When Oreo went blasting past him, Greg knew he had just a few seconds to get deep into the shadows and assess the situation. Someone would be back to check the door to see how the cat had gotten in. He left the door open a few inches as if Oreo had pushed it, then stepped into the storage closet.
He heard Chaz’s less-than-manly reaction to Oreo, not that Greg had room to criticize. He’d had his own “less than” performance just a couple of nights ago. Tonight would not be a repeat even if it literally killed him.
He heard Carrie and Lindsay explain Oreo’s presence and defend the cat’s honor with their lives.
Carrie, it’s a cat! I can live without it but not without you.
When Michael ordered Fred—how had Fred gotten involved in this?—to stand down, Greg let out the breath he’d been holding.
“Go check that back door. Make sure it’s closed and locked.”
Who was Michael sending? Chaz? Fred? One of the girls?
He slid deeper into the closet and waited. Through the crack of the partially opened door he watched Chaz come, twitching and muttering to himself.
“I shoulda just left town.” He ran a hand through his stringy hair. “I shoulda said, ‘Pay me and I’ll tell you where she is,’ not ‘I’ll show you.’ Demon cat. I shoulda just left town.”
Chaz passed the storage closet, then reached for the back door. Quickly, silently, Greg moved behind him and pulled the Taser’s trigger. Chaz gave an inarticulate gasp and went limp. Greg pulled him into the storage closet, laid him on the floor, and put him in the plastic restraints, hands behind his back, one foot attached to the leg of a large storage rack full of dishes and paper products. The last thing he wanted was a groggy Chaz stumbling out at the wrong moment.
Moving with stealth, Greg slid along the café’s inside wall until he came to the counter. He dropped to a crouch and moved past the stools to the break between the pink counter and the register counter. He stuck his head forward for a quick glimpse to gauge what was happening in the kitchen.
And it was bad.