“This is ridiculous.” She blew out a long breath, hoping to leave some room for common sense to seep into her head.

The hit came from her left side. A blow to her back sent her flying into the wall. She pawed and slapped, trying to grab on to something, but there was nothing to hold. She blinked, desperate to keep her bearings and stay on her feet. With a primal scream, she turned around and slashed out with the knife. She heard a grunt then a flash of dark clothing passed in front of her.

A hand clamped down on her wrist and started twisting. A burning sensation raced up her arm.

“No, no, no,” she pleaded.

With a squeal, she dropped the knife and heard it clank against the hardwood floor. She tried to see the attacker’s face, but the room blurred around her. Fingers wrapped around her arm and yanked. Off-balance, she crashed into the small hall table. A bang rang out, and she fell, hitting the floor and covering her head as a lamp toppled over on her.

This cannot happen. I will not die this way.

Adrenaline pumped through her. She kicked out and yelled. Screamed for help and shouted, “No,” over and over. The knife. She needed to find it. Reaching out, she searched, frantic and wild, and felt a shoe. A man’s shoe. Her attacker.

She punched his ankle as hard as she could. When he swore under his breath, she hit him a second time. Before she could grab on to his leg and try to trip him, he kicked her in the stomach then in the chest. Pain burst behind her eyes as she doubled over. She could feel the air leave her body while she curled into the fetal position without any signal from her brain.

More stunned than hurt, she tried to keep her eyes open. Be ready for the next shot. She scooted back, trying to evade the slicing of the blade.

Her attacker stepped closer. One second, then two . . . He stabbed the knife into the floor next to her face.

A hiccup of air escaped her. She scrambled to sit up through the thumping mass of aches and the tightness clamping down on her chest. When she finally stopped shifting and crawling and doing all she could to make her body smaller, less of a target, she heard the quiet. Only her heavy breathing and silence.

Her gaze shot to the front door. Closed. Then to the back of the house. The French doors to the deck stood open.

Oh my God. Oh my God. She didn’t know if she said the words or just thought them. Tiny shards of glass from the shattered lamp covered her pants. She saw the ripped shade and a black mark along her white wall. She shoved the table off her as she fought to breathe through the pounding in her chest.