She fumbled for her keys, then let herself in. The kitchen hummed with electrical appliances, the green lights atop the industrial fridges and freezers punctuating the blackness of the still-warm kitchen. Annie located her phone quickly on the vast stainless-steel worktop by way of the red message light. The cold light from the screen spilled out into the sleeping kitchen.

The message was from Max: Sorry love, going to be late. Jude’s fallen out with Petra again, so I’m going to sink a few pints with him. xx. M

Annie rolled her eyes. Petra seemed to throw Jude out of their flat above the pub on an almost weekly basis. She shoved the phone into her pocket and was about to leave when she heard a noise coming from the restaurant. She froze. Shit! She cocked her head in the direction of the restaurant and strained to listen.

She couldn’t make out voices, but somebody was definitely moving about in there. She opened her phone to see what time Max had sent his message—with luck she could catch him somewhere between sober and useless. As Annie’s finger hovered over Max’s name, the last bar of her phone battery blipped out and snapped her back into darkness.

“Bugger, bugger, bollocks!” Annie hissed. The dull thud of a glass dropping onto the rush matting of the restaurant floor thrilled her to attention. Her heart thrummed, eyes wide against the dark, as her breath came hard and fast. And then she did the thing that always made her shout at the actresses in horror movies: She crept toward the noise.

She planned to sneak behind the bar and use the restaurant phone to call the police. The sticking noise her rubber soles made against the vinyl flooring sounded like Velcro strips being ripped apart. Annie pulled herself up onto her tiptoes and teetered on.

As the dim outline of the doorway to the lounge area came into view, Annie got down on all fours and crawled the last few feet.

The lounge area consisted of two long velvet banquettes and low tables—also known as tables eight and nine to the staff—where diners could enjoy drinks and canapés before being escorted to their tables in the restaurant beyond. Annie was squeezed between the open dishwasher and two metal barrels with plastic pipes that led up to the drink pumps. At this level, there was a pervading smell of stale beer and drain.

Over the drone of the drink’s fridge and the wine chiller, Annie could make out heavy breathing. It was closer than she would have liked. Now what was she going to do? She couldn’t very well call the police with the robbers on the other side of the bar.