Page 9 of Undercover Infidel
Rather than returning to my usual quarters, I made another impulsive decision and entered the earl’s suite adjacent to hers. Traditionally, the earl and countess had connecting rooms, though the doors between them had remained locked, particularly before my parents’ divorce.
The suite was maintained but seldom used—I preferred the modern comforts of my private wing, closer to the underground work area where I spent most of my waking hours.
As I lay in the massive four-poster bed, sleep remained elusive despite my fatigue as the woman in the room next door occupied my thoughts with unsettling persistence.
My mind, despite my best efforts to control it, conjured an image of her in that luxurious suite—her dark hair spread across the pillows like silk, her elegant frame draped in whatever she wore to sleep. Those perceptive eyes might be softer in the privacy of solitude, her professional armor temporarily set aside. I imagined the graceful curve of her neck, the delicate line of her collarbone, the smooth skin I’d glimpsed onlyat her wrists and face. The thought of her so close yet separated by centuries-old stone walls was a torment I hadn’t anticipated.
This unexpected pull to the woman troubled me. My involvement with Fallon had ended with catastrophic professional consequences, reinforcing my lifelong belief that emotional entanglements were liabilities. Yet I couldn’t deny my awareness of Lex’s sharp intellect, her directness, and her unwavering confidence.
As I stared at the ceiling, it dawned on me that Lex herself wasn’t the issue. The problem lay in my inexplicable failure to maintain the emotional distance I’d always established with women. Had Fallon’s betrayal compromised something fundamental in my psychological architecture, creating vulnerabilities I hadn’t recognized?
I needed to identify and neutralize this weakness. The Labyrinth threat demanded my complete focus—too many lives hung in the balance to permit distraction.
I turned onto my side, determined to find sleep, but instead of weapon schematics or Russian scientists, my mind filled with the memory of perceptive dark eyes that seemed to understand me without permission.
4
LEX
The ancient clock near the bedroom door chimed six times, pulling me from a surprisingly deep sleep. I lay still for a moment, orienting myself in the unfamiliar surroundings of Blackmoor Castle. The countess’s suite. Conrad Carnegie’s ancestral home. Project Labyrinth.
Despite my initial reservations about staying here—not that I’d had much of a choice—I’d slept better than I did in weeks. The suite was spectacular, elegant without being ostentatious, its decor complementing the original medieval stonework. For all his faults, Con Carnegie had great taste.
A knock at the door interrupted my assessment.
“Come in,” I called, sitting up against the pillows.
A gentleman who appeared slightly older than Con and me entered carrying a silver tray. “Good morning, Dr. Sterling. I’m Bastion, Lord Blackmoor’s butler. I’ve brought your breakfast.”
“Thank you, Bastion.” I watched as he set the tray on a small table by the window. Tea in a porcelain pot, fresh scones, clotted cream, and fresh berries.
“I’ve taken the liberty of ensuring the Wi-Fi details are beside your tablet,” he said, indicating a small card on the tray. “Should you need to review any online information this morning.”
While Con made sure I had access yesterday, I was impressed by the level of service despite the circumstances. I repeated my thanks.
“His lordship mentioned you might require a change of clothes.” Bastion gestured toward a garment bag draped over a chair I hadn’t noticed, along with a holdall on the floor next to it.
“That’s very thoughtful,” I said, genuinely surprised by Con’s consideration. “Is Lord Blackmoor available this morning?”
“His lordship is in his offices with Mr. Drummond. Will there be anything else, Dr. Sterling?”
“No, thank you.”
After he departed, I got out of bed to examine the clothing—simple but well-tailored trousers and blouses in neutral tones, along with a navy blazer thatwould complement my coloring. Practical choices, neither too formal nor too casual. Another unexpected insight into Con’s character.
I ate while reviewing my notes on Project Labyrinth. The data we’d gathered so far pointed to a sophisticated AI-weapons system with potential global implications. The Tower-Meridian connection had opened the first door for us to understand the consortium’s structure, but we still lacked crucial information about who made up the collective and their ultimate objectives.
What troubled me most was the speed with which Labyrinth was advancing. I was certain the shell companies Sullivan had traced to Tower-Meridian were now channeling funds toward quantum computing facilities and specialized neural processors. They had merely shifted operations without missing a beat after Fallon’s death, suggesting her role, while significant, had been just one piece in a much larger structure.
The name being tossed about, at first in regard to her, was Janus. The mastermind. Only when we learned she was known instead as Chimera did we realize the horrific threat Labyrinth represented remained.
I finished my breakfast, showered, then prepared for the day, choosing the navy blazer, charcoal trousers, and a burgundy blouse from the options Con had provided. The fit was impressive—either a fortunate coincidence or evidence of a more detailed observation on his part than I’d realized.
Before leaving the suite, I ran a quick set of diagnostics on my mobile, checking for any signs of intrusion or monitoring. Working in Con’s territory required caution, regardless of our temporary alliance. The scan showed no irregularities, but I activated an additional encryption layer as a precaution, then made my way through the castle’s labyrinthine corridors toward the east wing. Portraits of Carnegie ancestors watched from gilt frames—stern-faced men and elegant women spanning centuries, their eyes seeming to follow my progress through their domain. The ancient structure felt like a physical manifestation of Con himself—imposing, complicated, with secrets hidden beneath its surface.
The modern defensive technology he’d introduced me to yesterday presented a stark contrast to the historical surroundings. Each checkpoint requiredincreasingly complex verification methods that I hoped I’d remember how to activate.
After passing through the final barrier, I entered Con’s underground operations hub to find him deep in conversation with a man I recognized as Angus Drummond. I’d met Gus briefly during the Tower-Meridian investigation, though we hadn’t worked closely together. Where Con was all intensity and sharp edges, Gus projected a quiet competence that inspired immediate trust.
