Chapter 22
THEN:
Ann's hands trembled as she tied her apron strings, fumbling twice before the bow took shape behind her back.
She'd arrived fifteen minutes early for her shift, scanning the parking lot before darting inside Granger's through the back entrance.
No patrol cars today—at least none she could see.
Her neck prickled with the phantom sensation of being watched anyway.
This feeling had become her constant companion since Marcus Hale first walked into the restaurant and fixed those observant eyes on her.
The break room was mercifully empty except for Miriam, who sat at the small table folding napkins into perfect triangles, her dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. She looked up as Ann entered, her brows immediately knitting together.
"Jesus, Ann. You look like you haven't slept in days."
Ann touched the shadows she knew must be visible beneath her eyes. "Is it that obvious?"
"Like a neon sign." Miriam pushed a stack of napkins toward her. "Here, make yourself useful while you tell me what's going on."
Ann sank into the chair opposite Miriam, taking a napkin with unsteady fingers.
The white cloth felt cool and crisp, a small anchor to reality as her thoughts threatened to spiral.
The rhythmic motion of folding—corner to corner, smoothing the crease, folding again—gradually steadied her hands, though her heart continued its rapid drumming against her ribs.
"It's Marcus," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, though they were alone. "Officer Hale. I think… I think he's stalking me."
The word hung in the air between them, ugly and stark. Ann had avoided saying it aloud until now, as if naming the fear would make it more real, more dangerous.
Miriam's fingers stilled mid-fold. "What makes you think that?"
Ann recounted everything—the traffic stop the morning after their first meeting, his daily arrivals at precisely 1:15, the patrol cars that seemed to shadow her movements, the feeling of being watched in her own apartment.
With each detail, her voice grew steadier, more certain, even as her hands resumed their trembling.
"And last night," Ann continued, leaning closer, "A neighbor told me she's seen patrol car number 37 parked outside my apartment complex several evenings this week. Just watching."
"Really?" Miriam frowned.
"Yeah, this neighbor—Rosa Alvarez—is always watching everything.
She keeps track of unusual activity in the neighborhood.
Has for years." Ann swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.
"And Chef Cho—she believes me too. She said her ex-husband was a cop who did the same thing to her after they separated. "
Miriam set down her napkin, reaching across to squeeze Ann's wrist. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? This is serious, Ann."
"I thought I was being paranoid." Ann looked down at her half-folded napkin, now crumpled from her grip. "Everyone keeps saying how charming he is, how he must just have a crush on me."
"Men," Miriam muttered, rolling her eyes. "Look, you shouldn't have to deal with him today. Let's switch sections."
Ann's head snapped up. "You'd do that?"
"Of course I would. He always comes at 1:15, right? You take my section by the kitchen, and I'll handle his table when he comes in." Miriam stood, smoothing her apron. "Let's check the chart and make it official."
They moved to the staff rotation chart posted near the time clock, Miriam running her finger down the laminated surface to find their assignments. Ann peered over her shoulder, hope flickering for the first time in days.
After changing the assignments, Miriam clapped her on the shoulder. "Section four is as far from your usual tables as possible. Even if he comes in, he won't be anywhere near you."
Relief washed through Ann, loosening the knot between her shoulders. Section four was the smallest, tucked away in the corner farthest from the entrance. If Marcus took his usual table, he'd have to crane his neck to see her. For the first time in days, she felt like she could breathe.
The lunch shift began smoothly. Ann settled into a rhythm with her new tables—an elderly couple who ordered the soup of the day, a mother with two well-behaved children, a businessman engrossed in his laptop.
The familiar routine of taking orders, delivering food, and refilling drinks soothed her frayed nerves.
By 1:00, she had almost convinced herself that today would be different.
At precisely 1:15, the front door opened.
Ann's head jerked up, her body reacting before her mind could catch up.
Marcus Hale stood in the entrance, uniform pristine as always, eyes scanning the restaurant with the practiced assessment of a predator seeking prey.
Their gazes locked across the room, and the small bubble of security Ann had built around herself burst instantly.
The hostess approached him with a menu, but he shook his head, gesturing toward Ann's corner.
Ann watched in growing horror as the hostess looked confused, checking her seating chart, then leading Marcus across the restaurant—not to his usual table in section two, but directly to an empty four-top in Ann's new section.
"How did he know?" Ann whispered, her pulse pounding in her ears. “He must have specifically asked for my section.”
Marcus took his seat, his eyes never leaving Ann as she stood frozen by the service station, notepad clutched so tightly her knuckles whitened. Miriam appeared beside her, face taut with concern.
"Did you tell anyone we were switching sections?" Ann asked, her voice barely audible.
"No one. I swear." Miriam squeezed her arm. "Maybe it's just a coincidence."
But they both knew it wasn't. Somehow, Marcus had known exactly where to find Ann, despite a last-minute schedule change that even she hadn't been aware of until minutes before her shift.
Ann forced her legs to move, approaching his table with the mechanical steps of a wind-up toy. The notepad trembled visibly in her grip as she stopped before him, summoning a brittle smile that felt like it might shatter her face.
"Officer Hale," she said, the words sticking in her dry throat. "Your usual coffee?"
"Black, one sugar," he confirmed, his eyes never wavering from her face. That steady gaze—once merely intense, now terrifying in its focus—tracked her every microexpression. "How are you today, Ann? You seem tense."
"Just busy," she lied, the words automatic.
His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I noticed your car as I drove in. Looks like you need your tires rotated soon."
Ann's breath caught, a cold weight settling in her stomach.
"I'll take care of it," she managed, the words coming from far away, as if someone else were speaking through her mouth. "Just the coffee today?"
"That's all I need." His smile widened slightly, showing the edges of his teeth. "For now."
Ann nodded mechanically, turning away with wooden movements. Her mind raced with terrible questions. None of them did she have answers for.
Behind her, she felt the weight of his eyes, steady and unrelenting, tracking her retreat across the restaurant floor.
Ann placed the coffee cup before Marcus with deliberate care, disguising how badly her hand wanted to shake.
She kept her body angled slightly away from him, as if the additional inches of distance might somehow protect her.
The sensation of his gaze followed her as she moved to her other tables, a tangible weight pressing between her shoulders.
She found herself taking circuitous routes across the restaurant floor to avoid passing directly in front of him, though she knew his eyes tracked her regardless of where she went.
The lunch rush intensified around her—clinking silverware, overlapping conversations, the rhythmic swing of the kitchen door as other servers moved between dining room and kitchen. Ann clung to these ordinary sounds, using them to anchor herself in normality.
When Daniel Reed walked in at 1:30, Ann felt a surge of relief at the sight of his familiar face.
The attorney was a steady presence at Granger's, arriving daily with his leather-bound notebook and thoughtful manner.
Unlike Jonah Myers with his excessive familiarity, Daniel maintained a polite professional distance that Ann had always appreciated.
Today, his predictable presence felt like a lifeline.
"Your usual table is free," she told him, leading him to a small two-top along the wall, blessedly distant from where Marcus sat nursing his coffee.
Daniel settled in with a nod of thanks, unfolding his napkin with precise movements. "Just an iced tea today, Ann. I have a court appearance at three."
"Coming right up." Ann's shoulders relaxed slightly as she stepped away from Marcus's line of sight to prepare Daniel's drink. These small moments of invisibility felt precious, like catching her breath while treading water.
When she returned with the tea, Daniel was scanning a newspaper, his brow furrowed as he read a headline about a local trial.
"Following the Westbrook case?" Ann asked, setting down his drink. Small talk with regular customers was routine, safe—a script she could follow without thinking.
Daniel looked up, his expression thoughtful. "Hard to avoid it. It's all anyone at the courthouse is discussing. The evidence seems fairly straightforward."
"That's what the paper's been suggesting," Ann agreed, glancing at the headline. She didn't mention that she'd barely had time to follow the news lately, her mind too occupied with her own concerns.
"Most of my colleagues think—"
"That's not what you said the other day, though." Marcus's voice cut through their conversation like a knife, though he remained seated at his own table several feet away. "You mentioned you thought the defendant was being framed."