{MICHAEL}
As we turn onto the street that leads home, a black SUV speeds past my car. My brows pull together as I watch it go. "That looks familiar. Have you seen it before?" I ask Marco.
He shakes his head slowly. "Not that I recall."
It went by so fast, I couldn't even check its plate number. Was it coming from my house? Mine is the only property at the end of this lane—a fact that suddenly feels significant. We take the turn towards home, and as my car approaches the gate, it swings open automatically, the system recognizing my vehicle and Marco's face behind the wheel.
My gut tightens. I resist the primal urge to grab my phone and check the cameras. There's only one reason someone would come to my place this late when I'm not home—to visit my wife.
