Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

A/N: I know, I know. I'm so bad. I should be working on LMM, not be starting something new, but when a plot bunny grabs ahold of me, it doesn't let go. Try to forget about that other story you're all waiting for an update to (and so patiently, too, if I may say so,) and give this one a chance. Also, take note that it won't really be a mystery; it's romance/ drama. It's a little different, but I think you'll like it. As always, please R & R!

"He looks like he could use a little help." Frank replied, squinting out the window to see a man on the side of the road, peering under the hood of a brown sedan. "Maybe we could give him a hand."

Nancy smiled at her boyfriend as she pulled her blue convertible to the side of the road. She had been dating Frank for over a year now, and one of the things she had in common with Frank (and his brother, Joe) was their eagerness to help people out. It was one of the many qualities she loved about him.

The three teenage detectives stepped out of the car and walked towards the man. "Everything all right?" Joe called to him.

The man turned around and ran a hand through his wavy brown hair in frustration. He had a mustache and beard and looked to be around thirty-five. "Car won't start." He smiled apologetically. "I really don't know much about cars." He fiddled with the spark plugs. "Try it now!" he called.

The teens looked to see a girl of about sixteen in the front seat, trying the ignition. The car didn't start. The younger boy of ten or eleven in the backseat groaned in dismay.

"Let me take a look." Frank volunteered.

The man stepped aside. "Thank you, son." he said. "Now freeze!"

Frank, Joe, and Nancy stood, shocked, as the man pulled a gun out of his jacket and pointed it at Frank. "Well, well, well, Frank Hardy. You're coming for a little ride." he sneered.

Frank and Joe's eyes met briefly and they started inching apart. Their usual routine, which was deeply rooted in a "can't cover both at once" philosophy.

The man spoke calmly and professionally, keeping his gun trained on Frank. "Nobody move or O' Toole will not hesitate to shoot you."

Then the three detectives saw with alarm that the little boy in the backseat was not a little boy at all, but an older man with a young face, and a gun aimed at Joe.

Joe stopped moving, eyes narrowed. "What do you want? We don't even know you!"

The man grinned cruelly, suddenly looking more ruthless than helpless. "Maybe you don't know me personally, but you must be acquainted with the Assassins."

Nancy let out an involuntary gasp at the mention of the international terrorist group. She looked up at Frank and her heart twisted to see that the concern in his eyes was for her and not himself. She looked around desperately for another car, an escape route, a distraction, anything which would help them scrape their way out of this one. Once the Assassins had prisoners, they were not likely to escape.

The "boy", O' Toole, stepped out of the car with his gun. "Get in." he ordered Frank.

Frank knew he was defeated, but he stubbornly said, "What will happen to them?"

O' Toole shot a hard look at Joe and Nancy and said, slowly and clearly, "Their punishment is uncertainty. They will live the rest of their lives not knowing if you are dead or alive, if they should mourn or keep searching. Even if they try to forget, that faint spark of hope will force them to remember. It is a terrible thing for a loved one to die"- here his voice hardened, and became even colder, the kind of voice that would haunt them forever- "But not knowing is what makes it torture." His words had a lingering effect, a finality.

"No." Nancy whispered. O' Toole paid no attention as he forced Frank into the car. Then the older man jumped in, still aiming for Joe. The driver slammed her foot down and the car shot off.

Joe and Nancy scrambled into the convertible and raced after them. The bearded man leaned out the passenger window and snapped off several shots. The first shattered a headlight and the second came dangerously close to the gas tank. The third and fourth punctured the two front tires with a bang. The convertible began to lose speed, and the Assasins- and Frank- disappeared over the horizon.

Joe leapt out of the car. "Frank!"

Nancy brought her head to rest on the steering wheel. "No." she murmured, tears filling her eyes. "NO!"

"NO!" she cried, tossing and twisting beneath the covers. "Frank!"

Another man would be angry, hearing his wife call another man's name in her sleep, but Joe Hardy understood. "Nancy." he called gently. "Wake up."

Her eyes flew open, her face wet with sweat and tears. "Oh, God. I dreamed about it again." She collapsed against him, weeping into his bare chest. "It seemed so real." she whispered.

Joe gathered his stricken wife into his arms and held her close. "I know, baby." He had had his fair share of nightmares too. Had heard that voice over and over. Not knowing is what makes it torture.

Nancy wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, feeling Joe's voice and the night air calm her down. "I love you." she murmured. They had long ago agreed to stop apologizing for the midnight breakdowns, which were, thankfully, happening more and more infrequently.

"I love you too." Joe replied tenderly, planting a kiss on her hair. He rocked her gently, and her eyes closed as sorrow succumbed to exhaustion.