Page 41 of Undercover Infidel
Later,as we finalized our preparations, I found myself sharing more than just professional strategies. We moved from my operations hub to the library, where the fire had been lit against the growing evening chill.
“My father thought technology was beneath our family’s dignity,” I said, sipping the whiskey I’dpoured us. “The Earl of Blackmoor should concern himself with land management and tradition, not coding and systems.”
“What about your mother?” Lex asked, tucked beside me on the sofa.
“She encouraged my interests, which only widened the gulf between them.” I stared into the amber liquid in my glass. “Their marriage ended during my first year at Cambridge. He blamed her for my career choice.”
“That’s absurd,” she said, indignation flaring in her voice.
“It was convenient. Their problems ran deeper.” I set my glass down. “What about your family? You mentioned your father wanted you to study literature.”
“He was an English professor. Believed computers would dehumanize education.” She smiled faintly. “He and my mother had my whole life planned—I’d teach at a women’s college, marry a colleague, and publish scholarly articles on Jane Austen.”
“Instead, you’re developing countermeasures for AI-weapons systems while bedding an earl with dubious business interests.” I raised an eyebrow. “I imagine Christmas dinners are interesting.”
Her expression changed. “Were. They both passed shortly after I graduated university.”
“I’m sorry, Lex,” I said, reaching for her hand.
“It’s why Dr. McLaren is so important to me. It isn’t like she stepped into the role of my mother or father, but she did take me under her wing, so to speak, enough that I pursued the career I wanted and had her support in doing so.” She shook her head and blinked away the tears I was sure she’d not want me to see. “Change of subject?” she asked more than said.
“Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”
I led her to a part of the castle few people ever saw—a small chamber off the main library, where the Carnegie family kept its most treasured historical items. Unlocking the heavy oak door with a key I kept hidden in a secret compartment, I ushered her inside.
“This is remarkable,” she breathed, taking in the glass cases containing everything from medieval weapons to delicate jewelry.
I opened a drawer in an antique cabinet and removed a worn leather journal. “My ancestor Robert Carnegie kept this during the Jacobite rising.”
Lex gasped. “This is extraordinary, Con.”
“There’s more.” I retrieved a small wooden box from another cabinet. Inside, nestled on faded velvet, lay a silver brooch set with Scottish river pearls. “This belonged to Elizabeth Carnegie, who hid Jacobite soldiers in Blackmoor Castle.”
When Lex looked from the brooch to me, I closed the distance between us, then brushed her lips with mine. The kiss began tenderly but deepened as my arms encircled her.
When we finally separated, breathless, she rested her forehead against mine. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”
“You’re the first person I have,” I admitted, holding her close in the room where generations of my ancestors had kept their most valuable possessions.
We remained there long into the evening, exploring the collection and each other. With each story shared, each artifact examined, the walls I’d built around myself after Fallon’s betrayal crumbled further.
Tomorrow, we’d travel to Aberdeenshire, hunting for concrete evidence of Labyrinth’s operations.But tonight, in this sanctuary of history and trust, we strengthened the bonds that would sustain us through whatever challenges awaited.
When we finally returned upstairs to the bed I already considered ours, I ravished her body in a way that I hoped conveyed my growing feelings for her. While I could’ve made love to her until dawn, her reminder of the day ahead of us convinced us both we needed rest.
12
LEX
The journey to Aberdeenshire in Con’s Range Rover took four hours. We’d arrived as dusk fell and checked into a small inn under false identities—as a married couple, no less—our cover story for the three days we planned to stay here.
After dining at a pub next door, we returned to our room, making love until we fell into a contented sleep.
This morning, that feeling lingered, my body still humming from the pleasure he’d given me, but I knew that my focus had to shift to our mission. We were here to gather evidence on Viktor Orlov, confirm his connection to Project Labyrinth, and figure out how to stop his progress in developing AIWS.
“Based on the satellite imagery, the estate sits approximately three kilometers north of this position,” Con said, pointing to a topographical map spread across the table in our room. “We’ll approach on foot through the forest on the west. The elevation here”—he traced a ridge line with his finger—“shouldprovide ideal sight lines to the main compound without exposing our presence.”
I studied the terrain. “Their thermal detection grid has blind spots if we stay within the trees until this point.” I indicated a position where the forest extended closest to the compound.
