Twelve ◑ The Evidence

There was nothing Lucille wanted to do more than to go home, yet she still had eight hours to spend in this shithole called Paradigm Publishing.

The mere thought of it seemed to be stretching the time into eight years. It was pathetic. A travesty, really, and it didn't help that she was still bearing last night's pain.

The same pain she'd felt in her dream with Dimitri. The same pain she'd felt at Palazzio Hotel, when she'd thought she'd seen him there.

To say that she was worried would be an understatement. Hell, she'd never felt this awful since the 1300s, when the bubonic plague had stricken Agnes. What Lucille experienced now was close to that—a hot, sticky kind of ache that settled at the back of her throat like a bitter aftertaste.

Lucille sighed, knowing she didn't have an option but to bear it. She stepped inside the empty lobby and headed towards the elevator, but Justin popped up from behind the front desk and held out an arm to block her.

She resisted the urge to yank him and slam him against the floor. "Good morning, Justin."

"Hey, Lucille." He was blushing right down to his Adam's apple. "Can we . . . can we talk?"

"Sure," she replied after a beat. The unfamiliar spike of nerves made her heart clench, but she stepped in front of the desk anyway. "What's up?"

"Well," Justin began, bouncing on his heel and bowing his head, "I just want to thank you." For one second she thought he'd suddenly mention the kiss they shared, but he just added, "You know, for standing up for me when Cade wanted to beat my ass. I really appreciate you talking him down."

"Don't mention it," she said with a forced smile, tapping the surface of the table before turning to go.

However, just as she was about to leave, she caught sight of a familiar tiny object between the telephone and the calendar. Her eyes immediately zoomed on it and she very nearly gasped when she saw what it was.

The flash drive. The black and red flash drive that contained the virus.

Fuck. What was Justin thinking, leaving this lying around?

Lucille's composure was crumbling, but she forced herself to think clearly. Okay, so Justin probably hadn't been thinking properly after she'd put that spell on him. Perhaps when she'd specified that he had to get rid of the damn thing, he'd thought that keeping it in his workspace was as good as dumping it in the trash.

Either way, she couldn't let his foolishness destroy everything.

"Are you really alright, though?" she asked him, casually leaning against the desk and summoning some of her magic to snatch the flash drive away. "Did you guys talk right after?"

Justin sat back on his chair and slowly swiveled himself around. "Cade is still pretty suspicious of me, I think. The investigations are going to clear that up, though. I have nothing to. . . ."

He continued talking, but Lucille was no longer listening. Her attention was trained on the piece of evidence just out and about on his table. She focused on it, concentrated, willing it to fly into her palm while he was still spinning around and yapping. Once he turned his back, she flicked her finger, but the damn thing didn't slide off the table like she'd intended it to. In fact, it stayed right there, unmoving.

Her magic wasn't working, Justin was wrapping up her story. The flash drive was still there.

Panic seized Lucille's entire body. As Justin made one more spin, she propped an arm against the desk when in reality, she was closing her hand over the flash drive. Once it was tucked safely in her palm, she straightened up and started nodding along to whatever Justin was saying. He could be talking about potatoes for all she knew, but her senses had been dulled to the point where she couldn't register anything else.

". . . won't really think of doing that, because I'm Christian," Justin was saying. "Besides, I like working here!"

"Awesome!" Lucille was already taking a step away from the desk. "Um, I got to go."

Without waiting for an answer, she wheeled around and left, going straight to the elevator. The flash drive was still in her hand, its hard edges digging into her skin. She was debating whether or not to chuck it somewhere, but in the end she decided to keep it with her until she arrived at the Marketing and PR office.

Clifford was already there, fixing a picture in one of the frames decorating his desk. Shanry was sorting the packs of coffee in their department's little snack nook. They were so deep in a conversation that they didn't notice her standing in the doorway.

"It's today," Clifford said, cutting the edges of his photograph. "Jamie told me. Cade had the laptop looked at, and the investigators said that it was a virus. A tough one too. They couldn't track it down anywhere, even the time or day it was installed. But one thing is for sure: it came from an external source."

"No wonder Cade's keeping the investigation under the wraps," Shanry muttered. "If the culprit found out that it's today, he or she will just bail and. . . ."

Shanry trailed off, finally realizing that they weren't alone. Playing like she'd only gotten there, Lucille walked towards her desk, dumped her purse on her chair, and let out a long, despairing sigh.

Clifford stopped whatever he was doing and shared a worried look with Shanry. Lucille thought they were concerned about the possibility of being overheard, but this was quickly proven wrong when Clifford asked, "Hey, Lucille. Are you alright? You look a bit . . . sick."

Sick of this bullshit.

"I'm a bit under the weather yes," Lucille answered meekly. "I couldn't sleep. I keep thinking about what happened at the meeting yesterday. Have you heard, Shanry?"

The older woman nodded. "Yeah, I did. I feel bad for Cade."

"Don't we all." Lucille rested her head against the back of her chair, amping up the 'sick' factor in her demeanor. "I'm worried about what it could mean for him. For us. I just started here. I can't lose this job."

"You won't. All of us won't." Clifford smiled encouragingly. "The Seattle people know that. You have nothing to worry about."

"Correct." Shanry took out a mug and turned to Lucille. "You want some coffee? I'll make you a cup. If you don't like instant, I can nip downstairs and get you a fresh brew."

For a complete moment, Lucille wondered if she heard them right. She couldn't quite fathom their sudden niceness towards her, the lack of hostility and nonchalance. Were they finally warming up to her? Was this because of the Martin incident? Or was this because they already knew that she was the culprit and they were playing with—

Okay. She was being a bit paranoid. But hey, one can never be too sure.

"No, thanks, Shanry." Lucille smiled. "I guess I'm just worried."

"Me too, to be honest," Clifford admitted. "I try not to think about it. The investigation is today, and I hope they catch that person and make him or her pay."

"Oh, they should and they will," Lucille agreed. "And it will cost that person dearly."

Silence passed between them, and it nearly gave Lucille a cardiac arrest when she noticed that Shanry was staring at her this whole time. She wanted to ask, but she opted to keep quiet.

It was Shanry who spoke first. "I'm sorry, but you look really ill. Why don't we go outside and get you some air?"

The concern in her voice was genuine. It was a real offer. In fact, she was already reaching for her coat.

However, the flash drive in Lucille's hand was still there, seemingly increasing in size the more she lied. It was basically begging to be disposed—truly disposed. Not like Justin's half-assed attempt.

And what better way to destroy evidence except to burn it where it could no longer see the light of day?

"I'll go alone," Lucille said in sudden inspiration, getting up from her seat. "I'll just be at the smoking hall for a while. I'll be back later."

"Sure thing," Clifford answered as Shanry nodded, but Lucille was already marching towards the door.

Her feet automatically led her to the area she was seeking, regardless of her brain barely functioning because of the worry that infested it. Once out in the open, she stated at the stretch of the busy city before her and firmly told herself that she would destroy the little thing on her palm.

Lucille inhaled a breath of courage, then she slowly unfurled her fingers off the flash drive. She pictured flames swallowing it, melting the plastic case and basically making the whole thing useless.

But surprise, surprise, her power to manipulate fire wasn't working too.

Okay, it did work a bit, to be fair. There were really flames on her hand, but they weren't bright and strong enough to melt the entire thing into an unrecognizable pile of goop.

Usually, just with a tiny snap of her finger, she could produce enough fire to host a massive barbecue party, but now she couldn't even get this little shit to ignite. The thin layer of plastic she'd managed to burn created a pungent, sticky melted bits that settled on her hand like crap.

Lucille wanted to scream, cry, and cackle at the same time. She had to get rid of this somehow, though.

She tried to burn it more, to damage the main parts of it and not just the case, but then the door suddenly creaked open. She hurriedly pocketed the drive and wiped her hand on the silk lining of her coat, rearranging her features into a disinterested expression as she turned to whoever was peeking out.

It was Martin.

"So," he began, waltzing out into the open balcony with his hand shoved in his coat pocket, "I heard what happened at the meeting. You ready for the big investigation today?"

"I suppose," Lucille answered blandly. "You?"

"Of course!" He gave her a pointed look. "I hope they find whoever who did it, so I can give that person my thanks."

He didn't look away. Something about the gleam in his eyes was bothering her. Still, she squared up to him until he was the one who averted his gaze.

"I admire your guts, girl," he said, his narrowed eyes fixed on the horizon. "I have underestimated you."

She bit back the spike of nerves in her chest. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're hungrier for power than I am," he continued, his lips curving into a lopsided smile. "I saw what you're doing with Cade, playing a victim, trying to get him to protect you. It's clear that you want something."

His last statements made Lucille breathe a small sigh of relief, but it also solidified a long-standing suspicion. Martin might have been acting reckless, but he wasn't stupid. He was able to pick up on vibes. He was able to interconnect them. The man, after all, was in charge of dealing with reputations, with people. Of course he'd be able to spot bullshit with a little observation.

And it wouldn't be long until he'd spot another one.

For once, Lucille admitted to herself that she may have miscalculated. Martin wasn't one of the keys to Cade's downfall—he was a hindrance.

"I really don't know what you're talking about," she told him, wiping her face free of emotion, free of anything that would betray the stiffening resolve inside of her. "He's on my side because he knows that you're utter shit."

Martin's eyebrows rose like he didn't expect her to curse, so Lucille decided to finish this by saying, "I hope they keep that in mind when they begin the investigation."

With that, she pushed past him, walked inside, and headed towards the bathroom to continue burning the surface of the flash drive until the entire top layer was gone. Aside from its melted case, the actual thing was intact, even with the dark burn marks everywhere. It was as though someone had tried to set it on fire and just gave up halfway.

Then, she went back into the office and causally dropped the flash drive into Martin's trash bin.