Chapter 17 - The Collision Course
I wrenched the steering wheel hard to the left, cutting down a narrow, unpaved maintenance alley between two abandoned warehouses where the massive Navigator’s bulk would be too wide to follow without sustaining heavy body damage. The truck bounced violently over discarded railway tracks and deep potholes, the suspension groaning in protest as mud and gravel sprayed against the undercarriage like buckshot. In the side mirror, I saw the black SUV overshoot the alley entrance, its brakes locking up with a screech of burning rubber as it slid sideways into a pile of wooden pallets. But I knew I had only bought myself a matter of minutes before they turned around and tracked my engine heat. I killed my headlights completely, coasting the truck forward in neutral until it rolled to a silent stop behind a rusted shipping container right at the edge of the dark, churning waters of the harbor. My hands were slick with cold sweat as I grabbed my tablet and pulled up the live GPS tracker I had secretly embedded in Tessa’s keychain months ago when we first started digging into the conspiracy. The little blue dot on the screen wasn't moving; it was stationary, blinking steadily from a coordinate located less than three hundred yards away—directly beneath the rotting wooden pilings of Pier 4, where the old harbor master's office used to stand before it was condemned.
