As images of Nick and Scotty filled her mind, she found the wherewithal to slam her knee into his groin.

He shrieked and fell away from her, stumbling backward on the ramp.

Drawing in greedy gulps of cold air, Sam kicked at him, her foot connecting with his knee, drawing another grunt of pain from him.

And then Scotty’s Secret Service agents were on him, pulling him down the ramp, kicking and screaming the whole way.

Sam bent in half, hands on knees as she took a series of deep breaths, willing her pounding heart into submission.

Shelby came to the door. “What happened? Oh God, Sam! Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Keep Scotty inside.” When Shelby hesitated, obviously torn, Sam said, “Go. Please. Close the door.”

Shelby did as Sam asked, which was a tremendous relief to Sam, who didn’t want Scotty to see her hurt.

“I called it in,” one of the agents said as the other slapped cuffs on Stahl, who was calling her a fucking bitch and spitting his rage all over her sidewalk. “Ambulance is on its way.”

“No ambulances,” Sam said, her voice raspy from the attack. “I’m fine.”

“It’s for him.”

“I’m so sorry that happened, Lieutenant,” the agent said. He must’ve been new, because Sam hadn’t seen him before. “He was in uniform and had your newspapers so we assumed he was a friend of yours.”

“Not your fault,” she said, still breathing hard as a MPD cruiser came screaming around the corner onto Ninth Street.

The agents turned Stahl over to the EMTs and patrolmen, who seemed a bit freaked out to be hauling away an Internal Affairs lieutenant. They looked to Sam for guidance. Ignoring the throbbing pain in her neck, she nodded to them and took extreme pleasure in watching them cuff a purple-faced, screaming Stahl to the gurney.

Sam took another minute to regain her composure before she went back inside. The entire incident had transpired in under ten minutes, but the seconds in which she’d been denied oxygen had felt like weeks.

Shelby rushed from the kitchen to meet her. “Are you okay? Tell me the truth.”

“I’m fine. I don’t want Scotty to know.”

“Come,” Shelby said, taking her hand, “quickly.”

“Come where?” Sam allowed the tiny sprite to drag her through the kitchen to the mudroom where Shelby had to go on tiptoes to wrap a pink cashmere scarf around Sam’s neck. “That bad, huh?”

“That bad.”

Sam fingered the soft wool while turning her nose up at the color. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Yeah, you’re fine.”