“Are you all right, ma’am?” Wyatt asked.

“My ribs,” I gasped, flat on the floor as another wave of hard pain rolled across my belly.

“My stomach hit the corner.”

Wyatt’s grip on David’s collar tightened another half inch.

“Nancy,” Wyatt said, his red beard hardly moving as he talked.

“Call 911.

Tell them we have a domestic assault in progress and a financial fraud suspect being held at the Highway Nine store.”

“Calling right now,” Nancy said, picking up the receiver and punching three buttons.