Trouble and Treasure (#1, Trouble and Treasure Series)

by Odette C. Bell

  Chapter Fourteen

  Amanda Stanton

  Oh god, it was happening again. I’d heard those two bullets, I’d seen the look of frigid surprise and fear on Sebastian’s face.

  Dear god, could my life get any worse?

  I took that exact moment to slip down, the ridiculous heels Sebastian had given me losing their grip along the slicked and treacherous metal. Thankfully I had a hand on the rail, but that didn’t stop me from slipping down several steps, knees grating against the rough metal. Before I could swear and check for blood, Sebastian pulled me to my feet, one hand clutched over my arm.

  The wind and storm had whipped the waves into such a frenzy they were pounding against the heavy wall that ran around the path leading up to the lighthouse. They were so high and so violent that the tops of the waves managed to make it past the wall, inundating the path. All it would take was for one of those waves to make it far enough past that wall to wash us both off our feet, and we’d end up very much drowned at the bottom of the sea.

  We reached the end of the stairs, and the storm and the waves were so violent that even standing on the last step we were still chased by the tips of the waves that managed to spike over the wall and rocks below. If I could have thought of anything useful to shout at Sebastian, other than a heartfelt expletive, there would be no way to make him hear me. I could grab the guy’s neck, pull his head right up to my mouth, and shout right in his ear, but the storm would still drown my voice out. It reduced our ability to communicate down to simple touch itself.

  Sebastian hesitated on the last step, his head turned toward the raging waves below. He watched them, his shoulders and neck moving back rhythmically in time with each wave as if he was trying to get a feel for their pattern. Then he moved.

  That would be when a bullet whizzed past me, smashing into the wall beyond. I might have screamed, I might not have; I couldn’t hear myself above the waves and the gale. I jumped at Sebastian.

  Another bullet whistled through the air, lodging into the wall opposite. I ducked instinctively, noting that Sebastian did the same. Despite the force of the water around us, I headed forward toward the protection of the other wall. When I reached it, I could have bloody done a song and dance; there was a sturdy rail running the full length of the wall, presumably leading right up to the door beyond. Obviously the people who’d designed this lighthouse realized that if anyone was stupid enough to be trying to walk toward it or away from it during a full-blown storm, they would appreciate a handhold.

  I latched my hand onto it just in time as a huge wave broke over the wall, sending a mass of water along the path.

  In the darkness and confusion, Sebastian lost his footing. I grabbed him, and I kept hold of that rail; I’d never been so desperate in all my life not to lose my grip, and yet I’d never faced such force either. Water came at me from every angle, covering my face, getting in my mouth, rushing over my back.

  I held on. The brunt of the water rushed past us, allowing us to stand.

  I shook, I shivered, but I still didn’t let go of the rail.

  I was aware of the sound of another gunshot, this time closer.

  Sebastian got to his feet. The water running rivulets over his nose and chin, he motioned me on with a wave.

  The door to the lighthouse couldn’t be more than 10 meters from us, but it might as well have been a kilometer away considering how hard it was to reach. We would barely make a step forward when another wave rushed over the wall, and we’d to hunker against the rail.

  We somehow managed it, inching our way forward despite the force of the water.

  “We have to get this fucking door open,” Sebastian screamed behind me. “We are sitting ducks.”

  No, we were half-drowned, panting, fatigued ducks.

  Sebastian latched a hand on the door handle and tried to open it again, but it wouldn’t work. There was a dirty sodding chain running over the door handle and connecting up with both handrails, and it had a real big lock on it. No, it didn’t look like the kind of lock that would fall off in a storm, nor could Sebastian yank it off; this lock, like the rest of the lighthouse, meant business.

  Sebastian screamed and swore again, his voice grating and harsh. I could hear how tired he was, even how cold he was as his body shook. We needed a miracle.

  That would be when another bullet shot past us, ricocheting off the door and lodging itself in the wall right by my head. I screamed and crumpled to the ground, but I still didn’t let go of the handrail.

  “Amanda,” Sebastian screamed. As he did, I heard another bullet ricochet off something else, and saw a puff of concrete and stone as it lodged itself into the wall right by my hip.

  It was categorically the most horrible experience I had ever had. Even last night, even in the forest, I’d been able to run. Here, with my back pressed up against the lighthouse door, with my hand latched onto the railing for dear life, I was stuck. There was nowhere to move because the only door to go through was locked.

  I’d never thought that I would be one of those girls to give up, but obviously I’d never been in the situation where giving up was my only option.

  That would be when the door behind me opened. Sebastian was on his feet, pulling the chain that kept it closed out from the rails and holding it firmly in one hand, using the other to open the door, his shoulder pressed up against the wet, rusted hinges and pushing with all his might. I fell through behind him. Just in time as another bullet sunk into the path where I’d been crumpled.

  Sebastian latched a hand to the back of my collar and pulled me through the door. Then he slammed it closed.

  I wasn’t dead, I wasn’t drowned, and I hadn’t been shot. I was lying on the relatively dry floor inside the lighthouse.

  The bullet that had barely missed my head moments before must have somehow slammed right into the lock instead.

  It was dark but in another moment the lights turned on, and I saw Sebastian over near the door, hand on a light switch, staring over at me. If you’d asked me 24-hours ago what the expression on his face meant, I would’ve said it was a combination of arrogance and entitlement. Now I had a different perspective. The exact peak to his eyebrows didn’t suggest he thought he was god’s gift to women or the only man capable of getting the job done; it told me he’d been through the experience of his life and was happy to be alive. The exact dip to the corners of his lips didn’t tell me he thought I was pathetic for lying on the floor; it told me he was concerned. Yes, concerned about me.

  I heard another bang as a bullet lodged into the door.

  It was enough to get me to my feet. I took one step backward, eyes blinking wildly as I stared at the door, waiting for it to burst open and for every criminal in the world to rush through. When that didn’t happen, I pointed at it. “You hold the door,” I shouted at Sebastian, “I’ll find something to shove in front of it.”

  Sebastian didn’t argue; he nodded, backing himself up against the door, planting his feet out before him and leaning into it. He was dripping with water. His white shirt hung off him, pants slack against his legs, hair dripping all over his face. If he looked like that, I shuddered to think what I looked like. Now wasn’t the time to find a mirror and fix my hair. Instead I latched onto the couch close by the door and pushed it toward Sebastian.

  He moved out of the way and helped me shove the couch right against the door.

  “That’s not going to be enough.” He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, still holding onto that chain for some reason.

  I looked around the rest of the room, searching for anything sturdy and heavy enough to block the door. Right about now I could use a tank, but then again, if I had a tank, I would jolly well use it against the criminals trying to shoot their way in.

  The room was sparsely decorated but still managed to look comfortable, especially considering how dry and warm it was compared to the inundated path beyond. Everything was old, and it looked as if the place had been furnished in the �
��70s. There was a thick blue carpet off to the side where I’d found the couch, and next to it was a heater and a simple bookcase. Across the other side was a coat rack with a fine array of heavy jackets and several pairs of thick, sturdy wellington boots lined up underneath. Next to that was a set of heavy crates. What were in them, I had no idea, but I saw Sebastian’s eyes light up as he glanced their way.

  He threw the chain onto the couch, wiping at the back of his mouth again.

  “You stay here, press against the couch. I’ll get a crate.”

  I did as he said, leaning right into the couch with my knees, bracing my hands onto the back of it and pressing it against the door. I could feel the strength of my heartbeat reverberate through my body, and I watched Sebastian as he grabbed a crate and began pushing it my way with heavy grunts.

  Before he managed to get it halfway toward me, the door gave a great shake. Surprised, I screamed, but I didn’t let go of the couch.

  “Fuck,” Sebastian offered.

  The door gave another violent shudder, and I saw the handle turning. I pushed hard against the couch. But whoever was at the other side of the door was stronger. My heels were slipping and sliding against the simple stone floor of the lighthouse, but I kept scrabbling forward, kept using whatever purchase and weight I could to push myself back into that couch and to push it back against that door.

  Sebastian gave a heavy and desperate grunt, the sound of the crate loud as it grated over the floor.

  I babbled, making god knows what pathetic sounds as I tried to keep that couch against the door. With every second that ticked past, the door managed to open bit by bit.

  When it opened an inch, a black object was shoved through. I didn’t need too long to figure out it was a gun. It fired, and the bullet shot past, lodging itself into the wall above the bookcase.

  The door gave an almighty shudder, pushing so hard into the couch that I lost my footing and tumbled over. Before it could open, before the gun could twist around in the person’s grip and fire my way, Sebastian gave a great grunt and put on a final burst of speed, slamming the crate into the couch and pushing it back into the door. The gun clattered out of the guy’s grip, falling onto the couch as the couch forced the door closed.

  There was a perfect moment of silence where I lay there on my back staring across at the door, waiting.

  Sebastian still leaned into the crate, arms tense, shoulders braced, feet planted far out as he pushed his whole weight into it.

  Though the door did shake a couple of times, it didn’t open again.

  I don’t know how long it took me to pull myself up, but I managed it. Sebastian, however, stayed where he was, body looking like it was under a tremendous amount of pressure as he kept pushing the crate toward the door. I walked over to him, hair dripping down my back, the sound of my high heels clicking against the bare stone floor. I stood right beside him and looked down at him for several moments before placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I think it’s fine,” I said through a swallow.

  He didn’t seem ready to give up.

  Though I was no expert on these things, I could tell that the combined weight of the couch and the heavy crate was enough to keep the door closed. Plus, the door itself was heavy and strong and made from thick metal. I had to take my hat off to whoever had designed this lighthouse, for they had done a sterling job.

  It took ages for Sebastian to relax. I didn’t move my hand from his back until he did. It was flat against one of his tensed shoulder blades, and despite the fact my own body was chilled through, I still managed to pick up on the trace of warmth running through his skin.

  He gave a swallow and straightened up. He turned, lips jutted open, eyes hooded and tired, and sat sharply on the crate.

  After a while, the banging on the door stopped, but it hardly meant the room was silent; the sound of the gale and storm outside still strong. The thickness of the walls and door did manage to protect us from the brunt of the noise, enough that I could hear my own breath punctuated by Sebastian’s far deeper and throaty coughs.

  “Well,” he offered, “This wasn’t how I wanted to spend my night.”

  I blinked at that, my lips straightening and wobbling. “What did you have planned?”

  He took a moment, gave a twitching half smile, and shrugged. “Not this.”

  “You do realize the night isn’t over, don’t you?”

  He shook his head in reply. “Oh yes, don’t you worry about that.”

  I gave a shiver, my back and arms seriously cold.

  Sebastian looked up at me, body still hunched as he sat on the crate, hands either side of him as he supported himself. “We should look for some dry clothes.” He nodded upwards, indicating the rest of the lighthouse above.

  I let my head tip and stared at the ceiling. This was a wide lighthouse, and it was obvious from the decorating down here that the original intention was that someone was to live here. Hopefully that did mean there were some dry clothes left. At that moment my stomach gave a rumble too, and I realized how much I hoped there was some food up there as well.

  Whether I could relax enough to get changed and enjoy a meal while there were criminals swimming around outside, I didn’t know.

  Pressing my lips together in thought while I wrapped my arms around myself and gave another shiver, I turned my head back to Sebastian. Although I already knew the answer, I asked it anyway: “are we safe?”

  He took a long while to answer. He sat there still hunched over that box, head angled down, but eyes angled up toward me. Then he shook his head. “Sorry, Amanda,” he added quietly.

  He genuinely sounded sorry. For a lawyer and a treasure hunter I wasn’t sure if I had ever heard the truth from Sebastian, but now I was sure he wasn’t lying.

  Shivering I nodded back at him. “What do we do?”

  He shrugged. He looked uncharacteristically defeated. It was the angle to his back and how bowed and low his shoulders were, not to mention the glazed, sallow look to his face. “We’re in a lighthouse during a storm with a fuck load of criminals behind us,” he shook his head, “Or maybe it’s the army, I don’t know. Hell, it could be Romeo’s men; I have zero clue who is after us. Point is, we can’t get out of here….”

  We were stuck. For all the apparent safety these thick walls offered, we were still stuck. It wasn’t as if we could climb to the top of the lighthouse and both take epic standing jumps and manage to reach Sebastian’s car in the car park above. We didn’t have any way out. Though we might have momentarily beaten off whoever was outside, I was starting to realize that these people were resourceful and had a level of desperation I’d never met before. I had joked of wishing I had a tank, but I realized that these were the type of people dumb enough, equipped enough, and desperate enough to go and get one. We could be safe in here for the next 10 minutes or maybe the next 10 hours, but we damn well wouldn’t be safe forever. We were sitting ducks, and though we might be drier than we were outside, we weren’t all that much safer.

  Sebastian stared at his feet, and it seemed apparent he had no intention of stopping. I got the distinct impression that he wouldn’t look at me for some reason.

  I wanted to ask what we were meant to do next, but considering how defeated he looked I didn’t think I would get a reply. Plus, I already knew the answer: nothing. Unless there was another miracle, we were stiff out of luck.

  I took a heavy breath, for the first time filling my lungs. It steeled me.

  “We should investigate the rest of the lighthouse,” I said, ignoring a great drop of water as it ran down my nose and off my chin, trickling down my throat in the coldest way possible.

  Sebastian didn’t look up. Instead he kept sitting there, banging one of his shoes against the side of the crate, staring at some nondescript section of the floor.

  I didn’t turn from Sebastian, still hoping he would lift his chin and look at me. When he didn’t, I took several steps backward.

  I turned around and headed
to the stairs in the center of the room. I took to them silently.

  I was starting to realize Sebastian was more complicated than I’d originally given him credit for.

  Shaking my head, I continued upstairs, hand on the railing, possibly holding it too tightly. I still couldn’t shake the body-memory of having to hold on for dear life outside against the storm. There was a great deal of residual adrenaline and fear rushing through my body. At the sound of a squeak on the stairs above, I gave a sudden jump, a squeak of my own issuing from my lips. When I realized it was just the rickety old stairs, and not a light-footed mercenary stealing down them, I rolled my eyes and continued on.

  I crested the stairs onto the next floor. It was narrower than the floor below, the lighthouse though thick, still tapered up to a point above. This floor was still sweet, and far better furnished than the one below. Possibly in the event it was far less likely this one would get flooded by water inching its way under the door.

  The room was circular, with vibrant red carpet, several comfortable chairs, and a television on a desk to the side. As I walked around, the ludicrously colorful carpet gave way to a checkered black and white Linoleum and a small kitchen. It had an old-style cooker, with a kettle on the stove, bench space either side, and cupboards running along the wall. As I walked past one of the chairs, I grabbed one of the warm woolen throws over the back and pulled it around my shoulders. I nestled into the fabric as I walked further into the kitchen, grabbing the first cupboard I saw and opening it.

  There was a can of baked beans. I grabbed it and put it down on the bench, smiling. I kept walking around the kitchen and back around into the lounge. Though my stomach was rumbling, I still wanted to explore the rest of the lighthouse. I wanted to get into some clean clothes, and though it was highly unlikely I would find anything in my size, I needed to ditch these heels.

  The heels made me think about Sebastian again. He told me they’d come from a one night stand. How charming. What kind of man admitted to that? Sebastian obviously.

  Before I could get too angry at him, I realized he was still the same man who was sitting on a crate downstairs, shoulders hunched together, head directed toward the ground, eyes hooded with fatigue and surrender.

  Complex bloody fool, I thought to myself.

  Keeping the woolen blanket clutched tightly around my shoulders I decided to take the stairs up to the next floor. The stairs creaked and squeaked as I walked up, but I ignored it. I reached the next floor, and I turned the light on. This one had a small bedroom, a single bed pushed up against the wall, another bookcase, and a closet off to one side. It also had a window. Biting my lip hard, I inched my way toward it. I could see from a distance that the view outside was of nothing more than dark, seething clouds and driving rain, but that didn’t stop me from creeping toward the window as if I would see a monster with its face pressed up against the glass.

  My top teeth were sunk so hard into my bottom lip that unless I lessened my bite, I would draw blood.

  I made it up to the window. Rather than face it in full, I pressed my back to the side and inched my face around until I could see through it. It gave me a view of half of the ocean beyond and half of the cliff behind. Shaking, I let my eyes dart over the cliff, searching for anything that would let me know there was someone still out there.

  I didn’t see anything, and I shrunk back into the room.

  “You should stay away from the windows,” Sebastian said from behind me.

  I gave a loud yelp, jumping back in surprise.

  “Sorry,” he replied. With a sigh, he walked over to the closet, opening it and rifling through it. He threw a pair of pants down by his feet, followed by a checkered shirt. Then, searching through more, he grabbed a pair of track pants and another checkered shirt, turned to me, and threw them my way.

  Though I was ready for it, I didn’t manage to grab them and clutched fruitlessly at the air as they fell by my feet.

  Despite the fact Sebastian’s expression was still cold and had a real measure of defeat to it, my pathetic attempt managed to bring the smallest of smiles to his lips.

  “What?” I managed, leaning down to pick them up, “You threw them too low,” I added.

  “I did not,” he replied easily, leaning down and grabbing the clothes by his own feet.

  I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at what he’d given me: a pair of thick, warm blue track pants and a red and blue checkered shirt. Fashion, pure and simple.

  “Sorry, but there’s nothing else in here,” he said.

  “It’s okay,” I made a show of looking at the track pants, “These are fine. Anything that’s dry is fine.” I smiled hard. I wanted him to know that everything was okay, that despite the fact we were in a desperate situation, I was okay.

  He shrunk into his shoulders and headed back to the stairs. “You can change up here,” he said, not turning to me once, “But stay away from the window.” He walked back downstairs in silence.

  He left me with an uneasy feeling pitching in my gut. It wasn’t because I felt frightened or angry at him; it was because I couldn’t understand how to make him more like Sebastian Shaw again. The Sebastian from this morning, the one who’d been angry at me for being upset and running away to Elizabeth’s.

  I changed into my new clothes. They were warm and dry, and while the shirt was scratchy, it would do.

  With a sigh, I took to the stairs, intending to find Sebastian.

  I reached the level below, walking into the room and stopping suddenly; Sebastian hadn’t finished changing. While he did have pants on, he lacked a shirt. He looked over at me, impassively, grabbing the shirt he’d put over the back of a seat and shrugging into it.

  I, being the fairly decent girl I was, turned my back. “Sorry,” I mumbled sharply.

  He chuckled from behind me. “You’re all right, Amanda.”

  I didn’t turn back, and it was less to do with the fact I was worried I was being rude, and far more to do with the fact my cheeks were hot and flushed.

  “You’re a pretty weird woman,” he noted.

  I wasn’t sure what that was meant to mean, and turned to face him again.

  As I did, realizing he was fully dressed and ignoring how disappointed that made me feel, I noticed one half of his mouth kinked up in a grin.

  “Don’t we look the pair?” He began to roll up his sleeves.

  We were in matching red and blue checkered shirts and dark blue track pants. While we matched, it wasn’t a pleasant match. While the men hunting us were dressed in the latest military gear, Sebastian and I looked like we’d rolled out of bed this morning, left our pajama bottoms on, grabbed our fishermen shirts, and hadn’t even bothered to put our mean faces on. Rather than point out to him that he could look harder and try to find some better clothes, I chuckle. I couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say, so I ended up shrugging my shoulders and rolling my eyes.

  Slowly the other side of his mouth kinked up. That was all he did. He didn’t add anything, didn’t emphasize how bad I looked; he stood there, one hand on the back of that chair, both sides of his lips curled up in a smile.

  I was surprised at how much he could say without words.

  That would be when there was a bang from upstairs. I flinched away from the stairs, taking several quick steps into the room and toward Sebastian.

  His eyes flickered with concern, head turning toward the ceiling, wet hair dripping down his face. He mimed a silent expletive and shook his head. “That better be them,” he said quietly.

  Before I could ask who, the sound of heavy footsteps filtered into the room.

  I took several more steps back, head shaking, shoulders tensing up.

  “Get down, get behind this seat.” Sebastian motioned to the seat, voice quiet but firm.

  I didn’t protest, just did what he said and watched as he made his way into the kitchen, probably looking for a weapon.

  As I crouched low behind the seat, limbs stiff and breath comin
g in short, sharp bursts again, I listened with all my might to the sound of those footsteps. It sounded as if there was more than one person; the beat of the footsteps too close together for it to be one man.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to block out the rush of fear.

  The footsteps reached our floor.

  I didn’t make a sound, and I didn’t move. I stayed there, face pressed against the old musty leather of the seat in front of me, one hand over my mouth to make sure I didn’t make even the smallest of sounds and give my position away.

  The blood pumped violently through my arms, and they shook, my whole body shaking with them. I was too scared to turn around and see where Sebastian was, whether he’d managed to get a weapon, or whether he was opening the window, ready to take his chances with the storm and drop below.

  I heard someone give a rough cough, and it sent a tremble of recognition through me. I knew that cough.

  “You here?” a voice asked.

  The voice was Maratova’s.

  Sebastian walked right past me. He didn’t rush, he didn’t attack, he walked.

  “Shaw,” Maratova said, voice a growl, “About fucking time.”

  My heart beat so strongly I felt sure everyone in the room could hear it.

  Sebastian didn’t answer.

  “Where’s the girl?” Maratova asked.

  I could have screamed, and it was only the fact I had one hand clutched over my mouth that I didn’t.

  “You did the right thing,” a different soldier said.

  “Mark,” Sebastian managed.

  “Come on, Shaw, you called us. Stop wasting our time,” Maratova replied, still growling.

  I was shaking, shaking far more violently than I had ever shaken before. While I’d once believed I was trapped, I now knew I was cornered in a way I could never have appreciated.

  Sebastian had sold me out.

  “She is…” Sebastian trailed off.

  I did something brave, something that didn’t seem possible considering how frightened I was. Shaking all over, I stood up from behind that seat. Despite the fact all I wanted to do was get the hell out of here, I stood and stared at the three soldiers before me, without looking at Sebastian once.

  I could easily figure out who Maratova was. He was the one in the middle, the tall one with the broad shoulders and thick muscular neck. The one with depressed, drawn lips and eyes that stared out at me with a hollow, dead, but determined look.

  One of the soldiers next to Maratova, who was shorter and had a wiry frame and a far kinder expression on his face, looked my way. “It’s all right.”

  I stared back at him, still not blinking, and not speaking.

  He let go of the heavy gun on a strap over his shoulder and let it drop to his side, and lifted his hands slowly. “It’s fine, we aren’t here to hurt you.”

  He sounded so genuine, so honest.

  “We’re here to help,” he said again, “And it sounds as though you need a bit of help, Amanda.”

  Yes, it did. I had no idea whether the three soldiers before me were going to offer any. One thing was clear, Sebastian wasn’t. He’d called them here, told them where I was. Why? Why had he spent the last day telling me how evil they were and how much I had to get away from this Maratova guy? Had all this been some game from the beginning? Had Sebastian had some plan, and was this part of it?

  I swallowed painfully.

  I didn’t know what to think, and it wasn’t as if thinking would help anyway; I had zero options here.

  Sebastian kept a pointed and conspicuous silence by my side. He was even leaning away from me as if I was some fetid, rotting scrap of meat that he didn’t want to be anywhere near.

  I swallowed again, this time harder.

  Mark began to put his hands down. “Amanda, we are going to take you somewhere safe. You can trust us,” he said, again sounding genuine.

  I nodded. I had no option but to trust this guy, or at least follow him.

  “I tell you, Sebastian,” Mark said with a shake of his head, “We had no idea what you two were doing.”

  Sebastian didn’t answer, just gave a slight grunt.

  I stood there, getting colder by the moment. It wasn’t that my still-wet hair was dripping down my back; it was that the man I’d thought I could trust barely moments before was turning out to have played me. It sounded as if he’d been in contact with the army the whole time. So why lie? Why make me believe they couldn’t be trusted? I’d run from them last night out of sheer surprise and fright, but he could have told me the truth this morning. Why string me along? It was so unbelievably cruel.

  “How did you get here?” I found myself asking, voice low but not shaking.

  Mark looked over at me, surprise lifting up his cheeks. He had wide, bright, expressive eyes and they locked onto me. He looked pleased I’d spoken, probably more pleased that I hadn’t turned tail and started to run. “Chopper.” He pointed one finger upwards.

  I flicked my eyes to the ceiling and flicked them back again. “There’s a storm outside,” I replied quietly.

  He shrugged. “Good chopper, good pilot,” he dipped his head, “But if you don’t want to go that way,” he pointed downstairs, “We can always go out the door.”

  I blinked hard, remembering how exquisitely awful it had been getting in here in the first place. I didn’t want to walk on that path in a storm again.

  “Up to you,” he said, and he seemed to mean it.

  This, him, this Mark guy, he was the soldier you saw in action films and books. Dedicated, genuine, loyal, and a tad bit dashing. He was the guy you wanted to trust when you were in danger. If he’d been there last night, if he’d been the one to save me from my drawing room full of mercenaries, I had the distinct feeling that everything would have turned out differently.

  Maratova, on the other hand, lived up to his monstrous reputation. I was scared to even look at the guy.

  “Do you know how many contacts are out there?” Mark asked Sebastian.

  “No idea,” Sebastian replied, voice quiet, shoulders hunched, his body still leaning away from me.

  “We didn’t spot any on the way in, not that we could see much in the storm,” Mark said, one hand remaining on his gun, though not in a particularly threatening manner.

  I was starting to feel foolish, exquisitely foolish. Why had I run from them today? Why had I put myself through all of that when, far from being the monsters I’d believed, they was the saviors I required?

  The more I thought about it, an awful, sick, stodgy feeling took to my stomach. God, how much trouble was I in here? Surely they were going to question why I ran from them? Why I didn’t turn myself into the authorities when I’d had the chance?

  While I could easily say it was all Sebastian’s fault, it was clear Sebastian was working with them.

  As I stood there, wallowing in my self-hate, I heard the wind pick up from outside. What had previously been a gale fired up into a full-blown storm. There was even a sudden and powerful clap of thunder above us and a correspondingly bright flash of light that filtered in through the small window above the sink.

  My shoulders jumped instinctively, but fortunately I didn’t yelp in surprise.

  “Wow,” Mark said, drawn out and slow, as the rumble of thunder passed, “Storm is picking up.”

  Even through the thick insulation of the concrete and stone, I could make out the churn of the surf, the beating of the waves as they roared up the rocks and smashed against the side of the lighthouse, not to mention the appalling scream of the gale outside.

  “What a day to be stuck in a lighthouse,” Mark added, “You sure picked it, Sebastian.”

  “We have to stay here?” I asked automatically, words pushing their way out of my mouth before I could think about it myself.

  Mark glanced toward the small window in the kitchen and nodded. “Sure seems that way.” He turned and faced me in full. “We will be out of here once the storm dies down a bit, it won’t be
long.”

  There was another horrendous clap of thunder from above and a startlingly bright flash of light from outside the small window. The sound of the thunder shook through the building, the plates and cutlery shaking around in their cupboards, a picture on the wall behind Sebastian falling off.

  “You picked it,” Mark added once the thunder had subsided.

  Mark was friendly with Sebastian, and though Sebastian was still withdrawn, I got the distinct impression they were friends. So why had Sebastian never told me about Mark, but had spent all of his time painting Maratova as some evil monster? Mark was clearly the one in charge. That, or Maratova was a strong, silent, and overbearing leader who let others do all the talking and planning while he covered the evil-glaring side of things.

  Had Mark been there last night? I wasn’t sure, but I doubted it; I got the impression that if he’d been there, things would’ve turned out differently. He was the kind of guy who thought about things before he did them, something Sebastian wasn’t capable of.

  “We’ll be fine here. The storm will probably blow itself out in the next half-hour or so.” Mark shrugged. “Is this place secure?”

  Sebastian shook his head. “You need someone down by the door. I can’t guarantee no one will come through. We barricaded it, but you probably need someone to watch it.”

  Maratova growled. “You should have told us that first, Shaw.”

  Perhaps there was one thing Sebastian had been honest about: Maratova had true enmity for him, and as I watched Sebastian turn to gaze at the man, I realized the feeling was mutual.

  “Anderson,” Mark spoke to the other soldier with a flick of his head, “Get downstairs to check the door.”

  Anderson replied with a short nod, turned, and half jogged to the stairs and out of sight.

  “What about the roof?” Sebastian asked. “Do you think anyone can come in the same way you did?”

  “Rappel down from a helicopter in a violent storm? I wouldn’t put it past them,” Mark nodded. “Maratova.” Mark flicked his head upwards.

  Maratova grunted and headed off toward the stairs. Not before he shot me a look, and it wasn’t the kindest of looks. It made me swallow. What was this guy’s problem?

  “Are you okay?” Mark asked. “We didn’t get a chance to….” He stopped speaking, obviously unsure of how to say what he wanted. “Um, in the woods,” he tried.

  I knew what he meant, I also knew why he was dodging around his words. I’d been running like a mad woman from them, and it wasn’t a fond memory.

  I shrugged, playing with my hands. “I’m fine.”

  “Your feet?” he said, voice awkward.

  I was starting to get the impression that although he had the genuine dignity and loyalty of a soldier, he wasn’t all that good at speaking to women, or maybe not women he’d been chasing through the woods with a gun.

  I shrugged again, a smile playing on my lips. “They hurt like hell,” I said honestly.

  He winced and nodded. “Sorry about that.”

  It wasn’t his fault; it was my fault. My fault for being so damn stupid. My fault for being so damn paranoid. My fault for letting Sebastian make me think that letting the army capture me would be a one-way ticket to prison or death.

  “I shouldn’t have taken my shoes off,” I replied weakly.

  It was enough to draw a bare smile. It was awkward as it inched its way across Mark’s face; he clearly wasn’t sure if that was the kind of thing you were meant to smile at.

  Sebastian cleared his throat.

  “You’ve had a hell of a day.” Mark turned to him. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting your call.”

  I shivered, it was involuntary, and they both looked my way. I rubbed my arms and pretended I was cold.

  Mark leaned over to the seat near him, grabbed the throw that was over the back, and handed it to me.

  “I didn’t want…” Sebastian trailed off.

  Mark frowned. “What happened? How did you two end up here? How did you find her?” Mark angled his head toward me. “Last we saw her she was in the woods by Stanton’s estate. How did she end up here?”

  I blinked and cleared my throat. What was going on here?

  Mark turned my way, the beginnings of a guilty look crumpling his face. “I apologize, ma’am, I didn’t mean to talk about you in third-person while you are still in the room. It was rude of me.”

  “You’re okay,” I replied with a stutter.

  “Can you tell me how you got here, Amanda?” He turned to me.

  I opened my mouth wide, confused. Wouldn’t he know? He was working with Sebastian, clearly, and it had been Sebastian who’d brought me here.

  “His car,” I replied, dumbly.

  “I found her,” Sebastian cut in.

  Mark nodded, looking confused, but not suspicious. “That’s lucky,” he said with a nod.

  Sebastian stared down at the floor. “Lucky,” he repeated, voice dull.

  Mark nodded. “I have to be honest with you, ma’am, there are some…” he trailed off, looking awkward again as he searched for the right words, “Not so nice guys after you at the moment.”

  “Yeah, they ruined my drawing room.”

  Mark nodded sagely. He took a large breath, chest puffing out. “Did they get the globes, Amanda?”

  It was the first time he’d mentioned them, and god, it was the first time I’d thought about them in ages.

  I shook my head.

  “Where are they? You can tell me, I will keep you safe and I will keep them safe,” Mark said, and he sounded genuine. A promise from Mark was worth 1000 from Sebastian.

  “I don’t have them,” I croaked.

  “Where are they?”

  “I—” I began.

  “They’re in a safe place,” Sebastian cut in.

  What was Sebastian doing?

  I turned to him, brow drawing down as my lips widened in a confused move.

  Mark nodded. “Well that’s a relief, you would have no idea how many mercenaries and criminals you have after you,” he added with a sharp chuckle, and he sliced his eyes toward me, “But you don’t have to worry, Amanda, everything is under control.”

  No, I very much doubted that, but I could appreciate things were a lot safer now the cavalry was here and I was no longer at the whims of the mercurial Sebastian.

  “I- I don’t have the globes,” I repeated again.

  Sebastian put a hand up, turning to me, his expression odd. “It’s okay, Amanda,” he used a careful and condescending tone, “They will be safe for the time being.”

  What was he playing at?

  “One of the boys said that Maratova’s team pistol-whipped you last night,” Mark interrupted.

  Sebastian swallowed uncomfortably. “Yes, they did, got me right between the shoulders.”

  Mark blinked and let out a pressured sigh. He appeared ready to say something, but when he looked at me, he pressed his lips closed.

  Though I couldn’t be sure, I had a suspicion Mark was Maratova’s superior, and Mark wasn’t that fond of the man’s brutish nature.

  “I take it the army is not about to suspend my contract?” Sebastian asked, turning from me and looking like he had zero intention of ever turning back.

  Mark shook his head. “We appreciate your service, Sebastian,” he left it at that.

  There was another enormous clap of thunder, but this time it was accompanied by a far greater shake, the kitchen erupting in a cacophony of clattering cutlery and crockery. Though the clap of thunder was loud, I fancied I heard something shatter upstairs; the faintest tinkle of glass and a snap of wood.

  Both Mark and Sebastian obviously heard it too, because they raised their heads to the ceiling, both of their expressions pressed with confusion and concern.

  Mark put a hand on his gun, face still turned up to the ceiling above, lips parted gently in obvious concentration.

  I swallowed again, a simple and slow move, but the only thing I was capable o
f.

  I watched both of them as they tensed, obviously waiting to see if they heard any more suspicious sounds from upstairs. Frankly, the sound of the storm outside was horrendous, and through the reverberations from the waves below and the roar of the sea and wind, I doubted they would be able to hear much at all.

  I heard footsteps descending the stairs, heavy footsteps.

  I watched Mark raise his gun. Before anything could happen, I heard a gruff call from up the stairs. “It’s just me,” I recognized Maratova’s voice.

  Despite the fact it was obviously not a new horde of criminals descending from above, I couldn’t say I was comforted much. I couldn’t shake the cold and dead feeling Maratova gave me.

  He descended all the way onto our floor, walking around to us, his footsteps only somewhat muffled when his big heavy boots came in contact with the lush carpet of this small lounge room.

  He looked wetter than he had before; his hair slick against his face and his collar saturated.

  Mark looked confused. “What? Why are you—” he began.

  Before Mark had a chance to finish, Maratova did something unexpected: he lifted his gun, pointing it right at Mark’s chest.

  “Put it down,” Maratova growled.

  “What the hell?” Mark snapped.

  Mark couldn’t do anything, and before he could press an answer from Maratova, I heard several more steps descending from above, and this time they were far louder and far more pressing. I gave an enormous shudder as I heard them descend onto our level, but it wasn’t anything like the shake I gave when I saw several balaclava-clad, gun-toting men in black turn the corner to face us.

  “Change of plan,” Maratova snapped, “Hands behind your head, turn around, on your knees.” Maratova wasn’t joking.

  I stood there, lips limp and half open, cheeks slack, jaw drawn down – too shocked, surprised, and overcome to know what to do next. If indeed there was anything I could do next other than be shot.

  The look on Mark’s face was horribly compelling; his skin was a sallow white, the muscles in his face slack from surprise.

  “On your knees, turn around,” Maratova repeated.

  Silently Mark put his hands behind his head and did as Maratova said.

  A moment of exquisite fear caught me, my body seizing with the horrible realization that Mark was about to get shot. It was as if my heart stopped beating altogether, and I didn’t draw a single breath.

  Then Maratova lashed out at the back of Mark’s head with the butt of his rifle, a sickening crack sounding out as the gun met his skull.

  I jumped and gave a frightened yelp at the sound, shaking as I watched Mark fall unconscious to the ground, body limp, head turned to the side.

  Maratova turned to me. I had no idea what the expression on his face meant. There was a tension to his brow, and it was pulled smooth, his eyebrows flat and low over his eyes.

  “You asshole,” Sebastian growled.

  Maratova turned to Sebastian and waggled a finger at him. “What makes you think it’s a good idea to piss me off? You think there’s anything stopping me from shooting you?”

  “Don’t, please don’t hurt him.” I stuttered. Honest to god, I may hate Sebastian right now, but I didn’t want to see him killed. “Don’t, I’ll go with you, I will get you the globes, you don’t have to hurt anyone.”

  Maratova, ignoring Sebastian, turned to me. He nodded once, stiff and low. “Yes, you will.”

  I wanted to close my eyes, see if I could try and wake up. I forced myself to rivet them open, and I stared back at Maratova. I might have been shaking, it might have been damn obvious to everyone that I was frightened and overcome, but I still stood there, and I still met his gaze. I didn’t close my eyes, and I didn’t turn away.

  Pressing my teeth closed, my lips still open around them, I gave another swallow. “Let’s go,” I said, something suspiciously close to bravado tingling in my stomach. “We need to go now… because you don’t have much time.”

  Maratova at least was no longer looking at Sebastian; he was looking at me, his eyes pressed together, his nose crumpled, his brow pressed down. “Oh? Why is that?”

  I needed to keep Maratova’s attention off Sebastian. “The… the other men will be here soon.”

  Maratova narrowed his eyes further. “What other men?”

  With one more enormous swallow, I said the first thing that came into my head: “Romeo’s men.”

  It was an enormous risk, because I had no idea who Romeo’s men were; it was just something I’d heard Sebastian mention several times. For all I knew the men in balaclavas standing around behind Maratova were Romeo’s men.

  When Maratova didn’t begin laughing, my heart gave a shake.

  “I… we saw them in town,” I continued to spin the lie.

  Maratova kept watching me, not indicating once whether he thought I was lying or not.

  So I kept spinning and spinning: “we only narrowly got away from them, but I’m sure they followed us here.”

  “How do you know that?” Maratova asked, sliding his jaw from side-to-side.

  I didn’t have much to lose anymore, so I pointed with a shaking hand downstairs. “There was one outside.”

  Maratova gave a sharp short laugh, but it didn’t sound happy. He stared across at me for one more horrible moment, then turned to the balaclava-clad men behind him. He mumbled something to them. He then turned back to Sebastian, that familiar glint of anger in his eyes.

  “So we have to go if you want to get the globes before they do, because… they already know where they are,” I said through a shaky breath.

  Once again, I managed to snap Maratova’s attention back to me.

  “What?” he asked, voice hollowing out dangerously.

  “I told them,” I squeaked hard, “I mean, I didn’t have a choice. They managed to capture me.”

  Maratova flinched. “Where are the other globes?”

  “They’re back at my great-uncle’s manor,” I said the first thing I could think of, “And Romeo’s men already have a head start on you.”

  Maratova growled.

  “They don’t know where it is in the house,” I added, “I didn’t tell them that. But we should hurry, because it might not take them long to find out.”

  Maratova looked at me, his brow dropped so much it was flat against his beady, hooded eyes. He almost looked ready to turn back to Sebastian again.

  So I pulled out the last card I could think of: “that is, if you can manage to get through the storm,” I said, glancing toward the window at the ferocious storm outside. I appealed to his manliness, or apparent lack thereof. Only a real criminal would try to make their way out of a lighthouse during a mad storm. A sensible, girly criminal, on the other hand, would stay put until the rain and wind subsided and they could be sure they wouldn’t get their balaclavas wet.

  Maratova ground his teeth.

  “I guess I don’t know much about Romeo’s men, but I think rain wouldn’t stop them,” I added.

  “If you’re lying to me—” Maratova took a step toward me, bowing his head low.

  I didn’t need him to finish his threat; I was sure I knew what he had in mind. A man like Maratova had a limited and violent imagination. “Do you know how much those globes are worth?”

  That appeared to do it; Maratova straightened up, turned to his men, and nodded upstairs.

  I had no idea what I’d gotten myself into, but at least Sebastian was still standing.

  Not for long. Before I could do anything, before I could even track his movement, Maratova walked over to Sebastian and pistol whipped him right on the side of the head.

  I screamed as I watched Sebastian crumple to the ground, my shoulders shaking violently.

  “Right, time to end this,” Maratova said as he fixed his eyes on me.