Free Dead on Target by Franklin W. Dixon

of the road.
    Tires squealed as the driver changed course. "Frank!" Callie screamed. The roar of the engine drowned out her words. Frank Hardy whirled to find the car almost on top of him, and no place to run. His muscles clenched for a dive he knew wouldn't take him far enough.
    From the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Joe was sprinting across the road toward him, racing the car, throwing himself at Frank in a flying tackle. His extra momentum flung them out of danger even as the car swerved in a futile effort to nail them. The Hardys tumbled through the underbrush as the car roared down the road.
    Frank untangled himself from Joe and staggered to his feet. "Get up! We still have a chance to catch him!"
    Joe followed him to the road. "Callie! Start the car! We're going after him!"
    They piled in and the Nova shot forward. "That guy was moving pretty fast," Joe said. "Do you think the Nova can catch him?"
    "He's boxed in," Frank said. "Chief Collig is ahead of him, and we're behind. If he zooms past the chief's car - "
    "Collig will go after him." Joe grinned. "I don't think the chief would enjoy someone trying to blow his doors off."
    "And we're here to keep him from doubling back," Callie added.
    "Right," said Frank. "We've got him-as long as there are no turnoffs. Does either of you know this stretch of road?"
    "We have miles before we hit anything," Callie said. "It's pretty desolate around here. No roads, no houses, no driveways."
    "There is one turnoff, though," Joe remarked. "A little bit ahead of here. It's a hill overlooking the river. Iola and I used to come - " He broke off whatever he was going to say.
    "We, uh, know the place you mean," Callie said. "But you'd really have to live around here to know about it."
    "And Al-Rousasa is a stranger to Bayport," Frank pointed out. "I think it's safe to go on."
    Two seconds after passing the turnoff, they heard a car engine behind them. Joe swore between gritted teeth, staring out the rear windshield. The escaping car had no lights. Only the faintest traces of movement showed in the dark. "He was in there."
    Callie sent the car in a wild U-turn, nearly spinning them out. She hit the gas, and the Nova sped back the way it had come. But the pursuit was hopeless. They never caught sight of the car. Joe said nothing, just pounded his fist into the backseat over and over again. The silence grew thick.
    "All right." Frank's voice was quiet. "We're back to square one. Anyone get a look at the car? The driver? 'the license plate?"
    "Everything happened so quickly," Callie said. "I hardly had a chance."
    "I was too busy rolling around with Frank." Joe turned to his brother. "If you want a good description of the third button on your shirt, I could give you that."
    "Callie's lights were shining in my eyes." Frank shook his head. "All I saw was a silhouette of one person in the car." "Al-Rousasa?" Joe said.
    Frank shrugged. "If it was, I couldn't tell you anything except that his ears don't stick out. I didn't see any features."
    "What do you mean, 'If it was?'" Callie asked. "Who else would it have been?"
    "Whoever tried to run us down followed us from the police station," Frank said. "There's no way he'd know we'd follow Chief Collig or that we'd stop here. This hit-and-run thing wasn't planned. But this guy used that turnoff-something nobody from out of town would know about. "
    "You're right," Callie said. "Every kid in town knows about this spot. It's a great place to go after a date."
    "Except for the cops who shine flashlights in the window," Frank said.
    "So, either Al-Rousasa is a make-out artist, or he's got some local help," Joe said. "Great. What do we do now?"
    "We could go back to the police," Callie said. "That guy just tried to kill you."
    "Yeah, but where are the witnesses?" Joe asked.
    "What am I? Pizza dough?" Callie said. "I saw the whole thing."
    "Yeah, and you just happen to be Frank's girlfriend.”
    "Joe means we need someone who isn't quite so