Jameson yanked Hermione out of Scarlett’s arms. Scarlett leapt up like a tigress to fight him, her claws bared. She tore at him, but Jameson bucked her off and kicked her in the ribs. She slammed back against the wall.
Hermione wailed, terrified by the man. By his violence. Her wide brown eyes rounded with fear. “Mummy!”
All of it in the space of a heartbeat while Rhys raced to stop him from one direction and Hugh from the other. Trapped between them, Jameson canted to the side and through a stairwell door.
“I got him!” Hugh yelled, before the door banged shut. A bead of blood dripped down his temple. “Call the others. Take care of the women.”
With a grim nod, Rhys clutched his shoulder and caught Scarlett around the waist as she tried to run after Hugh.
“Let me go, let me go!” Her frantic screams burst in his ear. Her fists connected with his chest, her feet with his shins as she tried to escape his hold. “Hermione!” The desolate cry shook the walls, blending with the urgent bellows of hospital personnel as people crowded the halls.
“Nay, Scarlett,” he shouted. “See to yer bairn. Let Hugh take care of Jameson.”
All the fight went out of her, but she didn’t move. Her eyes darted between the door before her and the nursery at the end of the hall. Torn between her children.
“See to yer bairn, Scar. Now.”
The forceful command jogged her into motion. She ran to the intensive care unit as he followed behind.
At the door, Scarlett came up short with a shriek of alarm. “Willa!”
The nurse was sprawled on the floor, blood oozing from the back of her head. Another woman in scrubs was slumped beside her.
“Help her, Rhys!”
Rhys fell to his knees alongside the woman, welcoming Scarlett’s gratified cry as she found her bairn unharmed. The heaving, emotional sobs that followed roused an answering ache in his heart. Never had he known such all-encompassing terror.
Never had he been so close to losing those he loved most in the world. Hermione’s life was in danger still.
Holding a hand in front of the nurse’s mouth, he waited to feel her breath. The entirety of his medical knowledge.
“I’ve got her.” A woman in scrubs nudged him out of the way and pressed two fingers to Willa’s neck.
“She’s alive,” Rhys told the nurse and turned to Scarlett, cuddling her bairn in her arms. “I’m going after Hugh.”
Rhys tripped down the hall. Ahead of him, he could see Claire and Emmy bent over Tyrone, their hands compressed against his bloody chest.
“Help us, Rhys,” Emmy called to him. “We can’t move. Get a doctor, quick.”
Rhys glanced to the door Hugh had run through and back to her, conflicted.
“He’ll get her,” Claire assured him, though her trembling hands betrayed her confidence. “Please help.”
Holding his shoulder, Rhys jogged back to the nursery where most of the medical staff hovered. He grabbed the first medically inclined person he found and sent them to help Emmy.
“Are you hurt, too?”
Rhys looked down at the nurse attending Willa, her visage swam before his eyes. The corner of his mouth quirked up. “’Tis just a scratch, lass.”
Her lips twisted wryly. “Let’s get some gurneys in here!”
“Rhys!” Scarlett was beside him, still clutching her bairn to her chest. Grief engraved deep lines on her bonny face. Tears stained her cheeks and she shook like an autumn leaf. “Are you badly hurt?”
“I’ll be fine, Scar,” he assured her. “Are ye?”
Her eyes glazed over again and she shook her head without explanation. Instead, she kissed him and handed him the baby. “Take care of her. I must find Hermione.”
Rhys caressed his niece’s downy head, thankful for the lives that had been spared.
