She did as she was told and Lock began to peel away the cotton shirt from the edge of the wound. It was maybe a half-inch in diameter, bad but not the worst he’d seen. It looked as if the bullet had stayed inside — better than there being an exit wound and two places to lose blood. He pulled out the blue cord of the tampon and pressed the other end into the wound. Almost immediately it began to expand as it absorbed the blood, puffing out and filling the hole in the girl’s stomach. Blood seeped from the edges of the wound but just moments before it had been pouring out.
He glanced at the desk. The receptionist had the phone at his ear. ‘They’re on their way,’ he called.
‘How long?’ Lock asked.
The receptionist went back to the phone.
Lock worked the numbers. Where had the girl been when she was shot and how long ago? Life or death would be separated by seconds rather than minutes.
‘Mr Lock?’ she said, tears welling in her eyes.
She knew his name. He tried to place her. Had he met her before? He didn’t think so, but something about her was familiar. Had she been at the concert earlier, maybe at the stage door? Over the last month he had seen some pretty elaborate stunts to grab Triple-C’s attention, not to mention that evening’s near-riot.
‘You were looking for me?’ he asked her.
Her chin fell on to her chest. ‘They tried to stop me,’ she stuttered.
‘Who? Who tried to stop you?’
‘He sent them. He wants me to stop looking for him. But I won’t.’
The hairs rose at the back of Lock’s neck. He scanned the crowd, which was slowly drifting away, their backward glances a mix of disgust and curiosity. No one stood out. No one appeared to be a threat.
‘Who?’ he asked her gently. ‘Who does?’
Her lips started to form a name but no sound came.
‘Is this person after you?’
She shook her head, the deadness settling back in her eyes. ‘You have to catch him.’
Lock’s patience was fraying. ‘Whoever you are, whatever this is about, I’m not a cop. I don’t catch people, I keep them safe.’
‘That’s why it has to be you,’ she said.
‘Why what has to be me?’ he asked.
‘The one who brings him back.’
She was talking in riddles. Every answer she gave led to more questions. ‘Bring who back?’
‘Joe tried. But they killed him.’
‘Joe? Is that the name of the man you want me to find?’
‘It’s not fair. He should be in prison for what he did.’
‘Who?’
She stared at Lock and a sudden intensity flared in her eyes, like the last burst of a candle flame before the wind snuffs it out. ‘You’re my last chance. If you don’t catch him and bring him back, they’re going to kill me.’
Lock kept the pressure on her wound as best he could. The fire was dying down. She was blinking. If he didn’t keep her conscious, he would lose her before they made it to a hospital. He had to keep her awake, and the best way of doing that was to keep her talking. ‘Listen, let’s start over, okay? Can you tell me your name?’
Her eyes focused. That was good. ‘Melissa,’ she said.
A tiny victory. ‘Okay, Melissa,’ he said. ‘I’m going to come with you to the hospital, and on the way, I want you to tell me everything. But start at the beginning. Can you do that for me, Melissa? Can you tell me your story all the way through? If you do that, and I feel I can help you, then I promise I will. Do we have a deal?’
‘Deal.’
Lock turned back to the receptionist. ‘ETA?’
The man looked at him blankly.
‘How long until they get here?’
‘They said ten minutes.’
Lock did the math. If the EMS ambulance had deployed from the hospital, that would mean at least another ten minutes. In twenty she’d be dead.
He scooped the girl into his arms and ran for the door, struggling to stay on his feet as his shoes slipped on the bloodied floor.
Three
Lock placed her in the front passenger seat as gently as he could. Even the smallest movement made her moan. He closed himself off from the sound. If she was going to live, he had to concentrate on getting her to hospital and block out everything else.
He was already one small step ahead. As part of his security preparation for Triple-C, he knew the location of the closest emergency room — at the UCLA Medical Center — as well as the fastest route there from the hotel. He gunned the engine of his car, a black Audi A6, and roared out on to Wilshire Boulevard. He cut in ahead of a slow-moving Lexus, muscling into the left-hand lane, and buried the gas pedal.
The lights at the intersection of Wilshire and Beverly Glen flicked from red to green. He blew through the junction at speed. Ahead, both lanes of traffic were at a standstill. He moved into the turn lane to go round it, then as the next rack of lights turned green, cut up the cars at the front.
A couple of drivers behind him honked their horns but he kept moving, eyes sweeping the road ahead. It was clear now. He slowed a little to make the turn on to Westwood Boulevard.
The girl shifted in her seat and groaned. ‘Stay with me, Melissa, okay?’
‘It hurts so much.’
He shifted up a gear and reached a hand over. ‘You’re doing really good.’
She grabbed at his hand and squeezed it. ‘Cesar Mendez,’ she said.
The name had come from nowhere. She was beyond pale now — even her lips had lost their colour: a bad sign.
‘What was that?’ he asked.
‘Cesar Mendez. They call him Charlie,’ she said. ‘That’s who I want you to find for me. Find him and bring him back.’
Lock must have taken his eyes off the road for a split second because the Audi’s front right wheel hit a pot-hole. The car bounced, prompting a scream from Melissa. She grabbed at Lock’s forearm, digging her nails into his flesh.
‘You do what you have to do,’ said Lock, ignoring the pain as he felt her break the skin. ‘Charlie? He shot you?’
There was no reply. He felt her grip on his arm relax and his heart flipped. He could see the hospital entrance, maybe a half-block further on the right.
He snuck another look. Her eyes were fluttering closed. He hit the button to lower the window next to her and let in some air.
‘Melissa? Can you hear me? Don’t go to sleep, okay. We’re almost there now.’
He raced towards the hospital, his eyes flicking to and from the girl. She was fighting to stay conscious.
With a screech of brakes he pulled into the no-parking zone at the main entrance. A security guard appeared from nowhere and hollered at him to move the car. He ignored the guy, got out of the car and ran around to the passenger side. He leaned in, unclipped the seatbelt and struggled in the confined space to lift her out.
Oblivious to everything and everyone around him, he ran with her into the emergency-room reception area. Her eyes were closed and she had stopped breathing.
Four
With Melissa in surgery, two detectives from the LAPD’s Robbery Homicide Division swung by to take an informal witness statement from Lock. When he asked whether they would provide any form of police protection, they answered, as he had known they would, in the negative. They left, but he stayed to pace the corridor.
He checked in with Ty, sharing what little information he had. Everything at the hotel was quiet.
The hours passed and Lock waited. After years in close protection it was one thing he had become expert at. If it had been an Olympic event, he would have been looking at a gold medal. Eventually Melissa was moved into a private room on the fourth floor. The surgeon wouldn’t speak to him but he gleaned a little information from a nurse, who, in breach of official policy, allowed him to stand guard when he explained that the person or persons who had shot the girl might return to finish the job.