The Stolen Sapphire: His Fake Girlfriend

The garage was a mausoleum of forgotten luxury.

Dust sheets covered four cars. Belle pulled the cover off the red Porsche 911. It was her mother's favorite. A thick layer of grey dust coated the sleek red paint.

"It won't start," Adan said, peering through the window. "Battery is probably dead."

Belle leaned against the door, sliding down until she was sitting on the concrete floor. She put her head in her hands.

"I'm so tired, Adan."

Adan sat next to her. He handed her a bottle of water he'd snagged from the kitchen. "You did it, though. You got the necklace."

"Yeah." Belle touched the stone. "But I have no money. I checked my accounts on the way here. Ewart froze everything. 'Suspicious activity', the bank said. Everything except the one emergency card he lets me keep for appearances-the one with a laughable limit he monitors like a hawk."

"We can use my card," Adan offered.

"No. I need thousands, Adan. The PI needs the final payment or he won't give me the file on the driver."

She pulled a folded, crinkled photo from her pocket. It was grainy, taken from a CCTV camera three years ago. It showed a man's back. He was pulling Belle out of a burning car.

He was the reason she was alive. He was the reason she had left New York. And then he had vanished.

"The Missing Man," Adan sighed. "Belle, maybe he doesn't want to be found."

"He saved me," Belle said fiercely. "And then someone erased him from the police report. Why? I need to know."

She stood up. "I'm taking the Jeep. You stay here."

"Where are you going?"

"To the repair shop. Maybe I can sell some of my old designer bags. I need cash."

"I'm coming with you."

"No," Belle said. "I need you to do something else. You know people, Adan. Find one of your contacts, a PI, anyone. I need to know if Kathern is moving money out of the household accounts. If I can get leverage, I can force her hand."

Adan hesitated. "It's dangerous."

"We're already in danger," Belle said. She climbed into the Jeep. "Text me if you find anything."

She drove out of the estate, her mind racing. Money. She needed money.

Her phone rang. It was the Private Investigator.

"Belle," the voice was gravelly. "I hit a wall. The license plate on the car that picked up your mystery man? It's fake. Government issue, maybe. Or high-level corporate security."

"So what do I do?" Belle asked, gripping the steering wheel.

"I need more resources. It's going to cost another ten grand."

"Ten..." Belle choked. "Fine. Just... give me a few days."

She hung up, frustration blinding her. She looked down at the phone to disconnect the call.

She didn't see the light turn red.

She didn't see the sleek, black car stopped at the intersection ahead.

She looked up just as the Jeep's brakes locked.

SCREECH.