Free Devil's Due by Rachel Caine

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 thatFedEx 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