He chose option two.

As he moved toward the door, he heard the sound of something moving, or sliding inside.

“…too much, and apparently doesn’t…” the man with Tooney said, the first part covered up by the noise, while the last seemed to just fade out. This was followed by a solid, metallic click and everything went silent.

Logan stepped into the doorway, and looked quickly around the room, ready to help his friend. Prep table, food storage racks, sink, dishwasher, stove, walk-in refrigerator, a stack of empty milk crates, Tooney’s small desk.

But no Tooney, and no man. No anyone.

As silently as possible, he walked to the doorless opening that separated the kitchen from the front of the café. But there was no one there either.

Where the hell—

He heard a voice, muffled and indistinct, to his left. He whirled around, his arms cocked, ready to strike. But there was no one there.

As the voice spoke again, Logan realized it was coming from inside the walk-in refrigerator.

He raced over and yanked the door open. A flood of chilled air poured over him, but he barely noticed it. Three feet inside, Tooney was kneeling on the floor, facing him. Between them was a man in a dark suit, pointing a gun at Tooney’s head.

Before the man could turn all the way around, Logan wacked him hard in the arm with one of his improvised clubs. The man let out a groan of pain as he sidestepped past Tooney, and moved further into the refrigerator, away from Logan.

Logan slashed at him again, hitting the man’s shoulder, and scraping the end of the metal rod across the man’s neck.

“Son of a bitch!” the guy yelled. He twisted to the right so he could bring the hand holding the gun around toward Logan.

In a quick, double motion, Logan swung the rod in his left hand at the man’s head, then struck downward with the one in his right at the gun. The man leaned quickly back to avoid being gashed across his cheek, but doing so caused his gun hand to drift upward a few inches, right into the area Logan had aimed at.