J.M.J.

Thank you so much for continuing to read and review! I really appreciate it! Drumboy100 asked me about my writing habits, which are actually usually chaos. Last summer, I did find a method that works surprisingly well. I just keep a Word document open all day and whenever I have a spare minute, I throw some words on it. It keeps down the pressure of having to write for an extended period of time and it gives me time to think through individual sentences and scenes better than if I just try to cram out a particular number of words all at once, which I think helps make editing smoother. It usually takes me one or two days to write a chapter with this method. As for outlines…I don't actually use them very often. I'm way too much of a pantser for that, even though that writing method does present some interesting challenges for writing mysteries specifically! Anyway, I hope you all continue to enjoy! This chapter and the next are going to be flashbacks from Frank's POV, so they are going to shed a lot of light on what's been going on (but they won't solve the mystery entirely). God bless!

Chapter 12

Frank blinked slowly, moving only his eyes to look around the room. He was in a hospital still. Of course he was. He remembered it now. He had woken up briefly a few times, he thought, but all the memories of it were fuzzy. There were several people moving about the room or standing in the background. Frank tried to identify them. There was a doctor and a nurse. That was to be expected. Sam Radley standing toward the back of the room was not. Why would Sam be here?

Then the answer came to him as he began to remember things more clearly. He started, but it hurt too much to move very much.

"It's all right, Frank," the doctor told him kindly. "You're safe here."

Frank shook his head and tried to talk, but his mouth was too dry. He licked his lips and then tried again. "Joe…Mom and Dad…"

Sam stepped forward. "Frank, do you think you can tell me what happened?"

Frank looked at him in return. He knew what had happened—mostly, although he still wasn't sure how he had wound up in a hospital—but he wasn't sure how long he could talk. It was a long story, he reflected as he thought over the last couple of weeks, unless it was longer. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious. It felt like a long time, and he found he did have to think harder than he had realized to remember it all.

He rested his chin on his hands as he read the words on his laptop screen. He couldn't describe what he felt about it. It was such a confusing deluge that he wasn't sure he felt anything at all.

"Did you find something?'

Frank jumped at his brother's question. He had almost forgotten that Joe was in the hotel room. He had been sprawled on the bed, looking at something on his phone.

"Not about the case," Frank said slowly.

Joe got up and came to look at the screen himself. "An obituary? Martin Dalton. Somebody you knew?"

"No," Frank admitted slowly.

"Then who was he?"

Frank continued staring at the picture of the young man on the screen. "He was Callie's husband."

There was a momentary pause and Joe said, "Wait. What?"

Frank turned around so he could look at his brother. "Callie was married. I knew that because I looked her up once. What I didn't know was that her husband had died. It says here he died four years ago. They'd been married less than a year. It also says that Callie was pregnant when he died."

Joe whistled as he dropped down on Frank's bed. "Wow. Why didn't you tell me?"

Frank shrugged. "I thought she was happy, and it didn't seem like it was any of my business."

"I guess that's fair," Joe admitted. "Why were you looking her up now?"

"She was living in Washington state when it happened. I just stumbled on it while I was looking through nearby news sites. I wonder where she is now."

"Probably Florida or California or maybe Hawaii. Or maybe she decided to try her luck in a different country." Joe lay back down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling.

"I wonder if I could find her again."

"If you want my advice, I would just leave her alone. It's what she wants, and she's been through enough."

"I know. I just want to make sure she's okay."

"I seriously doubt she wants you to play guardian angel for her."

"I'm not. I just want to make sure she's okay."

"And if she's not, what are you going to do?" Joe waited a few seconds to give Frank a chance to answer. When he didn't, he went on, "No offense, but I'm sure you're the last person she would want to hear from."

Frank still didn't answer. Joe was probably right, but he still knew he had to find out. He honestly didn't know what he would do if Callie wasn't okay. Maybe he could find some way to help her anonymously. Or he could try contacting her in some non-intrusive way. A letter, possibly. She could ignore it if she wanted—tear it up or burn it without ever reading it—or she could reply if she wanted.

He was still mulling this over when someone knocked on the door. Both Hardys were on their feet in an instant. Joe went to the door first, treading carefully so that whoever was on the other side wouldn't hear footsteps. Then he looked through the peephole and let out a disgusted groan.

He flung the door open. "Spencer Hale," he spat out.

"Thanks for reminding me of my name, Joe," said the man on the other side of the door. "Might have forgotten it otherwise."

Frank also permitted himself a grimace of disdain. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about the man who had just entered their room. He was about forty, medium-brown hair, brown eyes, average height, average build, average features. He was the sort of person whose face a causal observer would forget almost as soon as they saw him. But Frank and Joe would never forget him.

"What do you want?" Joe spat at him. Frank noted that his brother didn't bother to ask how Hale had found them. That was no mystery.

"You guys sure know how to greet an old friend," Hale replied cockily as he sauntered into the room and sat on the end of Frank's bed. "Sharing a hotel room, huh? You guys really are all business."

"Then let's get down to it," Frank said. "What are you doing here? Last time I checked, the U.S. and Canada were on friendly terms. I don't see any reason for someone like you to be here."

Hale chuckled. "You know I don't have anything to do with international conflicts. I just follow the clues, wherever they lead me. Just like you."

"We're nothing like you," Joe snapped.

"Aren't you?"

"Look, if you want us to do another job for you, we've already got one," Frank spoke up.

"I know. I'm your client." At the stares the Hardys gave him, Hale clarified, "That is, I'm the client behind your client. After your resounding resignation, I knew I'd have to get a go-between to get you out here."

Frank let out a disgusted groan and turned half away.

Joe, however, stepped right up in front of Hale. "You mean, you set us up? For two cents, I'd…"

Frank caught his arm before he could start swinging. "Cool it. The last thing we need is for him to have something else to hold over us."

Joe glanced at Frank. He hesitated a minute, and then he unclenched his fist. "Okay." Then he looked once more at Hale. "What do you want?"

"It's nothing to be so dramatic about." Hale shrugged. "If it was me, I'd be flattered that my services were so sought after. Anyway, all we need is a little surveillance. There's a little town up in the mountains in Alberta that we suspect a criminal organization is using as a base. We just need the two of you to go up there and pretend to be campers. There's a campsite nearby. It won't look suspicious at all. We'll give you picture of all the known members of this organization, and you keep an eye out for them. You see any of them, just contact me, and I'll take care of the rest."

"And so what aren't you telling us?" Frank asked.

"You really don't trust me, do you?"

"We've got good reason not to," Frank snapped back. "You've got dozens of agents who could handle this. Why us?"

"It's very low priority. The brass can't spare anybody for it. At least, not anybody who works for us regularly."

"We don't work for you at all, or did you forget?" Joe retorted.

"You don't quit this business, fellows. You try, and well, people find things out. Now just imagine how the family of that poor girl in New Orleans would feel if they found out how you got her killed?"

Joe's cheeks drained of color and he gazed at the floor.

"That wasn't our fault," Frank ground out.

"You recruited her for the mission."

"We didn't know what you wanted her for!"

"You should have found out before getting innocent people involved in these things. I understand her fiancé has been searching tirelessly the last three years. I hear he swears up and down that when he catches the people responsible, he's going to make sure they find out exactly what she went through. Oh, he's probably exaggerating. I doubt he'd have it in him to torture anyone as brutally as that, but well, you see, if you quit the organization, we won't be able to cover for you if someone happens to drop a couple of names to him."

"He is exaggerating," Frank said. "We're not scared of him. In fact, it's probably time to face him, anyway."

"How noble. I'm sure he'll forgive you, especially after three years of you not owning up to it. Of course, he's not the only one who would find out, but maybe that's just as well. Your clients ought to know what kind of people they're hiring. And I'd love to see your parents' faces when they find out that their little darlings have grown up to be murderers."

"This is blackmail," Frank muttered.

"This is reality," Hale retorted, finally dropping his slimy air and speaking more seriously. "This isn't a nice, friendly business. Our goal is to stop organized criminals and save lives, but sometimes it doesn't work out that way. You got that girl killed. You own that. Even if you didn't know what we were going to ask her to do, you still knew it was a strong possibility. You knew that when you got in, and you don't get to suddenly decide the end doesn't justify the means. Why should you get to keep your hands clean when the rest of us are doing what needs done? I don't have any delusions about right and wrong. I look at percentages, odds, whatever you like to call it. I need this job done, and I need extra men to do it. I know you two can do it, and so I'm going to see that you do."

Frank and Joe looked at one another. Frank knew that there was some bigger reason why Hale was determined to involve them in this. He also knew that no matter how much he and Joe insisted, Hale would never admit it. He would just follow through on his threat to leak out what had happened on that mission.

"Could you give us a minute to talk about this?" Frank requested.

"Sure, but no more than that." Hale stood up and went out into the hallway. "I'm setting a timer."

"Lovely guy," Joe muttered.

"I know," Frank agreed. "But he doesn't really have anything on us. We could just go home and talk to Dad before he has a chance to. As for the fiancé, I'm not afraid of him."

"Me, neither. But Mom and Dad…You can say all you want that we didn't know what we were doing, but we should have. It's our fault just as much as if we'd pulled the trigger."

"That's Hale talking." Frank paused and looked in his brother's eyes. Joe didn't believe it. To be honest, Frank wasn't sure if he did, either. They had gotten in way over their heads, not dreaming that a legitimate government organization would have so little concern for civilian casualties in their operations. But they should have. They should have known that they weren't going to get adequate back-up. They had been appallingly naïve, and it had cost a young woman her life. Hale had already demonstrated to them that he had laid the groundwork to dump all the blame on them legally for it if he wanted to. It wasn't just explaining things to their parents and friends that would be hard. "If we do this, it's only to investigate Hale."

"I'm good with that."

"And if he wants us to do something that feels even slightly off, we're out and we face the consequences. Okay?"

Joe nodded. "Even if he just wants us to jaywalk."

That was how they had wound up headed for Clay Ford, Alberta. Hale had sent them the pictures he had promised and so far, there had been no further instructions. Neither Hardy trusted Hale as far as they could throw him, and so they were reluctant to notify him if they saw any of the people in the pictures, at least until they had had a chance to check if any of them were really criminals. So far, they hadn't had to worry about that. Although they had spent as much time in the tiny town as they could without being too glaringly obvious, they hadn't seen anyone from the pictures. They also weren't making progress in any other area. Neither Hale nor anyone else had contacted them, and their cover as campers meant that they were out of both cell reception and wi-fi. It left them with precious little to do.

They were talking and theorizing about that one day while they were walking down one of the side streets. The old rodeo grounds were on their right and a row of dilapidated houses were to the left. Frank found his attention drawn to an old sign hanging above the street. It showed a white horse against a green field with the legend Clay Ford Annual Horse Race.

Joe had been watching a car driving slowly toward them on the street. It pulled into the driveway of one of the only two houses that looked inhabited, and Joe grabbed Frank's arm. "The driver of that car. He's one of the people we're supposed to be watching out for."

"Great," Frank muttered, watching the driver enter the house.. "Now we've got to figure out what to do about it."

"Let's watch the house and see what happens," Joe suggested.

"I feel like we're being set up again."

The feeling was mutual, but there wasn't much they could do about it. They watched the house for about an hour before the man came back out and drove away. Since the Hardys were on foot, they knew they had no chance to follow him. It didn't look like anyone was in the house, and so they went to see if they could get into the house. It was locked, and looking through the windows disclosed nothing. The Hardys decided that they would come back after dark and try picking the lock on the back door. It didn't look like anyone would be able to see them from the neighboring houses.

Getting into the house had been as easy as it had looked. The locks were old on the house, and Joe had picked the one on the back door in no time. No one was in the house. The Hardys checked the basement first. The only interesting thing they found there was a laptop which had been left charging on a desk. Frank opened it and found that it was biometrically protected. He certainly didn't have the time or the tools to hack into it.

Everything upstairs looked ordinary, but they made a careful and thorough search. Frank even pulled apart the plumbing in the sinks and bathtub to see if anything had been hidden there. This was where they had finally found something useful. A key was tied right underneath the drain plug in one of the bathroom sinks so that it dangled a couple of inches into the drain. It was an ordinary house key, unmarked, but it was undoubtedly a clue. Frank pocketed it, and he was just about to start putting the pipes back together when they heard the front door open. Frank and Joe glanced at each other.

"We could make it out the window by climbing down that tree there," Joe pointed out. "I'll listen in the hallway and make sure no one starts coming upstairs, and then you can keep trying to put the sink together. It would be better if they didn't know anyone had been here."

"They won't know until they try running water in that sink," Frank said with a slight grin. He intended to only do a hasty job.

Joe crept into the hall, and Frank continued his work. He hadn't quite finished when Joe came rushing back in.

"We'd better move," he said.

"Right." Frank left the tools he had borrowed from a closet lie on the floor, along with the last couple pieces of piping. Wiping his hands on a towel, he hurried to the window and started climbing out.

Joe was right behind him, but they weren't quite fast enough. Someone came into the bathroom and then hurried to peer out the window. He shouted when he saw the outlines of the two young men climbing down the tree. Frank was close enough to the bottom that he could drop to the ground without difficulty, but Joe had been startled by the man's shout. He lost his grip and fell hard to the ground, letting out a hissing gasp of pain as he did.

"You okay?" Frank asked, reaching out a hand to him.

"Gonna have to be." Joe grabbed the offered hand and then groaned as his knee buckled. "I must have sprained my knee," he said between gritted teeth.

Frank glanced anxiously toward the nearest door. There was no time to help Joe limp away. Without a word, he pulled his brother up into a fireman's carry.

"Hey!" Joe protested.

"Sorry, but we've got to find a place to hide quick."