Free Devil's Due by Rachel Caine Page B

at all; being exposed to a hazardous substance was an everyday occurrence.
    The phone rang. It was Jazz.
    “The FBI is there,” she said breathlessly. “Bastards aren’t letting us in the building. We’re downstairs.”
    “I didn’t want you to come, Jazz,” Lucia said.
    “Yeah, well, I came anyway. Borden, too. What do you want us to do?”
    “Call Laskins, get him out of bed if you have to. Find out what GP&L sent us. Get them to fax over a copy of the text, if they sent it in the first place. I can’t get to the red letter to read it.”
    “Which might be the point,” Jazz said.
    “True.”
    “Still…if the opposition could get to the envelope to doctor it, why not take the message? Why not replace it with one of their own and skip the anthrax scare? They have to know it would draw attention.”
    “All good questions. I don’t know. I don’t even know that there was an original message in the first place. All I know is that there’s a FedEx envelope that came from GP&L’s mailroom.”
    Jazz made a frustrated sound, like sandpaper rubbing stone. “But you’re all okay, right?”
    “It takes up to seven days to manifest anthrax symptoms,” Lucia said. “Ask me in a week.”
    Manny came out of the office. He was carrying a square black case that was sealed with more bright yellow tape.
    “Hang on,” Lucia said to Jazz, and pressed the phone against her chest to muffle it. “Better get moving, Manny.The FBI’s downstairs. They know you’re here, but if you want to avoid questions…” Which she knew he did. Manny would always choose to avoid questions.
    His face was wet with sweat. “Yeah. I’d better get this sample back to the lab. Sooner I get the tests started, the sooner…”
    She nodded. Manny paused, gazing at Pansy. She tried for a smile, and he looked as if he badly wanted to touch her, but neither of them managed to pull it off.
    “See you,” he said, and headed for the stairs. Pansy’s gaze followed him. Lucia got back on the phone with Jazz.
    “Manny’s coming out,” she said. “He’s got a sample of the powder. Maybe you can ride herd on him…?”
    “Done,” Jazz said crisply, and hung up. That was Jazz: minimum talk, maximum effort.
    “So,” McCarthy said. “What do we do now?”
    “Anybody want coffee?”
     

    It took hours. Not a surprise; Lucia was well accustomed to the pace of investigations. But it still rankled. She was tired, exhausted from adrenaline, and starving. To her disappointment, the FBI hadn’t exactly stormed the building. Agent Rawlins was present and accounted for, but he’d only brought one other agent and two technicians, one of whom was on loan from the Kansas City PD. One Hazmat suit, which none of them bothered to put on.
    “So,” Rawlins said, and pulled up a chair next to Lucia as his men got to work. “Who’s out to kill you this week?”
    “Agent Rawlins, you wound me.”
    “Can’t say as I’d be the first, ma’am.”
    “Cut the folksy bullshit.”
    He had a lived-in face, too many lines for his young age, and the bright hair made him look tired. His dark browneyes didn’t give away much except his general intelligence. Rawlins liked to pretend he was a hayseed. Lucia knew better. The man had graduated top of his class from Quantico, had piled up a string of high-profile cases and was in the running to be moved up to D.C. on his next rotation. If ever a man was going to make it out of the FBI bush leagues, it was Agent Rawlins.
    He nodded, rubbed his big hands together and looked down at the floor. “Want to tell me how this happened?”
    She told him the facts, as briskly as possible.
    “I won’t ask who has a grudge against you, because I know damn well that the list is about as long as the phone book. Including a couple dozen drug dealers and some very unhappy terrorists from the old days.” He looked up, directly into her eyes. “You know who the envelope’s from?”
    “Gabriel, Pike & Laskins,” she said.