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him. She honed her focus as the inning started.
    With two out, a runner was at second when the hitter pounded a line drive between the right and center fielders. The runner's base coach waved her on, and she rounded third in a spurt for home. Christa had thrown off her helmet and was standing at the plate, directing the first baseman into position for a possible cut-off play. The center fielder hurled the ball into the infield, but it was offline.
    “Cut home,” Christa yelled above the crowd, bracing herself over home plate as her first baseman caught the ball and whirled to throw it home, the runner only a few strides away and not slowing.
    She caught the ball and dropped to her knees to block the plate, bracing herself for the inevitable impact. Oh, man, this is going to hurt.
    The runner attempted a late slide and barreled into her, sending her flying. Her head slammed into the ground, blinding lights exploding before her eyes. She lay flat on her back, gasping to breathe. The ball... Had she managed to hold onto the ball? Voices murmured and blurry faces stared down at her before fading into swirling blackness.

    * * * *

    Rayne shot to his feet. Christa lay unmoving in the dirt, curled on her side, while the umpire gestured for the coach and first-aid attendants. The base runner wobbled to her feet and with the help of a teammate limped off toward her dugout, favoring her right leg.
    “Oh, God, Chris... ” Teryl had also jumped up, one hand over her mouth as the trainer rushed onto the field and bent to speak to Christa, then shook his head at the coach. Rayne's heart thudded in his chest. How badly had she been hurt? The trainer was checking her neck and spine, and when they turned her onto her back, her lips moved. He let out a relieved breath.
    “She's conscious,” he told Teryl, holding her arm.
    “Oh, thank God.”
    “What the fuck was that?” The guy who'd been yelling comments at Christa throughout the game— presumably her stalker— pounded on the chain link fence. “What was that bitch trying to do, kill her?” A chorus of voices added to his tirade. “Yeah, you'd better hide in your dugout, lady. You're dead meat, do you hear me?” His face was a mottled red as he screamed at the shaken base runner, huddled amidst her teammates with an ice pack on her ankle.
    “Sir, that's enough.” The umpire approached on the other side of the backstop. “We have everything under control.”
    “Bullshit! She deliberately ran her down, we all saw it. What are you going to do about it?”
    “I've called the runner out and the inning is over, that's what I've done about it. Any more outbursts like that and you'll be asked to leave this park.”
    “She should be charged with assault for that stunt. Maybe she needs a taste of her own medicine, huh? Maybe I should show her how it feels to be knocked out.” The crowd gasped.
    “That's it, you're out of here.” The umpire's face was crimson as he pointed to the outfield.
    Rayne was about to offer assistance in removing the crazed fan when a couple of security guards made their way into the stands and escorted him away. He continued to shout all the way out of the park, everyone staring at him.
    “You were great, Christa, do you hear me? She won't get away with this.”
    Rayne was definitely worried now. The guy had serious issues.
    In the wake of the outburst the park seemed quiet, every eye riveted to the inert form lying on the diamond. Finally, after an agonizing wait, Christa struggled to her knees amidst the roar of applause, wiping a smear of blood from her mouth. With a wave of reassurance to the crowd, she allowed her coaches to carry her from the field.
    “Thank God,” Teryl breathed again and pulled out of Rayne's grasp. He followed her to the third base dugout, wondering if Christa would be taken to hospital. He hung back as Teryl made her way to the trainer and then to Christa's side. She waved him over so he hurried through the dugout, past her