Conor whipped his cell phone from his back pocket and called 911. Then he crawled back under the steps. The kid’s torso was covered in blood, and he’d leaked all over the pavement. Hector’s eyes opened, and his gaze locked on Conor. The teen’s glazed look was filled with fear, but also a shocking amount of hate, considering the shape he was in.

This was a bad day for the cops to stop tailing him.

“Don’t move.” Conor unzipped the hoodie and found the source of the bleeding, a stab wound just under Hector’s ribs. Conor tugged off his own T-shirt, folded it, and pressed it against the wound. He leaned on his overlapped hands to apply pressure. It seemed like a long time until the thin wail of sirens announced the arrival of help. Two patrol cars and an ambulance crowded in the alley. Conor moved out of the way for paramedics to take over.

He gave a statement to the beat cops while the ambulance loaded Hector into the back and took off. The patrol cops left, and a familiar dark sedan pulled into the alley. Jackson and Ianelli got out.

“If you want to talk to me, you’ll have to come inside.” Conor walked to the back door and gestured toward it with a bloody hand. “Would you mind?”

Jackson opened the door. Conor led the way to the men’s room. He opened the swinging door with his hip. Jackson turned on the spigot for him.

“Thanks.” Conor lathered up his hands and forearms all the way to his elbows. He scrubbed the blood out from under his nails.

“You missed a spot.” Ianelli pointed to Conor’s ribs. A streak of blood had dried to rusty brown.

Conor scrubbed the spot with a soapy towel. He leaned on the sink with both hands.

“I hear your alibi is in pretty bad shape.” Jackson leaned on the wall.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Conor stared at the cop, whose gaze didn’t flinch. He yanked a paper towel from the wall dispenser and dried his hands, arms, and ribs. Walking out of the restroom, he let the cops follow him to the office, where he dug out a clean Sullivan’s Tavern T-shirt and tugged it over his head.

Jackson’s eyes were roaming over the desktop. So what? Conor didn’t have anything to hide.

The venom in the wounded kid’s eyes was going to stick with him. Halfway to death, Hector still wanted to kill Conor. What bred that level of animosity? “You think he’s going to make it?”

Jackson’s frown deepened the lines in his face. “Didn’t look good. You sure you didn’t stab him?” Jackson popped a piece of chewing gum into his mouth and chewed voraciously.

Conor stared, exasperated. “Why the hell would I try to save him if I stabbed him?”