Chapter 66
Wednesday afternoon
In his car, DuBois watched Rourke head toward a dark gray SUV parked halfway down the block. The man was calm, unhurried, and no obvious scanning. If Rourke knew he was about to become the center of a multi-vehicle surveillance operation, he hid it well.
“Primary target moving,” Chen said softly over the tactical channel.
Rourke climbed into the SUV and pulled into traffic.
Chen eased away from the curb three vehicles behind him.
Perfect spacing. DuBois waited another five seconds before pulling out himself.
Urban rode shotgun beside him while Martinez drifted into position farther back.
Everything looked smooth, which made DuBois nervous.
Experienced investigators usually worried more when things felt easy.
“Speed steady,” Chen reported. “Southbound Harbor.”
DuBois kept his distance while watching Rourke move through traffic.
Urban glanced sideways at him. “Do you think he’s checking?”
“Always.”
Good investigators never stopped checking. Especially ones who spent years learning how to follow people without being noticed, and Rourke had spent even more years watching his back.
Rourke merged onto Interstate 5 northbound with Chen still primary. Martinez rotated closer. They made a clean transition and got no brake taps from Rourke, no hesitation. The SUV moved with steady confidence through traffic.
“I don’t think he’s driving home,” Urban said.
DuBois had started thinking the same thing. “Me either. He’s not that relaxed. He’s driving like he’s still working, measured lane changes, consistent speed, and no wasted movement.
Martinez’ voice crackled softly again. “Target exiting Mission Bay.”
DuBois followed at a distance while Martinez slipped between them naturally with a delivery van now buffering the line of sight. That was good.
Rourke turned through a long commercial stretch near Pacific Beach, then unexpectedly slowed.
Urban straightened. “There.”
DuBois saw it too. Rourke wasn’t braking. He was testing. The target drifted below traffic speed for almost half a block. He did a mirror check, typical counter-surveillance behavior.
Chen continued past the next light instead of staying behind him. Martinez rotated forward smoothly. Rourke accelerated again.
“He’s sharp,” Urban said.
“I told you.”
They followed him through another series of turns, residential now. The streets were narrower and more dangerous for surveillance. A gray-haired woman walking a dog glanced toward the slow-moving traffic. Kids rode bikes near the curb.
DuBois hated neighborhoods for tails. It was too easy to notice repeats.
“Secondary widening,” Martinez reported.
“Good call,” DuBois said.
Rourke turned again. Then again.
Urban looked over. “That’s a loop.”
Yeah. There was no question now. Rourke was checking. He hadn’t panicked or run. He was just verifying.
DuBois loosened his grip on the steering wheel. Good investigators didn’t tense up during surveillance. Tension created mistakes.
Ahead, Rourke stopped briefly at a four-way intersection despite having no traffic. He was watching mirrors and probably timing.
Chen stayed gone. Martinez continued straight through. Perfect. DuBois became the primary.
Rourke finally moved again.
“He knows something,” Urban muttered.
“No,” DuBois countered. “He suspects something.”
The difference mattered. Suspicion could still be managed, but confirmation ended everything.
Rourke continued west another several blocks before suddenly pulling into a gas station.
DuBois cursed softly. Gas stations were surveillance killers. They were too open, too exposed.
He drove past naturally without turning his head.
In the rearview mirror, he caught a glimpse of Rourke stepping out of the SUV, watching traffic, but not fueling yet.
Urban looked straight ahead. “He’s checking cars.”
“Yep.”
“Do you think he made us?”
DuBois thought about it. “No. Not yet.” If Rourke had truly burned the surveillance, he’d bolt, dump the route, and disappear. This still felt like professional caution, the kind investigators developed after years of following people themselves.
Chen’s voice came softly over the channel. “I have visual from south lot.”
Rourke finally started pumping gas, normal enough to reduce suspicion.
DuBois continued two blocks before turning casually through a side street and circling back wider. By the time he regained visual range, Rourke was back on the road. He was headed northbound now.
Urban frowned. “He’s wandering.”
“No.” DuBois watched the SUV as it headed inland. “He’s deciding. That’s worse because it means Rourke hadn’t planned on going directly wherever he normally went after lunch. Maybe because of the conversation with Sabre. Maybe because some instinct bothered him now.”
Ahead, Rourke merged onto Interstate 8 eastbound toward El Cajon.
Urban looked over. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
DuBois nodded. “If he’s nervous, but hasn’t made us for certain, he might be going to check on Hannah.”