The Eighth Day

Chapter 45

Beat.

His heart beat, stuttered, and beat again. Shawn Jaffe opened his eyes.

Beneath the sodden mess of his torn shirt, his probing fingers found no evidence of the mortal wound that had pierced his flesh. The skin was unbroken. Not even a scar remained as testament.

The music from the nightclub above had fallen mute. Either they'd heard the gunshots and fled, or one of the restaurant's patrons had run upstairs for cover and warned them that bedlam had broken out below.

Shawn struggled to his feet and staggered toward where Victoria lay on her back, limp and unmoving. He dropped to a knee and pressed two fingers to the side of her neck below the jaw. Her pulse beat strong and regular.

"Vic—" He stopped and frowned. That wasn't her name. "Hey," he said instead, and gave her shoulder a gentle shake.

She groaned, cracked her eyes open. They flew wide, and she tensed and sat up, flinching away from him.

"I won't hurt you," he said. "Are you okay?"

She studied his face for a moment before glancing down at her broken hand. "Hurts like hell, but I'm okay." Her gaze flickered to his bloody shirt. "My God, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

She frowned and studied his shirt. "That's a lot of blood."

"It's not all mine."

Her eyes widened. "The Alpha."

"He's dead."

She nodded and looked away. "We were gonna kill you."

"I know," he said.

"You could've walked away and let me die."

"No. I couldn't."

She said nothing.

The front doors of the restaurant flew open, and Detectives Nat Francis and Ethan Mooney burst into the room. Their drawn guns swept over the wreckage, and they fanned out through the remains of the restaurant's dining area.

"Over here." Shawn waved a hand and helped Victoria to her feet as Francis approached.

Francis lowered his gun. "We got the call over the radio. What the hell happened?" he asked. "Where's Harrington?"

"Found him," Mooney called out. "He's hit. Looks like it grazed his skull. He's unconscious but alive."

Shawn reeled. "What? He's alive?" He started toward them, but Victoria put a hand on his arm.

"We have to go," she said.

Shawn stared at her.

She turned to Francis. "Harrington was never here. He got shot trying to stop a mugging in Chelsea. Get him out of here, but don't let anyone see him. Take him to the emergency room."

Francis started to protest, but she cut him off.

"My authority and executive privilege still stands," she said. "Take Harrington and leave. Trust me. I'm doing him a favor."

Francis chewed on his lip. "All right," he said.

"You also need to evacuate the restaurant. Tell them there's a gas leak in the kitchen."

"Why?"

"Because there's about to be a gas leak in the kitchen," she said.

Francis nodded his chin at Shawn. "What happens to him?"

"The less you know, the better."

Francis turned from Shawn to Harrington.

"He needs a doctor bad," Mooney said, kneeling over the former detective.