Читать книгу Devil's Due - Рэйчел Кейн - Страница 12

“What is it?” Lucia asked. She didn’t move a muscle, though her heart had accelerated into a fast, nervous rhythm.

Pansy looked pale enough to pass out, but her voice was steady. “Just put it down on the desk and step away. Now.”

It was too thin to be an explosive device, but there was something in Pansy’s voice that warned Lucia not to argue. She set the letter, carefully, in the center of her clean desk, and backed up. Pansy stepped forward and laid the FedEx envelope, with infinite care, down next to it.

“Outside,” she said.

“What is it?”

“Fine white powder grains in the FedEx envelope,” Pansy said. “I think they leaked out of the red envelope.”

Lucia was suddenly, acutely aware of her hands. Her fingertips. She rubbed them gently together and felt grit.

Oh, Christ.

“Go,” she snapped, and held up her hands like a surgeon preparing to operate. “Move. Bathroom. You know the drill—scrub as hard as you can. Go, Pansy!”

“But you—”

“I’ll be there in a second. McCarthy!” She yelled it, full-throated. He emerged from his office, half-glasses still in place. “I need you to dial the phone,” she said. “I may be contaminated.”

The glasses came off. “Contaminated how?”

“Envelope,” she said. “Powder.” She struggled to keep cool on the outside; fear was strangling her, making her breaths shallow and fast. “Dial this number for me and put it on speakerphone.” She recited it from memory. He punched it in, short stabbing motions, and stepped back as it rang. And rang. And rang….

“Pansy?” Manny Glickman’s cautious voice.

“No, Manny, it’s Lucia,” she said. Absurd, how useless she felt, unable to use her hands; she was holding them in midair, acutely aware of the tingling in her fingertips. Imagination, most likely, but, God. “I need you to get over here with some kind of testing kit. We may have been exposed to something hazardous. A fine white powder in an envelope.”

Silence. A long one. She felt sweat beading on the back of her neck, under the thick fall of her hair.

“Have you called anyone else?” Manny asked. “FBI? Postal inspectors? The cops?”

“No. Just you. I want your opinion first.”

“How many people handled it?”

“Just Pansy and me. It’s FedEx.”

“Lucia, I understand you don’t want to jump to conclusions, but testing for anthrax isn’t instant. You let that FedEx courier continue on his way, you could endanger hundreds of people. You need to call the FBI, right now. I’ll come, but you need to call. It’s probably nothing, but just in case. Report it.”

He was right. She hadn’t thought about the courier, and she should have. “I will,” she said. “Manny—”

“Did Pansy open the package?”

“Yes.”

“Ungloved.”

“Yes.”

“And you?”

“I opened the inner envelope.”

He hung up. She looked at McCarthy, who raised his eyebrows.

“You want me to find the number for the FBI?”

“Yes. Ask for Agent Rawlins. I know him.”

“Fine.” McCarthy locked eyes with her. “Go. Scrub.”

She did, elbowing through the bathroom door to find Pansy still at the sinks, scrubbing with handfuls of thick, milky soap. Lucia used her own elbow, to turn on the hot water—thanks to whatever industrial designer’s foresight had caused them to put in long-handled faucets—and began to do the same.

Pansy was crying. Not noisily, just silently leaking tears that trailed down her face and splashed into the roiling water in the sink.

“It’s going to be all right,” Lucia said. “We’re all right.”

Neither of them believed it, but Pansy gave her a shaky smile.

Lucia scrubbed until her hands felt raw.