J.M.J.

Author's note: Hello, all! At long last, I am back with the sequel to Sign of the White Horse. It would have been ready much sooner, but I'd written most of a first draft, decided the story just wasn't working, and went back and rewrote it. It came out an almost completely different story. One big thing that changed was that originally, Nancy was going to be in this story. However, I liked where I left her character last time, and it was the Hardys who really needed this story, so Nancy is only mentioned a couple of times now. This is definitely a sequel, and you'll enjoy it a lot more if you've read the first book. It is completely finished, so I will be posting it pretty rapidly: a chapter a day or every other day if I don't get a chance to post. I know not everyone can keep up with that, so just read it at whatever pace works for you. It's ten chapters long in total.

I never would have had the stamina to keep working on this and juggling school and work and life if I hadn't had so many kind and enthusiastic reviews on the first book, both here and on AO3 (yes, I've cross-posted my last couple fics on there as well). Thank you so much. This story is dedicated to all of you. Enjoy and God bless!

Second Chances

Chapter 1

The end of August had begun cooling off more quickly than usual, and so by the time September came, the crisp chill of autumn had already come over Bayport. Joe Hardy was glad of that as he clipped barbed to a fence post while his friend, Chet Morton, talked non-stop about what he was going to do with the farm. Mending fences wasn't exactly Joe's idea of a fun afternoon, but it felt oddly good to get roped into helping Chet with one of his projects. It had been a long time.

"You should go out and see the new house sometime." Chet changed the subject abruptly, as was his long-standing habit. "It's getting close to being done. It's mostly just the interior that still needs work at this point."

"It's weird to think about your parents moving," Joe commented noncommittally.

"Yeah, it is. I think Becky and I are about the only ones happy about it," Chet admitted. "Dad doesn't want to move at all, and Mom would rather move into town, and Iola is wishing she was the one moving into a house in the country."

Now that Chet was married and had two kids—twins named Rosie and Roscoe—his parents had decided that it was time to relinquish the old farmhouse that Chet and his sister, Iola, had grown up in to the next generation. Chet's dad had only farmed as a hobby, while his real job had been in real estate, and so he had saved up plenty of money to build a comfortable house on a different part of their property, but as Chet said, the decision hadn't come easily.

"In fact," Chet went on, "Mom has always liked the house Becky and I are in now. I feel kind of bad about the whole thing, to be completely honest."

"It was your parents' decision," Joe reminded him. "They're right that it makes more sense for you and Becky to have the bigger house. Besides…" He was about to add that life didn't always work out the way you think it should, but he didn't think that bit of philosophizing would console Chet much. It also brought the topic to uncomfortably close to home. He was only twenty-seven, but already life wasn't turning out the way he had wanted or expected at all.

Maybe Chet guessed what he was thinking, because after half-heartedly agreeing with Joe, he made another abrupt change of subject. "It sure is great having you and Frank back in Bayport."

"Yeah. It's good to be back." Joe and his brother, Frank, who was a year older, had been living in New York City since Joe had graduated from college. They had been working as private detectives during that time, as they had always wanted to. But, no, it wasn't exactly as they had always wanted to. While they had still been in college, they had worked on a few missions for an anti-terrorist organization known as the Network, and that had caused him more grief than they had expected. It had all come to a head a couple of months ago, and the brothers had come back to stay with their parents while they recuperated. Joe shook his blond head. He had come out here to try to not think about all of that.

"It's almost like old times," Chet said. "At least, it would be if Phil and Biff still lived in town. Well, and if Tony and I didn't have to work and have so many obligations. Not that I'm complaining. I wouldn't trade Becky and the kids for all the time off in the world. But…I still do miss summer vacation. I wish jobs had that. Anyway, do you think you're going to stick around?"

"I don't know," Joe said. This wasn't making for much of a distraction. "It depends on how things go."

"What things?" Chet asked before he had a chance to think about it, but the words were hardly out of his mouth before he realized. "Oh. You mean about the Network."

Joe grimaced at the word being spoken so lightly. In the Hardy house, it was usually spoken in a hushed voice, as if it was some demon that might be summoned by having its name spoken aloud. "Yeah," he said simply.

He had hoped that Chet would let the subject drop, but Chet didn't catch his subtle hints. "Do you think there's going to be a hearing about it?"

Joe rubbed the bridge of his nose. His dad had been trying to convince some of his contacts who had powerful connections to try to get Congress to have a hearing about the Network. As the Hardys had learned, the organization's methods of stopping terrorism came alarmingly close to terrorism itself. Their philosophy was that since terrorists didn't follow any rules, you couldn't stop them if you were too worried about the rules yourself. The Hardys hadn't realized that until it was too late. It had been almost four years ago. They were in New Orleans, trying to break up a cell of a larger terrorist organization that called itself Fraternité. There was precious little evidence to prove that that was who those guys were, though. Frank and Joe had been supposed to infiltrate them, but they hadn't been able to pull it off. Their handler with the Network—a man named Spencer Hale—had pushed them to recruit a young civilian woman whom the one of the gang was interested in. She had succeeded in getting in…temporarily. The gang had caught her meeting with Frank and Joe, and they apparently knew who the Hardys were. Payback had been swift and brutal. Joe was sure that he would never get the images of it out of his head.

"Joe? Are you okay?"

Chet's voice tore into his thoughts and brought him back into the present. He blinked a couple of times, almost startled by the brightness of the sunlight in comparison with the darkness that had enveloped his memory. From the trace of light-headedness that he could feel, Joe realized he had probably gone pale. He promptly sat down in the dust and the dry grass and put his head in his hands as he waited for the dizziness to pass.

"I'm okay," he told Chet. "Relatively speaking."

He didn't need to look up to know that Chet was still staring at him. And little wonder. Nearly fainting wasn't a normal reaction to even a difficult conversation for anyone, and even less so for Joe. At least, it had been before New Orleans.

Chet set his tools to the side and crouched next to Joe. "Are you sure?"

Already, the dizziness was practically gone. Joe turned his head to look at Chet. "Sure."

Chet didn't look reassured in the least. "Whatever happened with the Network must have been pretty bad."

Joe closed his eyes and put his head in his hands again. He knew Chet wasn't trying to torment him, and yet he couldn't have done a better job if he had been. But it wasn't really Chet's fault. Joe and Frank hadn't told anyone who didn't need to know the details of that case—or a few other wretched things that they had seen and heard—and their friends had to be curious about it. Joe knew he certainly would have been half-insane with curiosity by now if he had been in their place.

"Well, I guess this fence isn't going to fix itself," Chet said after a few moments of silence. "Better get back to it. If you're not feeling up to it, you can take a minute."

"I'm good," Joe said, taking a deep breath and reached for the tools he had dropped at his side.

"You're sure?" Chet asked, and then added in a teasing tone, "You are just the free help, after all."

"Since you're not paying me by the hour, I don't have any reason to drag this out," Joe replied with an attempt at a grin.

HBHBHBHBHB

The breeze was chilly, but it felt nice to Frank as he walked along one of the waterfront streets in Bayport. It was the kind of breeze that made him nostalgic, but just now, Frank was trying to recall more recent memories, painful though they were. He had been badly injured a few months before and he still didn't remember the details, although the details would be important if there was a hearing about the Network. He wasn't holding his breath, though. So far, the Hardys' accusations had been dismissed as wild conspiracy theories. Spencer Hale's actions couldn't very well be denied, of course, but the Network was covering themselves by claiming that he had been acting independently. The absurdity of it would have made Frank laugh if the situation wasn't so serious. Hale couldn't have been working without the knowledge of the Network as a whole, not for so many years.

There had been New Orleans, to begin with. In retrospect, there were a few cases before that which Frank had to wonder about. Even if there was no malicious underhandedness about them, there had been gross incompetence. But in New Orleans, Frank and Joe had known that Hale had set up that girl to be killed. He had as much as admitted that it had been necessary to catch the suspects on some charge, even if their association with Fraternité couldn't be proven, so he had arranged for them to commit a murder with witnesses. Frank and Joe had tried to report it to Hale's superiors, they took no action. Either they didn't believe it or they already knew about it and condoned it. The Hardys tried to leave the Network after that, but then that was when the threats started. Hale had produced supposed "evidence" that would frame the Hardys for the very thing they were accusing him of. They had tried again to go to the Network, but they insisted that their investigation had proven that Hale had done nothing wrong. The Hardys had then tried going to other law enforcement, but by then the Network had had their chance to make sure no one would listen.

But those weren't the memories he wanted to dwell on for now. A few months earlier, in June, Spencer Hale had resurfaced. He had tricked Frank and Joe into going to Canada, where he had used blackmail to manipulate them into going where he wanted. After that, he had taken them prisoner. Honestly, neither of them could figure out what the point of the blackmail had been, unless it was to further demoralize and taunt them. In any case, once they were captured Hale had used threats to get their parents into Canada, where he captured them also. After that, Hale and his hired men—or as likely as not, since they were involved with terrorists themselves, they had been threatened or tricked into helping him—had done their best to keep the Hardys confused about what they wanted. The only thing that the Hardys could come up with that made any sense was that Hale wanted them out of the way because he realized that Fenton was investigating him. At that point, Frank and Joe hadn't told him about New Orleans or any of the other wretched situations the Network had gotten them into, though whether it was more out of shame or fear of getting him involved in the whole mess, they could never say for certain. However, he found most of it out on his own when he realized his sons were keeping secrets from him. He must have been getting close to finding evidence that the Network had known and approved of Hale's actions and had, in all likelihood, sanctioned other and perhaps worse crimes for the sake of accomplishing their core mission. They needed him out of the way, and they needed to do it in such a way that they could blame it on the terrorists that Hale had employed to help him. Of course, Frank and Joe wouldn't have settled for the results of the Network's investigation into their own father's murder, and so they needed to be disposed of, as well. Their mother, Laura, had probably been included as a means to confuse the matter still further.

But the Hardys had still managed to throw a wrench in their plans. They had found a way to escape from the barn where they were being held in rural British Columbia. The only hitch in the plan was that Joe had sprained his knee when they were captured and so he couldn't possibly walk out of there to get to safety. None of the others were willing to leave him there, but finally, Fenton, Laura, and Joe were able to convince Frank to go. It made sense, really. With Joe out of the running, Frank was the youngest and in the best shape and he was well-versed in wilderness survival. He had the best chance of finding help. So he had successfully made his escape.

That was where the gap in his memory started. Somehow, he had wound up close to Vancouver, where he had been hit by a car. The car had probably been driven by either Hale or one of his lackeys, and the "accident" was no doubt an attempt to finish the job of keeping him quiet, but he had been found by a passer-by and taken to the hospital. He had been in a coma for a few days, and although he had mostly recovered, he still couldn't remember anything about the "accident" or the long hike leading up to it. He still wondered just what had happened with that "accident" and whether there was anything there that would be helpful in calling the Network to account.

But, try as he might, he remembered nothing about it, and the older memories that he wanted to avoid kept crowding in on him. He looked around him, trying to spot something that could distract him. Maybe he should have gone with Joe to help out Chet. It wasn't as if fencing was hard work, but Frank still tired easily. In fact, he had probably walked too far as it was. He should be headed back.

Instead, he paused as he approached a dock. No ships were moored there, and no one was around. The breeze coming in off the water was brisk and cold but pleasant, and Frank thought he would stay here for a few minutes. He strolled to the end of the dock and then sat down, letting his feet dangle over the water. He had moved stiffly to sit down, and he wondered if he was ever going to fully recover from his injuries. It had only been a couple of months, but he was impatient to be back to his old self.

He put his arms behind him and leaned back, letting the breeze ruffle his dark hair. There was change in it. Fall was practically here, on the doorstep, as it was. Things were changing for Frank, too, whether he liked it or not. If he and his father and brother succeeded in exposing the Network, there would be no shortage of news reporting on it. The whole story would come out for the world to read, and it wouldn't look very flattering for him or Joe. They would have a hard time regaining trust from clients and law enforcement alike. In all probability, their private investigator careers were effectively over. Even if that wasn't what ended it, Frank had the discouraging feeling that he might not recover well enough to continue such a rigorous job. He was almost certainly going to need to find something else to , sure, there was plenty of detective work that didn't take much physical activity, but those were the parts he didn't care for. It would be rather a drudgery to only do the grunt work and none of the exciting work.

Frank sighed, thinking about the problem. He didn't want to give up detective work. He wasn't sure he even could. If the option was still open, he would probably go ahead and do that grunt work. He could always work for his dad. Or maybe he needed to do something completely different. He didn't know what he would want to do. It seemed as if everything he wanted to do was out of his reach now.

He forced himself to open his eyes and look across the bay, shimmering bright blue in the sunlight. Near at hand to his left, the big freighters were being loaded and unloaded, while out on the bay, one was making its way out toward the open ocean while another was coming in. In another part of the bay, motorboats were cruising around. Farther up the coast, where Barmet Bay curved out toward the sea, Frank could just barely see a couple of parasailers darting about near the designated swimming area. It was cold enough today that he was a bit surprised anyone was out, but whoever they were, they evidently didn't let the cold keep them from living their lives.

There was too much to live for to wallow too much in memories of what was lost.

HBHBHBHBHB

At about the same time but on the other side of the country in a small town in Washington state, Callie Shaw Dalton was just getting home from work. It was Saturday, but she worked for a store that was open six days a week, and so she drew the Saturday shift fairly often. Fortunately, the hours were only until noon those days, and so Callie was home before twelve-thirty. She would have been home a bit sooner, but she had to pick her four-year-old son, Martin, from the babysitter.

"Can we have chicken nuggets for lunch?" Martin asked as he ran toward the door of their apartment.

"Only if you promise to eat some veggies, too," Callie told him, following a bit less swiftly.

"I promise!"

"All right then." Callie unlocked the door, and then while Martin ran inside, she checked the mail slot next to the door. Saturday mail was always light, and there was only one letter inside. Callie glanced it over in surprise and a little trepidation. The vast majority of her mail was bills and advertisements. A piece of personal mail was unusual, and the last time it had happened, it had not been very pleasant. It had brought the news that Frank was in the hospital and had been the beginning of a lot of headache for her—and no small amount of heartache, too.

She had broken up with Frank years ago, when they had both been in college in different parts of the country and Callie had found that a long-distance relationship was too hard for her to bear. She hadn't realized at the time what a mistake that had been. She had been young and overwhelmed by the new chapter of life that she was opening. Little did she knew what a nightmare it was going to be. A few months later, her parents had been killed in a car accident. Feeling completely lost then, she had left Bayport. Eventually, she had met a young man named Marty Dalton who was as alone in life as she was. They had fallen for each other immediately and gotten married after only knowing each other for a few months. But then, only a few months later again, they had found out within the space of a couple of weeks that they were expecting a child and that Marty had an advanced stage of cancer. Within what seemed like no time at all, Callie was alone again—almost. Now she found herself with a child to raise.

She was certain that the only reason she had survived those dark days was because she had to for her son's sake. She hadn't realized until a few months ago when she had seen Frank and her other friends from Bayport again what a darkness she had been living in since then. Seeing them again was like the sun breaking out through the clouds after a long storm. Or rather, it was like coming up out of a dark cave after fearing that she would be lost there forever.

And yet, in the end, she had had to go back to her ordinary life and her dull job and her drab apartment, and it nearly broke her to be parted from them again. But she had to be sure. She had done too much damage with her rash decisions already, especially to Frank. He hadn't wanted their relationship to end. He had realized what a brief time college really was going to be and that then they would have the rest of their lives, but Callie had thrown all that away. Then she had seen him again in that hospital bed, still unconscious and possibly dying. That was when it struck her full-force that she still loved him, that she had always loved him. It hadn't been the time then to talk to him about it. It wouldn't have been fair to have forced him to try to sort through a thing like that while he was trying to recover, both from his injuries and from days of not knowing whether his family was alive or not. When he had woken up, he had talked so freely to Callie that that in itself told her what a vulnerable state he had been in.

No, it wouldn't have been fair at all to talk to him about this then. She still would talk to him. Probably soon. She needed to work through her own feelings, too, including preparing herself for the possibility that Frank might not feel the same. After all, she had broken up with him. Maybe he wouldn't appreciate it to have her come back after being married and widowed and having a kid and saying she had changed her mind.

"Mom?" Martin poked his head out the door again. "Are you coming? I'm hungry!"

"I'm coming," Callie told him. She set the letter to the side as she went inside. It wasn't addressed in Frank's handwriting or Iola's or any of her other friends'. If it was something bad, she would rather deal with it after she had been fortified with some lunch.