Read Over the Line for Free Online

moves toward the building. I’m right on the edge of bounding out of the car as he scans a keycard and yanks open the door. He’s the right build. The right hair color.
    But I can’t risk showing myself unless I
know
.
    He steps into the building without turning and when the door closes behind him, I spew an expletive with the trapped breath.
    The next fifteen minutes are agonizing, waiting for something to happen. Finally, a steel door on the side of the building rolls up and a limo pulls out. I slump down and strain for a view of the passengers as it cruises past.
    The windows are tinted. I can’t see a goddamn thing.
    I pound my fist into the dash and bark another curse. That was probably my man, but I’ve got to stay with the blue Chevy. That’s my best bet.
    The sun sets. The blue car doesn’t move. I finish the coffee, watch a few other people come and go.
    I break into the box of protein bars I brought along to avoid starvation. I’m a regimented eater—high protein, no trans fats or simple carbs. I adhere to a tight workout schedule—an hour every morning on the free weights followed by an hour of kickboxing for cardio. I’m meticulous with my sleep—two to ten AM. I drink socially, but never to excess. Caffeine and nicotine are my only vices and I’m seriously overdoing them at the moment.
    This stakeout is totally fucking with my health.
    It’s nearly nine hours later, three in the morning, when the limo rolls back into the lot. The steel warehouse door rolls up and it disappears inside.
    All the waiting pays off when a round guy with a handlebar mustache emerges from the building a few minutes later, followed by Delgado. I know it’s him because the motion-sensitive floodlight above the door triggers as they spill into the parking lot under it. He gives the old guy a clap on the shoulder and disappears into the blue Chevy.
    Adrenaline surges my bloodstream as I start the car. This isn’t ideal. Trailing someone at night and staying incognito is a challenge. If they see your lights constantly behind them, no matter the distance, that’s going to ring some alarm bells. Especially for someone like Delgado who’s spent his entire life looking over his shoulder. I let him get fully out of the lot before I follow. There’s a moment of relief when he slows to turn onto the road and I notice that his left brake light is out. That will make it easier to spot him again when I have to let him out of my direct line of sight.
    He heads over the surface roads toward the highway at speeds well exceeding the posted limit. Unlike me, Delgado’s known for living on the edge, so his driving habits shouldn’t surprise me. I try to stay one bend of the road behind him, only catching glimpses of his taillights on the short straightaways. When we reach highway 75, he heads south, finally exiting twenty minutes later at Loveland. He weaves through the abandoned city streets and I have to be extra careful to stay well behind him. He rolls through a red light and takes a right at a corner just past a hardware store. When I turn the corner a minute later, he’s nowhere in sight.
    My heart hammers as I speed up, craning my neck down every side street.
    “Fuck!” I yell, slamming my hand into the steering wheel as I screech to a halt at the next Stop sign.
    I drop my head against the headrest and haul a deep breath.
Stay calm
. Just as I crank the wheel to U-turn, thinking I must have missed him in a side street, I spot taillights halfway over a bridge off to my right.
    I hit the gas and the sign that flashes by as I reach the bridge says I’m heading to the island of Port St. Mary.
    Delgado navigates dark, deserted roads, surrounded by scrub trees and overgrown ground brush. Here, though I’m tempted after the close call in Loveland, I don’t have to follow too close. There aren’t many turns, and in the pitch dark, his taillights glow through the trees. We pass through the center of some backwater town, with a