‘My car,’ Kate says stupidly. ‘My car. It’s gone.’
But it hasn’t quite gone, not yet. There it is, her zippy little Polo, almost at the end of the long driveway. It all seems to happen in slow motion: the gates slowly opening, the guard puffing up the drive, his hands waving. She can’t hear what he’s saying, but she knows he’s in trouble. He left his post, he wasn’t at the checkpoint with his clipboard. And on top of that, someone has just stolen her car and driven away. But who?
Kate slips her hand into her bag. Her keys are there. Then she realises how this has happened. She strains for a last glimpse of the car. Of course. It has to be. Maddie looking back, Juliet in the driver’s seat and Noah next to her. The three of them have just driven out of Greenhills and there’s no way to find out where they’re going.
But there is. Of course there is.
Kate thanks God for Dominic, for his absolute insistence on security at every level, the house with electric fencing, its alarm systems, the cars, each armed with a tracker. Ever since the home invasion, safety has been an imperative for him. For all of them, really. There must be a way to log in to that tracker, work out where Noah and Maddie are going, and catch up with them. Moments later she’s on the phone, gabbling to her husband, telling him what’s happened and asking him to find their children.