately climbed into the front passenger seat.

"Are you happy now?" Joe asked as Fenton climbed into the car beside him.

Fenton frowned, turning toward Joe. There was loathing in the boy's tone, seething rage in the way he looked toward the police station.

"Why would I be happy when that clearly upset you?"

"Well, now they know what I look like so when I inevitably turn back to crime, they can ID me easier."

Fenton shook his head. He reached out toward Joe, flinching back when the boy snapped at him.

"Don't touch me."

"Joe, please tell me what's wrong."

"You saw the way they looked at me!" Joe shouted.

He was so angry tears were forming in his eyes. He slammed a fist down on the dashboard. Fenton bit back the instinct to scold him for it. He knew that was Joe restraining himself the best he could and that he should count himself lucky he had not been the victim of the blow.

"How did they look at you?"

"You're meant to be the detective. Collig made it pretty clear. 'I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of him around the station'. They're practically hoping I break the law!"

Fenton shook his head. He instinctively went to reach out toward his son again but he stopped himself.

"Collig meant that he thinks you're going to become a detective. What you and Frank did in New York... you took down a criminal."

"We broke the law."

"You didn't have a choice," Fenton said. "But now you do. And when you were in New York, you chose to take down Marsden even when you knew what it would do to your life."

Joe looked away.

"I hate cops. I hate detectives."

Fenton tried not to take it personally. He had spent many nights reading about how to look after children who had been through a trauma and he had spoken to a police therapist friend of his. She had begged him not to take Joe's dislike of cops and detectives personally. It was not intended to be a slight on him or his profession. Joe was a child who had been brought up believing the police were bad people and it had been compounded by the fact they had not been afraid to be extremely rough with him. For someone like Joe, the police had represented a group who could take him from his home and permanently keep him from everyone he had ever known. Since he had found himself in a home he genuinely wanted to be a part of, that threat was all the more meaningful.

"That's why I brought you here," Fenton told him. "I need you to... you don't have to like cops but... When you and Frank were in New York, you could have gone to the police so many times and they would have protected you."

"Walker would have had me killed for betraying Marsden. He almost did."

Fenton hated that Joe was most likely right. If Frank had convinced Joe to go to Walker, the cop would have either handed him back to Marsden or caused an accident for the fourteen-year-old. But that was why he needed Jo to see that the police in Bayport could be trusted. Because Fenton couldn't think of a single man on that force who could look at a fourteen-year-old boy and be capable of doing him harm. He needed Joe to understand that, so if the worst happened and someone did go after him while he was alone, he had someone else he could turn to for help.

"What would it take for you to trust the police in town?" Fenton asked. "News reports? Service files? We could have the Colligs over for tea. The chief loves your mother's cooking."

There was a beat. Fenton wondered if Joe was going to co-operate by giving him an answer.

"I want to talk to a criminal," Joe said. "Someone they have arrested a bunch of times."

Fenton paused. He drummed his hands against the steering wheel. Then he nodded.

"I know just the guy."

Fenton drove Joe to a quiet street on the edge of Bayport. He could sense Joe was getting increasingly anxious at the thought of being driven to somewhere so remote. He continued trying to reassure him, offering him smiles, talking calmly to him. He wished he could only imagine the sort of things Joe thought of when he was being driven to somewhere isolated but he had been a detective for a long time. He'd seen the aftermaths of gangland executions. He had seen child abuse. He heard the nightmares Joe didn't want to acknowledge.

"Billy Grover has been getting himself caught up on the wrong side of the law for most of his life. He's not had a brush with the police for the last two years but I don't think there is anyone in Bayport who has been arrested more than him."

Joe nodded. He watched tensely as they pulled up outside a plain-looking brick building. The building was not particularly impressive but Joe could see great care had been taken over it. The grass outside was neatly cut, the windows had been recently cleaned. Fenton opened the gate, leading Joe up the flagstone steps. Then he knocked firmly.

The door was quickly opened. It jarred as the metal catch stopped it from going any further.

"Oh, it's you," a gruff voice sighed as Fenton smiled toward the figure beyond the door.

There was a clatter as the catch was released as the door opened fully.

Billy Grover was a tall man with dark hair and a thick beard. He looked to Joe like a stereotypical lumberjack but instead of an axe, he was holding a tin can in one hand.

"Been a while since you came knocking," he told Fenton. "Who's the kid?"

"This is my son, Joe Hardy," Fenton introduced.

"No. Your son's a clone of you," Billy remarked.

Fenton glanced toward Joe, trying to work out how much of his story he would feel comfortable Billy knowing.

"I was abducted when I was four, raised by criminals in New York until recently."

Billy nodded as he drank in the information. He studied Joe before shrugging. Joe guessed that was a sign that Billy was willing to believe him.

"You don't read the news?" Joe asked.

"I try to keep my head down," Billy said. "Don't like knowing things that don't affect me."

He turned back to Fenton, asking why he had brought Joe to see him.

"It's not that I don't appreciate visitors, just surprised."

Fenton assured Billy he understood. He glanced down at Joe before admitting Joe didn't trust the police.

"And why's that?"

"It's a long story," Joe admitted.

Billy nodded. He pushed his front door open wide enough to allow Fenton and Joe to slip past.

"Guess we'd better get started then."

Joe told Billy the whole story, answered his questions whenever he interrupted to ask one. It was the most open Joe had been about his experience since he had been giving evidence against Marsden and his gang. He guessed it was the camaraderie he felt toward Billy. The man was like him. He had broken the law. He understood the things Joe was nervous about mentioning: the thrill of stealing, how powerful you felt knowing people were afraid of you. He craved that thrill but, given his family, he supposed that was genetic. And that power… Joe liked to try and preempt how Doctor Miller would react to certain facts about him and he supposed he would tell Joe that had been left powerless by the people around him so he sought to gain power wherever he could find it.

But it felt dirty to mention such things to the Hardys or the Mortons or anyone. But not Billy.

"Well, kid, I ain't ever heard of a Bayport cop using more force than necessary. And, yeah, they did have trouble with corruption about four years back but your old man got that stomped out real fast. The cops here are good men and Collig makes a point of being fair."

Billy gave a mirthless laugh.

"And, if nothing else, that last person any corrupt cop wants to get on his back is your old man."

Joe glanced toward Fenton who casually dismissed the praise. But he met Joe's gaze with the silent reassurance that he was not going to let anyone hurt him, especially not a rogue cop. Billy cleared his throat. He pointed toward a doorway leading down the corridor.

"I've got some hot chocolate in the kitchen. Why don't you make your lad a drink and then get yourself whatever you want?" Billy said.

Fenton read the situation immediately. Billy wanted to speak to Joe alone and Fenton was sure it would sit better with his son if he knew that Billy's every word hadn't been monitored by the detective. Plus he knew Billy and he trusted him.

He got up, telling Joe he would just be in the next room. Joe nodded, following the detective with his eyes as he left the room and shut the door behind him.

"Now he's gone, I have something I've gotta say," Billy said, shuffling closer to Joe.

Joe's brow crinkled anxiously. He studied the man, preparing to move.

"There's a very rich man out there asking questions about you. An old friend of mine who hasn't quite seen the error of his ways came by, asking me if I'd be willing to sell info on Fenton Hardy and his boy. I didn't realise you were the boy in question until I met you."

Joe swallowed thickly. He fought to stop his voice from catching.

"Do you know who is paying for the info?" Joe asked.

"There are whispers about a name," Billy nodded. "Mauve. Mr Mauve."

Joe grimaced. A terrible part of him wanted to just break down into tears. He was trying so hard. He was doing everything he could to make things perfect and he could barely find his footing. He felt like he was alone on a boat in the middle of a night-time storm and Mr Mauve was a circling shark, waiting for a wave to toss him into the sea.

"What does he know?"

Billy shrugged, admitting he didn't know who was going to take up the money.

"But someone is. It's a lot of money. Maybe you should tell your dad."

"Why didn't you tell me in front of him?" Joe pressed.

"Because I reckoned you would bolt if I forced your hand," Billy said.

He leant in close to Joe.

"Kid, no matter how experienced you think you are, no matter if you think you are the biggest gangster that was ever born, a guy like that is going to find a way to get to you. I know the cops scare you but you have got to ask yourself why. Because I reckon the guy who took you made you scared of cops for just this reason, so you just keep being forced to trade one gang for another because you have nowhere else to go."

Joe shook his head. He held Billy's eye.

"You don't know Mr Mauve. The only thing that happens if I go to the police is he finds out I'm not willing to play the game and then the newspapers you don't read talk about a fire at the Hardy house with no survivors. If I tell anyone about him, he will kill me and the Hardys. Or worse, he'll make me do it. And if he finds out I told Fenton Hardy about him…" Joe trailed off, shaking his head. "I can't win against someone like him. I just have to hope someone else comes along to distract him."

Fenton had always hated spying on his children. He had caught himself doing it long ago, his detective instincts having him lingering at doorways to listen in or taking a peak at the things they hadn't thought to put away. He worried. That was the only reason he couldn't resist listening in. He worried himself sick about his boys.

Mr Mauve.

There was someone out there who terrified Joe. He didn't know the name but he knew that the man posed a threat to his family. And that meant he was going to make it his mission to learn everything he could about him,

He went to open the door, preparing to tell Joe that he had overheard his conversations about Mr Mauve. But he stopped himself, choosing instead to move down the hallway and get the hot chocolate prepared. The boy was terrified of the idea of him finding out and the last thing Joe needed was more to worry about. He would handle Mr Mauve alone, tell Joe once the threat was over.

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