Chapter 28 #3
A bitter laugh escaped Ann's throat before she could stop it.
"Of course, I was distressed. He's been following me for weeks.
Watching my apartment. Driving past my building at two in the morning.
" Her voice rose slightly before she caught herself, glancing around to ensure no customers were within earshot.
"Ann—"
"I have proof," she interrupted, fumbling with her phone.
She pulled up the photos from the previous night, the timestamp clearly visible in the corner.
"This is his patrol car outside my apartment at two a.m. Look at the car number—37.
The same one that's been following me. The same one my neighbor saw. "
Tom took the phone, squinting at the small screen. "It's a patrol car, Ann. They patrol. That's literally their job."
"At two in the morning? Parked in the same spot for over an hour, watching my building?
" Ann swiped to the next photo, then the next.
"And what about the traffic stop two days ago?
I didn't roll through that stop sign, Tom.
I was counting in my head, making sure I came to a complete stop specifically so he wouldn't have an excuse to pull me over. "
Tom handed back the phone, his expression softening into something that looked uncomfortably like pity. "Ann, are you sure you're not reading too much into this? He seems like a devoted regular to me."
Ann's voice cracked. "Who showed up at my apartment complex at two in the morning?"
"Listen," Tom placed a hand on her shoulder that was clearly meant to be comforting, but felt like a weight pinning her in place. "I've known Marcus for years. He's a good officer with a solid reputation. If he pulled you over, I'm sure he had a reason."
"That's exactly the problem," Ann whispered, the fight suddenly draining from her body. "Everyone thinks he's just a good cop doing his job. No one can see what's happening."
Tom sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Look, finish your shift, go home, and get some rest. Things will seem clearer after a good night's sleep."
Ann nodded mechanically, recognizing the dismissal in his tone. The assumption that she was overreacting, imagining connections that weren't there, creating problems where none existed.
As her shift wound down, Ann moved through her closing duties with mechanical efficiency, her mind racing with the information she'd discovered during her research. Every few minutes, her eyes darted to the windows, scanning the parking lot for white and blue patrol cars.
Just as she finished, movement outside the front window caught her eye.
A patrol car cruised slowly past the restaurant, its headlights illuminating the darkening parking lot with sweeping beams. Though she couldn't make out the driver's face or the car number from this distance, Ann's body responded with immediate, visceral recognition—her heart rate doubling, her palms growing damp with cold sweat, and her lungs constricting until breathing became a conscious effort.
She ducked behind the host stand, pressing her back against the wooden structure as if it could shield her from those searching lights. With trembling fingers, she pulled out her phone and called Lena.
"Hey, what's up?" Lena's voice came through, casual and warm.
"Are you still at the restaurant?" Ann whispered, her eyes fixed on the windows where the patrol car's taillights were still visible at the edge of the lot.
"Just left ten minutes ago. I'm almost home. Why?"
"I need a ride," Ann said, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "Please. I can't walk to my car alone. He's out there—the patrol car just drove by. I think he's waiting for me to leave."
"Oh, my God, Ann." Lena's tone shifted immediately from casual to concerned. "I'll turn around. Don't leave the building. Stay where there are other people."
"Thank you," Ann whispered, relief momentarily overwhelming her fear. "I'll wait by the kitchen entrance."
As she ended the call, Ann pressed her forehead against the cool wood of the host stand, trying to steady her breathing. She just needed to stay safe for ten more minutes. Then Lena would arrive and would ensure she wasn't alone in the darkened parking lot where Marcus might be waiting.
The patrol car circled back, moving more slowly this time as it passed the restaurant's front entrance. Ann shrank further behind the host stand, making herself as small as possible. Through the window, she could just make out the car number illuminated briefly by the streetlight: 37.
Her documentation folder would gain another entry tonight. Another timestamp. Another sighting. More evidence that would likely be dismissed as a coincidence, as paranoia, as a woman overreacting to a man's attention.
But Ann knew better. And as she huddled behind the host stand, waiting for Lena's rescue, Ann faced the terrifying reality that her evidence might never be enough until something happened that couldn't be ignored—something she might not survive to document.