Chapter 1 - THE ROUTE JAKE WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO TAKE
Jake Miller had driven delivery trucks for seventeen years.
He knew which bridges shook in crosswinds.
Which loading docks wasted an hour.
Which dispatchers lied about “five-minute delays.”
Which routes looked shorter on paper and longer in real life.
That Thursday morning, Jake’s route changed at 8:12 a.m.
Dispatch called.
“Take Route 47 over Harrison Bridge.”
Jake frowned.
“That’s not my route.”
“Road closure on I-9.”
“There’s no closure.”
“Temporary.”
Jake looked at the navigation screen.
No alert.
He called back.
Different dispatcher answered.
“Just follow the reroute.”
Jake almost argued.
Then stopped.
The truck was heavily loaded with six strapped pallets of industrial control modules bound for a medical-device plant outside Rockford.
High-value cargo.
Fragile.
Time-sensitive.
He had signed for it himself.
He checked the seals twice.
Nothing unusual.
Then he noticed something odd on the bill of lading.
The printed route number had been crossed out by hand.
47 written beside it.
Initials:
D.P.
Jake knew most dispatch initials.
Not those.
He took a photo.
Habit.
Then drove.
Harrison Bridge rose over a wide river and freight channel.
Long.
High.
Exposed.
Traffic was light.
Jake kept both hands on the wheel.
A dark SUV appeared behind him.
Too close.
Then moved left.
Passed.
Jake barely noticed.
Until it slowed.
Then drifted toward his lane.
Jake muttered:
“Don’t.”
The SUV moved closer.
A young driver.
Black jacket.
Looking in the mirror.
Not at the road.
Jake hit the horn.
The SUV suddenly cut directly in front.
Then something metallic flashed beneath its rear bumper.
A hook.
Jake’s stomach dropped.
The hook caught one of the cargo straps along the exposed side of the flatbed.
The truck jerked hard.
Jake grabbed the wheel.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”
The SUV was not pulling away.
May you like
It was attached.
And both vehicles were heading toward the barrier.
