“Aye.” Rhys nodded with commendable gravitas. “Prior to that I traveled throughout Asia and Egypt in search of ancient religious artifacts.”
Scarlett nearly choked on his fallacious tale. No doubt she’d take her revenge by refusing to share any more tales of the incredible Indiana Jones with him to pass the long winter nights.
“Sounds like you’ve led an interesting life,” Tyrone observed as the doors opened once more.
Rhys held out a hand to keep the elevator doors open and bowed with a courtly gesture for the others to exit first.
“Aye, I hae indeed,” he told Tyrone as he passed. “There was this other ti—”
A sharp jab in his ribs checked him and Rhys grinned down at Scarlett with an innocent waggle of his brows. “What?”
Stop that, she mouthed with a stern frown behind Tyrone’s back. Rhys couldn’t help but laugh aloud and Emmy and Claire joined in.
“Where’s Jack today?” Scarlett asked as they walked down the hall.
“I left him a vocalized missive aboot where we are,” he answered, allowing her to change the subject. “And invited him to meet wi’ us…”
The words trailed off as Rhys spied a man standing inside the open door of the neonatal nursery. Not in the usual garb of the hospital staff. A blue suit jacket hung on his narrow shoulders. Then he extended his arm. A gun in his hand.
Pointed toward the rows of incubators.
Toward his niece.
“Nay!” the raw protest ripped from his throat.
His shoulder was yanked down as Claire latched on to him. “Oh my God, it’s Jameson!”
The man turned his head to look at them and bewilderment clouded Rhys’s thoughts until Scarlett’s gut-wrenching cry slapped him back into the moment.
“My baby!”
Jameson swung the gun toward them.
“What the hell?” Tyrone yelled and threw his weight against Scarlett, knocking her and Hermione to the ground.
“Down!” Rhys shouted, as a shot rang out.
He shoved Claire and Emmy through an open door and drew his dagger. Pitiful defense against an armed man, but rage propelled him down the hall. Jameson turned back toward the nursery.
“My baby! No!”
Scarlett’s panicked scream echoed through his mind, or mayhap she repeated it over and over. He couldn’t fail her in her moment of need. Rhys picked up speed and threw his shoulder into Jameson’s back just as the pistol fired again. Momentum pitched Rhys to the side. He regained his footing and arced his blade toward Jameson’s throat. Jameson fired again.
Pain tore through his shoulder, but it only infuriated Rhys more. He charged again, but Jameson was already running down the hall toward the women.
The coward!
Staggering after him, Rhys saw the elevator doors part at the end of the hall. Hugh looked up, shock written on his face. He had no time to react before Jameson sent a bullet hurling his way.
Claire screamed his name and tried to run to him, but Emmy pulled her back. Jameson skidded to a halt, quick looks behind and before him proving a mere plug of lead wouldn’t stop a true Scot. Blood seeped from a cut under Jameson’s jaw, however Rhys knew it wasn’t a deathblow he’d dealt. Another wild shot hummed over his head but he wouldn’t be stopped until he ripped the bastard’s head from his shoulders.
Where was everyone? The doctors? Nurses? Down the halls, heads were popping out of all the rooms now. Jameson must not have shot the gun before they had arrived. The thought sent a shaft of relief through Rhys.
Two uniformed hospital employees were sprinting down the adjacent hall toward them from one direction, several more from another. Someone must have sounded the alarm. Jameson’s escape routes were limited. Rhys and Hugh had their foe between them, they had only to take him down. But also between them was Scarlett, crouched over Hermione protectively. Tyrone lay still and motionless beside them.
Jameson saw the opportunity the same moment it registered to Rhys. Unfortunately, the bastard was closer than he.
“Nay!” he roared.
