Page 21 of Undercover Infidel
I wasanxious on the drive back to Blackmoor. More than I should be. Then again, like Tag, I had a bad feeling in my gut. I let my mind drift as I gazed out at dusk settling over the Highland landscape, the winter sky deepening to indigo as Con navigated the winding roads as someone would who’d driven them all his life.
“Will you return to London tomorrow?” he asked, breaking the silence.
The question caught me off guard. “I’d like to meet with Dr. McLaren, but afterwards, I suppose I should.”
He kept his eyes on the road. “If you’d like, I can arrange the helicopter for you. Perhaps, err, just to collect anything you might need?”
His assumption that I would immediately return made my traitorous heart skip. “That’s considerate, but I should focus on tracking down Orlov. I’ve been distracted by the tunnels when my expertise would be better applied to verifying whether he’s truly alive.”And the fact that Labyrinth appeared to be developing advanced AI integration, I added in my head.
Con pulled through Blackmoor’s gates, his profile illuminated by the dashboard lights. “You’re right, of course.” His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “Though something tells me the tunnels are relevant to Labyrinth’s operations. A trip to Edinburgh might prove useful.”
We were still in the car, discussing the logistics for my return to London, when my mobile pinged with an encrypted message. The sender field showed only scrambled characters. Heart racing, I decoded the contents, then felt ice flood my veins.
Your investigation into Project Labyrinth threatens interests beyond your comprehension. Cease immediately or face the consequences. Not everyone at Blackmoor is what they appear.
“What is it?” Con asked.
I handed him the mobile. His face hardened as he read the message. “Someone has your secure number.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “Someone who knows exactly where I am.”
His protective response was immediate. “You’re not going anywhere tomorrow.” His fingers brushed minewhen he returned the mobile. “Not until we identify who sent this.”
Our eyes met in the dim light, tension shimmering between us that had nothing to do with the threat.
“How would anyone get my secure number?” I asked, desperately trying to focus.
“The same way you hacked my systems,” he replied, his voice low.
We sat in silence, the weight of the threat hanging between us. Con leaned closer, and for a breathless moment, I thought he might kiss me. His gaze dropped to my lips, then moved back to my eyes.
I found myself swaying toward him, rational thought evaporating in the heat of his proximity. At the last second, we both pulled away, the spell broken by mutual caution.
“We should go inside,” he said roughly, putting distance between us.
I managed a weak smile, struggling to compose myself. “Yes. Of course.”
Bastion met us at the entrance, his impeccable timing almost suspicious. “My lord, Mrs. Thorne asked me to inform you that she’s prepared a special meal foryou and Dr. Sterling to be served in the formal dining room in two hours.”
Con raised an eyebrow. “The formal dining room?”
“She thought it appropriate for the occasion, sir.”
“What occasion?” I asked.
Bastion merely smiled. “I believe she felt it warranted, given Dr. Sterling’s presence and, err, the holiday.”
Con’s expression indicated this was unusual but not unwelcome. “Please thank her.”
When he suggested we freshen up and change for dinner, I welcomed the time alone as much as I dreaded it. I was no stranger to threats, but this one felt too close with too much information. What was the sender implying with, “Not everyone at Blackmoor is what they appear”?
I showered, momentarily contemplating begging off dinner, but thought better of it. Bastion made it sound as though Mrs. Thorne had made a special effort, and whether it was on my behalf or not, I couldn’t be ungracious and skip the meal. In the closet where I’d put the clothes that were also a courtesy of Mrs. Thorne, I found a velvet maxi dress that was elegant and casual at the same time. Below it were a pair offlats that matched the dress and looked as comfortable as slippers.
As I descended the grand staircase, Con stepped out of a nearby room and waited at the bottom for me.
“You look lovely,” he said, taking my hand in a way that made me feel as though I’d fallen asleep and my dreams landed me in a historical romance novel. Those thoughts were reinforced when we stepped into the formal room I’d only peeked in previously, and saw the massive chamber, with its vaulted ceiling and medieval tapestries, had been transformed into an intimate setting.
Near the windows overlooking the moonlit gardens, a small table had been arranged with candles and fresh flowers. The rest of the cavernous space remained in shadow, creating the illusion of privacy.
