Bridget had recovered first. Such made sense, of course, since she had received only the barest edges of the explosive blast that had knocked Knight end over end. His body had come to rest badly against a sizable gravestone, one that halted his trajectory both violently and instantaneously. Considering the force with which he had struck the quite solid granite, his assistant was certain he would need medical attention. Pushing herself back up onto her feet, she had raced to his side, working as gently as she could to untangle his limbs and then gently rearrange him into a more comfortable position. “Come on, boss—say something. Anything. This is no time for one of your pranks.” Bridget fought the ever-tightening strands of terror working to fasten themselves to her mind. She remembered enough of her high school health classes to know it was dangerous to move any accident victim. But Knight had landed in such an awkward heap, his face buried against the ground under his own weight, that if she did not at least straighten him out it was possible he might suffocate before anything else could happen to him.
