A/N: Happy belated holidays, everyone! I'm sorry it's taken me awhile to get this chapter out – hopefully the length makes up for the delay. Also, I know quite a few people had questions about Chet's actions in the last chapter – this new chapter should clear some of the confusion up, I hope. And as always, thank you all so much for your continued reviews and support – I can't tell you how much I appreciate it!

Disclaimer: Apparently fictional characters are not legitimate items for a Christmas list, because Santa definitely left me hanging again this year. Thus, Nancy, Joe, Frank, Chet, and Krieger are not mine. Little Iola is – I'm just borrowing her name.

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Frank found that, contrary to Nancy's words, everything did not look better in the morning. In fact, in his case, it looked decidedly worse. The lead on the Pinnacle Car Agency had been a dead end. After nearly an hour on the phone, some fine finagling, veiled threats, and even a casual mention of a friend in the IRS who audited small companies, he had managed to convince the agency's manager to cooperate. And by cooperate, it meant that the manager had agreed to allow Frank to run names by him, and he would either confirm or deny if an individual with such a name had rented a car from his agency in the past week. On no uncertain terms, the manager had declared, would he send Frank a renter's manifest without a warrant or subpoena. So Frank had painstakingly run through the list of Krieger's aliases with the manager, seventeen to be exact, only to be told that no one with any of those names had rented a car from the Pinnacle Car Rental recently. Frank was frustrated, angry, worried, and, as a sudden grumble in his stomach reminded him, hungry. With everything that had happened the day before, dinner hadn't even been a consideration, much less a reality. Sighing, Frank tucked his cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans and headed downstairs.

As he approached the swinging door of the kitchen, he heard his brother's voice just inside, saying good morning to someone. A second later, Chet repeated the greeting, his voice significantly cooler than Joe's. Frank paused at the doorway, not wanting to intrude. Sure enough, a moment later Joe spoke, his voice hesitant.

"Chet, I…"

"Joe, I really don't want to talk about this right now."

There was no response from Joe. Frank found out why as the door suddenly swung out, nearly hitting him in the face. His brother walked past him, barely giving him a sideways glance, hurt etched into his features. Frank wanted to reach out to him, say something, but Joe was already walking out of the front door. Knowing his brother likely wouldn't go too far without him, Frank squared his shoulders and walked into the kitchen instead. Chet was seated at the small breakfast table, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of him. There was a folded newspaper lying next to the bowl, apparently untouched. His appetite now forgotten, Frank sat down in the chair across from Chet.

"Hey."

"Hey." There was no change in Chet's tone from when he had spoken to Joe. As Frank studied his friend, he was suddenly struck by the fact that he looked older. Life had carved worry lines into Chet's otherwise youthful face, and there was a maturity in his eyes that had not been there before. After a moment, Frank realized that he had let the silence stretch to the point of awkwardness.

"I heard you and Joe talking a minute ago."

Chet raised his eyebrows. "Then you would know that there wasn't much to talk about."

Frank winced inwardly at the harshness in his friend's tone, but he maintained a neutral expression, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward slightly.

"Look, I get that you're pissed. Even if I weren't a detective, it would be blatantly obvious. You probably even hate our guts right now."

Chet cut him off, his voice low with fury. "My five-year old daughter nearly got blown to pieces yesterday. She was kidnapped, drugged, and had a bomb strapped to her chest. So yeah, you might say I'm a little pissed."

Chet pushed back from the table jerkily, nearly knocking his chair over backwards. He laid his palms flat on the table and leaned in.

"Iola woke up three times last night, screaming from her nightmares. And that's not counting the number of times I woke up from my own. I didn't send my little girl to school this morning, not because she wasn't feeling well, but because I can't bear the thought of her walking out the door unprotected anymore."

His voice had risen as he spoke, and now he paused and drew in a ragged breath. Visibly reining his temper in, Chet dragged a hand through his hair.

"I don't think 'pissed' covers it, Frank."

Frank felt like he had been punched in the gut, hard. He drew in a ragged breath of his own.

"I was going to say that I'm sorry. But I don't think that covers it either."

Frank slowly rose from the table. "I'll go get my things. We'll be gone within the hour."

He was nearly at the kitchen door when Chet spoke.

"Wait."

Frank turned, his face expressionless.

"Yeah?"

Chet blew out his breath in a heavy puff. "We've been friends too damn long for you to leave like this. And if nothing else, you sure as hell owe me an explanation of what's going on, and why these men decided to kidnap my daughter."

Frank hesitated for a moment, his eyes conflicted. Finally he sighed and took a few steps back into the kitchen. Rather than return to his original seat at the table, he leaned against the kitchen island instead.

"These men kidnapped my father," Frank stated without preamble.

Chet sat back down in his chair heavily. "Oh boy." The anger on his face had already begun to morph into worry. "Your dad," he began, but Frank cut him off.

"They have Nancy's father too." And as shock settled in on his old friend's face, Frank proceeded to relate the whole tale.

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Nancy paused outside the kitchen door, hearing the deep sound of Frank's voice. She wasn't able to make out the words, but she knew his voice well enough to know that whatever he was saying, it was serious. Instinct had her backing away from the door, not wanting to disturb him. She had slept restlessly through the night and had only been able to fall into a deeper slumber early in the morning, causing her to wake up later than she had intended. Upon awaking, she had checked both Frank and Joe's rooms, only to find that they were both already up and gone. Joe's empty room had been especially mortifying, since she knew that if he was already up, it was definitely late. Iola had been the only one still sleeping, her little body tossing restlessly under the covers. Nancy had debated going to the girl to try to soothe her in some way, but she hadn't wanted to risk waking her.

After leaving the kitchen door behind, Nancy ventured into the living room, finding it empty. She could hear noises coming from the back of the house, presumably from the mudroom, and after pausing for a second, she realized that it was the sound of someone doing laundry. Not really cherishing the thought of an encounter with the dour Mrs. Paulie first thing in the morning, Nancy headed in the opposite direction towards the front door. Out on the porch, she stopped as she caught sight of curly blond hair. Joe was sitting on the wide swing, not moving at all. His posture was rigid, and his left hand was clenched into a tight fist and resting on his thigh. His blue eyes were fierce, staring into the distance at a sight that only he could see. Nancy hesitated, debating the merits of an encounter with Mrs. Paulie. But it was the lines of pain around Joe's mouth that decided her. She crossed the porch and sat down next to him, setting the swing gently in motion.

Joe didn't turn to look at her, didn't even acknowledge her presence. He just continued his fixed stare into the blue horizon.

Nancy sat there in silence beside him for a few moments before finally speaking. "None of this is your fault, you know." Her voice was quiet, but matter-of-fact.

Joe's hand tightened further, and he said nothing. Silently, Nancy laid a hand over his fist, hoping to cause his fingers to relax. They did, slightly, and she turned his hand over under hers. But instead of her palm meeting his, it encountered cold metal.

"Oh, Joe," she whispered, tears filling her eyes.

In his hand were melted keys, the metal once fused together with intense heat, but now so lifelessly cold. The force with which Joe had clenched them had dug red marks into his hand, and Nancy ran her fingertips over these marks lightly, knowing that nothing would ease the pain.

"It's not your fault," she repeated, her voice still a whisper. "It wasn't then, and it's not now."

Joe abruptly removed his hand from hers, turning his head to look at her for the first time.

"You don't know anything about it," he said fiercely.

No, Nancy thought, she didn't. The keys that Joe held had belonged to his girlfriend, Chet's sister. The girl who had been the first Iola, who had gifted that name to a niece she had not lived long enough to see. The girl whom Joe, the eternal flirt, had loved deeply and truly. The girl who had died in a car explosion intended for Joe and Frank, her keys the only piece of her left behind for Joe to hold onto. No, she couldn't truly understand that kind of pain. But she could understand the guilt.

"It's true that I've never experienced that kind of loss. The only person in my life close to me who's died is my mother, and I was too young then to really understand what grief meant.

"But I know what it is to blame yourself for something you couldn't control. Eleven people died in an explosion because I couldn't follow some madman's orders. My two best friends were nearly blown to pieces because of me.

"Frank said that I shouldn't blame myself, that it wasn't my fault. That the only people to blame were the men who committed these acts."

Nancy paused for a moment, then met Joe's eyes levelly. "But I don't think that's entirely true either. The fact is, the people who we love are at risk because of what we do, who we are. As long as there are crazy psychopaths out there, that's not going to change. But if we let them get away with this, if we let them commit these acts against our friends, our family, and on top of that, we blame ourselves for it – then they've won. We've let them win."

Joe sighed, his eyes unbearably sad. "It's not that easy, Nan."

"I know it's not," she replied softly.

Joe looked down at the fused keys in his hand. "I've carried these keys around with me for six years now. I thought I would have stopped by now, but I can't. I failed her that day, Nan. I sent her out to the car, because I was too busy to go myself. She was mad at me when she went, and I just figured that we'd make up later. But I never got the chance. I never got the chance to tell her how much I cared about her."

"No, but you got a different chance yesterday. You saved little Iola's life, you kept her from the same fate as her aunt. That counts for something, Joe."

Joe sighed. "I don't think Chet sees it that way, though."

Nancy sighed too, leaning her head against his shoulder companionably. Joe lifted his arm so that she could settle in more comfortably.

"Well, like you said, Joe, it's not that easy."

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There was silence in the kitchen after Frank finished talking. Chet's face, normally so expressive, was unreadable. After a few more seconds, Frank pushed himself away from the island.

"So now you know," he said neutrally. He made to move towards the kitchen door, but once again, Chet stopped him.

"Dammit Frank, you can't just lay all that on me and then leave. You tell me that your father's been kidnapped, Nancy's father's been kidnapped, Nancy's best friends were nearly killed, and now they're after my family. I can't process all of that yet."

"Chet, you don't have to process anything. You're pissed at me and Joe, and rightly so. And now you know what's been going on. The sooner we get out of here and leave you and your family alone, the better."

Chet shook his head, rising to his feet. "No. No, that's not right." He dragged a shaky hand through his hair. "You and Joe are my best friends. And this…all of this…mess that you've been dealing with…"

But then he glanced at the door, as if he could see through it and upstairs to the little girl safely asleep in her bed. "But Iola…my daughter…"

Frank interrupted him, disturbed by Chet's inner struggle. "Chet, I get it. You don't need to explain. After everything that you went through with your sister, and now your daughter..."

This time Chet cut Frank off. "No, Frank, you don't get it. This isn't the same. With my sister, it was instantaneous. One minute she's alive, the next minute I was told that she wasn't. And as much as I grieved for her, I never felt that you and Joe were responsible."

"That doesn't mean we didn't feel responsible anyways. Especially Joe."

"Iola was with Joe because she wanted to be. She knew that there were risks, but it was her choice. So when she died, that made it easier for me to accept it.

You have to understand, Frank. After the initial shock of hearing of my sister's death wore off, and I truly comprehended what had happened, I realized something. I realized that that day, someone I cared about would have died. Whether it had been Iola, or Joe, or you, I would have lost someone. So while I missed my sister terribly, I was also grateful that my two best friends had survived."

The impact of Chet's words floored Frank. He had never known that his friend had thought about that, that he had weighed the loss of his own sister against the survival of his two best friends and had actually somehow managed to find some balance in that. But still, his daughter…

As if sensing the direction of Frank's thoughts, Chet continued.

"But with my daughter, it was completely different. I had hours to wait yesterday, Frank. Hours! Hours where I could only imagine every atrocity, every disaster that could have occurred. I had to stay behind, unable to do anything to protect the one person in the world who depends on me for protection."

Then, the fire in Chet's voice faded as quickly as it had appeared. "I don't know if I can explain this, Frank, but she's my entire world," Chet said softly. "The day she was born, the day she was placed in my arms for the first time, the universe just shifted. I would die to protect her. I would give up anyone, everyone, if it meant keeping her safe. Including you and Joe. You have to understand that too."

Frank could only nod. "But," Chet continued, "what I didn't consider yesterday, what I was too pissed off to consider yesterday, was that you saved my daughter's life. You and Joe and Nancy risked your own lives to bring her home safely. I figure I owe you for that."

Now Frank shook his head. "No, Chet, you don't owe us anything. You know that Joe and I care about Iola too. My brother's off somewhere, beating himself up right now because of how much he cares.

"And you're right, I don't know what it's like to have a child of my own. But I do know that I've thought about it, thought about what it would be like if I were to have kids of my own one day."

Frank stopped and blew out a breath. He had never shared these thoughts with anyone, not even Joe. But now that he had started, he would finish it.

"It scares me to death, Chet. With what we do, who we are, it terrifies me to even contemplate bringing a child into this, who could be used to get at me. It was so much easier when we were younger. We didn't have to think about these things, we just went off solving our cases and saving the day. But now, there's so much more at stake. In that sense, I guess these madmen have succeeded, because they've certainly driven that point home. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, if you want out, Chet, then I understand."

Chet's response was stopped short by the shoving open of the kitchen door. It swung wildly on its hinges as a tiny figure barreled towards Frank, launching herself at his knees.

"Uncle Frank, you're still here!"

Instinctively, Frank reached down and picked Iola up, settling her on his hip. She wrapped one arm around his neck tightly. At a loss for words, Frank looked at Chet, not sure how to respond to Iola. Chet met his gaze levelly, then smiled at his daughter.

"Of course Uncle Frank's still here, honey. And he's going to whip you up some pancakes for breakfast. How does that sound?"

"Yay!" Iola squeezed her arm tighter around Frank's neck in an enthusiastic hug. Frank gave his friend a wry grin.

"Thanks, man."

But there was no sarcasm behind the words.

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Joe and Nancy sat in silence, each submerged in their own thoughts. Morning had slowly grown into noon, and the sun was now bright overhead, adding a hint of warmth to the otherwise brisk cold. Their breaths made little puffs in the air, dispelling as the next quiet breath was taken. Their years of friendship made the silence companionable, not uncomfortable. Still, for a moment, Nancy contemplated saying something, anything, just to get Joe talking again. But she stopped herself, because while not exactly happy, Joe at least seemed calmer than he had before, and she didn't want to disturb that. So it surprised her when Joe was the one to break the silence first.

"So you and Frank had a long talk about this stuff, huh?"

Joe's voice was neutral, almost too neutral. Not sure if he was teasing her, or if he seriously wanted to know what she and Frank had talked about, Nancy pulled away from his side to look into his eyes.

Nope, definitely teasing.

She was so relieved to see Joe's sense of humor return that she found herself grinning in response.

"Joe, if you want to know what's going on between your brother and me, just ask."

"Okay," Joe replied. "What's going on between you and my brother?"

Nancy's eyes sparkled with mischief. "None of your business."

"Why, you…" Joe made a playful grab for Nancy, but she leapt off the swing, the momentum pushing it backwards. She took off at a run, laughing, as Joe managed to get off of the now out-of-control swing and follow. She ran nimbly down the porch steps and then around the side of the house, Joe in hot pursuit. As she rounded the back corner of the house, her steps slowed slightly to make the turn. Joe grinned. "I've got you now, Dr…oomph!"

Without warning, Joe was on his back, staring up at the cloudless blue sky, the wind completely knocked out of him. A shadow moved over him, blocking the sky from view, and he blinked. Nancy's grinning face filled his vision, her strawberry blonde hair looking strikingly like a halo with the sun glinting off of it.

"Looks like I can still take you, Hardy."

Two more shadows fell over him, and Joe turned his head to look up at his brother and Chet, who was holding Iola in his arms. Both men had very amused looks on their faces, and Iola just looked confused.

"Daddy, why is Uncle Joe sleeping behind the house?"

"He's not sleeping, sweetie. Your Uncle Joe just has a habit of falling hard for girls."

Nancy smirked, while Frank stretched out a hand to pull his brother to his feet. As Joe dusted himself off, Frank turned and winked at Iola. "Unfortunately for your Uncle Joe, though, he doesn't quite know how to keep his feet under him when he finds one."

Joe groaned, and Iola just looked even more confused. "What is this, beat-up-on-Joe-day?" Joe grumbled. Iola wriggled in her father's arms, and when he loosened them, she reached out to Joe. He swung her into his arms easily, hugging her. She kissed the tip of his nose, then rested her head against his shoulder. "It's okay, Uncle Joe. I still love you." She then turned and glared at her father, Frank, and Nancy. "They're all just a bunch of meanies!"

Everyone laughed. "Looks like you've still got one girl that's fallen for that old Hardy charm, Joe," Frank remarked. He ruffled Iola's light blond hair. "And she's quite a catch. I'd hang on to this one."

Joe squeezed Iola tighter, his voice turning serious. "I intend to." His eyes met Chet's, and a look of understanding, of friendship, and most importantly, of forgiveness passed between them.

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Dinner that night was much more light-hearted than the morning had started out, but despite the banter between the friends, there were still a somberness underlying everyone's moods. Afterwards, Chet went upstairs to put Iola to bed, despite her loud protests that she wanted to stay downstairs and play with Uncle Joe. Surprisingly, he returned shortly, dropping down into the couch next to Joe, who was mid-speech.

"It's been an entire day, and we still haven't heard from the kidnappers."

Paternal instinct had Chet's head jerking upwards toward the living room entrance, halfway expecting a little blond head to be poking in. He had tucked Iola snugly into her bed, but she had a tendency to hop right out sometimes after he had left and come looking for him. He really did try to be strict about her bedtime, but the truth was, he enjoyed those precious moments with his daughter. The ranch kept him busy most of the day, and he usually came home around dinnertime. But this was one night that he really hoped that Iola was safely asleep upstairs. They had refrained from discussing the kidnapping, bombs, or anything else about the case in front of her all day, and he knew the upcoming conversation was going to be anything but pleasant.

"I don't know what the hell to do." Frustration was ripe in Frank's voice, and his fist clenched tightly on the arm of the loveseat. "Despite everything, we have no real leads. And we're entirely dependent on these men contacting us to have any real hope at all of finding our fathers."

Nancy sat next to him, her legs tucked under her. Her posture was relaxed, but her expression echoed Frank's frustration. "I just feel like I'm missing something," she said. "Like a piece of the puzzle is right in front of me, and I just can't see it."

"You and us all, then," Joe muttered. "Because I'm sure as hell at a loss."

"Why don't you guys try walking me through it all from the beginning?" Chet offered. When Frank gave him a questioning look, Chet continued.

"I know you've already told me everything that's happened, but I think it'll help to talk it out, go through the timeline of when this all first started. Figure out how the kidnappers ended up here."

Joe stared at his friend for a second before a startling grin broke out on his face. He had forgotten how surprisingly useful Chet could be on an investigation, and how he often offered a fresh perspective on things.

"I think that's a great idea, Chet," Nancy chimed in.

Frank nodded, cleared his throat, and then took the lead.

"We know that the kidnappers started out separately – one went after Nancy's dad, and one went after ours. They both ended up in New York in that warehouse, where we first saw them. Then they went back to Chicago, where they planted that bomb in Bess and George's apartment."

"We don't know if the kidnappers went back to Chicago together," Nancy interjected. "Bess and George only remembered seeing Krieger, no one else."

"It's possible that Krieger's accomplice went to Memphis instead, to set up the bomb there," Frank agreed.

"Either way, they had to have had access to a plane somehow," Joe stated. "There's no other way they'd be able to move all over to the country that quickly otherwise."

"You're right, Joe." Frank dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just wish Michael had been able to find something with those charter plane records."

Something niggled at the back of Nancy's mind, but before she could fully take hold of the thought, Chet's voice interrupted her.

"Maybe you could get Michael to broaden his search a bit, check the flights between New York and Chicago as well as New York and Memphis. And even flights to Helena, for that matter. You only had him check the flights from River Heights to New York the first time, right?"

Frank nodded. "Yeah, that's true. I can give him a call in the morning."

"So then from Memphis, they came here," Joe continued. "I think we should assume that whoever was in Memphis didn't leave until after the bomb went off in the morning, since they had to be there to actually detonate it. With the short travel time, that still points to a charter plane of some sort."

"That bomb went off very early in the morning," Nancy pointed out. "They could have left right afterwards, before the news really even spread and before chaos erupted in Memphis. That means they would have been here by mid-morning, with the time difference."

"And they didn't kidnap Iola until the afternoon," Frank supplied.

"So what do two men, with two hostages, do in Montana to bide their time?" Joe queried caustically.

A gasp from the doorway caused everyone to jerk in their seats. Mrs. Paulie stood there, her face pale.

"I'm…I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean to be eavesdropping. I just…I just finished the dishes, Mr. Morton, and I was going to tell you that I was leaving for the night. But I couldn't help but overhear…what he just said, about two men…I just remembered…" Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, she seemed as though she might faint. Chet rose quickly and went to her side, placing a bracing hand under her elbow.

"Here, Mrs. Paulie, come sit down." He led her to a large overstuffed chair and helped her lower into it. When she had somewhat regained her composure, Chet sat down on the ottoman facing her.

"What did you remember, Mrs. Paulie?" he asked gently.

"The two men…there were two men here, yesterday morning. I didn't think anything of it at the time. They said they were from the Board of Education, doing a study..." At this, her voice trailed off again, and she buried her face in her weathered hands, starting to sob loudly. Chet shot a concerned look at his friends, and then patted the older woman's shoulder consolingly.

"Mrs. Paulie," he began, at a loss for words.

"Oh, Mr. Morton, it's so terrible!" she wailed. "I think I might have been the one who put our little Iola in danger!"

Now the look that Chet shot his friends was full of surprise, and he was truly speechless.

"What do you mean, Mrs. Paulie?" For the first time, Joe's voice was gentle when speaking to her. Despite her distress, Mrs. Paulie must have realized it too, because she actually managed to look up at Joe and quiet her sobs enough to speak.

"Yesterday morning, two men came to the house." Her voice hiccupped, and she took a deep breath. "They said they were from the Board of Education, doing a study on how much children on the outlying farms and ranches actually used the bus system. They wanted to know how Iola got to and from school. I didn't think nothing of it, this being such a safe area and all. One of them...I didn't like the look in that man's eye, but the other one seemed to be such a gentleman…had his manners about him when I offered them coffee, like his mama raised him right. So I didn't think nothing of it. I told them that our Iola was stubborn, liked her Uncle Mitch to pick her up from school. Then they wanted to know which roads Mitch took. Said they were analyzing the best ways for the school buses to go. So I told them, and they thanked me and all, and left. And I didn't think nothing of it until now." Large tears welled in her eyes again, and she turned back to Chet.

"Oh, Mr. Morton, I really am sorry," she said brokenly.

Chills ran down Chet's spine. "They were in my house," Chet whispered, almost silently.

Everyone sat stunned, absorbing Mrs. Paulie's story and the impact of Chet's words. Finally, Joe moved and sat on the arm of Mrs. Paulie's chair. He patted her shoulder in comfort.

"It's okay, Mrs. Paulie. These men have fooled many people before, including the three of us."

She glanced up at Joe in surprise, then gave him her first genuine smile.

"Thank you, young man," she said quietly.

Joe smiled in return. "You're welcome."

"Mrs. Paulie, did you get a good look at the two men?" Frank asked.

The older woman huffed out her breath indignantly. "I served those two men tea in this very room, sat across from them for nearly an hour. Of course I remember what they look like."

Frank held up his hands in apology. "I didn't mean any offense, ma'am. What I meant was, do you think you remember them well enough to describe them in detail to someone else?"

Nancy looked at him. "You're thinking of a police sketch artist, aren't you?" she asked, picking up on his train of thought.

Frank nodded. "Mrs. Paulie is the first person who's gotten a good look at both of the men, not just Krieger." He looked at Mrs. Paulie questioningly. "I'm assuming one of the men had a triangular scar on his face?"

She nodded.

"Yes, the one with that look in his eye, like he'd sell his own mother if it came down to it."

Joe snorted. "That's not a bad description of him, actually."

"Not bad at all," Frank agreed. "Anyways, I think Mrs. Paulie should work with a sketch artist tomorrow and see if we can get a sketch of the other guy. So far we haven't gotten any leads with Krieger. If we're lucky, we might actually be able to identify his accomplice. And then if we're really lucky, we might actually be able to find a trail on him instead."

Nancy smiled, but her blue eyes were clouded.

"It's a good lead, but I'm also afraid of what it means."

"What do you mean, Nancy?" Chet prompted, when she paused.

"The fact that they let Mrs. Paulie see them at all, and then left her behind as a potential witness. It means they're getting arrogant."

Nancy looked up, meeting Frank's eyes, then Joe's.

"It also means that they don't plan on ever being found."

Her words hung like a dead weight in the silent room.

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