Rachel Caine: Devil's Due

She was contemplating the couch, and possibilities, when a knock came at the door and Pansy opened it wide enough to look in. She was a cute, efficient woman whom Jazz had hired—partly out of spite—away from James Borden's law firm of Gabriel, Pike & Laskins. Her sleek dark pageboy framed a heart-shaped face that wouldn't have looked out of place in a silent movie.

Even, just now, to the wide eyes.

"What?" Lucia asked. Pansy was hardly the wide-eyed type. She'd been cool under fire, literally, when a sniper had taken out Jazz's office window, and nearly Jazz herself. It took a lot to get a reaction from her.

For answer, Pansy held out a FedEx envelope—the stiff cardboard kind—and opened it to take out a red envelope. She held it in two fingers, carefully, as if it were a dead roach. "For you," she said. "Do you want it, or do we make the shredder people happy?"

In Lucia's experience, it was always better to make an informed choice. "I'll take a look," she said, and Pansy crossed the room with it and handed the crimson paper over. Lucia examined the outside of the envelope, but as usual there were no clues to the naked eye. A plain red envelope, like a greeting card. Her name block printed on the outside. "Who sent the FedEx?"

Pansy checked the label. "GP&L."

"Not specifically from Borden or Laskins."

"Nope. Mailroom. Could have been anybody." Lucia nodded and turned the envelope over. It was sealed. She took a sharp letter opener from her drawer and slit it carefully across the top.

She had just put the letter opener down when Pansy yelled, "Stop!"

She looked up. Pansy was staring down into the open FedEx envelope, and her face had taken on a deathly white pallor.

"Don't open it," she said.

"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.

When she and Pansy emerged from the bathroom, McCarthy was right outside, pacing. "FBI's on the way." he said. "They're getting to the FedEx driver and they've alerted the regional sorting center to back-trace. Agent Rawlins is sending a team, and Hazmat's coming, but it'll be a while. I told them about Manny. They're okay with him working the scene, providing he's careful and he leaves everything in situ."

They would be, Lucia thought. Manny had an even higher credibility within the FBI than to the outside world.

"I got hold of the building maintenance people and shut down the air ducts. They're finding the mailroom people and getting everybody together for testing."

She nodded. It sounded as if he'd done everything she'd have done, plus a step or two more. Authority and decisiveness came naturally to him, even after two years of enforced subordination. She was shakily relieved; she liked being in command, but at this particular moment, it was good to have someone else there.

"Look, I know you're worried, but chances are this isn't anthrax or some other pathogen. Ninety-eight percent of these kinds of things turn out to be jokes. Carelessness. Somebody spilling their baby powder on the desk. You're going to be okay."

"I know." She gave him a fast, reassuring smile. "Although I think my manicure is beyond saving. Did you lock down the office?"

"Yeah." He held up the keys, which he'd evidently found in Pansy's desk. "FBI will be here any minute."

"Manny will be here first," Pansy said. "Trust me."

Pansy was right.

Manny arrived in just under fifteen minutes, dragging a wheeled case full of stuff. He was a big, unkempt man— not as unkempt and wild-eyed as he'd been when Lucia first met him, but Manny was no one's poster child for stability. He wore a black T-shirt with FORENSICS on the chest and a huge white fingerprint on the back. Obviously not standard issue from any agency, but probably as official as he had, these days. He'd trimmed his bushy hair recently, and the blue jeans he had on didn't look too ancient. All in all, a much improved Manny Glickman.

A more focused one, as well. He mumbled a hello to Lucia, gave McCarthy a genuinely delighted smile and a handshake, and held Pansy off from a full-body hug with a warning gesture. "Clothes," he said. "Off and in the bag." He handed her a yellow plastic sack marked with a red biohazard symbol. "Put these on." He'd brought blue jeans and a red sweater, as well as a pair of comfortable-looking flat black slippers and, in a separate plastic sack, what looked like underwear. "I got them from your place."