Page 22 of Devil's Due

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.”

She nodded.

“Everything in the bag, understand? Rings, watch, necklace, earrings. Underwear. Everything. Nothing that touched you stays on.”

Pansy’s eyes filled with tears for a second, and then she blinked and pasted on a grin and said, “You just want to get me out of my panties.” Before he could answer, she took the sack and pile of clothes and headed for the bathroom.

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