He leaned heavily on Frank’s stocky body as they limped toward the light outside the alley. The gun was on them. Rick could sense its barrel aimed at his back, hear Philip’s huffed breaths over his own shallow ones. He refused to look back to verify, however. There was no need for any more confirmation or conversation. The money was gone because the man with the gun said so. It was a sunk cost. A loss. And he and Frank would eat it, no matter how bitter the taste. They were both done with the restaurant business.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

TONYA

Tonya pinched the bridge of her mask tighter as she watched the yellow bucket fill with fresh water. The acidic smell of urine still lingered in the air, despite her emptying the mop system’s dirty water tank and rinsing it with detergent. Tonya suspected that the scent came from the mop head itself. She unscrewed the microfiber cloth at the end of the pole and pivoted from the basin tucked in a nook near the kitchen entrance to the giant laundry bin where the restaurant tossed its used linens.

Before she pitched it inside, Tonya stopped herself. Without diners, it was doubtful that Philip was paying for laundry service. Most likely the mop head would be left to mold, its funk deepening until someone became aware of it and began to publicly wonder who the idiot was that had abandoned pee-soaked fabric in the kitchen—not to mention where the urine had come from.

She couldn’t have anyone wondering that.

Her nose wrinkled, creating a gap between her mask and mouth through which more of the smell entered. Tonya silently cursed as she brought the mop head back to the basin, holding it far out in front of her. She dropped it in the giant sink surrounding the mop bucket and redirected the spigot on top of it. Rather than dilute the stench, the water seemed to intensify the stink, beating the pee particles from the fabric into the air. She grabbed the bleach and poured it onto the cloth, stopping only when the smell of chlorine burned her sinuses.

Tonya turned off the water. She left the mop head to soak as she lifted the bucket out of the basin to the floor. Cold water splashed over its sides and onto her apron, making her shiver as she added the detergent. She was watching the bubbles form when a door slammed.

Tonya braced an arm against a wall, as if the noise were an earthquake’s rumble and the ground might begin shaking. Her heart seemed to explode in her chest. The sound didn’t make sense. The chefs had all departed hours ago—including Philip. He’d taken the garbage out and said good-bye twenty minutes earlier.

“Hello?”