"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."
Ann's head snapped toward Marcus, her body going cold despite the restaurant's warmth. He was watching her with that same steady gaze, coffee cup held midway to his lips, as if his interjection into a private conversation was perfectly natural.
"I—what?" Ann managed, her voice sounding strange to her own ears.
"The Westbrook case," Marcus continued, setting down his cup. "You said Tuesday that you thought someone was setting Westbrook up. That the evidence seemed too perfect." His smile was pleasant, conversational. "You have a good eye for inconsistencies."
The blood drained from Ann's face so rapidly she felt lightheaded. She had never discussed the Westbrook case with anyone at the restaurant and never shared an opinion about it, certainly not with Marcus. She'd barely registered the headlines, too consumed with her own situation to follow local news.
Daniel looked between them, confusion evident in his furrowed brow. "I didn't realize you followed legal cases so closely, Ann."
