“We’ve picked up a tail,” Larry announced.

I didn’t have a good shot at the rear-view mirror from the passenger side, so I twisted around in my seat to get a look behind us. Unfortunately, from the middle of the pack of SUVs and box trucks, it was hard to see much behind us on the freeway. “Where?”

He glanced at the rearview again. “About two car-lengths back from the rear vehicle. White F-150. He’s been there since about half a mile from the warehouse.”

I craned my neck, and finally spotted him, as Larry drifted us closer to the shoulder to give me a better view. There wasn’t much to see; it was a white F-150 keeping pace behind us. That was a little strange; we were doing about fifteen under the regular speed limit, on account of the two box trucks we were escorting. Still, that wasn’t enough to go on yet. “You sure? This is the main road to Mexico.”

“He’s been staying close,” Larry said. “Changing lanes when we do. I don’t know, man. I’d say about seventy-five percent certain. My spidey sense is tingling.”

I can’t really say just what was so funny about a six-foot-five, two hundred seventy-five pound bald man with a huge, bristling “scary murder hobo” beard covering half his face talking about his “spidey sense,” but I couldn’t help but crack a grin as I continued to watch the truck behind us. That was when I noticed another one hanging back behind it. I glanced over at the speedometer again; yeah, we were doing about sixty. A guy in a pickup truck pacing us at that speed was definitely suspicious, especially considering that just about everybody else we’d seen since leaving Tucson had blown past us like we were standing still.

Of course, if Larry was getting the heebie-jeebies, I was generally inclined to listen. I’d known Larry off and on for the better part of a decade; we’d been teammates as Marines, working with Filipino Recon Marines way back when, and then founding members of Praetorian Security. (Though the name had been changed a few months ago to Praetorian Solutions for marketing reasons that were completely opaque to me.) I’d been through the hairiest parts of my life so far with the big, bald galoot, and I trusted him with my life.

So far the trucks trailing us weren’t really doing anything squirrelly, aside from following us. It could be explained as just going the same way and not being in much of a hurry. But we were escorting this cargo for a reason, and I wasn’t going to dismiss a possible threat.