Lock woke to the coppery tang of blood at the back of his throat and no idea where he was, or how he had gotten here. Next came the pain, shuttling in from all points of his body, first dull then intense.
He looked up at the blue sky through his left eye. His right eye was swollen shut. No amount of his own effort would open it.
He tried to move his head to the side. It wouldn’t move. He tried the other side. Nope.
A woman’s face came into view, upside down.
“Okay, you just take it easy,” said the EMT staring down at him. “You’ve had quite the morning.”
Before he could speak, he was lifted up into the air. There was a metal click as the gurney legs dropped and he was wheeled backwards. Reaching down with his hand, his gun was gone.
Slowly, he began to process his situation. He was alive. Generally, that had to be regarded as a plus.
He was injured, but he wasn’t sure where and how badly. He took a gradual, almost philosophical inventory of his body as he was experiencing it.
Fingers moving? With pain, but yes.
Toes moving? Yes, and not as much pain.
Breathing. Painful.
Everything else varied from aching to sharp jabs of agony. It was pretty much what he’d have expected from spending multiple minutes on the ground being used as a punchbag.
He started to piece together the beating. He guessed he must have blacked out after the last head stomp and his two attackers had either decided they’d made their point, or been scared off by whoever was shouting at him. Likely it had been a combination of both.
Lock cursed himself for falling for such an obvious come on. A come on being close protection lingo for an obvious distraction, in this case the slashed tire that he’d bent down to inspect.
It was bodyguarding 101 stuff. Rudimentary stuff.
In some ways falling for it hurt worse than any of his physical injuries. His mind flashed to Carmen.
Oh brother, he said to himself, she is going to be pissed.