My son turned his coffee mug upside down on Thanksgiving afternoon, and in that instant, I knew something was terribly wrong.

The cold Arizona air hit Robert’s lungs like ice water as he hit the gravel driveway, but he didn't stop to catch his breath.

"Dad, look!" Daniel pointed toward the street.

Parked under the flickering amber glow of a neighborhood streetlight was the silver SUV Robert had noticed earlier during dinner. Its engine was idling, exhaust pluming white in the chill desert air. As soon as the side garage door burst open, the SUV’s headlights flashed high, blinding them both.

The passenger door swung open. Vanessa stood on the curb, a dark tactical jacket thrown over her cashmere sweater, holding a sleek black smartphone in her hand.

"Impressive, Robert," Vanessa’s voice echoed across the quiet cul-de-sac, amplified by a small megaphone. "I didn't think you’d get through that steel bolt before the pilot caught. But you’re still running out of time."

She tapped a button on her phone.

From inside the house, a muffled, metallic clack echoed through the open windows, followed immediately by the unmistakable sound of Carol screaming from the kitchen.

"Carol!" Daniel yelled, turning instinctively toward the front door.

"Don't go in there!" Robert grabbed Daniel by the collar of his sweater, yanking him back behind the cover of his parked Ford F-150. "She’s tripped the electronic smart-locks on the front and back doors. The house is sealed from the inside. She’s locking them in while the gas builds up in the utility room!"

Vanessa climbed back into the passenger side of the silver SUV. The tires squealed against the asphalt as the vehicle lurched forward, spinning around the cul-de-sac and heading toward the main desert highway leading out toward the foothills.

"She’s getting away!" Daniel shouted, looking frantically at his own car parked behind his father's truck. "My keys are still on the kitchen island! We can't chase her!"

"We don't need to chase her," Robert said, his eyes locked on the retreating taillights of the SUV as they sped down Meridian Road.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his heavy-duty key ring. Dangling from the brass ring wasn't just his house key—it was a small, military-grade GPS tracker fob that Robert had slipped into the side pocket of Vanessa’s designer handbag while he was carving the turkey earlier that afternoon.