Fox Forever (Jenna Fox Chronicles 3)

“From what? The only life she’s ever known?” Xavier doesn’t apologize for the lie he has perpetuated. His tone is accusatory. “Save her from her life of privilege and leisure? Believe me, I thought about it. No one hates the Secretary more than I do. How do you think I got this?” He touches the scar that slashes the entire length of his face. “He personally dragged a blade across my cheek while his security forces held me down. A little message he called it, to all Non-pacts who ever considered Resistance again. So when I found out who Raine was a few months ago, my first impulse was to expose the Secretary’s dirty secret.” He looks away, the sneer on his upper lip fading. His voice becomes softer. “But she is Karden’s and Miesha’s daughter. What would I be condemning her to? She’d be caught between two worlds, not fitting in anywhere anymore, not to mention what the Secretary might do with her.” He looks up at me. “But really, the bottom line is, after all this time she’s part of their world now. She has a life in that world. That’s where her loyalties are. Not with us. She can’t be trusted.”

I spring to my feet, jumping him, throwing him to the ground, moving so fast he doesn’t have time to react, moving faster than anything he’s ever had to react to. I wedge my hand against his throat. “It doesn’t matter!” I yell. “She’s a human being! Not merchandise! Not a pawn in this stupid game of yours!”

My hand tightens on his throat. He doesn’t struggle. I let go, pushing away from him, and walk to the other side of the room, trying to keep from putting my fist through the wall, trying to process what all this means. I know what it’s like to have other people playing with your life like you’re nothing more than a game piece.

Xavier gets to his feet, rubbing his neck where I’d held it. “It’s not a stupid game,” he says. “It’s a desperate one. One I’ve been playing for years. One I’m tired of playing too. But one I have no choice but to keep playing until the rules of the game are changed.”

He takes a step toward me. “We’re close, Locke. I can feel it. The climate’s right. Everything Carver told you is true. There are rumblings about reunification. We can only bring those rumblings to the next level with two things—serious money, and a serious leader.”

“And Karden can give you both those things.”

“The Resistance lost its heart after he disappeared, and the Secretary’s harsh crackdown afterward all but killed it.”

I study him. He’s only a man, the one I saw a few nights ago, the one who held an infant on his shoulder, the man quick on his feet when Security arrived, the man dancing with his wife. Not a calculating member of the Resistance, only one man doing what he can. But is it enough? Can all this ever be enough? And at what cost? I remember what Jenna said about the world always changing. Just when we have one problem solved, a new one is created. Xavier is one of those problems. So am I.

He sits down on the sofa. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. We were going to, but after our first interview with you, we saw how close you were to Miesha. We thought knowing Raine was her daughter might just complicate matters for you.”

“And make me slip.”

“Yes, and we can’t afford slips. It could cost people their lives. Since she was raised as the Secretary’s daughter, we don’t know a lot about Raine, but she does have a life and identity as a citizen. That means a whole different way of thinking. She has loyalties to that world now.”

I nod, remembering how she defended the Secretary when we first met, maybe even showed some pride about his prominent position. And of course, she proclaimed her adoptive mother as the best mother in the world. Yes, she has some loyalties, but how strong, I don’t know.

Xavier leans forward, tired lines creasing his eyes. “At the very least, if she were told the truth she might confront him and blow the whole thing.”

Knowing Raine, I don’t have any doubt about that. She would more than confront him. She would be an out-of-control force of nature, likely to sweep us all away in the process. But she doesn’t live a life of privilege and leisure as Xavier implied. She’s more like a prisoner in a tower.

Yes, knowing complicates everything.

The Meeting

The guard has rung the ninth floor. He whispers quietly through a privacy shield to someone on the other end. I examine a bowlful of green apples pretending I’m more interested in them than in what the guard is whispering. He eyes me suspiciously and nods, and then whispers again. A final affirmative dip of his chin and he signs off, turning his full attention back to me, suddenly all smiles.

“You may go up, sir.” He points to a hallway behind him. “North lift.”

I set the apple in my hand back in the bowl. The guard scrutinizes me as I step in the direction he pointed. I carefully control my movements and expressions. It feels like every single twitch is being watched, and not just by the guard. I saw the discreet surveillance eyes hovering near the crown molding the minute I entered the lobby, but I pretended not to notice. I need to look like a kid on his way to meet schoolmates and that’s all.

The moment of truth has arrived at last.

The elevator door is already open as I approach, making me uneasy, like I’m not just being watched. I’m being anticipated. I step inside but there are no buttons to push. The door closes and the elevator begins to rise. The surveillance eyes hover in the corners of the elevator as well. No wonder Raine never exits this way in the middle of the night. I want to wipe my palms on my pants but resist the urge. I don’t want to show nerves even though I have plenty right now. Everything has changed now that there’s actually someone up there on that top floor whom I care about—and someone Miesha cares about too. Bravado has taken a back seat to precision.

The elevator stops but the door doesn’t open. I wait, and then look around wondering if there’s a bell I’m supposed to ring, like I’m standing on a stoop. I run my hands along the back wall and suddenly I hear the whoosh of the door. I spin around and am greeted by Dorian, the household manager.

“Welcome, Locke. Is that right—Locke?”

“Yes,” I say. “Locke Jenkins.”

She leads me through a marble foyer into a large living room, very old-world style, with mahogany paneling, tapestries, and lots of lavish brocade furniture. Not at all what I expected.

“You’re the first to arrive. Please make yourself comfortable. May I get you a refreshment?”

“Just water would be great, thank you.”

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

I walk around the room when Dorian leaves, examining the decor. The first thing I notice is books. Lots of books. The old-fashioned leather-bound kind. Gatsbro kept his collection behind glass. The Secretary obviously flaunts his. Does he read them, or are they only for show? Something like Raine, the model daughter who jumps through all his hoops?

“Welcome, Locke.”