Page 31 of Undercover Infidel
I raised my head to look into hereyes. “You’re right.”
“Simple as that?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, I know how you can make it up to me,” she said with a smirk that made me want to pull her into my arms and kiss her pouty lips.
“How?” I asked, lowering my voice. “Whatever you want. I’ll give it to you.” The words came out exactly as I’d meant them, too suggestive perhaps, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted this woman. Here and now.
“Take me out to lunch.”
The effect her request had on my body was like a metaphoric record scratching. “Err, sure. Uh, did you have anywhere in particular in mind?”
“Do you have a favorite place?”
Right now, the only thing I could picture was her, in my bed, naked while I fed her.
“Con?”
“Uh, right. My favorite spot. There’s the Stag’s Head. It’s a decent pub in the village.”
“Perfect. I’ll get my coat.”
Twenty minutes later,we were seated in a corner booth of the sixteenth-century establishment that had served the village for generations. Oak beams crossedlow ceilings, and a fire crackled in the stone hearth, creating an atmosphere both cozy and intimate.
The place was relatively empty at this hour, which suited our purposes. We ordered food, then leaned closer across the table.
“What’s troubling you most?” Lex asked, her voice low.
“Too many directions, not enough concrete leads,” I admitted. “The attempted hack into my system, the threats against you, Nightingale’s behavior…”
“Each is connected to Labyrinth,” she concurred.
“If the consortium knows we’re investigating them, they’d try to disrupt our efforts on multiple fronts.”
Her eyes brightened. “Exactly. They’re trying to distract us, make us chase shadows while they advance their plans.”
The arrival of our food—steak and ale pie for me, fish and chips for her—temporarily paused our conversation.
“I’ve been thinking about Edinburgh,” she said eventually. “Orlov’s work has always been extraordinary but fundamentally flawed from an ethical standpoint. He rejected all safeguards, arguing that true AI advancement required freedom from humanconstraints.”
“Exactly the sort of philosophy Labyrinth would embrace,” I said grimly.
Lex’s response was cut short as a figure approached our table. To my surprise, it was Ambrose, looking unusually cheerful.
“Conrad! And Dr. Sterling, isn’t it? What a delightful coincidence.”
The man was as annoying as any I’d ever met, yet I greeted him cordially. “Ambrose. I didn’t realize you frequented the Stag’s Head.”
“Oh, I’ve been coming here for decades.” He waved at the barman, who immediately began pouring what was apparently his usual. “Mind if I join you? Just for a moment.”
Before either of us could object, he slid into the booth, beside Lex, who shifted to accommodate him with a polite smile.
“I’ve just been in Tarbert, finalizing the acquisition of a rather remarkable painting for a client,” he said, accepting his whiskey from the server with a grateful nod. “Sixteenth-century Flemish, believed lost during the war. Turned up in the estate of an elderly woman who had no idea of its value.”
“How fascinating,” Lex said, seeming genuinely interested. “You’re an art dealer, then?”
“Among other things.” Ambrose’s eyes sparkled. “I specialize in locating the unfindable, connecting rare pieces with those who truly appreciate them.”
