Инструктор. Первый класс. Андрей Воронин

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СКАЧАТЬ we had to put in place. I don’t even want to guess how much this has cost us.’

      Frank shrugged. ‘I’m just glad we don’t have a full-scale incident on our hands. This could have been our worst nightmare.’ He lifted his hands. ‘I’ll take a high-school prank over a real-life disaster any day.’

      ‘What’s honey dust?’ Her voice was quiet, timid. He’d almost forgotten she was standing behind him.

      He and Frank exchanged a glance. Grace Barclay didn’t know what honey dust was. Who was going to tell her?

      Frank pressed the sample bottle into Donovan’s hand with a glint in his eye. ‘I’ll leave this with you, Don. I’ve let the lead investigator from the FBI know we’ll be standing down. I take it they’ll fingerprint the letter and try and track it.’ He was still smiling, his gaze flicking back towards Grace. ‘I have some more tests to run on another possible outbreak. Come and see me in an hour.’

      The Marburg virus. He’d need to deal with that as soon as possible.

      Frank left, chuckling away to himself as Grace continued to stare at Donovan.

      She stepped towards him, fixing her green eyes on his. ‘I don’t get it. What’s going on? What’s honey dust? I take it’s not dangerous?’

      He shook his head and tried to hide his smile. ‘Dangerous—no.’

      ‘And?’

      There was no way out of this. He was just going to have to spell it out. ‘It’s a type of body powder, it makes the skin glow and...it tastes like honey.’

      ‘Why on earth would it taste like—? Oh.’ Her eyes widened as realisation struck home. Her cheeks flushed with colour and she instantly looked down at the floor. ‘Someone sent that as a prank? Wow.’

      She was embarrassed. And he liked it. Her feet shuffled nervously on the floor, her hand twiddling a still-damp strand of her hair.

      He really ought to put her out of her misery and change the conversation, but this was kind of cute.

      The more he was around her, the more she piqued his curiosity. He rubbed his finger and thumb together. He could almost still feel the smoothness of her skin, along with the angry, ragged stab wound. There was more to Grace Barclay than met the eye.

      He cleared his throat. ‘We’ll need to do a debrief about this later. The Director will expect one.’ He looked around him, ‘We’ve only ever done drills in here before. This time we had a real life chance to see how things could work out.’ He picked up some notes that he’d scribbled earlier. ‘Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing after all. I can think of a few areas for improvement. How about you?’

      She sighed and leaned against the glass wall. ‘I don’t ever want to be in here again—drill or no drill.’

      He smiled. He knew exactly how she felt. ‘Me neither. I’m sort of hoping that my suit and shoes haven’t already been incinerated.’

      She cringed. ‘I’d forgotten about that. Darn it. That was my favourite shirt.’

      ‘Mine too. It brings out the colour of your eyes.’

      Their gazes locked together for a second, ignoring the movements around them as the news spread and their colleagues realised the crisis had ended.

      He’d meant it. And the words had come out before he’d had a chance to think about them. Being in close quarters with someone did that to you. Made you say things you really shouldn’t.

      She shot him a sarcastic smile, ‘Yeah, right, Donovan. This from the guy who a few hours ago didn’t even know my name.’

      He shrugged. ‘I know you lunch every Friday in the staffroom opposite the gym.’

      Her mouth gaped a little. Did she really think he hadn’t noticed her? His cool act was working way better than he thought.

      Grace Barclay was smart. She’d been able to tell him about Marburg virus off the top of her head. She’d connected the dots and realised who Jessie Tanner was. It could have taken them days to find that connection. She was gorgeous. And had a body to die for.

      What more could a man want?

      His focus shifted. He could think about the last few hours later. Right now he had another priority—one in which it seemed the DPA was already implicated.

      ‘How do you feel about fieldwork, Grace?’

      She shuffled her feet. It seemed to be her ‘thing’. The trait that revealed her nerves. But the gaze she met his with was steady. She was doing her best to give the impression of someone with confidence.

      ‘I’d really like to get some experience. I’ve been here for the last seven months. Apart from a few practical assignments with Callum Ferguson, I’ve not had much experience.’

      Callum Ferguson, the longest-serving member of the DPA. They even called him the Granddad of Disease. If she’d done a few practical assignments with Callum then she’d learned from the master. He hadn’t heard anyone complain about her.

      It secured the thoughts he’d already been toying with. He had a vacancy in his team that needed to be filled. In everyday circumstances he’d ask for all the files of his junior colleagues and look for a suitable replacement. He’d ask around for recommendations—find out who was ready for the next step.

      But he didn’t need to do that now. And he didn’t want to waste time. If Marburg virus was the next big outbreak he wanted a full team available to investigate.

      They were free now. Free to get out of this isolation room and get back to work. And he knew exactly who he wanted to work with.

      He held out his hand towards her. ‘Grace Barclay, welcome to the team.’

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