She yelled with all her might, “Get away from me! Help!” And then she screamed, high and long.

He lunged for her, and she dodged. Then dodged again. Stall.

“Frank. Listen, we need to talk about this.” She sounded hoarse. Terrified.

Stopping, he panted and glared. “Don’t think so.”

Maybe she could circle around toward the door. The blood seemed to be pounding in her head as she backpedaled toward the back where her bed was.

He lunged, sweeping his arms before him. The crash of her television made her pause. A second too long.

She ducked a punch aimed at her face. Stepping forward, she punched, trying to hit his throat. Arms too short. He grabbed her hand and nailed her right in the stomach. The shock hit first—she couldn’t inhale—and then the pain exploded.

As she staggered back, he grabbed her. No. Blinded by tears, she punched. Got his shoulder. Tried to knee him.

Rather than hitting his balls, her knee thumped his thigh. With a roar, he threw her across the room. She tried to catch herself. Her ankle twisted with a horrible stab of pain. As she fell, her back smacked into the side of her desk.

Half sitting, she shook her head. No birds tweeted like in the cartoons; she heard only a roaring in her ears.

He stalked toward her, his hands opening and closing into fists. “Cops won’t get here in time for—”

The pounding on her door halted his advance.

“Sally? Sally! You okay?” Harvey’s voice came from the hall.

“Get the manager. He’s got a key.” Joanna’s voice was high and terrified.

The old lady across the way quavered, “I called the police. They said—”

“Fuck!” Frank kicked.

She twisted so his boot smashed into her left hip rather than her ribs. Sobbing with pain, she rolled blindly. Escape. Get away.

Voices spilled into the room. Grabbing the lamp from the end table as a weapon, Frank shouted at her neighbors, keeping them from entering the apartment. No one was big enough to take on the brute.

Yelling and yelling. A standoff. Frank sounded more and more out of control.

She needed to do something before her friends were hurt. “Don’t—” She tried to push to her feet. A knife seemed to stab into her ankle, and her leg gave out. She landed on her right side so hard that her head went all blurry.

“Let me pass.” The unfamiliar voice had an effect.

The shouting died away into silence.

Sally lifted her head.

A uniformed police officer stood in the doorway, confronting Frank. Her neighbors had retreated. “Sir, you need to—”

“Get the hell out of here,” Frank roared, brandishing a heavy iron lamp. “My girlfriend and I are just talking.”

He’s lying. Don’t go. Don’t leave me here. “No.” Her voice came out only a whisper.

The police officer held up his hand. “I’m sorry, sir, but you—”

“Fuck diplomacy.” Dan pushed past the cop and walked into the room. Frank swung the lamp like a baseball bat.

Dan blocked, grabbed the lamp, and used it to swing Frank at the two men who’d just walked in.

The darker one sidestepped.

The other—Vance—caught Frank, twisted gracefully, and slammed him face-first into the wall so violently that the pictures rattled. The lamp dropped to the floor with a nasty thud.

“Nice catch, Buchanan,” Dan said, pulling out a set of handcuffs.

Sally’s breathing faltered as she took in the miracle of a rescue.

Despite his position, his face pressed against the wall, Frank yelled. “Fuck you. She’s mine. Fucking cops.”

Chills swept across her body as she listened. As she tried to find some strength to move.

Galen stalked across the room toward her, his eyes black with fury.

Angry with her? She tried to roll over so she could sit up and gasped as daggers of pain stabbed through her hip, her shoulder…everywhere. She moaned.

“Hold on, Sally.” He went down on his knee. “Stay put while I see how bad you’re hurt.”

Too close. On her back, she couldn’t defend, couldn’t…do anything. “No.” She struggled wildly, trying to sit up.

“Ah.” His eyes softened. “Easy, pet. Let me help you.” Putting an arm behind her back, he raised her to a sitting position.

The moan that escaped her gritted teeth was humiliating. Gradually the sparkles blurring her vision cleared so she could make out Galen’s face.

“Why are you—” She tried to pull away. She hadn’t called him, had she? No, she didn’t have his number. Dan must have. But now Galen must think she was selfish. And he was so mad. “I’m sorry. I didn’t ask—”

“Shhh. I’m not upset with you, Sally.” He didn’t let go but closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath. The anger faded from his face.

She relaxed slightly, leaning back against the leg of the desk.

“Just sit still for a minute, so I can check how badly you’re hurt.” He used a corner of her pajamas to apply pressure to her cheek, holding her firmly when she tried to pull away. “Anything broken?”

Surely not. “No.”

“How about I take a look, sweetheart?” Vance knelt beside her. His intensely blue eyes were calm and so, so reassuring. He quickly ran his hands over her skull, then her neck and back. His gaze never left her face. He checked her shoulders and arms, not stopping at her flinches. “Right shoulder a little sore, but so far, so good.”

But his fingers on her stomach made her suck in a pained inhalation.

“Caught one in the gut, did you?”

“It’s getting better,” she said. And it was. She could draw in a real breath.

And had started to relax. Frank had stopped screaming. That helped. Having Galen and Vance beside her helped even more. Even if they were angry with her, they’d never let anyone hurt her. She knew that.

Vance pressed over her right hip, then her left—and she flinched, then had to endure more probing.

“Bruised—didn’t bust it, as far as I can tell.” Vance moved his hands down her legs.

At the blast of agony when he squeezed her left ankle, she barely smothered a scream.

“There too.” Vance traced around the area. “Starting to swell.”

“Did a number on her face,” Galen muttered. He lifted the corner of her pajama top to show Vance her cheek.

“Looks like the bleeding has stopped,” Vance said.

“Ayuh.”

“Ready to get off the floor, sweetie?” Without waiting for her answer, Vance simply picked her up.

The movement made her dizzy, and the pain overwhelmed her. Rather than protesting, she buried her face against his shoulder. His white T-shirt was well-worn and soft. Each breath brought her the clean scent of laundry detergent and a hint of his aftershave.

He carried her so easily, and his strength was even more reassuring than the presence of the police officer. After a few moments, she lifted her head.

Hands cuffed behind his back, Frank was talking—loudly—to Dan and the cop. “Yes, my name is Frank Borup. It’s right there on my driver’s license. No, I haven’t been arrested before.” He gave Dan a smile. “I’m sorry about overreacting. This is all a big misunderstanding.”

Could he charm his way out of this? She shuddered. Frank could be awfully convincing. Look how well he’d taken her in. She pulled herself together.

“No. There’s no misunderstanding,” she said in a loud voice. “He let himself into my apartment with a key he’d made without my knowledge.”

Dan’s eyes narrowed. He muttered to the other cop, “Make sure we get that from him.”

“He hit me and kicked me and broke…” Hearing her voice shake, she stopped. Vance’s arms around her tightened, lending her strength. She said firmly, “Arrest him. I’ll file charges.”

“Sally. You’re being foolish,” Frank said. “You—”

Dan jerked his head at the uniformed officer. “You know the drill. Get him out of sight and hearing.”

“Yes, sir.”

Yelling protests, Frank was escorted into the hallway.

“We need an ambulance for her?” Dan asked.

Sally’s voice came out a whine. “No. I’m fine.”

“I’ll have her checked out in the ER,” Vance said.

Dan nodded. “Make sure they know to document everything. I’ll send someone to get her statement.”

“Right.”

“But, I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

Vance looked down at her. “You can skip the ambulance, but not the emergency room. I want your ankle checked out, if nothing else.”

“What about afterward?” Dan asked.

After the ER, she’d come back here. Sally turned her head to look at the destruction of her cozy apartment, and tears blurred the sight of broken furniture, glass glittering in the carpet. No longer a refuge.

Not even safe. She’d have to pay the manager to change the locks—who knew how many copies Frank had made. She shuddered. What if they let him out and he came back here?

She could stay somewhere else. But her friends had duties, work, families, and taking her in would be a horrible imposition. And what if he followed her to their house?