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.”

“Of course you don’t. At least not in front of me, right?” I smile at his thin joke as I’m obliged to. He pours himself a small glass of something from a crystal decanter on a narrow table just inside the door. I take in the room. If nothing else, this unexpected meeting gives me a chance to gather more information that might be useful. I’m able to see things I couldn’t see through the small crack in the door the last time I was here. There are four windows. The plans only showed two for the room on this side of the building. The office must have been expanded and reconfigured, which explains the new hallway leading to it. It’s now long enough to encompass the recessed window that’s on the west side of the building.

“An interesting day you had last Friday with Raine and the others down at the wharf,” he says. He holds his glass up to the light like he’s judging the quality of its color. “Time is short so I’ll get right to the point. I think it’s quite understandable that you would be attracted to Raine.”

I open my mouth to object but he holds his hand up to stop me. He smiles. “Let me finish.”

I lean back in my chair and wait.

“Raine is beautiful. Even as a father I can see that. And quite accomplished.”

“I’m aware of that.”

His smile fades. “Are you?”

He doesn’t want an answer so I don’t give him one. I know this is all as orchestrated as his greeting at the elevator. I let it play out. He walks over to a silver sword with an elaborate filigreed handle that’s displayed on the wall behind his desk. He runs his finger along the length of the blade.

“A beautiful sword,” I say.

“A smallsword to be exact, circa eighteenth-century France. Less than a pound, swift and precise. The perfect thrusting weapon, especially for wealthy noblemen of the day.”

He turns to look at me. “Are you familiar with fencing, Locke?”

“No, sir.”

“I didn’t think so. It’s a beautiful sport with a long and elegant history. More of an art really, much like watching a ballet, and it takes just as many years to master. It’s the most refined form of deadly combat.” He takes a sip of his drink and then pauses, taking a good long look at me. “Raine’s been fencing since she was five. She’s breathtaking to watch. Did you know she’s taken first place in the Foil event at the National Fencing Championships two years in a row now?”

“No, sir.”

He raises his brows in mock surprise. “I’m sure there’s a lot you don’t know about Raine.” He walks over to my side of the desk so he’s towering over me, and casually leans against it. “Just as there is so much I don’t know about you.”

“My life’s an open book,” I tell him. “Anything you want to know, it’s out there.”

“And yet, the Virtual Collective’s records on you are so incomplete. Curious, isn’t it?”

Curious my ass. He’s been digging. “That’s a surprise,” I answer. “I thought they had everything. But most of my records are from foreign countries—that’s where I grew up. Maybe some are delayed or lost.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s a possibility. I’m sure it will be corrected soon enough though. As Secretary of Security I can speed these things along.”

“That’s good to know.”

“But in the meantime, I do know about Shane, and I think he’s a wiser choice for Raine. Your wake-up call to him at the wharf last week is appreciated—he needed it—but no more will be necessary, not if you want to remain in the A Group. Do I make myself clear, Locke?”

I know all the things I want to say, as opposed to all the things I should say.

“Locke?”

Shane didn’t tell him where the wake-up call actually took place—probably to keep his own image untarnished. I stand so now I’m the one towering over the Secretary. I look at him, forcing the anger out of my eyes, forcing the hatred from my face, forcing the disgust from my voice, especially forcing away how much I want to wipe the smugness from his face. I focus on the goal and not my immediate satisfaction. I mold every blink, pause, pore, and facet of my expression to be that of a seventeen-year-old boy who is appropriately intimidated and eager to please. “Yes, sir. Very clear.”