Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give much credit and thanks.

Thank you to those persons leaving comments and feedback; it is much appreciated.

January Thaw

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH

Chapter 4

Frank awoke on Sunday morning with another headache. This time it wasn't caused by the now-diminished lump on the side of his head, it was the result of next to no sleep the preceding night. He had had little luck in falling asleep; when at last exhaustion overcame him, he was troubled by nightmares, all of them involving Megan falling into the hands of shadowy captors – while he watched helplessly.

She's all right, he reassured himself. You saw her last night. Remember?

He recalled driving to Megan's house, scarcely able to concentrate on the streets because of the frightened pounding of his heart. It's a good thing I've been there so often; I didn't have to think about it! he admitted now. He had pulled up in front of her house, leaped from the van and hurried to the front door, where he rang the doorbell several times. In his agitation, he didn't notice the small, dark-colored car that slowed as it passed the house…and then parked down the block.

Megan had finally answered the door, looking both worried and annoyed. "Frank, stop it! I heard the doorbell just fine; you didn't need to keep ringing it!"

He stepped into the front hall, shut the door behind him and shot the dead bolt. Then he turned toward Megan and caught her in his arms, holding her so tightly she squealed in protest, her words muffled against his coat. "Frank! What is wrong with you?"

He had hastily apologized and slackened his hold, but kept his arms about her. "I was afraid something might have happened to you. Panic attack, I guess!" He smiled down at her, somewhat wanly. Play it cool, Hardy; don't scare her! "I know your mom's not home, and I worry about you being here by yourself."

Megan had wriggled out of his embrace and eyed him skeptically. "You knew I was going to be home by myself when I left your house; you weren't worried about me then. Why now?"

"Uh – I told you – I had a really bad dream earlier, and it panicked me. I'm sorry…dumb, huh?"

Finally, her dimple flashed as she smiled at him. "Dumb – but very sweet. You're forgiven. Come on in." She led the way to the family room.

The evening had been fine after that, and he had gone home around eleven, finding the house dark and silent. Apparently his parents had arrived home and gone to bed, and Joe wasn't back yet from his date with Vanessa. No ominous telephone calls awoke the Hardys during the night.

Thinking back, Frank smiled a little in relief. It must have been a prank – just a sick joke.

At breakfast, Laura announced that today was going to be the day for taking down Christmas decorations, and made the firm suggestion that everyone be available to help with this task. Fenton gave his wife a harried look.

"Honey, I'm really swamped with this conference-security-arrangement thing. I'm going to be spending most of the day on the telephone, I'm afraid. Joe and Frank, you can help your mother, can't you?"

Joe rolled his eyes and sighed, but nodded. "Sure, I can help – for a while, anyway. I've made plans to play basketball this afternoon, though."

Laura made an irritated noise in the back of her throat, and her younger son grinned apologetically at her. "Sorry, Mom; I'll help all this morning; I promise."

She turned to Frank. "And what excuse do you have?" she demanded.

Frank held up his hands defensively. "Not a thing, Mom! In fact, I'll have Megan come over and help too, how's that?"

Laura laughed. "I'm sure Megan is going to love hearing you've volunteered her to help un-decorate a Christmas tree – but I'd be very happy to have her come over."

Frank made his call, then left to pick Megan up; meanwhile Joe and Laura began dismantling the decorations. Fenton, still looking harried, disappeared into his study and closed the door.

##########

Taking down the Christmas decorations was never as much fun as putting them up, but this year the task went smoothly. Partway through, the telephone rang; Joe searched fruitlessly for the cordless phone amidst the snowdrifts of tissue paper used to wrap the ornaments, then hurried into the kitchen to answer it from there. The others heard his voice murmuring, then a delighted whoop echoed through the rooms.

In a few moments, Joe returned to the family room, practically dancing a jig with glee. "No school!" he caroled. "That was Biff on the phone! School's canceled!"

"For heaven's sake, why?" his mother demanded, sounding a bit weary. Laura was ready for an end to Christmas vacation.

"The furnace is broken!" Joe shouted. "They don't think it can be fixed for several days!" He spun around, still dancing his impromptu jig. "We don't have to go back until next Monday!"

"Joe! Look out for the ornaments!" Megan cried, snatching up a box from the floor just in time to save it from being stepped upon by a size-eleven athletic shoe. Mrs. Hardy shot her younger son a disapproving glare; Frank snorted with laughter, and Joe, somewhat abashed, stopped twirling and plopped onto the couch, blue eyes sparkling with delight.

Frank cleared his throat. "You realize that all these days off will have to be made up at the end of the year, don't you?" he inquired calmly, then burst into laughter at Joe's chagrined expression. Laura and Megan began to laugh too.

"You had to say it, didn't you?" Joe snapped, and settled into the couch cushions, arms folded and lower lip protruding in a definite sulk.

##########

A couple of hours later, a somewhat more cheerful Joe departed to his basketball game. Laura was in the basement, shoving boxes into storage closets; Fenton – who had appeared briefly at lunch time, greeted Megan and his family abstractedly and then apparently forgot them – was once again shut in his study, surrounded by sheets of paper on which he constantly scribbled and crossed out notes. Frank and Megan were picking up the last bits of litter from the family room floor where the Christmas tree had stood.

"I need to go home pretty soon, Frank," Megan said, glancing out the window at the afternoon sunlight. "I'd rather not get home to an empty house after dark. I guess you spooked me with your nightmare!"

"Okay, that's probably a good idea," Frank agreed. "I'll tell Mom we're leaving." When he returned upstairs, Megan had put on her coat, and was waiting in the front hall. He got his own coat from the closet, and they went outside. Frank had expected that the van would be missing, but Joe had taken Laura's car to his game, leaving the van for Frank to use. He's been awfully thoughtful lately! Frank thought to himself. Way too thoughtful…wonder what favor he's going to ask, in return!

Despite having dismissed the ominous telephone call of the night before as simply a prank, Frank remained uneasy. He was silent for long periods of time during the drive to Megan's home, and although at first Megan attempted to fill the void with conversation, finally she too became quiet.

Frank pulled the van next to the curb in front of the Wright home and turned off the motor. He was about to lean over and slide his arm about Megan when she startled him by turning towards him and snapping out an abrupt question.

"Frank, when are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"Huh?"

"Look, you've been acting funny ever since last night. That story about bad dreams was so thin I could poke holes in it with my finger. So why don't you just tell me what's going on?

"Megan, I—"

"Is it something I've done? Something I haven't done? Some new case you're on? At least give me a hint, Frank!"

"Oh, jeez!" Frank unsnapped his seat belt and scooted to the edge of the driver's seat, where he could conveniently hold on to his girlfriend. "No, of course it isn't anything you've done!" His mind was racing frantically. Should he tell her what had happened, about the mysterious phone call? This called for fast improvisation. "And it's not about a case, either. It's – it's just – oh, jeez, Megan!"

She waited, blue-green eyes fixed on his. "Frank, darling, please tell me," she said gently, at last, when it seemed he wasn't going to continue.

"It's just – when I start thinking about – about what happened last September…" Frank went on with a miserable gulp, "I keep thinking about how close I was to losing you. I really do panic, Megan! I want to be sure you're safe, always! And I'm afraid something will happen to jeopardize that."

"Oh dear," she murmured, and closed her eyes briefly. "Frank, nothing is going to happen to me. There would be no reason for anything to happen – and you're almost always with me anyway!" she added with a laugh. "I'm safe with you, surely!"

He pulled her into a tight hug. "I won't let anything happen to you, Megan!" he vowed. "I'll never let anyone hurt you…I swear it." He kissed her hard, again holding her so tightly that she squirmed, giggling against his lips.

"Does that include you?" she teased, when he released her, rubbing her sore ribs.

Frank was about to reply when flashing lights behind the van caught his attention. A police car pulled to a stop directly behind him and a uniformed patrolman stepped from the car. His hat was pulled low, and he was wearing reflective sunglasses.

Frank slid back into his own seat and opened his side window. "What is it, officer?"

"I noticed you a few blocks back," the officer said, "And I followed you here. Did you realize that you have a taillight out?"

Frank frowned in perplexity. "A taillight? No, I hadn't realized that. In fact, I'm surprised to hear it. Which one is out?" He opened the van door and got out of the vehicle.

Before the startled Hardy boy realized what was happening, the police officer had grabbed his arm and pushed him roughly against the side of the van. He kicked Frank's feet apart, shoving him forward.

"Spread 'em!" the man snapped. Frank struggled, but he had been taken by surprise, and at this point had no leverage; in seconds he found himself spread-eagled against the van, and the next minute, he felt his arms yanked behind him, and the cold bite of handcuffs on his wrists.

"Megan, lock the doors!" he screamed, but before she could react, the policeman jerked open the driver's door once again. At the same moment, a small, dark-colored car slid smoothly up next to the van. Two men wearing ski masks leaped from the vehicle. Frank struggled madly to free himself from his captor's grip, all to no avail. The men pulled open the passenger door of the van, and dragged Megan from her seat, despite her struggles and screams; then she was shoved into the rear seat of the car.

Now Frank felt himself being dragged towards the police vehicle by the erstwhile police officer; one of the other men came over to help. The back door was opened, and while the masked man held Frank pinned against the side of the car, the other unlocked the handcuffs. With quick, practiced moves, the two men shoved Frank into the caged back seat as the cuffs were ripped from his wrists; the door slammed, effectively trapping him inside.

"Listen to me, Hardy!" the masked man snapped. Frank, nearly maddened, had been frantically pounding on the window with his fists, but now stopped, afraid he might miss hearing something vital. "This time there's no mistake. We've got your girlfriend, and you're going to do exactly as you're told, or she'll be killed, understand? Understand?" he roared, when Frank didn't answer immediately.

Frank nodded grimly, and the man continued speaking. "When you manage to get out of there – and you'll manage, eventually – you'll find your instructions in your van. And don't tell anyone about this, got it? If you tell anyone – even that precious brother of yours – the little redhead here, will die. Die, Hardy, you understand that?"

"I understand – you bas-" Frank cut off the word abruptly, and substituted a gesture instead, making sure the man could see it through the window. His jailer simply laughed, and turned away. Frank watched him toss something into the front seat of the van, and close the doors, then calmly get into the other car, along with the second masked person, the "police officer" – and Megan. They drove away, down the street, and in just a few seconds, even the glow of their taillights was no longer visible.

Locked inside the back of the police car, Frank began searching frantically for a way to escape. The doors were locked, and as he had known before – but never experienced quite in this way! – a person can't open the back doors of a squad car from the inside. There was a wire mesh partition separating the back of the car's interior from the front. Frank tried for several minutes to pry the mesh loose from its fastenings, but discovered it was an impossible task. He attempted to crack the window glass by hitting it with a seat belt buckle – to no avail; he couldn't get enough leverage, and it was too light anyhow. He slumped down in the seat, burying his head in his hands – and spied something protruding from a shallow pocket in one of the doors.

With a gasp of relief, he reached down and pulled out a small crowbar. I guess it wouldn't have done them much good if I'd been locked in here forever, he thought. I couldn't follow any instructions from here! A few hard blows with the crowbar cracked the window, and Frank spent a moment or two smashing out the glass, mostly in fury at what had just taken place. Finally he was able to reach the door handle and open the car door. He ran to the van and flung himself inside. His keys were still in the ignition…and a cassette tape lay on the passenger seat.

With trembling fingers, Frank started the engine and inserted the cassette into the van's tape player…and listened.

Frank Hardy. It was the same voice he had heard on the telephone the night before. Menacing and cold, a rough-sounding bass voice with a sharp edge. If you are hearing this, then I know you are back in your own vehicle. There is no use trying to track the officer who stopped you; he isn't a member of Bayport's finest. Likewise the police car. I warned you last night not to tell anyone about this; I'm warning you again. If you tell anyone, both girls will die. Frank jerked in shock. Both girls? What other girl? You are to go home, Hardy, and wait for instructions. Understand? Go home and wait. Oh – just in case you don't believe me, here's someone who'll prove it to you.

There was a prolonged rustling noise on the tape, sounds of a microphone being moved, perhaps. And then another voice spoke – a voice very familiar to Frank. He listened, horrified, to the trembling words on the tape.

Frank? It's Callie. He means it, Frank. He's pointing a gun at my head as I'm saying this. He says he'll kill me – and he'll kill Megan too – if you don't cooperate with him. Frank, I'm so sorry about this. I'm so sorry. I know you don't feel about me the way you used to – but please, Frank, please don't let him kill me! Don't let him kill us!

Then there was nothing but silence.