Chapter Twenty-Four: Aftermath
The warehouse was unoccupied. It was dim, inside, even after Diarmid flipped on the overhead lights, and it was cold and disorganized. The door to its small office was ajar, revealing a bare metal desk and a filing cabinet with its drawers hanging open. As soon as they walked in it became apparent that the last cargo to pass through this particular warehouse had been livestock. The air was heavy with the smells of hay, urine, and manure.
"I can't believe your dad hasn't found a renter for this place yet," Maggie said.
"It hasn't been that long," Diarmid said, disinterested. "Get me some rope."
"Some rope?" Maggie repeated, looking around.
"Yeah, there's some lying around. The shit they use to tie hay bales. Go pick some up." Diarmid prodded Nancy between the shoulder blades with his gun, sending her stumbling forward toward some left-behind bales of hay. "Sit," he directed. "And not on the same bale. Keep some distance."
Maggie had been poking around in the loose hay scattered over the floor, squealing occasionally when she stepped in something distasteful. But it was not long before she was back with several lengths of baling twine.
"Take the gun," Diarmid said, grabbing the twine.
"You're welcome," Maggie said pointedly.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered back.
"That's all I get?"
He paused and craned his neck to look back at her. "You want a fucking trophy for picking up some pieces of rope?"
"Why are you such an ass?"
Diarmid made no response. He finished tying Joe's ankles with a jerk and moved over to start on Nancy.
Nancy's hopes that Diarmid's intellectual limitations extended to knot-tying were soon dashed. Within a few minutes her wrists and ankles, and Joe's too, had been secured.
"What are you holding us for?" Joe demanded.
"Insurance," Diarmid said shortly.
He'll keep us until he gets paid, Nancy thought. After that we'll be liabilities. Deciding not to pursue that course of thought any further, Nancy focused on tested her bonds discreetly. The baling twine was rough and irritating against her skin, and it held firm. But she had not really expected the knots to miraculously dissolve at her first struggle. Life never seemed to work that way. She looked over to Joe and tried to smile.
"We should have trained as magicians," she joked, and was happy to see Joe's eyes light up in appreciation.
"I'll change my major next semester," he murmured back.
"No talking," Diarmid warned. "Let's see the goods, Mag."
Maggie held it up and Diarmid leaned in, squinting. "Can't you put it down?"
"No."
Grumbling, Diarmid dragged the desk out of the office. He used the hem of his shirt to wipe off the dust in an exaggerated manner. "Now will you put the damn thing down?"
Maggie, her lips compressed in an angry line, spread the canvas out on the desktop. Diarmid leaned in again, examining it, for a long moment.
"All right. I'm gonna call my guy," Diarmid said, evidently satisfied with the stolen item. Maggie was still leaning over the canvas.
"Something doesn't look right," she said, mostly to herself.
Diarmid froze mid-dial. "Don't tell me you stole the wrong painting."
"No, this is it. But something looks off about it."
"Stop." Diarmid pointed at her, shaking his head in warning. "Just look away. We got the damn thing, right? And Curt's gonna pay us for it. That's what matters."
"I know," Maggie said, but she kept staring at it.
"Seriously, stop it," Diarmid said, beginning to sound angry. "Watch them. I'm gonna go call."
Diarmid went down to the far end of the warehouse to make his call. Nancy could see him pacing back and forth down there. He was too far for her to make out what he was saying, but judging by the tone of his voice and his increasingly choppy gestures, he was not pleased. When he returned to their side of the room, Maggie practically pounced on him.
"Is something wrong?"
"No."
"Diarmid, tell me. We're supposed to be partners."
"There's nothing to tell."
Maggie was not buying it. "I bet Curt doesn't have the money."
"He has the money. He's running late, that's all. Don't get hysterical about it."
"Don't be an ass," Maggie told him, returning to stand guard over the painting. "I just want to get this over with."
"It was your choice to be here," Diarmid reminded her. He was still pacing around, looking out the window, his gaze darting continually darting back toward Nancy and Joe.
"Watch them," he said suddenly. "I gotta call Allie." He gestured with his gun toward the detectives. "Don't try anything stupid. I'm not in the mood."
"Oh, sure. We'd hate to inconvenience you," Joe said snidely. Diarmid ignored this, to Nancy's surprise.
"Hey, leave me the gun!" Maggie yelled after him. His only reply was the side door slamming behind him. Maggie muttered something unladylike under her breath, retrieved the folding chair from the office, and sat down to stare at her prisoners. Moments dragged by. Nancy squirmed a little, wishing Maggie would look away or at least blink a little more frequently. This was quite possibly the most awkward she had ever felt in a hostage situation. And she was beginning to worry about Joe, too. She could tell that he was angry, and that he was probably gearing up to do something impulsive.
Wait, Joe, she begged silently, making eye contact with him. Don't try to force an opening. Something will come up.
Joe frowned back at her. He was angry, and he was not really telepathic. Nancy did not know whether to laugh or cry. His impulsive ideas worked, most of the time; but she was not eager for either one of them to make a wrong move and get shot. She was still banking on Frank having seen her signal.
Inspiration struck, suddenly. Nancy slumped back against the wall in feigned boredom. "This is getting dull," she whispered, and started to hum, then sing in a soft voice. "We all live in a yellow submarine..."
Joe looked startled, for a second; then he broke into a reluctant grin and joined in.
"Hey," Maggie said ineffectively. The detectives went on singing as though she were not there.
"Hey!" Maggie said, louder this time.
Joe broke off, mid-chorus. "Sorry, we're not taking requests right now," he told her, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Stop singing!" Maggie told him.
Nancy stopped. "Diarmid's been gone awhile," she said thoughtfully. "I wonder what he's saying to her that he couldn't say in front of you."
"Don't worry," Joe chimed in. "I bet it's just a personal call. Why would he hide anything from you? I mean, you're partners now."
"Stop that," Maggie said. "I know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to work."
"Were you trying to do something?" Joe asked, turning his most innocent expression toward Nancy. She managed, somehow, to keep a straight face.
"I don't remember trying anything."
Joe shrugged. "From the top?" he suggested.
"Take it away!" Nancy agreed, swaying a little as though she were dancing. In fact, she was using the motion to disguise a different objective. There was a nail sticking out of the wall behind her, and she had discovered with a little manuevering she could hook the twine binding her wrists on it. It was nowhere near as effective as a knife or even a jagged piece of glass would have been, but she had already managed to break a few fibers.
At this rate I should be free by Christmas, she thought ruefully, wriggling her shoulders and winking at Joe to draw his attention to her efforts. His mostly-false cheerfulness brightened into the real thing.
Diarmid was not pleased when he returned to yet another rousing chorus of the classic Beatles song. He ran in, slamming the door hard behind him. "What the hell, Maggie? I said watch them!"
"What was I supposed to do, fill their mouths with hay?"
"That's not a bad idea." Diarmid strode over toward the hay bales and glared down at Nancy and Joe through his one good eye. His left eye was swollen half-shut, a souvenir of his earlier fight with Joe. He was obviously trying to look intimidating- so naturally, Joe refused to be intimidated.
"I guess he's not a Beatles fan," he said to Nancy, shaking his head. Nancy decided to play along.
"What? That's crazy. Everybody likes the Beatles," she said.
"Maybe he just doesn't like that song."
"Hmm. Let's try another one, then."
"Hey, man, do you prefer 'Hey, Jude' or 'Daydream Believer'?" Joe asked.
"That's the Monkees, not the Beatles!" Nancy told him.
"Right. Good catch."
"Shut UP!" Diarmid screamed. "Just shut up! The next person who starts singing is getting a bullet between the eyes."
"Is your aim actually that good?" Joe asked with interest.
"Shut up," Diarmid growled again. He turned on his heel and stalked back toward the desk.
Maggie pulled the painting reflexively closer to herself. "What did Allie say?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"Really? You were out there for ten minutes, talking about nothing?" Maggie had perfected the art of the disbelieving eyebrow arch. Diarmid did not seem impressed.
"She didn't answer, okay? I called a bunch of numbers and couldn't get her. Happy now?"
"Yes," Maggie said primly.
The group lapsed into silence again. Maggie hovered near the painting, defensive and worried but trying to appear in control. Diarmid sat down in the folding chair, crossed his arms, and stared stone-faced into space.
For Nancy, the time seemed to both drag along and lurch dizzyingly forward. She was painstakingly spearing the twine between her wrists onto the nail and pulling, feeling the fibers give way one strand at a time. Though the movements themselves were not especially strenuous, Nancy could feel her muscles trembling as though she had just finished a hard workout. Any moment now, Diarmid would notice what she was doing. Any moment now, there would be repercussions. But minute after minute passed with no outcry from her captors. Almost a quarter of an hour must have passed before Diarmid suddenly lurched to his feet again. The sudden movement startled Nancy and she jumped, popping the twine off the end of the nail and gouging her arm against it. She bit back her yelp. Miraculously, Diarmid paid no attention to her.
"I'm gonna call her again," he said, turning toward Maggie. "Don't let them get out of control this time."
"Let me have the gun this time!" Maggie said.
"Fuck no."
"Okay, but don't blame me if they start singing again."
"If they start shit this time I'm taking an extra share of the cash," Diarmid told her.
"Over my dead body!" Maggie yelled after him. She seemed to regret the words as soon as they had left her mouth.
"Big talk from the chick with no gun," Diarmid said, laughing a very nasty laugh. He let the door bang closed behind him again.
"If I had my hands free I'd wipe that smirk off his face," Nancy muttered, suppressing the urge to spit into the hay on the floor. She could still taste blood from when she had bitten him earlier.
"Easy, Drew. Reckless violence is supposed to be my department," Joe said gently.
"I'm beginning to see why you enjoy it so much," Nancy grumbled back. She rolled her shoulders, trying to release the strain of the delicate work she was doing behind her back, and resolutely hooked another strand of twine over the nail. Maggie was still sulking by the desk, and she was staring at the painting rather than at the detectives.
"Seriously, though," Joe said. "We've got to do something. He's going to shoot us as soon as he gets his money. That goes for you, too, Maggie."
Maggie's head jerked up so fast she looked like she'd been lassoed. "Why would he do that?"
Joe shrugged. "Think about it. We're only alive now because he didn't want to leave a mess at the crime scene, and in case he needs us to negotiate his way out of here. As soon as he gets what he wants he's going to have to make sure we won't talk."
"I have the painting. He needs me," Maggie said stubbornly.
Nancy looked at Joe. He shrugged again. Maggie was either very naive or very confident; but either way, she had gotten herself into this mess. As much as Nancy would hate to see her get hurt, she was not their responsibility.
They were quiet for a minute or two. Then Joe spoke again, very softly.
"Hey, Nan."
"What?"
"This might just be the concussion talking, but I've come up with that sonnet you asked for."
Nancy's eyes widened. "Here? You're going to tell me here?" she said, surprised, but pleased and curious.
"No time like the present, right?" Joe said. He sounded surprisingly serious.
"Go ahead. I'm listening," Nancy said.
"When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes-"
Nancy giggled. "Joe, that's Shakespeare."
"What? No way. I just made that up."
He really was too good at keeping a straight face. Under different circumstances, Nancy would have slid into his lap and kissed him until his composure broke. But at present all she could do was roll her eyes at him and say "Okay, Bard, let's hear the rest of it."
"Maybe I don't want to tell you, now."
"Maybe you didn't really write one!"
"I guess you'll never find out."
Diarmid's return jolted them out of their teasing mood. Nancy stopped tugging at her wrists and faced forward again.
"Took you long enough!" Maggie was complaining. "Did you talk to her this time? What did she say?"
"She said mind your own freakin' business," Diarmid snapped back. Nancy took this to mean that Allie was still not answering her phone. Had she been arrested already?
Well done, Bess, Nancy thought, her spirits lifting.
"You can't talk to me like that," Maggie told her cousin. She was holding the painting again- shielding herself or just trying to retain some measure of control over the situation, Nancy was not sure which.
"I can do whatever the hell I want," Diarmid said huffily.
"Will you at least tell me what we're going to do with them when Curt gets here?" Maggie jerked a thumb at the detectives.
"Shoot 'em."
"Can't we just leave them here?"
Diarmid made his voice slow and patronising, as though he were speaking to a child. "They know who we are, Mag. They'd go straight to the cops and tell them everything."
"Yeah, but you said I left fingerprints on that gun I dropped. Aren't we screwed already?"
"What are you saying? I thought you were in. I thought we were partners." His voice was not patronising anymore. Now it was threatening. "If you're thinking about turning yourself in, we're gonna have a problem."
Maggie swallowed hard. "No. No, that's not what I meant. I'm just saying, we're already in big trouble."
"Shoulda thought of that before you broke into the gallery."
"I didn't know I'd be helping kill anyone! Faith was bad enough. Now we're going to kill two more people?" Maggie's voice had been rising hysterically. She checked herself, swallowing again. When she continued to speak, her voice was barely audible. "I just wanted what is rightfully mine. I just wanted my inheritance. I didn't want this."
"Awww, wittle Maggie doesn't like hurting people," Diarmid taunted. His expression hardened. "Get your big girl panties on and deal with it. This whole thing is almost over and I'm not letting anyone get in my way."
"Not even your own brother." Maggie's voice is defiant but shaky.
"He should've just given me the box. He made me do it. Now would you just drop it?" Diarmid dropped heavily into the folding chair. He was playing with his gun, clicking the safety off and then back on. The sound grated on Nancy's nerves.
"Curt should be here in a few minutes," Diarmid said abruptly. "Go out to the car and get me my soda."
Maggie hesitated.
"I said, go get me my soda," Diarmid repeated. And Maggie went.
"I think it's frozen," she called as she returned. Diarmid grabbed it anyway.
"Got to make a call. Watch them." He was gone before Maggie could say anything.
"This would be a great time for my brother to show up," Joe murmured.
"You know Frank. He's just waiting for the last minute so he looks as heroic as possible," Nancy whispered back, wincing slightly as her arm slipped against the nail again.
"Yeah, that's my brother," Joe said dryly. "Old Blaze-of-Glory Hardy."
Nancy turned her attention to Maggie, who was clutching her painting and looking miserable. There was a slight chance she could capitalize on the shift in the power dynamic between the cousins, but it was now or never.
"Maggie." Nancy's voice was gentle, but Maggie jumped violently.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
"You're not supposed to talk," Maggie said.
"I know. But I was thinking, if you want out of this..." Nancy let her voice trail off. When Maggie looked at her, sharp and curious, Nancy shrugged. "I mean, he's gone. You could make the call if you wanted to. End this before something bad happens."
"She's right," Joe said. "You know you're just as much in danger as we are, Maggie."
Maggie inhaled sharply. And, miracle of miracles, she reached for her phone.
"I'm sick of him yelling at me," she said softly. "And I don't want to die."
"You're making the right choice," Nancy said, keeping her voice calm despite the surge of adrenaline she could feel coursing through her body. Dial faster. Come on, Maggie. Dial faster!
But it was too late. Diarmid was back.
"Drop the phone!" he roared, raising his gun.
She dropped it. It landed with a horrible crack on the concrete floor; it was probably broken even before Diarmid ground his heel into it.
"Tell me why I shouldn't shoot you right now," he hissed.
"Diarmid," Maggie whimpered. There were tears on her cheeks. "No. Please."
He took a step closer. "Go sit down."
There were no hay bales left. Maggie sat down on the floor beside Nancy's bale. All the fight had gone out of her. She allowed Diarmid to take away the painting and to bind her wrists and ankles.
"Go easy on her," Nancy said, feeling the same rush of compassion she had felt earlier for Jenny. The girl was so young and so defeated.
Diarmid got to his feet. "You, shut up. And you," he said, looking down at his cousin, "quit crying."
"Leave them alone," Joe said.
"Or what?" Diarmid laughed. "Was that supposed to scare me? Because I think I remember winning, last time you came at me."
"Put down the gun and untie me. We'll see who wins in a fair fight," Joe growled. Diarmid just resumed his seat in the folding chair, smiling a very smug smile.
There was another silence, broken only by occasional sniffs from the still-crying Maggie. Diarmid dug out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up. He checked his phone between drags, and occasionally paced to the window. Whoever this Curt was, he was not impressing Nancy with his punctuality.
I can live with that, she thought, working the twine over the end of the nail again. The thought made her shudder, suddenly. Actually, that's the only thing keeping me alive. She applied pressure, slowly, making her movements as slow as possible- and another strand parted. This time she felt the twine around her wrists slacken and drop away. She had done it! And just in time, by the sounds of things. A vehicle had just pulled up outside the warehouse.
"Finally!" Diarmid huffed, tossing his cigarette butt aside as he rose. He had just retrieved the painting from the desk when the door opened.
"Curt, you jackass, I've been sitting here for a freakin' hour," he complained. "You got the cash?"
"Nope, sorry. Do you take credit cards?" a suspiciously feminine voice replied cheerfully. The speaker stepped into view, pushing the door closed behind herself with one booted foot.
"George!" Nancy almost laughed out loud with relief and amusement. The look on Diarmid's face was priceless.
George took it all in stride. She had acquired a gun of her own, somehow, and it was pointing straight at Diarmid. "Drop the gun, scumbag. Get down on the floor."
He did not comply.
"You should probably know that I earned a few marksmanship badges in the Army," George said, taking a few steps closer. "You should also know that I've spent the past week babysitting my cousin's toddler. I'm not a patient person to start with. But now? Man, now I almost want to put a few holes in you just to relieve some stress."
Nancy had never seen anyone rid himself of a gun so fast. Diarmid practically threw his weapon onto the desktop before dropping to the floor, hard. George strolled over and planted a foot in his back.
"Give me one good reason I shouldn't put you out of your miserable little existence," she said, low and deadly.
"No!" Diarmid screamed out, writhing in an attempt to roll out from beneath her. He covered his head with his hands and positively cowered. "No! Don't shoot!"
"Pathetic!" George said.
Nancy had untied her feet by now. She took the length of twine she had removed from around her ankles and used it to tie Diarmid's hands behind his back.
"You were free? What the hell were you waiting for?" George asked.
"It was a very recent development," Nancy told her. "Leave Maggie tied for now."
George raised an eyebrow. "Okay."
"Long story," Nancy said, using Maggie's knife to cut Joe's bonds.
"Thanks," he said, cupping her face briefly with one hand. They held one another's gaze for a moment, letting their eyes say everything they needed to say. There would be time to process the experience together later. Right now there was still work to be done.
"We owe you one," Joe said, going over to shake George's hand.
"The police are on their way. I called them before I walked in." George handed her gun over to Joe. "I believe this belongs to you."
"I could kiss you!" Joe said, accepting the weapon with joy and relief.
"Hardy, I swear I'll go away and let this rhinocerous in human form shoot you if you so much as pucker up," George said, pretending she was going to let Diarmid get up.
Joe laughed and kissed his gun instead before tucking it away in its holster. "Seriously, George. Thanks."
"You went to the gallery?" Nancy asked her friend.
"I had a feeling something wasn't right," George said. "I saw you walk in and flash us the all clear sign. But when you walked back out, something felt off."
"I signaled," Nancy said. "Where was Frank?"
"He got called in to work around midnight. Another officer called in sick."
Joe groaned. "Shit."
"That's what you get for relying on a signal code you made up when you guys were kids!" George told him. "Next time, I don't know, wave your arms around and look scared. That might convey your message a little better."
"I'm pretty sure that would have tipped off the shooter," Nancy said.
George looked down at Diarmid, who was still lying beneath her boot. "You really think this guy could hit the side of a barn?"
"You really think we wanted to chance it?" Joe shot back.
"Guys," Nancy said, interrupting. "Enough." She took a deep breath. "Was there a body in the parking lot?"
"Not a dead one," George said.
"Faith's alive?" Maggie cried. Everyone jumped and turned to stare at her; they had nearly forgotten she was in the room.
"She's not in great shape, but she should make it," George said. "She was still conscious when I got there. Anyway, I called 911, grabbed Joe's gun from the parking lot, and tracked you guys down."
"Like a bloodhound?" Nancy asked.
"Faith had a few ideas about where Diarmid might have gone to earth. Took me awhile to find this place, though."
"Sounds like the cavalry has arrived," Joe said suddenly. He went to the door and flung it open, raising his hands in a non-threatening gesture as he stepped into view. Nancy could hear him call out to someone, and several voices responded, though she could not make out the words. And then he had returned to her side, and the room was filling up with uniformed men and women, and Frank had materialized and was pulling both Joe and Nancy into a rough embrace.
"Frank, we're fine," Nancy protested, squirming away before the buttons on his coat could imprint on her cheek.
"Barely!" Frank said, aiming a light punch at his brother's shoulder. "You dumb blond. There were easier ways to try to get out of being my best man."
"I love you, too," Joe said, wrapping his arms around Frank. "And I was going to be your best man even if it meant showing up as a ghost. Do you think there are tuxedo rental places in the afterlife?"
"That's a question I'm in no hurry to get an answer to," Frank said, refusing to let Joe's jokes lighten his mood.
"Frank, this wasn't your fault," Joe said.
"If I hadn't gone to work-"
"We're big kids, okay? We handled it." Joe caught sight of George's glare and hastily amended his statement. "Fine. George handled it. But Nancy had her hands free."
An officer approached the group. "Miss Drew, Mr. Hardy, and Miss Fayne? The chief wants you to come back to the station and give your official statements."
"We'll need a ride," Joe said, nodding.
"I'll take you," Frank said immediately. "Just let me clear it with the chief." He walked off, striding purposefully through the commotion.
"I have my car," George said belatedly.
Nancy was not listening. She was watching another pair of officers lead Diarmid and Maggie out in cuffs.
"Joe," she said, drawing his attention to what was happening.
"My favorite scenery," he said with quiet satisfaction. "It's over, Nan."
"It's over," Nancy repeated, and her voice was a little hollow.
"Nance," George said, her voice laced with warning. "I know that look. Don't you dare start thinking about the next case yet."
Nancy laughed. "You got me." She reached over and gave her friend a quick hug. "Let's get out of here."
********************************************
The Bayport Police Department was surprisingly busy for a small-town police station in the early morning hours.
"Typical pre-Thanksgiving crime boom," Joe muttered. He was tipping his chair back on two legs, resting his head against the wall, and his eyes were closed.
"That must be it," Nancy said. She was falling asleep in her seat. To keep herself alert she got up and walked the perimeter of the interview room Frank had left them in.
"I bet the chief went out for breakfast," George grumbled.
"Don't talk about breakfast," Nancy pleaded, taking her seat again. "My stomach has been growling for hours."
Joe let his chair down with a thump. "Why didn't you say something earlier?" he asked, digging in his coat pocket. "Give me your hand."
"Why?"
"Just give it." He reached for her hand and poured a small heap of M&Ms into the palm. Nancy laughed merrily.
"My hero," she said, batting her eyelashes at him.
"Fayne? Breakfast?" Joe said, offering the remaining candies to George.
"No, thanks. I try to avoid eating pocket lint this early in the morning," George told him.
"Good morning, boys and girls," Chief Collig boomed, letting himself into the room. He settled his large frame on one side of the table and looked back toward the door.
"Come on in," he said, beckoning.
Frank entered, carrying a carafe of coffee and a stack of paper cups. "I thought you guys could use a hot drink," he said. "I tried to get you something to eat, but our vending machine never got restocked this week. I'm sorry." He took a seat beside the chief.
"Thank you," Nancy said fervently, pouring the coffee. "I'm dead on my feet."
"You're lucky to be on your feet at all, young lady," Chief Collig said sternly. Before any of the young people could make a reply, he shook his head. "I'm not going to lecture. These boys have heard enough of my advice over the years." He broke into a broad smile and rested a hand affectionately on Frank's shoulder. "At least one of you boys seemed to be paying attention. Joseph, my boy, there's still time for you to join the force."
"Frank and I are just two sides of the same coin, Chief," Joe said easily, glancing at his brother. Frank gave him a nod of understanding.
"Be that as it may," the chief rumbled vaguely. He shuffled the papers in front of him, searching for the written statements they had already turned in. "All right. There's just one or two things I have some questions about, and then I'll let you go. Preferably to a doctor," he added, pointing at Joe's head. "You ought to have that checked out."
************************************************
It was still fairly early when Nancy and Joe stumbled back to the Hardys' apartment.
"I don't know whether to make breakfast or just go to bed," Nancy lamented, rubbing her sore wrists.
Joe had already collapsed face-first onto the couch. "Bed," he said, his voice muffled in the cushions. "Or couch. Or floor. Just sleep."
"Bed," Nancy agreed. She went over and took his hand, tugging lightly. "Get up and come with me. I don't want to sleep alone right now."
A sudden sound drew her attention. Nancy whirled, nerves still taut with residual excitement, and found Callie peering out of Frank's bedroom.
"Oh, it's you," Nancy said, relaxing. "I'm sorry, Cal. We didn't mean to wake you."
Joe sat up. "Sorry," he echoed.
"Joe, your face!" Callie cried, horrified.
"What's wrong with my face? Most people find me fairly attractive," he said, trying to deflect her anxiety. But she would not be put off.
"What happened?" she asked, coming over to take a closer look. Joe submitted patiently. He had ignored the chief's advice about seeing a doctor, claiming the wound looked worse than it was. Nancy privately believed he could use a few stitches, but she suspected it would just make him more stubborn if she argued with him. The look on his face now, as Callie inspected the injury, confirmed her suspicions.
"Joe, you should-" Callie started.
"No," he said flatly.
"But-"
"Is my brain leaking out?" he demanded. "Is my head going to fall off? No. It's not a big deal."
"Fine. Whatever. Be macho about it," Callie said, looking queasy. She withdrew to the armchair and curled up, pulling an afghan over her legs. "Nancy, what happened to you?"
"Baling twine," Nancy said dismissively.
"No, your leg."
"My leg?" Nancy said, confused. She followed Callie's gaze downward, to the large bloodstain on her right thigh.
"Oh. No, that's Joe's blood," she said, staring at it. Callie's squeak of dismay barely registered above her own sudden swell of revulsion. Up until now, she had forgotten all about the bloodstain; but now she was overwhelmed with the need to get it off her body. She reached for the button on her jeans and popped it open.
"Nan?" Callie said tentatively.
"I can't wear these anymore," Nancy said shakily. She stepped free, leaving the ruined pants in a crumpled heap near the front door, and sat down next to Joe.
Callie's face was filled with compassion, now, instead of dismay. "Frank called from the station," she said, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. "He told me you closed your case. He didn't mention that you both look like zombies."
"It was a long night," Nancy said, resting her head on Joe's shoulder.
"But we did it," Joe added. He wrapped an arm around Nancy and leaned back, closing his eyes.
"Okay, you two." Callie threw off her afghan and got up. "I want to hear the whole story, but I can wait. Right now I'm putting you both in bed." She was tugging them to their feet as she spoke. Nancy allowed herself to be guided across the room, toward Joe's bedroom door.
"You're bossy," Joe grumbled from the other side of Callie. "Why are sisters always so bossy?"
"Somebody needs to take care of you two idiots," Callie said affectionately. She pulled back the blankets and gave Nancy a gentle push. "In you go."
"I'm going to get undressed first," Joe announced. "Are you going to stick around and supervise that?"
Callie laughed. "I think you can handle that. I'll go." She hesitated, though, and gave them one last long look. "I'm glad you're okay," she said finally.
Joe tossed his t-shirt into the laundry basket and walked around the bed to pull her into a bear hug. "Thanks, Cal," he said, kissing the top of her head.
"All right." She broke away, smiling and wiping her eyes. "Damn hormones. Get some rest, guys."
As soon as Callie had closed the door behind her, Joe kicked off his jeans and joined Nancy under the blankets. He reached for her and pulled her close, one hand slipping beneath her shirt to stroke the length of her spine. Nancy wriggled closer. She could tell he was still riding the high of the morning's events, still not relaxed enough for sleep despite his body's exhaustion.
"You're still pumped," she said, without opening her eyes.
Joe nodded, his chin bumping her nose. "Yeah."
"What's on your mind?"
He half-laughed, half-sighed. "I've got my stupid attempt to fight our way out of it in the parking lot on a loop in my head. Every mistake I made, every way I almost got you killed..."
"Joe. You saw a chance and you took it. I would've done the same thing."
"Yeah." He sounded unconvinced.
"I can't believe he didn't shoot us when we started singing," Nancy said, trying to distract him. He smiled.
"I know. And I can't believe George tracked us down like that."
"Think they picked Curt up yet?" Nancy asked.
"Probably. We can ask Frank, later."
Nancy shivered. Her bones still seemed to retain some of the chill of that warehouse. She nestled closer to Joe and opened her eyes to look at his face. The early morning light filtering through the curtains softened his image, slightly, but did nothing to hide his bruises or the dark circles beneath his eyes.
"Inspecting the damage?" Joe said wryly.
"You look beautiful," Nancy said, meaning it. "Joe?"
"Yes?"
I love you, was what she was thinking, but the words seemed frustratingly inadequate. She cupped his face and kissed him instead, tenderly, trying to pour her heart into the meeting of lips and the pressure of her fingers. It was a fairly chaste kiss, as kisses went, but Joe was breathing hard when she broke it off.
"Nan," he said. "Nancy."
"We're all right."
"I know." He kissed her again, slowly, and she could feel the hectic energy bubbling beneath his surface begin to lessen.
"I want us to work together," he whispered. "Officially, I mean."
Nancy's eyes blinked open wide. "Really official? As in, Hardy and Drew, Private Investigators, on the business cards?"
"I would have suggested Hardy Investigative Services, but I'm pretty sure you're not interested in taking my name."
"Taking your name?" Nancy repeated, sitting bolt upright. She stared down at him, trying to determine how serious he was. "You and your damn poker face."
"Come here," he said, laughing. He tugged her back down and wrapped his arms around her again. "Look, no ring. It wasn't a proposal."
"You can't joke about stuff like that! Not when I'm this tired," Nancy protested.
"Were you thinking about saying yes?"
"Not even a little bit," Nancy told him. "I was just thinking you need to work on your technique."
"You've never complained about my technique before," Joe said playfully.
"I meant your verbal technique. First you botched asking me to move in with you, now this..." Nancy let her voice trail off. She shook her head sadly. "You're in bad shape, Hardy."
Joe rolled over, pinning her to the bed, resting most of his weight on his forearms. His blue eyes locked onto hers and held her gaze, filled with laughter and something deeper.
"I promise you, when it's for real, it's going to be perfect," he said. Something in his tone made Nancy shiver again, with anticipation rather than cold.
"I believe you," she said softly.
"Good." Joe rolled back onto his side, facing her. "What do you think, though? About teaming up."
Nancy yawned, burying her face in the pillow to hide it. "I think it sounds great. But can we talk about it in a few hours?"
"That's reasonable," Joe said, reaching for the blankets which their movements had dislodged.
"Good night," Nancy murmured.
"Good- oh. Shit. Wait." Joe groaned, suddenly, and rolled over to grab his phone off the nightstand. "I should call Mom. She hates hearing this stuff second-hand."
Nancy echoed his groan. "Hannah is the same way." She started to sit up, but checked herself. "I left my phone in the living room."
"You can use mine in a minute. Lie down, babe."
Nancy curled against his chest again and let herself drift a little, lulled by the rumble of his voice. She must have drifted further than she had intended, because the next thing she knew Joe was speaking directly to her. She forced her eyes half-open, struggling to make sense of his words.
"I'll call Hannah for you," he was saying. "Go ahead and sleep."
"Tell her you made me breakfast," Nancy said blearily. She felt rather than heard Joe's laugh. The warmth of his body, the comfort of his bed, and her own exhaustion were all too much for her to fight any longer. Nancy closed her eyes and surrendered to unconsciousness.
Author's Note: There, the unpleasant stuff is done! I still have a few chapters left- Thanksgiving, mostly, and some friends-and-family fluff. And of course Joe still has not recited his sonnet. :) Many thanks to my wonderful reviewers! I really appreciate all your support.