Laird
For all the grim looks come morning, it was obvious to Laird they’d all spent the night combatting the harshness of reality in the most satisfying of ways. All the ladies had looked well tumbled at the breakfast table. Scarlett included. Though she may not have been tumbled in truth, she’d been thoroughly satisfied.
Cherishing love and life because of a madman intent on taking it all away from them had been a priority for them all.
‘Twas a bloody shame a body well-sated one night didn’t translate as easily to peace of mind come dawn. Momentary pleasure couldn’t sweep the dangers awaiting them aside.
In coming to this time to save one life they’d unknowingly put many more at risk. A rather imbalanced trade off.
A necessary one, he now knew.
In the beginning, he’d been content to let nature take its course. Accept God’s plan for them. Only for Scarlett’s peace of mind had he agreed to come to this place to change their bairn’s destiny. If he were honest with himself, Laird hadn’t been convinced it would make a difference. Especially after Emmy had guided the diminutive, dark-haired bairn from Scarlett’s womb. He’d been sure the wee, silent babe would never survive.
Then he’d held his infant daughter in his arms. So fragile, her translucent skin delicate as a butterfly wing. He’d shared his warmth with her and melted on the inside. His bonny girl had looked up at him with solemn blue eyes and he’d fallen in love. Again.
Aye, it’d been worth the risk to save her. Laird couldn’t suffer losing his wee one now. Another full day and she would be released, but no longer was her discharge all Laird needed to ease his worries. A return to the past no longer the single solution to his woes.
Scarlett might protest, claim there had to be another way, but he didn’t see it. She was correct in what she’d said about him though. It was not in him to kill in cold blood, just as he’d never fought solely for glory in the past. What he’d done, he’d done for his clan, his kin.
This was no different. Only the battlefield had changed. He would do what it took to save them all. Draw blood or spill his own.
Hugh had echoed Laird’s sentiments regarding their limited choices while they beat the heavy bag in the gym before breaking their fast. Imagining it was Jameson.
“I agree wi’ ye. Something dire maun be done. So where do we go from here? Like everyone else, I need to ken those I love are safe from this lunatic.”
Laird admired his descendant’s sense of duty, however, the significance of Laird’s future and legacy had never been so profound. His responsibility could no longer be confined exclusively to his wife and daughters. As a patriarch of sorts, the safety of each member of his newfound family fell to him. He would see them all returned to their normal lives unmolested. It was his burden and his alone to see it done.
In that, he refused to fail.
Soon enough he would have to act.
After Claire’s revealing conversation with her brother, Scarlett had taken a call from her agent. Jameson had been released without charges. Their stalker now. Not only hers. Their foe was still out there, likely close. Watching them. Awaiting his chance.
They’d all have to be on their guard. Donell was unlikely to provide ample warning. He’d proven as much.
“So, what is the plan for the day?” Connor asked after their breakfast plates were emptied.
Scarlett paused in wiping Hermione’s fingers clean. “My plans are the same as they are every day. I will be at the hospital.”
All the men at the table parted their lips in protest, but Laird quieted them with a scowl. Then turned it on his wife. “There is safety in numbers, lass. ‘Twould be best if we stayed together until we are sure of Jameson’s upcoming move.”
Bugger it, but his frown, however ferocious, never swayed Scarlett when her mind was set.
“Then I guess I know how all of you will be spending the day as well,” she retorted pertly. “Hope you had enough to eat. I know none of you like hospital food.”
More silent protests, but this time everyone’s eyes were upon Laird. Pleading. Hoping he’d reel in his wayward spouse and make her see sense.
“Lass…”
She shook her head before he could present an argument. “If you all want to hunker down here and wait like a bunch of sitting ducks for all hell to rain down on you, that’s fine with me. I’ve spent the better part of my adult life living like this and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s you can either become a recluse or face adversity with your chin held high. And believe me, they like it when you cower and I bet Jameson is no different. I refuse to give him the pleasure. Besides, this is exactly what bodyguards are for. If you don’t want to play one, I’ll just call Tyrone to do it. He’d even enjoy it.”
Nothing like having one’s manhood truncated and tossed in your face to motivate a man.
Aye, Laird knew Tyrone Halliday had often served as Scarlett’s bodyguard, but with such a sharp tongue, she needed no protection. He recalled a time when most every word from her lips had been just as waspish. When she’d been fearless and bold and every confrontation between them was akin to facing the English army across a battlefield.
The years had softened her more than he’d realized. Life here was transforming her into the Scarlett Thomas of old. While he rather liked her audacity, the sooner he got her home the better.
Before she got them all killed.
To the last, they all knew where they’d spend the day. No man worth his salt would take a set-down like that as anything less than a challenge.
Laird itched to bring his blade along for protection. Unfortunately, not only would it attract unnecessary attention, it would be useless against a modern weapon. Instead, he instructed Rhys to bring his dagger. The jeweled piece wasn’t the most lethal of weapons, but it would do in a pinch.
While the others readied themselves for the endless day ahead, Laird rummaged through Scarlett’s bag and retrieved her pistol. He tucked the gun in his waistband at the small of his back, as he’d seen on the television. He pulled his shirttail over it and added a sport coat to disguise it more thoroughly then slipped an extra magazine into his pocket.
Hopefully he wouldn’t shoot himself in the arse before the day was done.
Scarlett
Well, she’d talked the big talk now she had to walk the walk. Ballsy had suited her much better when she was young and stupid.
Now her arrogance would put them all in harm’s way.
They might have been better off cowering.
“What happened?” She blasted the question at Tyrone the moment he fell in step alongside of her as they entered the hospital.
The men spread out to pace the perimeter of the reception area. There were a lot of bodies there this morning. Only a few pointed cameras in her direction or seemed sick or injured. They’d want to weed out any potential threats.
Hermione stayed close to her side, clinging to her hand and trotting to keep up with Scarlett’s agitated pace. Claire and Emmy followed behind.
“He used his NSA connections to be released from holding before the police could press charges against him,” he told her as he waved off one of the persistent reporters who was up early enough this morning to catch her arrival. “Is this your daughter? Or shall I say, your other daughter?”
Scarlett forced a pleasant smile for Hermione and swung their clasped hands back and forth until her daughter giggled. “Yes. Hermione this is Mr. Halliday. Can you say hello?”
The toddler dropped into a pretty curtsey. “Pleased to meet ye, sir.”
His brows shot upward. “I’m going to add that to the list of questions I’m not going to ask.”
“Good idea,” Scarlett agreed. “These are my friends Claire Urquhart and Emmy MacLean.”
They made polite greetings.
“We’re going to go grab some coffee before we go up,” Emmy told her. “You want anything?”
Scarlett and Tyrone declined and the two women ve
ered toward the cafeteria. Scarlett turned back to the matter at hand. “So what next?”
Tyrone shrugged as they headed down the hall to the elevators. “I’ve put some of the boys I’ve hired out there to find him and track him, but we’ve got nothing so far. He may be using a fake ID or disguising himself. Either way, he’s gone to ground.”
“Pretty far under,” Scarlett grumbled. “The dirt bag. I can’t believe they wouldn’t hold him for attempted murder.”
“No witnesses, Scar,” he reminded her.
“I would have lied.”
Tyrone’s smile was grim as he looked over his shoulder at the four Scotsmen grilling every person present that morning. “Really? What about them? They all strike me as the upstanding sort.”
They were.
That was the problem. None of them could think like Jameson. He risked his livelihood in his pursuit of Hugh. Followed them to another country to satisfy his vengeance. If their conclusions last evening were correct, he’d trailed her and Laird to the theater with the intent of killing them from the shadows, without even having proof of who Laird was. Jameson had shown himself capable of harming innocents along the way.
There was no telling what level of deceit Jameson would descend to or what underhanded tactics he would use to get to them. To hunt them.
On her side were four men who, regardless of Laird’s ominous threat, were more apt to meet their foe face-to-face in an honorable duel. Like gentlemen.
They’d never dream of shooting a man in the back, or in the dark, like Jameson. It could be their downfall.
“Well, unlike them, my moral compass can sway from the north when the situation demands it,” she said. “It’s my superpower.”
“I always would’ve guessed you wrote the book on straitlaced virtue,” Tyrone jested. “What? Did you recently fall in a vat of toxic waste or get bit by a spider or something?”
“No, I got shot at. But same difference.” Scarlett grimaced. “My morality’s extremely flexible these days.”
“Should I address you as Elasti-Girl now then?”
He laughed at his own joke. Sadly, Scarlett’s sense of humor was pretty dried up today.
“How many men do you have here at the hospital?”
“Four of them are down here. I also have a man at each door,” he informed her. “It might be easier to catch this guy if we knew what he looked like beyond your not-so-specific description.”
Claire had been searching the Internet for a picture of Jameson but hadn’t come up with anything yet. At least Jameson wasn’t here in the lobby. Claire or Hugh would have spotted him.
“I know. Just have them check all IDs.”
“If they can get away with it, yes.” Tyrone nodded. “We have no legal authority to do so, but the hospital is cooperating so far.”
They stopped near the lift to wait for the others. Tyrone’s gaze drifted down the hall before coming back to her. “Listen, Scarlett, forget what I just said. I have to ask. You get that this is all crazy, don’t you? I get you’re worried, maybe even have reason to be, but I’ve had a dozen guys here for weeks without even knowing why.”
“We can afford it, Tyrone.”
He smoothed his fingers over his short goatee. “It’s not about the mon—okay, maybe it’s a little about the money, but this is just nuts. First you disappear for a month, then a month after that you disappear again without a word. Next thing I know, you’re having a baby I had no clue about. I don’t get it, Scar.”
A touch of sympathy softened Scarlett’s heart. “I know you don’t. I wish I could explain, but I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” he countered. “You know I care about you, Scar. I always have. I’d do just about anything for you.”
Surprise widened Scarlett’s eyes and it was as though she were seeing Tyrone for the first time. Was he saying what she thought he was? His pledge was weak in comparison to Laird’s vow to lay down his life for her, but a claim as vague as Tyrone’s was a major concession from one of Hollywood’s finest.
Uncomfortable under her incredulous stare, Tyrone shifted from one foot to the other. “I mean, I thought we were friends.”
Such a statement was as good as him saying she was more than a paycheck to him. The revelation touched Scarlett. “We are, but believe me, there are some things you really don’t want to know.”
“How could I not want to know how you apparently bamboozled me for years?” He looked pointedly down at Hermione. “You’re a good actress, Scar, but not that good. Not to mention…” He gestured over her shoulder.
Scarlett turned to find Laird behind her. Arms crossed, he towered over them with a don’t-fuck-with-me scowl on his handsome face. Yes, Tyrone had a point. Even if she’d hidden two pregnancies from her agent’s watchful eye over the years, there was no overlooking her husband’s powerful presence.
She shrugged. “Would you believe I was taken away in a time machine to the past where I’ve spent the last five years living humbly in an ancient castle?”
Laird gaped at her but Tyrone laughed, as she expected he would. “No, not really. Fine, keep your secrets, Scar. I’m here for you anyway.”
For the paycheck or something more, Scarlett wondered. Possibly she wasn’t the only one who’d kept a secret or two over the years.
When Claire and Emmy returned with their coffee, Scarlett pushed the up button on the elevator.
“Rhys,” Laird called for his brother to join them. “Escort the ladies up, will ye? The rest of us will make sure nae one follows before we join ye.”
“Aye, Laird.”
Rhys
“Tyrone, this is my brother-in-law Rhys Hepburn,” Scarlett introduced him to her once former, but once again current agent and bodyguard as the elevator doors slid closed.
Rhys extended his hand to the shorter man, who clasped it with an impressive grip. “A pleasure.”
“Likewise,” Tyrone replied. “Though now I’m even more curious. One I might have missed, but two of them?”
“He’s been away for some time,” Scarlett improvised, then scowled at Rhys, Claire, and Emmy, too, when they were unable to completely hide their grins.
‘Twas a wonder to him how Scarlett had ever succeeded on the stage, Rhys thought. But then, an actor had lines to memorize. Only her improvisational skills were lacking.
“Aye,” he elaborated on the lie. “Of late, I’ve been employed as a private detective in London working on cases with Scotland Yard.”
The other ladies snickered at this but Scarlett rolled her eyes, recognizing the loosely interpreted plot line of Sherlock.
“Is that so?” Tyrone asked.
“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 h
e 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.
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