Chapter Nine
Sebastian Shaw
We made it to the library in good time, perhaps too good, as when Amanda pulled herself out of the passenger seat, she had to steady herself, one hand clutching the roof. She also gave me a mutinous stare. I cracked a grin. Though I thought there was little chance of finding Maratova tucked up in the library, possibly in the kiddies’ section with his men around him as he taught them to read from a picture book, I was still careful. I walked in first and told Amanda in no uncertain terms to keep her face hidden. Even cramming her hat further onto her head when I didn’t think it was down far enough. Ha, you should have seen the look she gave me at that.
The library was small, unsurprisingly, considering the tiny size of the town. Along the main road, I counted all of one coffee shop and several ridiculously expensive boutique stores that sold everything from thousand-pound scarves to those trinkets women seem to have everywhere once they pass the age of 40. There was also a police station. Though I thought the size of the town could hardly justify one, I had to remind myself it wasn’t population pressure that kept the boys in blue close at hand, it was relative wealth. A single well-equipped and well-trained team could easily blast their way through the country estates around these parts and retire after one night. While I’d taken perverse pleasure in teasing Amanda, and while I may have overstated a few things, I hadn’t been lying about Maratova. If the girl was dumb enough to go to the police, she would end up in his hands by the afternoon.
The library was a small old building, with a stand of birch trees lined up behind it, their leaves brushing against the sandstone white-washed walls.
I strode ahead, opening the door briskly, the handle giving a pleasant crunch as I yanked on it. I heard Amanda mumble behind me; it seemed that woman mumbled at everything.
I strode up to the counter, sure to let my most charming of smiles widen the corners of my lips as I nodded at the middle-aged woman behind the desk. The effect was always the same: the lady’s cheeks flushed, she blinked, then she looked to the side, possibly to check it was indeed her I was smiling at. By the time I made it to the counter, placing a hand neatly on the clean bench top, she obviously had no illusion as to who had caught my attention, and dammit if she didn’t blush that bit harder.
“Hello, ma’am.” I kept that smile on my face and kept my hand flat on the bench top, the hint of my expensive gold watch peeking out from my expensive suit jacket.
The lady pushed her glasses up her nose with her thumb, one corner of her mouth curling, one cheek dimpling. “How can I help you, sir?”
“Well, I’m here to pick up a book.” I nodded gently.
Instead of the woman saying that this was a public library and everyone was here to pick up a book, so there was no need to state the bloody obvious, she smiled again, a second dimple pushing in at the other cheek.
“Sir, what book would that be?”
Amanda gave a strangled cough, pushed past me, whipped off her hat, and shook her head. “Hi, I’m not sure if you remember me, but you called me the other day to say that I had accidentally brought in one of my own books when I was returning my library books. My name is—”
I coughed loudly, slapping Amanda on her shoulder. She bounced forward, mumbling a terse swear word.
“It’s a brown leather-bound book,” I smiled again, and I tried to make it as dazzling as I could, “You can’t miss it.”
The woman nodded, smiling at me. She wasn’t paying any attention to Amanda at all. She then disappeared into a side room, telling us she would return with it in a moment.
As soon as she was gone, I turned to Amanda, my teeth set hard. “Put your fucking hat back on and leave this to me like we agreed.”
If I’d thought she’d been mutinous before, I was wrong. Her eyebrows descended all the way down to her eyes, her lips drawing in so much I could only see a hint of pink flesh as she sucked them into her mouth. Her chin dimpled and hardened as if she’d turned to bloody stone.
An old woman in pearls and silk walked past, a book in her hand, which she clearly hadn’t checked through. I turned to her, offered her one of my smiles, and patted Amanda hard on the back to ensure my flighty charge’s horrible expression didn’t kill the old dame.
The lady behind the counter returned. She didn’t hand the book to Amanda; she handed it straight to me.
I dipped my head in a gentlemanly way. I even tried to keep my attention on the lady as I thanked her, though every part of me wanted to run to the car, ditch Amanda, and find out what was in the book. I controlled myself until we were out of the library and heading back toward the car. Then the temptation of what lay between the worn and aged leather-bound pages got too much for me. I untied the two leather strings holding the book in place reverently, and I opened it in my hands.
Jesus Christ, I thought to myself, sweat prickling over my brow and collecting between my fingers. This was… it was…. I flicked through the pages, my attention consumed by the possibilities that lay within. In meticulous cursive handwriting, with even more meticulous and detailed drawings interspersed from page to page, Arthur Stanton talked about the remaining four Stargazer Globes with all the authority and detail of a man who’d held them.
I shook my head, overcome by the realization of what I had in my hands. That would be when Amanda made a noise. It was halfway between a hiccup and the quietest of screams. I was ready to dismiss it as one of the numerous and annoying squeaks she made all the time, as if she was one of those children’s toys you squeeze to get them to make humorous high-pitched squeals.
“Um, do you think that guy wants something from us?” she asked, voice quiet and light.
I glanced up, and the first thing I saw was a middle-aged man in tweed with a fine woolen scarf. I snorted and didn’t bother to answer Amanda.
“Ah, Sebastian,” she tried again, this time her voice far higher and far tighter, “Are you going to do something?”
I snapped the book closed, ready to tell Amanda to grow up and stop being so pathetically paranoid. The only thing the man in tweed looked like he wanted to do was rationalize our finances and sell us stock in his company.
That would be when I saw the other man, the one walking across the road to us, the one who was about 6’5, with a stocky build, a thickset neck, and a face that looked like it had been bashed in more times than a piñata.
“Get in the car.” I pressed the keys into her hand, and after the barest moment of hesitation, gave her the book also. “Lock the doors.”
I didn’t bother to turn to check to see whether she was doing as I told her to; if there was one thing I knew about Amanda Stanton, it was she was pretty good at running away from trouble. There was no doubt that trouble with a capital T was walking across the road to me. I shook my head, realizing my only weapon was tucked under the driver seat of my car, not that I could whip out some guns and start shooting at this guy on a sleepy British village high street. But this guy wouldn’t have the same compunction.
I saw him reach for something behind him, saw the glint of metal as he pulled it out from the back of his pants. Fuck, this was it.
I ducked behind a lamppost, for all the protection it would give me, before the guy could start shooting. As he did, the first bullet ricocheting off the pavement by my feet, I heard screeching tires. The part of my brain that wasn’t currently over-invested in trying not to get shot realized they sounded like my tires; and yes, I was enough of a car-man to know what my own tires and the rumble of my own engine sounded like.
My Lexus screeched to a halt in front of me, whatever bullets my attacker had fired moments before slamming into the doors and body of the vehicle. Amanda was in the driver’s seat, and she was screaming like a banshee, hat still on her head, wide red lips all I could see as she navigated around some of the most powerful and high-pitched screams I’d ever heard. Somehow she kept it together enough to lean back and open the door for me. I didn’t need any more incentive. Keeping low, I
rolled into the back of the car, slamming the door behind me and smacking the back of Amanda’s seat as I shouted at her to “go, go, go.”
Still screaming, she hit the accelerator, tires screeching on the uneven cobble of the village street as a new set of bullets slammed into the side of my car. I was no fool, and all of my cars had reinforced metal plating; considering my job, well, my other job, it was a given.
Amanda had her foot anchored down all the way down on the accelerator, and my car’s engine revved with a great roar as I caught sight of the thick-necked goon running toward us. His gun was aimed right through the glass at Amanda. I jumped up, moving between the front seats, and tackled Amanda as I tried to cover her body with mine. The car swerved as her hands slipped off the steering wheel, but I managed to grab it and yank it hard to the right before we could careen into several parked vehicles. More importantly, the bullet meant for Amanda’s head missed its mark and lodged itself into the driver’s head rest. I didn’t let Amanda up, one arm still pressing down roughly on her back, my other hand latched on the steering wheel, but I was sure to yell at her to keep her foot flat on the fucking accelerator.
Several more bullets whizzed past, one smashing into the side of my driver’s side mirror, but in a moment I managed to turn a corner, leaving the thick-necked goon behind.
I still didn’t let Amanda up, keeping my own head low, about level with the dashboard as I checked wildly from side-to-side in case more bastards with guns popped out of the woodwork. Then, driving so fast that the car got some air time as we went over a speed hump designed to slow people down before they got into town, I removed my hand from Amanda’s back.
I grabbed her hat, throwing it into the passenger seat. She straightened up, body convulsing as she shook wildly with fright.
I thought I’d seen the gamut of her possible expressions, but this was a new one. Her eyes were as wide as they could be, a couple of tears even streaking down the sides of her cheeks, her lips open and still with fear.
While I was intending to make some tough wisecrack or point to the passenger seat and tell her to move over, I paused. “It’s all right, Amanda, it’s all right,” I managed.
She looked back at me, wide eyes closing a touch as she wiped at her tears with her wrist. She kept her foot on the accelerator through it all.
I indicated the passenger seat with a flick of my head. “Try to keep your foot on the accelerator, and move over.”
“I can drive.” She turned her head back to the road, grabbing the steering wheel with both hands while my hand still held on tightly at the top.
“Trust me, honey, we don’t need your type of driving.” I didn’t let go of the steering wheel, but neither did she.
“I don’t know….” She took a rattling breath that pushed her chest out and up against the tight linen of her shirt.
Distracting though it was, I only looked down briefly.
“I think we just need you shooting more,” she finished her sentence.
“I can shoot and drive,” I snapped back, wondering what kind of treasure hunter couldn’t.
Before I was ready to push the issue, she swerved, grabbing the steering wheel with both hands and using her wrist to pivot my hand off. Before I could complain, I heard a gunshot, and my remaining passenger-side mirror was shot off.
“Fuck,” I managed tersely, peering through the window and seeing another massive goon with a gun, twisting on his feet as he stood in the middle of the road, tracking us as Amanda zoomed past him and firing off several more bullets that slammed into the trunk of the car.
I didn’t bother wasting my ammo on him, as Amanda sped up and shot around the corner, blocking us from view.
Without another word of protest, I climbed into the passenger seat. “Put your seatbelt on,” I commanded her, though I didn’t even bother to touch my own; if we faced any more brazen, gun-toting criminals smack bang in the middle of the road, I would need to have the freedom of movement to twist around in my seat and shoot from any angle. I didn’t bother grabbing Amanda’s hat and handing it to her either, reasoning it was fairly obvious people were on to us.
Soon, with Amanda’s impressively quick and competent driving, we hit one of the far narrower but less exposed roads. There was a long ditch on one side that led down to farmland, and on the other side the woods and hedgerow pressed up to the verge.
I didn’t speak, and surprisingly Amanda didn’t attack me with a volley of questions. Instead, keeping one hand on the steering wheel at all times, she picked glass out of her hair and threw it out the gaping hole in her window. There were several superficial cuts on the back of her hands and a light one across the top of her head along her hairline. Through it all, she kept driving, and though I didn’t want to admit it, Amanda was pretty good.
With the woods growing even thicker on both sides of us and the road growing ever more circuitous, Amanda let out a big sigh that jumped around a bit, as if it was turning into a hiccup at the end.
Before I could say something suitably macho and maybe comforting, she took a surprise turn. Rather than continuing along the road, as I thought she would, she took a sudden turn onto a gravel road that led up through the woods. She slowed down enough to give the tires traction on the new surface, but then sped up halfway through the turn, hardly losing any speed at all. As I didn’t have my seatbelt on, I had to fight hard to keep myself steady, legs sprawling out everywhere, shirt even riding up and over my belt.
“What the hell are you doing? Where are we going?” I snapped out my words as soon as I had steadied myself.
Face still pressed with concentration, cheeks dry from where they’d once been splattered with tears, Amanda didn’t take her eyes off the road. “We are going to the first location,” she said through a sniff, “Before anyone else can get to it.”
“Sorry?” I asked, grabbing a hand at my tie, loosening it, and chucking it into the back seat along with Amanda’s hat.
“Keep up, Sebastian, we are going to get the first globe, before anyone else can.” She still didn’t take her eyes off the road. Which was probably a good thing, because my expression was some ridiculous mix between impressed and incredulous. Was she joking, was she about to take us to the police? Or was this irascible, overemotional chick taking the driving seat and getting us to where we needed to be well before I’d even thought of it?
Rather than question her, I leaned back between the seats and tried to find the leather-bound journal I’d seen on the back seat as I’d rolled into the car earlier. I twisted around as I searched for it, my leg pressed up against Amanda’s arm. When I got it, and twisted back into my seat, I fancied I caught her staring at my butt. “Enjoy the view?” I asked as I grabbed both hands to either side of my suit jacket and tugged it until it was neat.
“Fuck off,” she exploded.
I grinned as I began to search through the old, yellowed pages of the journal.
Before I could waste my time searching through every page for the clue that would tell me that Amanda was on track here, she reached over, eyes still on the road, snatched the book out of my hands and pressed it up against the top of the steering wheel as she flicked through it. She found the page and handed it back to me without a single word.
I let my eyebrows press up and tipped my head to the side as for the second time that day I forced myself to reassess Miss Amanda Stanton.
As Amanda continued along the road, as fast as she could considering the massive potholes and the uneven terrain, I read the page she’d handed to me. There was a scant, quick picture of a church drawn on one side with the caption “Holy Church of St Carlotta.” I narrowed my eyes. Not only had I never heard of a church by that name, as far as I knew there wasn’t a saint by that name either. I kept reading, and on the other side of the page there were several numbers jotted down; they looked like a set of directions, six points in space that were obviously meant to be the three-dimensional equivalent of an X marks the spot. I ran my tongue over my teet
h and swore quietly.
Before I could ask Amanda whether she was sure she was on the right road and whether she was sure this church existed at all, we crested a hill, the thick, dense woods falling back beside us to reveal a naked hilltop. Right on top of that hilltop, with the woods encroaching on all sides, sat a rundown church. There was a small graveyard off to one side, covered in old leaves and fallen down branches that had cracked most of the remaining headstones. In front of the church was an old turning circle, the gravel dirty and mostly washed away, deep cracks and grooves channeling through it as god knows how many years of water had run its course. In the center of the turning circle was an old stone statue. What it had once been, I had no idea; it was almost completely crumbled. Next to the base stood a round chunk of stone that might have once been a head, and as Amanda brought the car to a stop next to it, I realized that what remained of the base of the statue was a torso and a single hand raised in prayer, the rest of it being eaten away by age and weather.
Amanda turned the engine off, pulling the handbrake up, but I put my hand over hers as she did. Not even bothering to turn to her, my gaze still locked on the crumbled statue outside, I shook my head. “Don’t. Leave it down; it will be a quicker getaway.”
“It will roll down the hill,” she said, voice shaking with incredulity.
I didn’t remove my hand and turned to her, hoping my expression told her how stupid I thought that was. “Park it on the flat, dear.”
Amanda swore at me as she turned the car back on and moved it until it was right outside of the church and on the flattest ground.
I got out of the car, and though my heart was racing with excitement at what I might find within, the leather-bound book clutched tightly in one hand, I still made an effort to check that this place was as abandoned as it looked. I told Amanda to stay in the car while I walked around it, checking this way and that for signs of life or even old footprints pressed into the gravel and the years of dirt and detritus that had built up over the church steps. When I was satisfied, I walked up to the front of the church, running a hand over the old, weathered door before I pushed it open. While there’d probably once been a lock on the chain wound around the two large tarnished brass handles on each of the two doors, it looked as though it had been stolen or lost over the years.
It wasn’t until I walked all the way into the church and disappeared from sight that I heard Amanda’s door open and close.
I heard her hurried footsteps as she tried to catch up to me, but I hardly paid any attention as she called out for me to wait; the sight that met me once I walked through those two great doors was enough to rivet my attention.
It was a shambles, all right, with all of the pews pushed over, and so much broken, shattered wood scattered everywhere. At the end of the church what looked like a once great stained-glass window was broken, with a hint of colored shards remaining around the corners of the window frame. The ceiling above had great big stones missing, rays of sunlight streaking through from outside. I still held my gun in one hand, the journal in the other as I carefully picked my way over the rubble around the door. Amanda caught up, pelting through the door, as if she was some lost puppy far too keen to get back to its master. I had to admit, as a smile grabbed my mouth, that that was a damn good way to describe it.
“You know,” Amanda pulled her jacket tighter around herself, and even gave a shiver at the cold, dark, damp church, “That smile on your lips, it makes you look halfway between constipated and deliriously happy.”
She walked ahead, surprisingly quick on her feet as she dodged between the broken pews and chunks of rock, her heels tapping lightly as she went.
She bit her lip lightly as she surveyed the church, her eyes wide with interest as they settled on the broken stained-glass window at the far end. She picked her way toward it.
“You are going to break your neck if you don’t look where you’re going,” I snapped at her, and as I did, I lost my own footing and fell harshly to the ground, the book slipping out of my grip and sliding across the floor.
Amanda didn’t bother to laugh, and turned around, picked up the book, flicked through the pages, top teeth still touching her bottom lip, and walked back to the stained-glass window.
I picked myself up, dusted off my suit, shrugged, cracked my neck, and followed her with a stony look on my face. I reached her as she stood on what remained of the raised platform where sermons would once have been given. She didn’t look around, her eyes blinking as she read from the book, her finger marking her place as she kept looking up at the stained-glass window and back at the words before her.
I watched, irritated by how damn cute she looked when she was biting her lip like that. I got over it, cleared my throat, put my arm out and leaned against the wall by her side, leaning into view. “I think you’ll find that I have a bit more experience of this stuff than you do.”
She glanced over at me, then ignored me and looked back at the book, flicking a couple of pages forward and back as she looked for something.
I cleared my throat again, leaning further in front of her. “You can give me the book, Amanda.”
She looked up at me, blinked several times, put her head to the side gently, and closed the book with a snap. “You know,” she put a finger up to her mouth and tapped it several times, “I think it might be over there.” She turned from me, tucking the book under one arm, and jumping lightly off the platform.
You could have driven a van through my mouth considering how wide open it hung. “Amanda.” I jumped off the platform to follow her, my move a hell of a lot less dainty and a hell of a lot angrier.
“I think there might be a gravestone outside with an inscription on it that can help us,” Amanda made her way to the front of the church, infuriatingly quick as she navigated around the obstacles, her messy hair tipping over her shoulders as she ran along.
She made it outside quicker than I could follow, and I caught up to her as she was rounding the side of the church, heading to the sparse, sad cemetery at the back.
“Give me the fucking book, Amanda.” I was stalking along beside her; this wasn’t how it was meant to go down. She was meant to be huddled up in the car, crying her heart out. She wasn’t meant to be rebounding, showing off her driving skills, snatching the journal, and doing all the treasure hunting. And she was sure as hell not meant to be doing all that while looking suspiciously cute in that old-style outfit of hers.
“There it is.” She pointed to one of the gravestones right at the back of the graveyard. It was directly under an old gnarled oak tree. Despite being spring, the oak hadn’t yet grown back many leaves, so it was left unprotected from the wind and harsh cold of this hilltop. It was a somber creepy looking sight. That didn’t stop Amanda from marching toward it, her heels clattering softly against the cracked and overgrown path that ran alongside the church and led to the graveyard beyond.
“What does that gravestone have to do with anything?” I strode up beside her, twisting in front of her path, crossing my arms, gun still held in one hand.
“Well, according to my great-uncle, the inscription on the gravestone is a clue.” Amanda’s nose crumpled up, and she offered an enthusiastic smile.
For fuck’s sake, I felt like pointing out, she wasn’t meant to be enthusiastic about treasure hunting here; she was meant to be an emotional wreck, as she’d been last night. This girl was rebounding far too quickly, and I didn’t like it one bit.
I cleared my throat. “Do you think this is some movie?” I said through a twisted smile. “Let me tell you, in the real world, you do not find clues to hidden treasure written in plain sight on a gravestone inscription. I don’t know what crappy ‘50s adventure flicks you’ve seen, but the only shit you find in a graveyard are dead folks.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, drawing her lips together. “You know, Sebastian, you are remarkably rude. Is this how you are meant to treat your clients?”
I snorted harshly. “You are not a client
; you are a liability. Give me that book so we can get this over and done with before every army in the world comes screaming down our throats.”
She took the book, held it before her, and before I could reach for it, she tucked it behind her back.
I had no problem in wrestling her for it, but before I could start, she darted around me and headed for the small gap between the broken wall that ran all the way round the graveyard.
“You know, the funny thing is, I think I remember my great-uncle talking about this place,” she began saying in a normal tone as if what had transpired hadn’t occurred, “And,” she said with that same enthusiastic grin spreading across her face, “I think he even took me here once.”
I shook my head, followed after her, and offered a long, slow, clearly sarcastic clap, clap, clap. “That’s great, I’m so glad you had such an interesting childhood, and thank you so much for sharing. Now give me the fucking book, Amanda.”
She kept ignoring me until she picked her way through the graveyard and right to a gravestone at the back. Then she leaned down, journal still tucked under one arm, and leaned in to read the inscription on the crumbling old stone.
If it wasn’t the attractive shape the skirt gave her butt at that point I would have tackled her and stolen my book back. Instead I walked up to her, ignoring the sound of the wind as it picked up, gathering speed as it moaned and whistled through the few trees on this exposed hilltop.
Trouble and Treasure (#1, Trouble and Treasure Series) Page 9
