At 4:20 pm, Hana spotted the suspicious red truck for the 6th time in two weeks.

"I'll call you back," she tells her colleague. She hangs up, lunges toward the shutters, busts them open, and snaps three live photos as the truck drives away.

A text comes through my Apple Watch: My heart is racing!

My heart was racing, too — at the gym. I scroll up. She's texted the three pictures. "They took off when they saw me!"

I wrap up my workout and examine the images in the car. "Holy shit," I mumble, zooming into the photo of the truck leaving.

License Plate: BYP744*.

I start the drive home and call her once. No answer. Again a minute later. No answer. "What the fuck is happening?" Worry or post-workout? So I pull up the dog cam. They're asleep on the couch, and I hear Hana on a conference call. Crisis averted.

When I arrived home, we began our investigation.

The red truck has crept past our house every Tuesday through Thursday around 5 pm for two weeks. But this time, they were parked at the corner of the street.

I examined the photos once more. The live photos reveal a silhouette of a woman:

• Petite

• Dark-hair

• Glasses

• Pen or pencil in her hand.

Is she casing the neighborhood? For robbery? For package theft?

"Are you sure she could see you?" I ask. "Let's find out." Hana walks to the end of the street where the truck was parked while I stay behind and simulate her opening the shutters and taking pictures.

Verdict: If she saw Hana, it was faint.

Next, a quick google search reveals a reverse car registration lookup. So I plug in the plate.

2006 Chevy Silverado Extend Pickup 4-speed automatic.

All I have to do is pay $3, and the name of the registrant is mine.

And that's when I realized maybe, just maybe, we've gone too far.