”My insides curled up into a little knot and squeezed.I knew what he was saying. That’s one of my nightmares, too.“How can I possibly protect yo... from that?”How could anyone possibly protect me from that?How could I possibly protect me from that?But maybe my desire to protect myself would be stronger than my brain’s desire to shut down. Maybe it would let me scream, fight back, get away. I hope so. I don’t know, so that’s all I can do – hope.The tears were running down his cheeks in an almost. Sabrina and I were looking through binoculars at the festivities on the beach, separate binocs. Presently, Stansfield was doing his best imitation of a man about to bury the hatchet, so to speak. Only his hatchet was on the short side. I’m not one to compare, but I can see why his wife preferred the axe in my pants to the hatchet in his. Stansfield had his hands on his secretary’s breasts and was doing a maneuver that I would have expected someone molding clay would use. I’m pretty sure he was. More

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