Chapter Twenty-Three: The Storm

"We all live in a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine, a yellow-"

"Joseph!" Nancy snapped.

Joe's head swiveled toward her. "Nan?"

"You've been singing that song for two hours. I love you, but if you keep going I am probably going to punch you."

Joe stretched and shifted restlessly in his seat. "I'd have stopped a long time ago if fucking Diarmid would just show up already. Why would he wait this long to get in there? It's inefficient!"

"Yes," Nancy said wryly. "There's nothing I hate more than an inefficient thief."

"Kids these days," Joe agreed, laughing.

Nancy turned back to the front, arranging her scarf around the lower part of her face. Cold had been seeping into the truck cab ever since they parked. She wiggled her toes inside her shoes, making sure she still had enough feeling to pursue a fleeing suspect if the need arose. Beside her, Joe stretched again. He was already starting to hum again, softly and mindlessly.

"We all li-"

"Joe, seriously!"

"Sorry, sorry."

"I don't know how Frank put up with stakeouts with you for all those years."

"Where do you think I got the habit?"

Nancy raised an eyebrow at him.

"Fine, don't believe me. But you should ask him to sing you his dirty parody of 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' next time you see him."

Nancy giggled. "Remind me. That sounds too good to be true."

"It's awesome." Joe pulled his trademark orange knit hat out of his pocket and pulled it on. "Are your toes as numb as mine?"

"Yes. Wiggle them," Nancy advised.

"I've been wiggling. It doesn't help much. We should have stopped for coffee and snacks."

"Yeah, I could go for a coffee." Suddenly Nancy sat up and reached for her purse. "Hang on. I might just have something for you."

He peered over her shoulder. "You have a Keurig in your purse?"

"No, but I do have snacks," she said, handing him a half-empty bag of peanut M&Ms.

"You have a candy stash in here?" Joe said, laughing.

"It's left over from staking out Kate's place with George." Nancy reached over and scooped a few candies from the bag. She popped one into her mouth, glanced out her window, and nearly choked. A masked, dark-clothed figure was strolling across the gallery parking lot.

"Joe," she gasped.

"You're hearing things. I swear I'm not singing it."

"Not that. Look!"

He focused immediately. "I see him. What's our approach?" He was dropping the bag into a cupholder as he spoke, and absentmindedly tipping the handful of candies in his palm into his coat pocket.

"Let him get inside before we move in," Nancy said decisively.

Joe nodded. "I agree. We want him red-handed."

Their quarry had reached the gallery door, now. He stepped close to the door and did some quick finagling with the lock. As soon he stepped inside, both Nancy's phone and Joe's began beeping.

"The cameras worked!" Nancy murmured, silencing her phone.

"Don't sound so surprised," Joe teased. "You had a pretty good tech team."

"The best," Nancy agreed, smiling at him. "Come on. Let's get in there."

Despite what they had said to Camille, stakeouts were hardly an everyday occurrence. For Nancy, it felt a little strange, a little like deja vu, to be going through the motions again so soon after her stakeout with George. But it felt good. As much as she loved the chase, actually closing in on a suspect was a high like no other.

The dark-clothed figure was down at the far end of the exhibition room, cutting Callie's forgery away from its frame, when the detectives slipped noiselessly into the building.

That looks too small to be Diarmid, Nancy thought, frowning. Could it be Allie herself? She glanced at Joe, tilting her head to indicate her confusion. Joe shrugged. He raised a hand high, giving Frank and the other watchers the signal that everything was under control. Then he gave Nancy a nod.

Go ahead.

"Step away from the painting and put your hands in the air!" Nancy yelled, stepping out of the concealing shadows. Ahead of her the figure jumped, obviously badly startled, and whirled to face her.
"Nancy Drew," she spat. Blue eyes, gleaming with fury, showed through the eyeholes of the ski mask. Nancy knew immediately who they had caught.

"Maggie Rodanski," Nancy said coolly. "Drop the knife and come with me."

"Like hell I will." Maggie clutched the painting to her chest and adjusted her grip on her knife. "Stay away from me, bitch."

"I'd do what the lady says," Joe said, emerging from the shadows in his turn.

Maggie yanked her ski mask off. "I should've known you didn't have the guts to come after me alone," she sneered. "I don't care. I'll kill you both right here if I have to. I know what you did to my sister."

"Jenny made her own decision," Nancy said mildly.

"Sure. Right. And pigs are flying, too, right?" Maggie took a few steps toward the door. "Listen: I'm just taking what should be mine. You can let me walk out of here, or you can get hurt. I'm through talking."

"The police are on their way," Joe lied. "Drop the painting and come peacefully. Things will go much better for you."

Maggie's only reply was a burst of profanity. She took another step toward the door and Nancy moved aside, remembering Jenny's unexpected viciousness when cornered. She had no doubt that Maggie's temper was similar to her sister's, or that Maggie was bluffing about using her knife. A direct assault would be stupid. She would have to catch the younger woman off-guard or wait for Joe to pull his gun on her.

A sudden electronic chiming relieved Nancy of the responsibility of making that choice. It was Maggie's phone. The ringtone sounded jarringly loud and cheerful in the tense atmosphere within the gallery. Nancy fought the urge to laugh at it.

"Answer it," she told Maggie. "We're not going to hurt you."

Maggie never took her eyes off the detectives. She slid her phone out and put it on speaker without once losing her grip on her knife or the painting.

"What," she snapped.

A familiar voice emanated from the phone. Diarmid! "You know what I want."

"I got here first," Maggie said belligerently. "Sucks to be you. That's what you get for double crossing your own family."

There was a pause. When he spoke again it was with an affected drawl, as though he were trying to emulate the villain of every bad action movie he had ever seen. "You look good tonight, Mag. Black is your color. It would be a shame to get blood on that nice outfit."

Nancy rolled her eyes. She did not have to look at Joe to know he was laughing. Maggie, however, was shaking with rage.

"You asshole. Are you seriously threatening me? After everything you've already done?"

"Yeah, I guess I am." Diarmid laughed. "Tell that detective bitch and her boyfriend to come on out to the parking lot. Nice and slow, no games. If anything looks funny I'll start shooting. You come too. Maybe we can strike a deal."

Maggie hesitated, thinking this over. For a moment, Nancy hoped that she might resist. But evidently her hatred for Nancy and Joe outweighed her hatred for Diarmid. She nodded.

"Okay. We're coming out." She shoved her phone back into her pocket and turned the full force of her steely blue glare back toward Nancy and Joe. "I would've been gone before he got here if it weren't for you idiots."

"And if you hadn't tried to rob the place, you never would have been here in the first place," Joe said cheerfully.

"Nothing to say to that?" Nancy said, watching Maggie's face. The girl was fighting to hold on to her anger, but fear was creeping in.

"Come on," Joe said. "Let's see what your cousin has planned for us." Moving with slow, exaggerated movements, and keeping his body between Nancy and the windows, he headed for the door. He was humming under his breath, that damned "Yellow Submarine" again- whether to keep up Nancy's courage, or because he was genuinely that nonchalant about the situation, Nancy did not know.

Probably genuine nonchalance, she decided, shaking her head in affection and exasperation. After all, they still had an ace in the hole: neither Diarmid nor Maggie knew Joe had a gun. But knowing Joe, he probably would have acted the same if he were unarmed. It was like him to be buoyant in the face of evil, to walk into danger with a smile on his face. Nancy followed him toward the door, feeling her heart twist with the bittersweet ache of love and fear. She tamped both emotions down. She could not afford to be distracted right now.

Be practical, she reminded herself. Joe's use of his body as a shield not only protected her from the immediate threat of bullets, but offered her the opportunity to signal for help. She turned for a second, looked directly into the camera, and lifted her right hand to touch her left ear. Frank had to be watching. He would recognize the gesture immediately; he and Joe had used it for years to signal that a situation was going bad.

-

Diarmid was leaning up against the side of his car. He had not been bluffing. He did have a gun.

Undaunted, Maggie started talking as soon as they got in range. "What the hell, Diarmid? The first paintings weren't enough for you? You needed to come all the way back here to screw us over again?"

"Why settle for half?" Diarmid said, amused rather than chastened by her tirade.

"Where's your whore?" Maggie asked rudely. She was still clutching the painting to the front of her body- using it, Nancy realized, as a shield, banking on the fact that Diarmid wouldn't shoot her if it meant destroying the painting.

"You're in no position to be mouthy," Diarmid reminded her, raising his gun toward her head.

"Go ahead. That's the only way you're getting this painting," Maggie said furiously.

Diarmid lowered his weapon. "How about a deal. Work with me and we'll split the money, 50/50."

"Why should I trust you?"

"C'mon, Mags. It's me. Your cousin." He gave her what he intended to be an ingratiating smile. Maggie stared back, unconvinced.

"I wouldn't trust him," Joe said.

"I don't know," Nancy chimed in. "It might be safer to take the deal."

"Yeah, you have a point," Joe replied thoughtfully. "Take the deal."

"Then again, he did double cross her last time..." Nancy pointed out. If we can get them confused enough Joe might get a chance to grab his gun without anyone getting hurt.

"True. You should keep this painting for yourself," Joe advised.

Maggie looked bewildered. Diarmid had had enough. "Shut up!" he roared, aiming his gun toward Joe. "Yes or no, Mag."

"No."

"What if I told you the buyer for this one is local? Come with me and we'll split the money on the spot. Then I'll hop on a plane for Hawaii and you'll never have to deal with me again."

Maggie hesitated. "90/10," she said finally.

"60/40," Diarmid shot back. Nancy and Joe exchanged an amused glance. With any luck the cousins would still be haggling when the police arrived.

"70/30, final offer," Maggie said.

"You always were a cold little bitch," Diarmid said. "Fine. But only because we've got to get out of here."

"What do we do with them?" Maggie asked, jerking her knife toward Nancy and Joe.

"Leave that to me," Diarmid said. He gestured with his gun toward the trees at the edge of the parking lot. "You two, over there."

"Listen, Diarmid. Shoot us here and you're going to have every cop in the country looking for your stupid face. Take the painting if that's what you want, but don't rack up another two murder charges," Joe said sensibly.

A siren wailed in the distance. Nancy's heart leaped for a moment before she realized that it was the firehouse siren, not a police car. But Diarmid did not seem to know the difference.

"Fuck," Diarmid grunted. He stood still for a moment, weighing his options. Then he gestured with his gun again. "Up against the car. Both of you."

They were running out of time. Nancy tried to resist, to create a diversion for Joe to use to get the drop on their captor, but Diarmid simply grabbed Nancy's arm and twisted it behind her, holding the gun up to her temple. He shoved her up against the car next to Joe. "Maggie, search him," he grunted.

Maggie patted Joe down in a very reluctant and amateur fashion. Even to an amateur, though, his gun was obvious. Maggie pulled it out of its holster and held it out between her thumb and forefinger, as though she were holding a dead mouse.

"He had a gun!" she said, shocked.

"It's not gonna bite!" Diarmid said impatiently. "Put the damn knife away and point the gun at him."

Maggie did as she was told. She held the gun gingerly- clearly, she had never handled a firearm before- but that did not make her any less dangerous.

"Let's see what you've got," Diarmid growled at Nancy, pushing her harder against the side of the car. She felt the cold of the metal against her face, through her clothing. Diarmid kicked her stance wider with one booted foot and began running his hands over her body in a crude imitation of a crime-show frisking.

"Get your hands off her," Joe said, and his voice was dark, menacing. Diarmid, idiot that he was, laughed.

"Or what?" he said, taunting the other man. "My girlfriend had a little fun with you. It seems fair for me to have some fun with your girl." He leaned in, caressing Nancy's cheek, as he spoke.

Nancy bit him.

"Try it," she said, spitting blood into the snow. "I dare you."

His hand came at her again, hard this time. The blow sent her reeling back against the car hard enough to hit her head. Great. Now I'll have a bruise on each side, she thought dizzily. At least I'll be symmetrical. She vaguely heard Diarmid cursing at her. When she looked back he was cradling his bleeding hand, but his gun was still trained on them.

"Diarmid," Maggie said. "We've got to get out of here."

"Get in the back seat," Diarmid ordered, yanking Nancy upright so Maggie could open the car door. He gave Nancy a push and she stumbled toward the door. She could hear Diarmid and Maggie arguing outside.

"Maggie, you're driving. Get in and keep the gun on them until I'm ready."

"I'm not driving. I'm holding the painting."

"Put the damn painting in the trunk."

"I said I'd hold it!"

"Fine. Just get in."

Maggie slammed herself down in the front passenger seat. She turned to keep Joe's gun trained on her passenger.

"Where's your boyfriend?" she snapped.

Nancy shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't want to go for a ride," she said casually. She honestly didn't know what Joe was hoping to accomplish by delaying, but she trusted that he had a plan. She craned her neck, trying to get a view of what was going on outside, just in time to see Diarmid stagger backward. Joe must have seen a chance to go on the offensive. Diarmid's gun fell to the ground and slid behind the car's rear tire. Instinctively, Nancy began to lunge for it.

"No," Maggie said, Joe's gun wavering in her hands. Nancy froze.

The ensuing scuffle was brief. For a minute the two men grappled, neither one able to gain the upper hand. Then Joe landed a series of good punches and Diarmid went down. Nancy's heart lifted for a second- and then fell again as Diarmid reached out and yanked Joe's feet out from under him on the icy surface.

Some instinct made Nancy turn back toward Maggie. Maggie's attention was focused on the fight; the gun was no longer pointing at Nancy. Without stopping to think, Nancy grabbed for it. Her fingers closed on the cool metal of the barrel just as Maggie noticed her attempt.

"Nice try," Maggie said, wrenching the weapon out of Nancy's reach. The girl popped her door open and leaned out.

"Diarmid, get clear!" she screamed, pointing the gun toward the combatants. She intended to shoot Joe!

"Joe, get down!" Nancy cried, lunging between the seats. She managed to get an arm around Maggie's neck and squeeze. The girl dropped the gun into the snow and writhed, scratching and hitting at Nancy. Nancy just held on for dear life. If Joe could just get the better of Diarmid, now, the whole thing would be over. The men were down again. Between her struggle to hang on to Maggie and the pre-dawn dimness Nancy could barely tell what was going on. One figure rolled away suddenly, toward the car. The other began to rise to his feet.

"Joe, on your left!" Nancy exclaimed, realizing what was about to happen. But it was too late. Diarmid came up with his gun back in his hand and he used it as a club, bringing it down hard on Joe's head. Joe crumpled.

"Let her go. Now," Diarmid bellowed at Nancy. His chest was heaving with exertion, but he had a businesslike grip on his weapon. Nancy obeyed, releasing Maggie and withdrawing into the back seat.

"Let me help him," she said.

Diarmid did not answer her. He bent over Joe's body for a moment, presumably checking for signs of life. Then he straightened up, muttering something Nancy could not make out, and kicked the prone detective viciously a few times before hoisting him up by the armpits and loading him into the back of the car with Nancy. Part of Nancy's brain, the part that never stopped analyzing her surroundings, catalogued that information: Diarmid might be stupid, but he was also very strong. Her more immediate concern, however, was Joe. Nancy eased his head into her lap, pressing her sleeve against the gash in his forehead to stop the bleeding, feeling desperately for his carotid artery with her free hand. A pulse drummed against her fingers, strong and steady. It was the most beautiful thing she could remember feeling.

"He's alive," Diarmid told her, disgust plain in his tone. He eased himself behind the wheel and reached to close his door.

"Diarmid!"

Diarmid's head jerked toward Maggie. She shook her head.

"What the..." Diarmid hauled himself back out of the car.

Nancy, too, was looking for the source of the voice. She saw a gleam of moonlight on blonde hair: Faith, running across the slick parking lot, tears streaming down her face.

"Diarmid!" the girl screamed again. "Diarmid, I know what you did!"

"Good for you!" Diarmid yelled back.

And he pulled the trigger.

Faith fell and did not rise again. Diarmid practically threw the gun into Maggie's lap and slammed his door, already turning the keys in the ignition. The car fishtailed across the lot and swerved out into the road, where it gained traction and sped off into what was left of the night.

"What did she know? What did you do?" Maggie was screaming.

"Don't worry about it!" Diarmid yelled back.

"You just shot our cousin!" Maggie shrieked. "You really shot her!"

"Look, doll, we do what we have to do," Diarmid said.

They kept arguing. Maggie was evidently just learning that it was Diarmid, not Keith, who had killed Brendan; and she was not taking it well. Diarmid had nothing particularly interesting to say in his own defense. Nancy let their words wash over her like white noise, like waves on a beach. Her focus was on Joe and his terrible, uncharacteristic stillness. Despite her attempt to stop the bleeding, she could feel a horrible patch of wet warmth spreading across her leg.

He's fine. He's going to be fine.

They were heading out of River Heights now. Nancy forced herself to keep half her attention on the road, on memorizing the route they were taking. There was very little she could control about her current situation, but she could at least stay alert.

Where was Frank? Why didn't he call the police? she wondered, leaning in to take a look at Joe's head. When she ran her fingertips across his face, they did not come up wet. The bleeding had finally stopped. Nancy took a shaky breath and sat back, cradling his head in her lap, trying her hardest not to think about Faith lying in the gallery parking lot.

This was supposed to be easy, she thought wearily. Her throat felt tight with anger and unshed tears. She swallowed hard, shoving her fear and worry to the back of her mind, and concentrated on her anger. Nancy's temper was not the blinding flash that Joe's could be. Nancy's anger was slow-burning, deliberate. She let it rise up and carry her, a life preserver on the tide of peril and uncertainty.

"Where are you taking us?" she asked abruptly, cutting through Maggie's current tirade.

"Don't worry about it," Diarmid told her.

There was a short silence. Diarmid stopped at a red light and waited impatiently, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

"I'll call my buyer when we get there," he said to Maggie.

"And then what?" she asked.

They launched back into their cycle of debate and recrimination, and Nancy tuned them out. She looked out the window. They were in Bayport, now, and very close to the bay itself. Joe began to stir as they turned off the main road and bumped across a lot to what looked like a warehouse by the docks.

"Lie still," Nancy whispered into his ear. "I think we've reached our destination."

"As long as it's not our final destination," Joe quipped weakly. He reached up, exploring fingers brushing the wound on his head. "Where are we?"

"A warehouse in Bayport. How do you feel?"

"Humiliated," Joe whispered. "That's the first fight I've lost in awhile. I'm sorry, Nan."

"You should be. I really thought you were invincible," Nancy whispered back.

Joe halfway smiled. "Sorry to disappoint, babe."

"I'm just glad you're awake," Nancy said, growing serious. "How do you feel?"

"I'll live. You?"

"I'm fine."

Diarmid had pulled the car around to the back side of the warehouse building. He parked the car, pocketing the keys. "Stop whispering back there," he ordered. "Get out of the car, slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them. Mag, hand me one of those guns back."

"We only have one," Maggie said, handing it over.

"Where the hell is the one you took from him?"

"She made me drop it," Maggie said sullenly.

"You fucking idiot! Your fingerprints were all over it!" Diarmid snarled.

"I can't do anything about that now," Maggie shot back, defiant as ever. She grabbed the painting and slid out of the car.

"Just get inside," Diarmid said.

Nancy felt Joe squeeze her hand once, hard, before they slid out of the car to face whatever would come next.