Devil s Due Page 0,21

ridiculous as that was; she'd been through firefights with less emotional reaction.

Lucia stayed with her back to him, facing the cabinet, head down, fighting against an unexpected tidal wave of longing that was threatening to drag her under.

"You okay?" His voice came from close behind her. She felt herself flinch.

"Fine," she said. Her voice was, as always, calm and controlled. "I need to make a couple of calls. Would you mind...?"

"No. I'll be in my office, going over my important work," he said, with dry amusement in his voice. He knew. He damn well knew what kind of effect he was having on her, and he knew how much it was angering her to lose control.

She didn't turn around. McCarthy walked away - she was acutely aware of the sound of his shoes on the carpet - and opened and closed the door. The deep breath she took in smelled faintly of him - the hair products they'd used on him at Lenora Ellen's, an elegant cologne, an underlying crisp male scent that she was starting to understand was uniquely his own.

She went back to her desk and sat down, hands flat on the surface. The couch at the far end of the room was a nice tan leather, a match for the one in Jazz's office. The walls were a cool, clean cream. Black-and-white, oversize photographs hung there, plus a selection of color photos that showed her in air force dress uniform, and receiving a civilian commendation from a former president. As much of her history as she wanted to officially remember these days.

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.

Chapter Five

"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