Page 173 of The Advocate’s Ultimatum

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.