Mystery of the Phantom Heist by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

so familiar. I also realized why I’d had those weird feelings about Sierra. Not only was she Colin’s girlfriend, she was probably his spy!
    “Frank?” I said, looking over at him. He wasn’t peering out from behind the Dumpster anymore. He was sitting on the ground, slumped against it. “Frank, are you okay?”
    Frank stared straight ahead. “Looks like your bad feelings about Sierra were right,” he muttered.
    “Hey,” I said with a shrug. “A lucky guess.”
    I turned back to the car. Colin and Sierra were kissingagain—the perfect time to catch them by surprise.
    “Come on, Frank!” I said. “Let’s surprise them.”
    He shook his head. “Colin’s in his car. He’ll either take off—or knowing him, run us over.”
    “But we have enough time to get our car,” I said. “As long as they’re still kissing—”
    Frank glared at me.
    Oops.
    “Okay, I’ll shut up,” I said. “But we’re wasting precious time here!”
    I turned back toward the car. Colin and Sierra had stopped kissing and were talking now. After sharing a laugh, they high-fived. Were they talking about the plan? The car windows were open, but they were too far away for us to hear a thing.
    . . . Or were they?
    I reached for the amplifier, still in my jacket pocket. I stuck it in my ear, but this time heard nothing.
    “Arrrgh!” I said. “The battery must have died.”
    The sudden sound of an engine made me jump. I yanked out the earbud just as Colin’s headlights flashed, illuminating the Dumpster and us. I ducked behind the Dumpster. Was it too late? Had Colin or Sierra seen us?
    With a loud screech, the car backed out of the parking lot. It turned, then roared off.
    “Frank, let’s chase them,” I said. “If we get to our car in time, we might have a chance—”
    “Forget it, Joe,” Frank said. “They’re already out of the lot.”
    “So, what, we’re not even going to try?” I cried.
    “Not with Sierra in the car,” Frank said. He then shook his head and murmured, “Sierra and Colin. Unbelievable.”
    I sank down next to Frank. I took a noisy slurp of my lemonade and said, “I kind of believe it. Remember how she invited you out last night, the night of the fire?”
    “What are you saying?” Frank asked. “That she wanted to get me out of the way so the Scaredevils could burn our garage?”
    “That—or get information from you,” I said. “Maybe Colin wanted to know how much we knew about him and the gang.”
    “Great,” Frank grumbled.
    “I’ll bet that’s how the Scaredevils got my e-mail address,” I figured. “Sierra took it from the job application I filled out.”
    I knew Frank didn’t want to hear it, but I had to go on about Sierra.
    “Sierra invited us on that boat,” I said. “Probably knowing that it was rigged by Colin—or maybe herself.”
    “It’s my fault,” Frank said, standing up. “I told Sierra about the case we were working on, so the Scaredevils came after us.”
    “It wasn’t your fault, Frank,” I said.
    “Sure it was,” he said angrily. “Sierra played me, and I fell for it.”
    We carried our drinks and pretzels back to our car. Frank didn’t say a word.
    “Frank,” I said, “how do you think someone like Sierra got a job working for the Peytons?”
    “Sierra’s obviously good at deceiving people,” Frank said bitterly. “She could be playing the Peytons too.”
    Playing the Peytons?
    The idea made me stop in my tracks.
    “Maybe Sierra isn’t there to help plan Lindsay’s Sweet Sixteen,” I told Frank. “Maybe she’s there to help Colin bring down Lindsay’s Sweet Sixteen!”
    Frank shot me a puzzled look.
    “Think about it, Frank,” I continued. “Colin wasn’t invited to the party of the decade. A guy like him wouldn’t take that lightly.”
    “Especially since Lindsay’s been rejecting him since middle school,” Frank agreed.
    “Not only did she reject him,” I said, “she kept him from being a part of her clique.”
    “So