Fox Forever (Jenna Fox Chronicles 3)

The ladder ends about four feet from the ground, so she’ll have to jump the last few feet. That’s when I’ll make myself known.

I watch as she descends and wonder if she likes the thrill of coming down this way, or is it the only way she can leave without her gold thug Bot in tow? Is he more of a guard than a Personal Assistant? She only has a dozen more rungs to go and I hold my breath. She’s as silent as a shadow, the rope only occasionally rasping against the bricks. She reaches the last rung and jumps the remaining few feet to the ground.

I continue to hold my breath, my plans suddenly gone out of me, watching her as she rubs her hands where the rope has dug in, watching her as she brushes the hair from her face and some dust from her eye. Surprise her, Locke. Startle her before she walks away. But I don’t. I just watch and wonder. She pauses and turns her head like she senses a presence. I remain silent, using the moment to examine her, stare at her face, every angle, every line. There’s something about her. She’s pleasant to look at. Is that it? Am I just admiring the stark contrast to the face she wears for everyone else? Or is it something else?

“Raine,” I whisper.

She stiffens, and looks into the shadows where I’m hiding. I can see the fear on her face.

“Who’s there?” she asks.

The trash can grates against the pavement as I stand. “It’s me. Locke.” I step from the shadows so she can see me.

She doesn’t move or respond.

“I’m sorry if I startled you.”

She lets out a slow uneven breath. “Touché, Mr. Jenkins. Game point to you.”

I step closer. “Really, I am sorry. I guess I was trying to get back at you, but then I changed my mind, and then it was too late to—”

“Shh,” she says. “I believe you. Maybe.” She walks over to where I’m standing. “Why are you here? You couldn’t sleep again?”

“Something like that. You?”

“Nothing like that.”

We stand there for only a few seconds but it seems like an eternity before one of us speaks again. She glances at the windows above us. “Can we go somewhere else before someone hears us whispering?”

“Hap?”

“Anyone.”

“Let’s go.”

She pulls some thin slippers from her waistband and slides them onto her feet. We head down Beacon Street, at this hour mostly deserted, only a few passing cars breaking the silence.

“I looked for you the next night after our last meeting,” she says. “You strike me as the type who likes to make a point. When you didn’t come I thought you were over it.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“And now you’re not?”

“I’ve been wanting to come. I knew my last words to you were a little rough. I shouldn’t have said them.” She doesn’t reply, like she’s still hurt by what I said. “I’m sorry. I don’t really think you’re too full of yourself,” I add.

She sighs. “Of course you do, because I am.” She stops walking and looks at me. “But not always. Most of the time I feel like the tiniest speck on the surface of the planet.”

I wasn’t expecting this confession. It stops me like cold water. Swagger, Locke. Swagger like you own the planet. I know that feeling, the fear you can’t reveal, the show you have to put on to survive. This is genuine. Not a game play. Not a strategy. I see it in her eyes.

She looks away, lowering her lashes like she’s embarrassed, and resumes walking. We reach Arlington and she points across the street. “Let’s walk back through the park.”

We cross the street and enter through the park gate, stopping for a moment on the bridge just inside the entrance. The water below is like glass. “How long before Hap notices you’re missing?”

“Hap?” she says. “He knows I’m gone. We have an understanding. I have my secrets and he has his.”

I can’t imagine that gold nugget-head even understanding the concept. “He has secrets?”

“Hap has an odd weakness for talking to other Bots. Father forbids it. So a few times a week I take Hap to a public Netlog to chat with other Bots.”