Justice Mine: a Base Branch Novel by Megan Mitcham Read Free Book Online Page B

her Willow.

    C lick . Click. Click. Magdalena’s fingers flew across the keyboard. She searched her Facebook page for the picture matching the one from her wall. And par for the fucking course, she came up empty. She’d tried Twitter because her friends used it more often, but people didn’t load as many pictures there. Mags rolled her shoulders and kept typing. Instinct kicked in and she followed it like a starved zombie chasing Doyle in Twenty Eight Weeks Later. Why the bloody hell’d you even watch that movie? She hadn’t slept well for a week after.
    After searching Willow’s page and turning up nothing, Mags hunched over the computer, dejected. She only allowed the feeling to hang for a moment before she straightened and typed some more. Next she tried the faceless bloke’s Facebook page. Thank goodness they’d split on good terms and she could remember his name. Roy Russell. She didn’t expect him to have as many pictures as she and Willow had, but surprise, surprise. The bloke liked photos, especially if he was the subject.
    For two hours she searched in a sea of narcissism. Her vision blurred. Dull pain joined forces behind her left eyebrow and turned to an ache.
    “Bollocks,” she moaned.
    Ozzy’s eerie voice jerked her from the depth of her tiny personal tragedy. Was it the end of the beginning or the beginning of the end? Was she losing control? Because she certainly wasn’t winning. Was it real life or all pretend?
    “Good questions, chap,” she said.
    Mags muted the ring tone and peered at the unrecognizable number on the display. The song had always been her favorite. She’d chosen it as her ringer for a shot of perspective throughout the day. Now the lyrics just wrinkled her socks. She scraped a hand over her face before answering.
    “Hello?”
    “Ms. Wells?” a deep voice asked.
    “Yes. Who is this?”
    “Mr. Davis. I’m calling on behalf of Mrs. Fry.”
    The man didn’t sound particularly young or old. For some reason Magdalena pictured a middle-aged man of average height with a mediocre face and slightly pudgy middle on the other end of the line. Mrs. F had younger students work as her assistants, but maybe this guy just had a mature voice.
    “Please, pass on my regret for missing our meeting this morning. Jet lag and some other unforeseen circumstances tripped me up. I’m awfully sorry for wasting her time. I know she’s busy.”
    “She was confused by your absence, but is willing to reschedule, if you can come around six forty-five.”
    “Absolutely. Thank you. Please thank her for me. I won’t miss it.”
    They disconnected and she sighed. Finally a break.
    Mags placed the picture on the stack and reached for her thumb drive. What good was a photo of the man without a name? None at all. If Willow wasn’t concerned with her own drama, why should she worry? She shouldn’t. She would, still, but she could worry while she prepared for her meeting.

8
    C lick . Click. Click. Magdalena exchanged the clack of her keyboard for that of her black pumps. Seriously, she should’ve carried the shoes and worn her sandals on the four-block trek. But she’d wasted the afternoon digging for the weasel’s identity. She pushed past the irritation of finding damn nothing and embraced the excitement beating her heart like a drummer. Before she’d changed out of shorts and a tank into the slacks and blouse, Mags printed off the information she’d been after last night. Her thesis proposal.
    Whew. Her legs screamed from the beat of her gate, but no way in hell was she slowing down. She had fifteen minutes to get to the media building and then up to the race, representation, and cultural politics group of offices on the fourth floor. The trip took eleven minutes on a good day. Meaning when she wore flats.
    At least traffic wouldn’t hold progress. Campus cleared out hours before and only a few cars dotted the street side parking. By the time she rounded the corner and caught the building she