“What the hell happened?” Joe demanded gruffly.
“Time—and a weak chunk of ceiling,” Brad explained. He stared at Joe and apparently decided that he had some influence over her. “She should see a doctor. She took a real bump to her head.”
“I’ll see to it,” Joe agreed.
“No,” she protested, gritting her teeth as she got to her feet. Had she really been hit by a piece of the ceiling? Had she imagined the cold, and the sense of someone else being there? Whatever had really happened, she wasn’t about to protest their explanation. Not unless and until she had something to offer instead that wouldn’t make her sound crazy. Even so…“No,” she repeated. “I mean it.” She could hear anxious voices from outside, and she forced herself to take a step on her own. “I’m fine,” she insisted.
“You’re not fine,” Brad said.
“I am fine,” she assured him.
“It’s better to be safe than sorry,” Joe warned. He looked seriously worried. What was he doing there? she wondered. He’d stayed in his car all night to keep an eye on her, not to mention he undoubtedly wanted a shower and a change of clothing. Plus, he had a missing woman to find.
“He’s right, you know,” Robert Adair said.
“It couldn’t have been all that bad,” Laymon put in. “She seems fine to me.”
She looked at the professor. She knew that he cared about her. She also knew that he cared more about his work than about any human being. If she’d been hurt badly enough to require a doctor, the city might insist on shutting down the dig until their safety inspectors okayed it. Laymon would be fit to be tied. The ceiling undoubtedly had to be shored up, but he would want to supervise, to be in charge. He wouldn’t want his precious find contaminated in any way.
“The professor’s right. I really am absolutely fine,” she repeated firmly.
Robert shook his head. Laymon sighed. Brad stared at her.
Joe took her by the arm, turning her to face him. “Fine, huh? So you say. Let’s take a little trip back to Hastings House, get some ice, keep you moving…and maybe stop by a doctor’s, quietly, just so he can take a quick look at you, check you out.”
Brad spoke up in support of Joe.
“Leslie, you were flat on your back, out cold, when we found you.”
The light was blocked for a minute, and then she saw Ken Dryer—clearly not at all happy about what the dirt was doing to his clothing—slide carefully down to join them. “Leslie, what happened? Are you okay?”
She knew she should be grateful, but everyone’s concern was starting to get on her nerves. And in the back of her mind was a question. What had really happened? Had she turned to look around, been hit on the head by a falling piece of plaster, and fallen this far away from where she’d been standing?
For a moment, she once again felt that strange sense of fear that had prickled at her nape when she’d been alone in the room. She wasn’t accustomed to being afraid. The dark didn’t usually hold any terrors for her.
After all, she didn’t just see ghosts. She carried on conversations with them.
“I’ll walk you home,” Joe said gruffly. “And see you to the doctor.”
“She needs her head examined,” Brad said. Leslie looked at him, frowning. The way he’d said it, it sounded as if he thought more was wrong with her than a possible concussion.
“Guys…” she murmured uncomfortably.
“Leslie, the site isn’t going anywhere,” Laymon told her, his voice unusually gentle. Apparently there was a soul somewhere beneath that academic facade.
“You’ll have to go out the back or else face the music out front,” Brad said. He shrugged. “I don’t know how, but the minute anything happens, we get a flock of reporters.”
“Dryer can handle them, I’m sure,” Robert Adair said.
Brad grinned at her. “I’ll join him,” he said with a rueful smile.
“Go to it,” Leslie told him, smiling in return. “I’ll see you all later.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll take the day off,” Laymon said firmly Brad halted at the exit.
“Let’s go,” Joe said, equally firm.
Maybe they were right. But she didn’t feel at death’s door. She had one hell of a headache, but she could handle that with aspirin. Mostly, she realized, she was angry at being unable to figure out what the hell had happened.
“Leslie, I’ll bring in my own engineers, and I’ll sit on top of them like a fly on roadkill,” Laymon said.
“Leslie, let’s go,” Joe repeated quietly.
For a minute she was tempted to remind him that she wasn’t a child, and that even though he looked like Matt, he wasn’t Matt. They didn’t have a relationship that stretched back forever. But she knew they were probably right. An exam or an X-ray wouldn’t hurt. It would be the mature and sensible thing to do.