A/N: FraidyCat and I are working smoothly to get you the updates as soon as possible. That doesn't mean we don't like reviews! Thanks to everyone who reviewed so much, I'm trying to get to all of them. Honest.

DISCLAIMER: The chapter title isn't mine, either.

Chapter 12

Alan glared at Don. "I really think a bodyguard and a safe house is unnecessary," he snapped. "He's not going to come after me, too, whoever this guy is, and besides, I want to work on the case!"

"I'm trying to find Charlie, Dad," Don snapped back, exhausted. "We're putting you in a safe house so I don't have to worry about you, too. Joe is staying here as well, and we're flying up Laura and Gertrude. I really want to see how much they know, but if they are on the up-and-up, which it sounds like they are, they're gonna be in the safe house, too."

Joe's face lit up. "You're gonna bring my mom up here?" He asked with a smile.

Don sighed, and then said, "Look, I gotta get back to the office. I gotta find Charlie, and I gotta find Frank."

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When Charlie regained consciousness again, Frank was staring at the barren wall, unblinking. Charlie had a pretty good idea of what just happened, but what confused him was Frank was showered and changed.

"Frank?" He asked hesitantly, trying to push himself up into a sitting position again.

Frank continued to stare at the wall for a few seconds before he sighed and met Charlie's eyes. "I'm alive," he muttered. "I guess that's important."

Charlie's blood ran cold and he swallowed. "Your clothes…", he began, but he bit the words off. Frank reddened and turned his attention back to the wall. "Jason…Jason made me…well, freshen up, before." A burst of laughter escaped him, startling Charlie more than anything else. "I guess he didn't want someone with blood on him…." He looked as if he was thinking about saying more, but he didn't. Now that he knew Jason was using his friendship all along, Frank found it impossible to trust anyone, anymore. Not even Charlie.

Charlie noticed that Frank's arms had been wrapped up in bandages, and they'd stopped the bleeding. "Why do we want them to know we gave them up?" Charlie whispered closely.

Frank looked at Charlie again, his eyes pleading. "Whatever you do, don't… don't let them know the truth. We have to stall for time," he begged. "They'll kill us all – Don, and Joe, too." Before Charlie had a chance to answer, he and Frank both froze at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

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Don looked at Colby. "You're joking, right? They never found any proof linking Fenton to Jessica's disappearance. Everyone said she ran away."

"It says here that the Pasadena detective working the case always suspected foul play – maybe even murder – but he never got enough evidence to convince a judge to give him a warrant. Did Frank tell you Jeff's house was sold?"

"SOLD?" Don demanded, grabbing Colby's papers. "What the hell…"

"He sold it to Fenton," Colby said. "Of course they'll claim ignorance, but at least it proves they knew each other, even if they are supposedly just 'vague acquaintances.'"

"We need more than that," Don said. "Have we gotten Fenton's credit card records yet?"

"Megan and Larry are going through 'em now."

"Tell 'em faster," Don shouted, racing down the hall to talk to David.

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Jeff glared at Charlie. Frank stared at the wall, unmoving, again. He refused to look at Jason or Jeff. "You'd better talk this time, you miserable little punk," he snapped. "Otherwise I might just get really, really pissed off. And you don't want to see me pissed off." A slow smile played across his face. "Oh, that's right – you already did, once."

Charlie clamped his mouth shut, remembering what Frank had said about killing Don. Jeff grew angry, and after a minute, he grabbed Frank and shoved him into the wall, nearly sending Charlie into another flashback.

"Stop!" Charlie shouted. "Don't hurt him or I won't tell you anything."

Frank swallowed hard, not wanting Charlie to give Don and Joe up on his account. He wasn't worth it, not anymore. Not since back in the warehouse, the first time he was kidnapped.

Jeff turned towards Charlie, relaxing his grip on Frank and letting him slump back against the wall. "Okay, so, tell." He had a victorious smile on his face that sickened him more than anything.

"No!" Frank said suddenly, pushing against the wall in a desperate lunge toward Jeff. Before he made contact, though, there was a loud crash at the top of the stairs.

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Alan glared at his bodyguard. "I have to go back to my house and get some more clothes, and feed the koi. It's only a few miles from here, I'll call a cab. It will only take a few minutes. You can stay here with Joe."

The Agent shook his head. "No offense, Mr. Eppes, but your son is a senior Agent. If he says to stay on you, I'm staying on you. I figure it beats working at McDonald's. Just make me a list and I'll call it in; my relief can stop by your place on the way here."

The two men stood at an impasse in the safe house kitchen. Joe, silent and wide-eyed, sat at the table blinking at them, an untouched soda before him. Alan's eyes flickered toward him and then passed over his head to the counter behind him, and the stove next to it. He couldn't believe what he was about to do, but he saw no other way. Ever since the trip to the safe house, when they had passed Jessica Cartman's old home, a niggling fear had settled in his mind, and it was becoming stronger. He had to act upon it. He was a father, and Charlie was in trouble. "Fine," he groused, stomping toward the stove. He took a pen from his pocket, along with a scrap of paper. Leaning over the counter, he began to scribble. After just a few words, he began to shake the pen angrily, and muttered. "Damn thing's out of ink."

"Here," the FBI Agent said helpfully, eager to make amends with the distraught man. He needed to stay on his boss's good side. Besides that, he genuinely liked the old guy. He reached into his own pocket and extricated his pen, stepping up behind Alan.

Alan could hardly believe it himself when he swung around, frying pan gripped firmly in his hand, and bashed the Agent firmly in the head.

He dropped to the floor without a sound. Alan stared at him worriedly for a few seconds, bent over and quickly searched the Agent's pockets, coming up triumphantly with a set of keys. He glanced at Joe, whose eyes had nearly exited his head by this time. Alan headed for the closest way out. "Take care of him," he barked. At the door, he forced himself to turn around and be more specific. "By that I mean use his own cuffs on him. Then get to the basement, and stay there until I come back for you. It's a safe house, right?" Alan smiled shakily. "So the basement must be safe."

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Don looked at Colby. "I want a search warrant for the Henderson – or Hardy, or whatever the hell -- house, ASAP. I think he might be hiding Frank and Charlie there."

"Do you really think he'd be that stupid?" Colby asked. "Besides, we don't have any more evidence than that Pasadena detective had 20 years ago – we'll never get a warrant."

Don crossed his arms over his chest and glared at him angrily. "Not as long as you stand there like an idiot and don't even try," he snapped, and Colby slunk from the room with his tail between his legs.