To her horror, she spied Olivia’s crumpled form on the ground in front of her.
“Olivia!” Fighting a rush of panic that thrummed in her ears, she hurried to the girl’s side. All color had drained from Olivia’s face, leaving it as gray as the rock that had struck her. Blood flowed freely from a large gash above her temple.
Ruth fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief. “Someone call an ambulance,” she cried as she pressed the material against the wound. “This girl needs help. Now!”
20
Darius drove slowly down the street toward Bennington Place. What was going on here? So many people lined the road and sidewalk that he couldn’t get past. Not willing to chance hitting a pedestrian, his only choice was to pull over and walk the rest of the way.
After he parked the car, he headed toward the melee, elbowing his way through the crowd, many of whom carried placards. An undercurrent of subdued energy buzzed around him, but it wasn’t until he read the degrading slurs on their signs that his stomach began to churn. This was Walcott’s doing. He’d stirred up this nest of vipers with that dreaded newspaper article. Darius had hoped to reach Olivia to warn her in person before she saw it. But with all the uproar over Meredith and a minor crisis at the office this morning, he hadn’t been able to get away as early as he’d wanted. Now the best he could do was ensure that Olivia and the others were all right.
“Stand back, please,” Darius said, then waited while some people moved away from the gate.
“Are you the doctor?” One woman peered anxiously at him. “We didn’t mean to hurt her. We only wanted to scare them.”
A cold chill slid down his back. “Hurt who?”
But the woman ducked her head and backed away.
Dear God, please don’t let it be—
Darius entered the gate, closing it behind him with a clang. He turned to see Mrs. Bennington kneeling on the ground, holding a blood-soaked cloth against Olivia’s temple. His limbs went cold, and spots danced in front of his eyes. This couldn’t be happening again. Not another person he cared about injured by hate-induced violence.
He gulped in a lungful of air, willing his vision to clear as he strode over. “What happened?” he rasped.
“Oh, Mr. Reed. Thank goodness.” Relief slid over Mrs. Bennington’s face. “Help me get Olivia inside.”
Darius bent to lift the cloth, revealing a gaping wound that made his stomach churn anew. “We need to get her to a hospital. My car is down the street. I’ll take her.”
Before the older woman could protest, he slipped his arms beneath Olivia’s limp form, gathered her against his chest, and rose on unsteady legs. “Call the authorities, Mrs. Bennington. We can’t let these thugs get away with this type of violence. They must be held accountable.”
He stalked off toward the car, silently daring anyone to try and stop him.
Darius paced the waiting room at Toronto General Hospital. How long would it take for someone to come out and let him know how Olivia was doing? She hadn’t regained consciousness during the ride here, and Darius had found it almost impossible to concentrate on driving. In hindsight, perhaps he should have waited until someone could come with him. But at the time, his only thought had been to get Olivia help as fast as possible.
He’d parked as close to the emergency entrance as he could and carried her in, shouting for a doctor. The nurse on duty had glared at him as though he’d totally overreacted.
Then they’d whisked Olivia away, not allowing him to go with her, and he’d been forced to wait for what seemed like hours. All the while, a dark anger had stewed in his system. Olivia had been injured because that vile article had stirred up hatred in the community, a direct result of his boss’s lust for the Bennington property. Why hadn’t Darius been firmer when he told Walcott it was a bad idea? Could he have done something more to prevent this catastrophe?
Unable to wait another minute, Darius approached the desk again. “Can someone please find out about Miss Rosetti for me?”
The heavyset nurse looked up with a frown, then huffed out a breath. “Give me a minute.” Slowly she finished writing figures on a chart, then rose and went down the hall.
What seemed like an eternity later, she finally returned. “Miss Rosetti’s wound has been stitched. The doctor fears she may have a concussion and is holding her overnight for observation. They’ll be transferring her to a ward shortly.”
Holding her overnight? Darius had not expected that. “Is she awake?”
“No, she’s sleeping now.”
He reined in his emotions long enough to summon a smile. “May I go back and see for myself? Just a quick look. I promise I won’t stay long.”
The nurse rolled her eyes. “You have five minutes. Bed number ten.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” The fact that he’d been pestering the woman for hours might have worked in his favor.
He headed back before she could change her mind. When he reached bed number ten, he peered around the curtained partition. Olivia lay there, her eyes closed, her dark hair spilling over the bedsheets. A white gauze bandage covered the right side of her head, and an angry red scrape marred one cheek. Under the harsh lights, her skin appeared almost translucent, and for the first time he realized how young she must be. She barely looked more than twenty. He grabbed a nearby chair and moved it beside the bed, then sat down and lifted one of her hands, stroking the soft skin with his
