Tim squeezed my arm. “It’s going to be okay. Just do what she says, please?”
From just the tone of his voice, I could tell that this was serious-more serious than anything I’d experienced before. Tears sprang into my eyes as I nodded. “Okay,” I agreed.
I followed Leslie around the other side of the truck, where there was another setup. Looking more closely, I saw it was a sort of shower.
She brought me behind a curtain and surveyed me. I was used to being studied, but she wasn’t looking at my ink.
“Take off your earrings,” she instructed. “And your watch. Do you have any other piercings, any other jewelry on your person?”
I shook my head, my hand shaking even more as I struggled with the posts and the hoops that ran along the length of my ears. She disappeared for a few seconds and came back wielding a pair of scissors. She approached me, and I instinctively stepped back.
“You can’t take your shirt off over your head,” she said, her voice soft and her eyes kind. “I’m sorry about this.” And with one movement, she slipped the scissors under the back of my shirt and slid them up to the neck, expertly cutting so I could take it off over my arms.
“Why did you do that?” I asked, handing her all my earrings and my watch.
“You have to take off everything.” Again her tone was kind, almost apologetic. “You have to take a shower. You might have gotten some on you, and you have to be decontaminated.”
Decontaminated? Now I truly felt like that kid in
It was as if a weight was sitting on my chest; my arms and legs felt leaden. I stripped off my clothes, and Leslie’s eyes took in my tattoos this time.
“Nice,” she managed to say just as she led me into the shower. She handed me a container of liquid soap. “You have to wash thoroughly.”
Instead of a showerhead, though, I saw she held out a sort of wand. It was a hose.
It was not an experience I would ever choose to repeat. I did what I was told and used the soap. Fortunately, the water was lukewarm, but the stream was so strong that it bounced off me almost as soon as it hit my skin, spraying every which way.
Leslie appeared at one point, and I was too exhausted to even feel like I had to cover up. She took the wand and aimed it at my back.
Finally, it was over. I felt like Rocky Balboa must have after the fight with Apollo Creed. Every muscle, every bone hurt. I almost expected my skin to be wiped clean of all my ink.
Leslie disappeared for a second, leaving me naked and shivering despite the warm desert air. When she reappeared, she handed me a white towel. “Dry up and change into this,” she instructed, holding out a suit like hers in her other hand.
I took both towel and suit and contemplated the severity of this situation as I dried off and put on the suit. I hoped it wasn’t see-through, since there was no underwear. I stepped outside the shower and saw her waiting for me.
“What about my clothes?” I asked.
“Confiscated.” She was a woman of few words.
“Can you tell me what exactly I came in contact with up there?”
Leslie shook her head.
“I just went through complete humiliation and let you sandblast me with water. I think I’m owed an explanation.”
Tim was coming around the side of the truck, also dressed in a white suit. We looked more like twins than ever. He’d overheard my comment. “She’ll find out soon enough,” he said apologetically to Leslie.
To me, he said, “Brett, Wesley Lambert was making ricin up there. And there was enough to kill all of us.”
Chapter 23
Ricin, it turns out, is a poison that’s made from castor beans. Just a little bit can kill.
“It’s a hot zone up there,” Leslie said. “He had about ten vials of the stuff, and some had spilled. We can’t take any chances that you or anyone else who came in contact with that condo will get sick.”
“What are the symptoms?” I asked.
“Difficulty breathing, fever, cough, nausea, sweating.” She paused. “Or severe vomiting and dehydration.”
Which is what seemed to have happened with Wesley Lambert.
I didn’t have any of the symptoms she listed, except maybe the difficulty breathing. But I think that had more to do with stress.
“We’re sending you to the hospital to be checked out,” Leslie continued, leading Tim and me to an ambulance. I saw the other responding police officers and the paramedics, all wearing suits like ours, being led into ambulances as well.
The driveway was crowded with city police vehicles, SWAT teams, and something called Metro Homeland Security. That’s right. Frank DeBurra worked with Metro Homeland Security. I remembered Tim telling me. I raised my eyebrows at my brother.
“Ricin is used by terrorists,” he explained.
Was Wesley Lambert a terrorist?
I didn’t have time to think about it as Tim and I climbed into the ambulance. The doors closed behind us; we sat on little benches across from each other. The vehicle moved forward. I hadn’t even noticed there was a driver up there. They probably didn’t want to have anyone back here with us just in case we were contaminated.
“I’ve got a client,” I said, remembering now. “I have to call the shop.” Leslie had taken my messenger bag when she took my clothes. “Can I get my phone? The other things in my bag?”
“I’ll talk to DeBurra. We’ll have someone call the shop for you when we get to the hospital,” Tim said, his mouth tight.
I didn’t remember the last time I saw him scared, but he was. It made me even more tense. My big brother was supposed to be the calm one. But I found myself telling him it would be okay.
“Yeah, I know, but I’m worried about you. How did you get yourself involved with something like this?”
“Charlotte,” I said softly, thinking about her somewhere out there, not knowing whether she was contaminated, not knowing if she was going to get sick. I really needed a phone, not only to call the shop, but also to call Ace. She’d run to him before; why not now?
I gave Tim the whole rundown on what had happened yesterday: going to the pawnshops, the hospital, trying to track down Charlotte. It was the short, abridged version, so when we pulled up outside the emergency room, he had most of it.
The back doors opened and a doctor in a white coat stood waiting. We stepped outside before I realized who it was.
“Dr. Bixby,” I said. “Long time no see.”
He seemed surprised to see me. But I couldn’t figure out whether it was because I was the one involved with the ricin or because it was just me.
“Oh, yes, Miss Kavanaugh,” he said, and Tim’s eyebrows rose higher in his forehead.
“Dr. Bixby told me about Trevor yesterday.” I felt an urge to explain, like someone would get the wrong idea.
Tim nodded, a small smile of amusement tugging at his lips.
