Publisher's Synopsis
Lara's husband calls the police and screams - 'the nanny has taken our little girl'. I'm frozen in shock. This is impossible. I was only meant to be looking after the Smiths' nine-year-old twins. I'm certain that earlier this evening when they left for their fancy event - Lara in high heels and a floor-length gown, Corbin in a tux - they never mentioned a baby. And they definitely didn't show me this nursery room, up in the eaves of their sprawling, beachfront mansion. But their angelic blonde twins are now blinking at me in matching horror, and my heart pounds painfully as handcuffs snap shut around my wrists. As I'm pushed towards the waiting police car, I look back one last time and meet Lara's eyes. Am I imagining the cold calculation in them? I try to swallow my panic. Why was I really hired for this job?
