Just the same, I resumed my trot. A moving target is harder to hit, as Tom always tells me. I smiled again at the thought of calling him. With any luck, he’d brave the elements and we could snuggle under those covers together.

My smile vanished when I heard the double-clicks again. Behind me. No way.

I was about to turn to see what I already knew-that the bulky guy was back-but by the time my head twisted over my shoulder, it was too late.

In a searingly hot second, he kicked me in the left knee. I shouted, both in pain and surprise. Unprepared for the attack, I flew facefirst to the sidewalk, my arms coming up just in time to break my fall. Even as I went down screaming, I prayed my hands and fingers wouldn’t be hurt. They were my life, my livelihood.

The bulky guy didn’t break stride, didn’t turn.

Once I was down, he broke into a full-out run and was gone.

“Hey!” I yelled, noticing belatedly that my purse was gone. “Hey!” I said again, but by then I knew it was futile. I tried sitting up, but in the cold my knees felt as brittle as glass. At the same time, my palms burned from where I’d skimmed the sidewalk.

I shouted after him. “You big jerk!”

A soft voice next to me. “Are you okay?”

I felt a tug at my elbow. A small man hovered over me. Even from my seat on the wet sidewalk, I could tell he was shorter than I was. He pulled at my elbow again, trying to help me stand up. When I tried to get my footing, I slipped and sat down hard in wet dirt.

“Ick,” I said, wincing as I struggled to my feet. “I’m okay.”

“You are sure?” The man’s voice held the touch of an accent and now that I stood up, I got a better look at my would-be rescuer. He was of Asian descent with hair so short as to be almost invisible. Although I couldn’t peg his age, I guessed him to be on the far side of fifty. “What did that man do to you?” Using just his eyes, he gestured toward an idling car. “I was driving past and I saw him push you down.”

I wiped my face with the back of my hand, trying to compose myself. The past several days had crushed the very energy out of everyone at the White House. But this was too much. After everything we’d been through, I shouldn’t have to deal with this. Not today. I stared after the jerk who’d grabbed my purse, fighting overwhelming despair. All my ID was in there. Everything. I’d have to jump through a hundred hoops tomorrow just to get into work. I shook my head, then realized the little guy was waiting for me to say something. “I’m okay. He kicked me. Stole my purse.”

“I am so sorry.”

“Yeah,” I said, blinking against the rain. “Me, too.”

“I am Shan-Yu,” he said, stepping forward.

“I’m Ollie,” I said, responding automatically, thinking that I’d prefer to limp home in a hurry rather than stand in the sleet and chat. My mind was furiously trying to process everything that had just happened, but ingrained politeness kept me steady.

Shan-Yu gestured again with his eyes, keeping his hands together low at his waist. “May I offer you a ride?”

“No, thank you,” I said, slapping my backside to release the dirt that crusted there. It hurt my hands, so I stopped immediately. “I live on the next block.”

“As do I,” he said, then mentioned his address.

“That’s my building, too,” I said.

He smiled. “Please, it would be my pleasure to help you after your encounter.”

The biting rain had turned into a full-out downpour. I looked at the little guy standing next to me, his smile the only brightness in the dark enveloping rain.

“Thanks,” I said. “That would be nice.”

The Toyota Celica’s windshield wipers were flapping as we made our way over. “Allow me,” he said, and he glided ahead to open the passenger door.

We were directly under a streetlight, and as I started around him, I turned once more to take a look at my backside. “Oh,” I said, “I can’t get in your car like this. I’ll get mud all over your seats.”

“Not a problem,” he said, just a little bit too quickly.

I turned, ready to explain again about the dirt on my backside, but the little guy’s eyes suddenly shifted. Too close to me now, he said, “Get in.”

“No, really, I-”

Before I could react, he hit me, hard, in the abdomen. I doubled over and he shoved me into the open door, pushing me down onto the seat. Neither of us counted on the ground being wet, however, and to his dismay and my delight, I slipped and fell to the ground, out of his immediate reach. Scrambling toward the back of the car on all fours, I screamed, both in terror and from the pain. “Help me!”

Every ounce of me surged out in my screams. I tried to get my footing, but he kicked me in the side. The darkness impaired his aim and it hit me only as a glancing blow. Still, it was enough to throw off my balance. “Help!” My voice carried along the wet street and I thought I heard an answer. My voice strained with effort. “Please!”

The little guy had begun to pull at the back of my jacket, and though I already knew I was no match for him, I remembered what Tom had told me about the knees-a lesson recently reviewed with the passing tap-shoe guy. With Shan-Yu’s hands gripping the fabric on my back, I wrenched sideways and lashed out at him with my foot. I connected with his knee, just as Mr. Tap Shoes had connected with mine. The little guy went down.

Fighting sparkles of pain that danced before my eyes, I made myself stand-just in time. Although he’d gone down, he didn’t stay there. In one smooth roll, he’d bounced himself back to his feet and come at me again.

I dodged him, spinning around the back of the car and racing to the open driver’s-side door. I’d thought to jump in and drive away, but Shan-Yu was too fast, too close. Just as I got near the door, I whirled to face him. He hadn’t expected that. When I ducked, he toppled over me. Scratching, biting, and screaming, I fought my way out from under him, hearing footsteps-loud ones-and knowing I had almost nothing left with which to fight.

“Hey!” someone yelled.

Shan-Yu turned long enough for me to get another good look at his face. I scrambled out of the way of the back tires as he leaped into the car and tore off down the street.

A big guy wearing jogging pants and a do-rag leaned down to me, rain pouring down his bewildered face. “Are you okay?”

I SPENT MOST OF THE NIGHT IN THE EMERGENCY room, giving the Metropolitan Police a statement, descriptions of both Mr. Tap Shoes and the man who identified himself as Shan-Yu, and a description of the car. Two things I learned from the cops-one: The bad guy hurts you, Good Samaritan helps you game is one of the oldest in the book. Two, the tap shoes were probably special steel-toed shoes designed to inflict maximum damage on kicked opponents.

Once I’d been identified, the Secret Service was called in to find out what sensitive items I might have lost in the theft. Agents Kevin Martin and Patricia Berland showed up while my knee was being examined. I was moved to a room with a door so they could interrogate me in private.

“We need a comprehensive list of everything in your purse,” Agent Martin said. “I do mean everything. Even personal items you believe may have no significance.”

I came up with the best recollection I could. In addition to my ID, I had keys: for my apartment, my car, and a number of them for the White House. The two agents were not happy. “I have some notes, a few recipes…” Oh, God, what a mess. “My Metro pass…” I named everything else I could think of, including personal female items that made me blush when I listed them.

They asked me if I thought I’d been targeted specifically. “No,” I said, then stopped. “Wait…”

“What?”

“The guy in the car,” I said, thinking aloud. “He told me he lived in my building.”