Chapter 9 Con
CON
“Bloody hell.” I pushed away from my desk and rubbed my burning eyes. I’d worked through the night, fueled by coffee and the determination that, now, left me drained and no closer to answers.
My mobile buzzed with a message alert in response to a text I’d sent to Gus, not expecting to hear from him until a more reasonable hour. To my surprise, he’d replied immediately.
I texted back a confirmation and headed upstairs to shower and change. The cold water revived me somewhat, though my thoughts remained sluggish from too many nights with either too little sleep or none whatsoever. By the time I returned to the ops hub, the two men were already on their way in.
“You look like hell,” said Tag.
“Good morning to you too, arsehole.” I gestured to the coffee station in the corner. “Help yourselves.”
“Did you sleep at all?” Gus asked, handing me a fresh cup.
“Someone attempted a breach. I’ve traced it to MI6, but that’s where it starts to loop,” I said rather than answer his question. As much trouble as I was having putting a coherent thought together, I wasn’t about to try to explain the real reason sleep had eluded me.
Tag’s eyebrows shot up. “Related to Lex?”
“Uncertain.” I took a long sip of coffee. “What’s happening with Nightingale?”
Tag’s face darkened as he sat in the chair opposite mine. “Still nothing. She’s gone completely dark, and Typhon won’t tell me a bloody thing.”
The tension in his voice caught my attention. Tag was typically unflappable, yet Leila Nassar had clearly gotten under his skin.
Before I could comment, Lex walked in.
“Am I interrupting?” she asked.
“Not at all,” I answered. “In fact, we could use your input.”
“What’s going on?” Lex sat in the chair near the workspace I’d set up for her. Just that very small thing made me happier than I’d felt in twenty-four hours.
“I’m concerned about Nightingale,” Tag began, reiterating what he’d just said about his inability to make contact.
“It seems likely that something that happened or that she found in Syria has made her a target,” Gus offered, leaning against a nearby console. “The question is, why did she leave that out of her briefing?”
“Fear?” Lex suggested. “Or perhaps she doesn’t trust the channels available to her.”
“Or she withheld information deliberately,” I added.
“Someone could have gotten to her,” Gus suggested.
Tag shook his head. “We’ve worked together for years. She knows she can trust me.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Lex said quietly.
My eyes met hers, but she quickly looked away.
“I think there’s something else going on,” she added. “How close are the two of you?”
Tag shrugged. “We’re friends.”
Lex raised a brow.
“With occasional benefits,” he said under his breath.
My mouth gaped. We’d been best friends all our lives, and he hadn’t admitted as much to me.
“Maybe she’s protecting you,” Lex suggested. Once again, her eyes met mine only briefly.
Tag checked his watch and stood. “I need to see her. Talk to her in person. Typhon can damn well tell me where she is, or…”
“Or what?” I asked.
“I’m finished.”
My eyes met Gus’.
“I’ll come with you,” he said, following Tag when he stood.
“Keep me posted,” I said as they prepared to leave.
Lex stood too. “Tag? If Nightingale doesn’t want to see you, respect her wishes.”
I saw his struggle, recognized it from my own.
“Roger that,” he finally said before the two men walked out.
Lex sat back down and turned toward her computer, but she didn’t touch the keyboard. I pulled my chair closer to hers, leaned forward, and rested my elbows on my knees.
“I’m sorry.”
She glanced over at me. “Is that a blanket apology, or is it for something specific?”
“Both?” I said, winking.
“What was it Mrs. Thorne said? ‘Lord Blackmoor is such a charmer’?”
“Lex, I—”
“Don’t. Let me speak first.”
“Go ahead.”
“I understand why you’re hesitant to bring other people into the Labyrinth investigation, particularly given what happened with Fallon Wallace.”
As hard as I tried not to, I still cringed.
“But what if I said I didn’t want you to confer with Tag or Gus or Ash?”
“It would be impossible for me not to.”
“Dr. McLaren was never my best friend, but I did—do—admire her in the same way I’m sure you do your friends. To suggest I not confer with a woman who taught me everything I know seems really unfair, Con.”
I raised my head to look into her eyes. “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 crossed low 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 human constraints.”
“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.”
I’d known Ambrose my entire life, and while he’d always been eccentric, today he seemed almost charming. He spoke animatedly with Lex about art history, displaying knowledge I hadn’t realized he possessed.
“Evelyn was telling me about your work in AI,” I heard him say. “Brilliant stuff, truly. She speaks very highly of you.”
“Dr. McLaren has been a wonderful mentor,” Lex replied. “She said you’ve been friends since university.”
“That’s right.” He smiled fondly. “We’re actually heading to a gallery opening in Glasgow this weekend. She has the most remarkable eye for detail—spots things most people miss entirely. Well, I’m off. Delightful seeing you again.” He waved in my direction. “And you, Con.”
After Ambrose left, promising to relay our regards to Dr. McLaren, Lex turned to me with raised eyebrows. “Is it my imagination, or do you think he fancies her?”
“God, I hope not.” I shook my head, unable to reconcile the image. “I’ve never seen him that way with anyone. It’s…unsettling.”
“I found him endearing,” she said, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“Brose is many things, but ‘endearing’ has never been one of them.”
We finished our meal and settled the bill, both of us more relaxed than when we’d arrived. The walk back to my SUV took us through the village square, past stone cottages with smoke curling from chimneys.
“It’s beautiful here,” Lex said, her breath visible in the cold air. “Peaceful, despite everything.”
“That’s why I come back,” I admitted. “Edinburgh, even London, has advantages, but this…” I gestured to the rolling hills beyond the village. “This grounds me.”
Rather than returning to Blackmoor straightaway, I ventured south to Tarbert. Once there, I suggested we take the ferry over to the Isle of Arran.
“I’d love it,” Lex said with a wide smile and sparkling eyes.
“You are so beautiful,” I murmured, reaching out to touch her cheek. “Brilliant and beautiful.”
Her cheeks flushed as she whispered her thanks.
In the confined space of the vehicle, I remained acutely aware of her presence—the subtly of her natural scent, the warmth radiating from her body, the rhythm of her breathing. Tensions of a different sort replaced our earlier concerns, building with each kilometer.
My mobile rang, and Gus’ name flashed on the screen.