When she opened her eyes, her gaze automatically swept the alley, then the street beyond—a habit she'd developed lately, this constant vigilance that exhausted her yet felt necessary for survival. She had almost convinced herself that she was being paranoid when she spotted it: a white and blue patrol car parked across the street, partially obscured by a FedEx delivery truck. From this angle, she could just make out the number on its door: 37. The same car her neighbor Rosa had seen watching her apartment.
Ann's pulse quickened as she pushed away from the wall, moving closer to the alley entrance for a better view. The car's windows were tinted, making it impossible to see who sat behind the wheel, but she knew with bone-deep certainty that it was Marcus. The small dent on the rear bumper confirmed it was his vehicle.
With trembling fingers, Ann pulled out her phone and snapped several photos, making sure the patrol car's number and the dent were clearly visible. She checked the time: 2:30 p.m.
"Documentation," Ann whispered to herself, adding a note to the photos with the date, time, and location. Chef Cho's words echoed in her mind: Dates, times, places. It matters.
The employee door opened again, and Miriam stepped out, unwrapping a piece of gum.
"God, it's stuffy in there," she said, stretching her arms overhead. "Chef's making that spicy soup again, and the whole place smells like—" She broke off, noticing Ann's rigid posture. "What's wrong?"
Ann pointed across the street. "That patrol car. It's his."
Miriam squinted in the direction Ann indicated. "The one behind the delivery truck? How do you know it's his?"
"The dent on the back bumper. And it's car 37—the same one my neighbor’s seen watching my apartment." Ann held up her phone, showing Miriam the photos she'd taken.
Miriam's expression shifted from skeptical to concerned as she studied the photos. "You're sure?"
As they watched, the patrol car's engine started, its lightsremaining off as it pulled smoothly away from the curb. It circled the delivery truck and disappeared down the street without haste, as if it hadn't been caught in the act of surveillance.
"That's… weird," Miriam admitted, her earlier dismissiveness fading. "Did he see us watching him?"
Ann's stomach clenched. "I don't know. Maybe." She checked the photos on her phone again, making sure they were clear. "This isn't a coincidence, Miriam. None of it is."
The remainder of her shift passed in a blur of tension, Ann's attention split between her tables and the windows that looked out onto the street. Every passing car, every shadow movement outside made her flinch. By closing time, her shoulders ached from being held rigid for hours, and a persistent headache throbbed behind her eyes.
As the final customers trickled out and the evening staff began their closing routines, Ann wiped down tables with uneven, distracted movements. Her cloth moved in erratic patterns rather than her usual efficient circles, her eyes darting to the windows every few seconds. When a car drove past with headlights on high beam, she dropped her spray bottle, the plastic clattering loudly on the wooden floor.
Tom emerged from the office at the noise, his keys jangling at his belt. He paused, watching as Ann retrieved the bottle with visibly shaking hands.
"Everything alright?" he asked, concern finally showing in his expression.
Ann straightened, clutching the spray bottle like a talisman. "Fine," she said automatically, the lie so practiced it came without thought.
Tom's eyebrows drew together as he studied her pale face. "You don't look fine. You've been jumping at shadows all night. Lena said you nearly screamed when that busboy dropped a tray."
Ann's throat tightened. She hadn't screamed, but it had been close—the sudden crash bringing her heart into her throat, her body instinctively bracing for danger.
"I saw his patrol car today," she said finally, her voice barelyabove a whisper. "During my break. Parked across the street, watching the restaurant.”
Tom sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Porter?—"
"I took photos," she interrupted, reaching for her phone. "Car number 37. The same one my neighbor Rosa's seen outside my apartment. It has a dent on the rear bumper—it's definitely his car. He was watching me, Tom."
Tom glanced at the photos without really examining them. "Look, I know you're convinced there's something sinister going on, but?—"
"There is something going on. I’m telling you Tom.”
"Ann." Tom's use of her first name rather than her surname caught her attention. "Have you considered that maybe you're seeing connections that aren't there?"
"No." Ann shook her head firmly. "These aren't coincidences. They can't be."
Tom's expression softened into something like pity. "Why don't you take tomorrow off? Get some rest. Things will seem clearer with a good night's sleep."
The dismissal in his tone was unmistakable. Though his concern seemed genuine, he still didn't believe her—not really. Ann nodded mechanically, too exhausted to argue further. She finished cleaning her tables in silence, then gathered her belongings from the break room, hyperaware of Tom watching her with that same pitying expression.
Chapter 23
