J.M.J.
Author's note: Thank you so much for continuing to read! Thank you especially to ErinJordan, MargaretA66, caseykam, Candylou, angelicalkiss and max2013 for your reviews since I posted the previous chapter! There's a lot I could say about your reviews, but very little I can say without giving spoilers. One thing I think I can mention is that there is a lot going on in this story that won't be resolved until the next one, and not everything is going to be resolved as happily as you might be hoping. I hope you can enjoy anyway! God bless!
Chapter XVI
Tony tried to reach the string of beads where it lay by the wall of the mine. Angelo had him chained by one ankle to one of the wooden supports holding up the ceiling. He must have been planning this, considering a leg iron and chains were hardly normal things to have lying around to be used when they were needed, but then Angelo was enough of a fanatic that maybe he did have things like that on hand at any given time. Tony was pretty sure he could pull the beam down if he tried hard enough, but since there was a high probability that the entire mine would come down with it, he didn't want to put any pressure on that support that he could help.
That made it difficult to stretch to reach the beads. That and the fact that moving was painful after Angelo's sample of what lay ahead for his prisoner. Tony was sure he had some broken ribs and that his face was going to be a swollen mess in a few hours, but on the bright side, he was equally sure that that was the worst of his injuries. Angelo clearly hadn't done his worst, and that gave Tony a glimmer of hope that his talk about killing him was nothing more than a bluff. Still, being beaten up was bad enough. The reaching was making his ribs hurt even more and he wasn't sure he could do it.
The first thing Angelo had done after he had secured the leg iron was to check Tony's pockets. Of course, he hadn't found anything, except those rosary beads. Angelo had given them one disgusted look before hurling them against the wall. He informed Tony that he didn't believe in "all that stuff" anymore, and by the time he was done, Tony wouldn't either. Tony had made a crack about how if this was the only way Angelo could make converts, he should probably look for a more appealing set of beliefs. That was when Angelo smacked him across the face and cut his lip. After that had come a steady rain of kicks and blows until Angelo abruptly decided that that was enough for now. He had then left Tony alone.
For a long time, Tony had just lain there, disoriented. The pain started to subside slightly and he had become a bit more alert. Finally, he had tried sitting up, which caused him such a wave of pain that he almost fell back down. He held steady, though, and looked around. That was when he had spotted the beads. He knew he could pray without them, but he wanted them. He wanted the familiar, calming feeling of passing them through his fingers or simply clutching them in his hand.
Getting them was a trick. He had nearly given up in pain and discouragement when he finally brushed one bead with his finger. He stretched a tiny bit more and was able to catch the delicate chain with a fingernail. With a sigh of relief, he pulled them toward him and then lay on the floor, trying to catch his breath.
Now he needed to try to think through the situation. There were three things he could hope would happen. First, Angelo might not have meant his threats about killing him. Surely, he didn't. It wouldn't make any sense to bring him here and hold him prisoner just to kill him later. Second, Tony might get a chance to escape. He simply had to watch for it. But if he didn't get that chance, then he was sure Frank and Joe would find him. They were good enough detectives to figure out where he was at. In fact, they might be coming right now.
That was a comforting thought. In any case, Tony banished the thought that he might actually die down here from his mind. He'd survived scrapes like this before. There was no reason to think this one would be any different.
HBHBHBHBHB
Frank was thinking the same thing as he lay on the floor of Joe's living room, trying to sleep. He knew that he needed his rest, especially after being awake all night, but he wasn't having much luck falling asleep. Callie was on the couch, and she seemed restless, even in her sleep. The others were in their respective bedrooms, with Mario having taken Tony's bed, although Frank doubted any of them were getting much sleep, either. He looked at his watch. It was almost nine in the morning.
The idea that he and the police might fail to find Tony didn't even cross his mind. The biggest doubt in his mind was whether he was doing the right thing. Gomez had made it clear that he didn't want Joe near this case, and he was a captain, after all. Besides, Frank agreed with him. It wasn't going to be easy to persuade someone with higher rank and more experience than him of something that he wasn't convinced about himself. Even so, he couldn't escape the fact that Joe had a point. If Angelo was bound and determined to deal with Joe and no one else, the police were going to have to at least give the appearance that that was who he was dealing with, and obviously, Angelo wouldn't be easy to trick. They really would need Joe's limited help.
He sat up and stretched. Sleep wasn't coming, so there was no point in wasting more time by pretending. Instantly, Callie opened her brown eyes and looked at him.
"Did something happen?" she asked.
"No, I'm just getting up." Frank leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead before standing up. "Are you doing okay?"
Callie sat up and clutched her arms around herself, as if she was cold. "I guess so. I just hate this so much. I wish it was over." It struck her what that wish might mean, so she added, "I wish it was over and everything turned out all right."
"I know. I feel the same way." Frank sat next to her. "If you want to go home…"
"No," Callie cut him off. "I want to be here with you. Maybe I can help. Besides, I'm worried about Joe. Do you really think it's a good idea not to let him help investigate?"
Frank looked down at his lap. "I never thought I'd say this, but there's no one I would want helping less right now. When we talked last night—or this morning, however you want to say it—he told me what's really bothering him. I think, maybe, we can salvage our friendship, but we simply can't work together anymore."
"What's bothering him?"
"Oh, it all comes back to that ghost thing." Frank shook his head dismissively.
"You know, I don't think you should be such a doubting Thomas when it comes to his story."
"Not you, too, Cal," Frank groaned. "You know there's no such thing as ghosts."
"How's anyone supposed to know that?" Callie countered.
"There isn't a shred of scientific proof…"
"I don't know about that, but even if there isn't, what does that prove? Science is a process of discovery, of learning about things we had no idea about. It seems a little arrogant to think that we've reached a point in history where we've scientifically observed everything in the universe. But then again, even if we have, the lack of evidence still wouldn't mean anything. Science is the study of the natural world. Ghosts are outside its realm. The fact that scientists haven't observed them doesn't prove anything anymore than…than if a mechanic couldn't play a tune by hitting a wrench on an engine and decided that meant that music didn't exist. They're both using the wrong tools."
Frank chuckled at that. "That could be, but if something interacts with the physical world, then there should be verifiable evidence."
"But you believe in God," Callie pointed out.
"That's different. He doesn't interact with the physical world in such obvious, heavy-handed ways. I don't know what Joe saw, but it couldn't have been supernatural."
Callie sighed. "Oh, I don't know."
Frank put an arm around her. "We don't need the two of us arguing. Let's table this one until the case is solved, okay?"
"Okay." Callie rested her head against his shoulder. "What are you going to do first?"
"I guess I should call Dad and let him know what happened. Then I have to talk to Gomez again…"
Frank was cut off Phil emerging from his room with his phone in his hand. His face was pale and drawn from a night of no sleep, but it was clear that something additional was bothering him.
"You've got to see this." He held the phone out to Frank. It showed an email from an address that was nothing more than a jumble of letters.
"What is it?" Callie asked, watching Frank's face.
Frank didn't reply as he looked at the email. All it had was one line of text that read: Don't keep me waiting, and several pictures. Frank wasn't fast enough to keep Callie from seeing them as she looked over his shoulder, and she gasped in horror.
They showed Tony lying on some kind of dirt floor. His eyes were closed and he looked unconscious. He had clearly been beaten.
"How awful." Callie looked away, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Frank, we've got to do something."
"We will. I'll call Gomez. How would have Angelo had your email address, Phil?"
"Who knows?" Phil replied. "Maybe he got it off Joe's phone when he stole that. Speaking of which, I should show this to Joe, too."
Frank started to protest, but Phil was already headed to Joe's door. He knocked on it and called the younger Hardy's name.
"Yeah?" Joe replied right away, no trace of sleepiness in his face. He hadn't gotten any sleep, either.
"Come here," Phil told him.
A couple seconds later, the door opened and Joe came out. "What is it? Did something happen?"
"I got an email from Angelo, I assume. He just said not to keep him waiting. There were also some pictures." Phil paused.
"What did he do to Tony?" Joe demanded. "Just show me. My imagination's worse than what he really did, probably."
"It's not good."
Phil showed him the pictures. Joe looked at them with a clenched jaw. He was trying to keep a grip on himself, Frank could tell from where he was sitting, but Frank could guess at what was going through Joe's mind. He already considered himself at fault in Tony's disappearance; there was no question that he would also blame himself for everything that came of it.
"Did you call Gomez yet?" Joe asked, looking up at Frank.
"No." Frank thought about it a second. "First, Phil, why don't you see what Angelo expects us to do?"
"Okay."
Phil quickly typed out a one-sentence reply to the email and sent it. A few seconds went by and then the email came back to his inbox with an explanation that the receiver's email wasn't valid.
"He must have deactivated it already," Phil said.
"Clearly. He doesn't want to be traced through it," Joe agreed.
"But if you don't have any way to contact him, how are you supposed to get that picture to him?" Callie asked.
"He'll probably contact us again and explain," Frank told her. "I'm going to call Dad and fill him in on what's happening. If he thinks it's the best plan, he'll get us a copy of that picture. In any case, he'll tell us what we should do."
He placed the call, but his father didn't answer. He was forced to leave a voicemail.
"I guess it's down to Gomez now," Joe commented, taking a seat. "In that case, I might as well step out of it."
Frank cast him an annoyed look, but he had to agree that calling Gomez was the next logical thing to do. He placed the call and waited for an answer.
HBHBHBHBHB
Meanwhile, Fenton and Laura were sitting in the back seat of a taxi in Miami. Laura had refused to leave Fenton's side while he investigated the lead that Angelo Beretta had been spotted in the city. The lead, however, had just petered out and they were on their back to their hotel to reassess and see what plans they could make.
"I don't think I could ever be a detective," Laura commented. "It seems like half the time, all you do is sit around and try to think what you should be doing."
"You're doing well if it's only half the time," Fenton replied.
"Do you think the boys and Callie are all right?" Laura asked. "We haven't heard from them since last night."
"We can't expect them to call every five minutes." Fenton tried to speak lightly, to calm his wife's fears, but felt a sense of dread himself, as if some instinct was telling him that something was wrong. "Maybe we'd better call them."
He was reaching for his phone when he noticed the taxi driver was glancing in his rearview mirror every few seconds. Fenton turned to look out the back window, but the traffic behind them looked normal to him.
"Is something the matter?" he asked the driver.
"Oh, no," the driver replied unconvincingly. "That guy behind us has just been riding our bumper pretty hard for the last mile or so. Making me a little nervous is all."
Fenton looked out the window again, and this time, Laura did as well. The car directly behind them was a black SUV. The driver was wearing sunglasses, but considering that this was Florida, there was nothing suspicious in that. In fact, there was nothing suspicious about him at all, except the fact that he was tailgating. Fenton made a mental note of his license plate. If this guy was following them, then there was a good chance he was involved in the case.
"Could you try to lose him?" Fenton requested. "We don't mind if it takes us out of our way a little."
"I'll do my best."
The driver took the next right turn, pulling into the turning lane at the last second in the hope that the other driver wouldn't react in time to follow them. However, the black car turned right behind them.
At the next intersection, the driver again made an abrupt right turn, and again the other car followed them. The taxi driver tried a left turn at the next cross street to try to mix things up, but once again, the other car followed them.
"I don't get it," the driver said, a flush of annoyance rising in his cheeks. "He must be doing this on purpose."
"I'm afraid he is," Fenton replied. He clasped Laura's hand reassuringly. "I don't think you're going to be able to lose him. Do you know where the nearest police station is? If we can make it there, he won't try anything."
"Right," the driver agreed. "The nearest station isn't very close, but we'll give it a try."
"If we happen to meet a police car, do you think you could get their attention?" Laura asked.
"Sure thing, ma'am," the driver said. "I'll do a little speeding. Maybe a cop will find us."
He pressed down on the accelerator and began cruising along at fifteen miles over the speed limit. Fenton looked back at the other car. It had sped up, too. In fact, it had pulled closer to them, so close that Fenton couldn't even see its license plate anymore.
"He knows we've made him," Fenton commented.
"Maybe he'll give it up, then," Laura suggested.
Fenton shook his head. "It doesn't look like it."
The traffic on this street was light. There were no oncoming vehicles in sight as they climbed up a hill with a drop-off to their right. Suddenly, the car behind them sped up and started to pass them.
"What's this guy trying to prove?" the taxi driver demanded. "You can't pass here."
By the time he had finished speaking, the other car was almost ahead of them. Then it cut sharply back into their lane. The two vehicles would have collided, but the taxi driver slammed the brakes and instinctively steered to the right. Before anyone could process what was happening, the front fender slammed into the guardrail. It kept the taxi from going over the edge, but the momentum kept the rear end of the vehicle going while the front end was stopped. It tipped up to one side and then settled back on the ground with a bone-jarring impact. The SUV went speeding ahead and out of sight.
As soon as the first shock was over, the taxi driver turned around in his seat. "You people okay?"
"Yeah, we're okay," Fenton told him. He watched as the other car sped off down the street.
"Thank goodness the guardrail held," Laura said.
"If we'd been going too much faster, it probably wouldn't have," the driver said. "What was that guy trying to do? Do you know about this?"
"Yeah. I think so," Fenton told him.
