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a second, catching her just as she started to fall.
    "Shh..." he soothed, as the adrenaline began to deplete in his system leaving him wobbly. "I'm here. It's fine."
    The cops piled the guy into their car just as Jack sped up and sprayed gravel everywhere from the wheels of his Stingray. He jumped out, still in full golf gear, and glared around, spotted Sara and Craig on the steps and made for them. Sara stood and launched herself at him. He held her, closed his eyes, kissed her cheek then handed her back to Craig before stomping over and tearing the cops a new collective asshole for not letting him get his hands on the would-be rapist. Craig watched, somewhat detached, now cold and shaking himself.
    "Sir, we need your statement." An officer not occupied with placating Jack, stood in front of him. Sara sunk back to the steps, and he convinced her to let the EMT's check her out. He spoke in short, clipped, to-the-point sentences, keeping the corner of his eye trained on her to make sure she was okay.
    Finally, he was alone on the step. Jack appeared, held out a hand. "Thanks man. I'm told if it weren't for you…" the guy gulped, unwilling to say more. Craig didn't blame him but a very loud claxon of anger was sounding in his ears. He did not like the tall, compelling guy standing in front of him, not one bit. And something told him he should walk away from this whole thing, fast.
    "Of course," he said quickly, giving Sara a hug and feeling the man's angry gaze boring a hole in his back.
    Craig fired up his motorcycle, watched as Jack helped her into the passenger's side of his car, then stood eyes closed for a split second. Craig realized it then, but chose to ignore the nearly visible connection Jack and Sara shared. It was a brick wall he'd pound his head against again and again, but he was willing to do it. The whole way back he let a mantra play through his brain – the renewed focus he had on himself which he was absolutely going to turn on her, and make her his.
    * * *
    The next morning he swam, as usual, although his raw knuckles smarted in the chlorine. He kept his brain calm, climbed out, showered off and stared at his phone a while. Finally, he pulled up a text Sara had sent him a few weeks ago that included her brother's name and phone number for "emergencies." He hit the call button and put the device to his ear, blocking the voice that reminded him it was not his business. That she was likely with Gordon. Of course, letting her make mistakes with a guy like that was part of his plan. She'd figure out what an asshole he was, and Craig would be there to sort it all out for her. He wanted her so badly it had become a scary obsession.
    "Oh, hi there," some other guy answered the phone. "Blake's in the shower. What's up?"
    "Oh, uh, this is Craig. Robinson. From Sara's office. I'm um, just checking on her." He tossed a tennis ball up and caught it, deflecting his own nervous energy.
    "Oh, okay. I'm Rob.  Blake told me about you." There was an awkward pause. "She's good. Home now though."
    "Oh?" he left the question unasked.
    "Yeah, she stayed with Jack last night apparently. Blake's apoplectic. Jesus. I can't win with this whole fucking mess."
    Craig frowned. This "whole fucking mess" comment threw him off. "Well, anyway, I thought I'd go by and check on her. What's your take on that?"
    "Well, I will tell you I've been Jack's friend a good long time, and I know how he gets. He may fuck it up a time or two but nothing gets between him and what he wants. Just fair warning…since you seem to be asking me for it."
    Craig's words died on his lips.
    "But," Rob went on, "if you do go check on her, stop by The Local and have them box up a peach pie. She loves those. Good luck. You're gonna need it."
    Craig stared at the phone a minute, then changed clothes and headed out, his mind on one thing – Sara.
    * * *
    By the time he got to her place bearing the pie, she was huddled into a giant, ratty looking robe and she looked