Fox Forever (Jenna Fox Chronicles 3)

Raine’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “Why are you saving that?”

“Just a reminder. A friend gave it to me, telling me to savor it. Savor everything.” I roll over and kiss her shoulder, her neck, and finally her mouth. “See? It works.”

“Hmm,” she says, licking her lips. “I guess I need to get myself one of these.” She wraps her hands behind my neck and pulls my face down to meet hers again, our lips barely touching, our breaths mingling, smiling, then laughing, so close our noses bump. “Okay, enough of that.” She playfully pushes me away. “Next!”

She reaches into my pack, and blindly rummages through it with her fingers to pull out the next surprise. When she first asked me what I carried in my pack, I shrugged, trying to avoid the question, but she pressed, and then I found I wanted to share with her. There’s so little I can tell her about the real me.

She pulls out the Swiss knife. Her father’s knife. “Something of substance—at last! Tell me about this.”

“It’s a Swiss knife. You’ve never seen one?”

“No.”

“You need to get out more. They’ve been around for a million years at least. They’re more than knives really. They’re emergency tools.”

She pulls out a few of the tools and blades and examines them. “Even a toothpick? Really? Have you ever used it?”

“No, as a matter of fact, I haven’t. The only thing I’ve used so far is the large blade.”

“That seems like a waste.”

“I’ll get around to them all eventually. I haven’t had it very long.”

“Where’d you get it?”

I roll back over and look up at the sky. From your mother. She gave it to me. Your mother who doesn’t even know you’re alive. But I stick to the Network story. “My dad.”

She reaches into the pack again, pulling out protein cakes, energy water, phone tabs that I explain away as freebies, the black government-issue coat still in its small cylinder that I explain as a mere practicality, and the small stuffed blue elephant that I tell her was a gift from a little girl I used to know named Kayla, probably the truest thing I’ve said that night.

She leans up on one elbow, looking into my eyes. “Who are you, Locke Jenkins? You’re not like anyone I’ve ever known. You are—” Her eyes glisten and she smiles like she’s trying to erase the emotion behind them. “Don’t you dare make me cry. But, I think—” She swallows. “I—” She leans down and lays her cheek against mine. I feel the deep breaths of her chest and the shuddering of air as she lets it out. She pushes away and grins, the potential flood of tears gone. “Next.”

She rummages into the deepest corners of my pack and pulls out the last item. “And what in the world is this?” she asks, holding up the frosted green glass.

“That’s the best piece of all. It’s the eye of Liberty.” I tell her the story that Lily told me, that the Statue of Liberty once had beautiful green eyes but they were lost at sea and after all these years of being tossed on the sands, this small piece of green glass is all that’s left. But there’s another eye of Liberty out there somewhere waiting to be found on a sandy beach.

She rolls to her back, a dreamy smile on her face. “That’s probably the wildest history lesson I’ve ever heard.”

“True. Promise.”

She reaches over and threads her fingers through mine. “Then let’s find the other eye of Liberty together. Promise me.”

I squeeze her hand. “It could take a lifetime of combing beaches to find it.”

“I don’t have a problem with that.”

Match Point

“Good evening, Locke. Again, I admire your punctuality.” The Secretary glances at the time. “Early even.”

I step out of the elevator. “Hello, Secretary Branson. Nice to see you again.” I look around. Dorian, who greeted me last time, is nowhere in sight, and no one else is either. Not Raine, Hap, none of the A Group, not even LeGru. It’s oddly silent, like the entire house has been cleared out. I don’t have a good feeling about this, but there’s nothing about the Secretary that makes me feel good.

“I was wondering if I might talk with you in my office before the others arrive.” He waves his hand toward the hallway. “And of course, you remember where it is. I’ll let you lead.”

Our gazes lock. It’s an abrupt and interesting greeting—one clearly orchestrated and meant to intimidate. I glance around again. There’s nothing I can do but walk down the hallway—and watch my back like I never have before. The stairway down seems narrower, longer, and darker than before. We reach his office door and he pushes it open, waving me to a chair opposite his desk.

“Drink?” he asks.

“I don’t drink, sir.”