Chapter 31 #2
Ann's chest tightened, each breath becoming a conscious effort as the implications unfurled in her mind.
A police officer photographing a restaurant wouldn't raise suspicions.
If questioned, he could claim official business, a security assessment, or any number of plausible explanations that would satisfy casual observers.
But Ann knew better. Those photos weren't for any police file; they were for his personal documentation of her movements, her routines, her escape routes.
She abandoned the salt shakers, wiping her trembling hands on her apron as she scanned the restaurant with growing desperation.
Lena was in the kitchen. Chef Cho was focused on the lunch rush.
Tom was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes settled on Daniel Reed, seated at his usual spot at the counter, legal papers spread before him as he ate his solitary lunch.
Daniel had been coming to Granger's for years and was respected in the community as an attorney with connections throughout the local justice system. If anyone might understand the legal implications of what she'd just witnessed, might have the authority to be taken seriously, it would be him.
Ann approached his spot at the counter, her steps quickening as she saw Marcus lower his phone, checking the images he'd captured. Daniel glanced up at her approach, his usual polite smile fading as he registered the tension in her face.
"Everything alright, Ann?" he asked, setting down his fork. "You look a bit pale."
"Daniel," she whispered, leaning close to avoid being overheard, acutely aware of Marcus's presence across the restaurant. "That police officer over there—I think he's stalking me."
Daniel's eyebrows rose slightly, his gaze shifting toward table eight, where Marcus now appeared absorbed in his phone.
"The one who comes in for coffee during his lunch break most days?" he asked, his tone careful, neutral.
"Yes." Ann's voice caught, the word emerging as barely more than a breath.
"He's been following me for weeks now. Driving past my apartment at night.
Pulling me over for traffic violations that didn't happen.
" Her words tumbled out in a desperate rush.
"And now—just now—he was taking pictures of the restaurant.
All the exits. The staff areas. Where I work. "
Daniel studied her face for a long moment, his expression shifting from concern to something that looked uncomfortably like condescension.
"That's Officer Hale, isn't it?" he said finally, his voice lowering to match her whispered tone, though the gravity she'd hoped for was missing. "Marcus Hale?"
Ann nodded, hope flaring briefly that Daniel recognized the name and might know something about him that could help her case.
"Sounds like you've got yourself an admirer, Ann," Daniel said, his lips curving into a dismissive smile that extinguished her hope like fingers pinching out a candle flame. "Most women would be flattered by attention from a man in uniform."
The familiar refrain—the same dismissive response Tom had given her, that so many others had offered when she'd tried to explain her fears—hit Ann like a physical blow.
Her mouth opened to protest, to explain the difference between admiration and obsession, between attention and surveillance, but the words died in her throat as she registered the look in Daniel's eyes.
He wasn't taking her seriously. Wouldn't take her seriously.
"It's not—" she began, desperate to make him understand.
"He's just doing his job, Ann," Daniel interrupted, his tone gentle but patronizing, as if explaining something simple to a child.
"Police officers maintain awareness of their environments.
It's their training." He gestured vaguely toward where Marcus sat.
"He's probably just security-conscious. Checking exits, entry points. It becomes a habit for them."
Ann's hands clenched at her sides, nails digging half-moons into her palms. Another person who couldn't—or wouldn't—see what was happening right in front of them. Another potential ally lost to the plausible deniability that Marcus so carefully maintained.
"But—" she tried again, only to be cut off by a sharp tapping sound from the corner of the restaurant.
Mrs. Mendez sat at her usual table, teaspoon clicking deliberately against her coffee cup as she stared directly at Ann. The elderly woman's eyes were keen and knowing, her mouth set in a firm line as she gestured imperiously for service.
"Your regular in the corner seems to need something," Daniel said, clearly relieved by the interruption. He turned back to his legal papers, effectively dismissing Ann and her concerns in one practiced movement. "Maybe bring me the check when you have a moment?"
Ann stood frozen for a second longer, the weight of Daniel's dismissal settling heavily across her shoulders.
Even here, surrounded by people, she was alone with her fear.
Isolated by the very plausibility of Marcus's behavior, by the respectability his uniform provided, by the natural inclination of others to believe there must be a rational explanation for what she was experiencing.
The tapping grew more insistent. Ann turned away from Daniel, blinking rapidly to dispel the burn of frustrated tears that threatened to form.
As she moved toward the corner table, she felt Marcus's gaze tracking her, knew without looking that he'd observed her conversation with Daniel, and was likely assessing whether this interaction posed a threat to his surveillance.
Her isolation had never felt more complete, more terrifying.