The security camera had been Katie’s suggestion. But the fear I felt while watching the footage belonged entirely to me.
At four in the morning, I sat alone at my kitchen table, gripping my phone with both hands while a grainy black-and-white video played across the screen.
A man was walking slowly up my driveway.
He moved carefully.
Paused.
Looked over his shoulder.
Then crouched beside my old pickup truck.
From inside his jacket, he pulled a hose.
He slipped it into my gas tank as naturally as if he had done it dozens of times before.
Which, as I would soon realize, he probably had.
I watched him siphon the fuel into a red plastic container.
Four minutes later, he replaced the gas cap, wiped his hands, stood up, and walked across the lawn toward the house next door.
I knew that walk.
I had watched it for six
