All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Trouble and Treasure

Book One of the Trouble and Treasure Series
Copyright © 2012 Odette C. Bell
Smashwords Edition

Cover art photo: Attractive young couple © Konradbak. Licensed from Dreamstime.

Trouble and Treasure
Book One of the Trouble and Treasure Series
Odette C. Bell


Chapter One
There was a noise coming from downstairs; from somewhere around the vicinity of the front door I heard a scratching. 
It was only subtle at first – just the light touch of an object brushing against the grain of the wood.
I rolled over, sending a dusty, dog-eared velvet pillow tumbling off the bed and onto the equally dog-eared carpet below.
I closed my eyes, intent on going back to sleep. The noise, however, did not stop, and this damn house was so large that even the tiniest sound seemed to be magnified like a trumpet as it echoed through these empty dusty halls.
It was probably just some unusually persistent woodland creature, I decided, and rolled over again.
A badger maybe, a squirrel? Some lonely little puppy dog that had bolted from one of the near-by country estates only to find life in the rolling woods not nearly as fine as life in the manor?
'Oh, fine then.' I finally grumbled, pushing the covers off me with a great harrumph. If whatever was scratching at my door was so damn intent on ruining the woodwork, then I'd give it a piece of my mind.
I thundered down the stairs, tying the cords of my thick dressing gown around my middle.
'I hear you. I hear you,' I mumbled under my breath, 'keep your damn tail on.'
I reached for the door handle.
I opened the door.
I didn't see the enterprising woodland creature I had expected to.
I froze. My stomach sucked in with a tension-filled, electric charge as my eyes widened at the sight before me.
A gun. It was a gun. There was a man with a gun on my doorstep, and the gun was pointed right at me.
The sudden shock spread across my body and seemed to seep heavily into my legs and hands.
Every part of me screamed out to run, but the surprise had somehow nailed me to the spot.
The man was large and was wearing a dark black leather jacket, leather gloves, and a black woolen balaclava.
'Get in,' he rumbled in a tone that sounded exactly like a rasp grating over wood. 'Scream or try to run, and you're fucking dead.'
I just shook on the spot, the ties of my bathrobe banging into my knees.
I couldn't think. I couldn't move. All I could feel was the incredible nervous tension that was pressing against every edge of my body like a balloon ready to pop.
'Get in,' he repeated, tone so deadly it sounded like the gun was just for show. From his sheer size and intense menace, this guy looked like more of a threat than anything little old me, Amanda Stanton, in her lumpy old bathrobe could muster.
'D… d… don't kill me,' I whimpered automatically.
A distant, distant, dissociated part of me thought that was ironic. I'd been the girl that had once watched movies only to bag out the damsel in distress for not having the balls to run/fight/do anything but whimper. But here I was, not running, certainly not fighting, and pretty much just whimpering.
I didn't have a choice; the fear was simply so overwhelming. It literally crashed and pulled against me like the most powerful of ocean currents. I could fantasize all I wanted about being a tough and in-control woman, but right now the fantasies had smashed against the thoroughly pointed rocks of reality.
The guy replied by using his free hand to shove me back from the door. Then he pulled the door too behind him with a poignant, careful silence.
My breaths filled my awareness as I desperately battled for air. Oh god, oh god, oh god.
He took a brief moment to look around the place, then he fixed his gaze back on me. 'Take me to the goods. Now.'
I just stared back at him in horror.
Goods?
Did he think I was a drug dealer or some country-living weapons stockist manufacturer?
'I… I don't know-'
'The fucking antiques, lady – where are they?' He shoved me again, pushing me further down the hallway, his neck snapping this way and that as he did.
He apparently didn't think the antiques, or 'goods', could be in the hallway – perhaps where he came from all 'goods' were kept in basements or attics or in the back of your sedan right next to the bodies….
That thought chilled me through. It seemed like my body had turned to the fragile type of snow that settles above drifts – the kind that can be blown away in an instant only to melt in the pale warmth of a breath.
The antiques, I tried to repeat to myself. The antiques. He's after the antiques…. But which one's? I couldn't really stop, turn, and politely inquire whether he was after some 30's-era tins or a complete collection of hippie magazines from the 60's, could I? But there was the problem, ever since I'd put some effort into it, I'd found out that my old great-uncle's collection was just  full  of antiques.
This guy could be after anything, and apparently he wasn't about to play nice and rational in order to get it.
I sucked in a hasty breath, trying hard to stop myself from hyperventilating. I had to calm down. There was a man in my house with a gun and he was after antiques.
Give him the correct antiques and he goes away, right? In which case, he could have all the freaking antiques, because we were having a special sale for violent armed burglars today. 'Just take it all,' I pushed the words out, proud that I'd managed to do it in one go.
Slowly, painfully slowly, I was starting to pull myself together. My legs were wobbling less as he pushed me down the hallway, and the ringing heartbeat in my ears was pulsing into a steady white noise.
I was suddenly reminded of something my great-uncle had once told me: new experiences can sometimes bring with them violent shock and wonder at the realization that the world really can be just as sudden, unpredictable, and dramatic as stories and flights of the mind. I was a little low on the wonder right now, but the violent shock I was right up on. Because, quite simply, there was a man in my house with a gun demanding to see the goods.
This was the stuff of bad action movies and thrillers that never ended well for the heroine.
'No games,' the man's tone arched with even more concentrated anger, suggesting that I hadn't even begun to plumb the depths of his potential rage.
Well at least that ruled out the collector's-edition board games I'd unearthed the other day, a trite (but situation-inappropriate) part of my mind concluded.
As the man pushed me towards the darkened library at the end of the hall, another wave of fear broke against me, and my feet began to tingle with the undeniable urge to run.
My eyes darted to the side as we passed the ornate dresser I'd polished only that morning; it still had the spanner I'd picked up out of the garden shed sitting there. It was well within my reach.
I briefly flirted with the idea of grabbing it up and clocking the guy with it – but then rationality caught up with me and pointed out that would be a great way of getting shot/and or punched so hard that my teeth would end up in China.
Then I heard something off to my left. It was a soft thud and then a short little scrabble. Perhaps it was those woodland creatures I'd dreamed up from before finally deciding to try their own paws at breaking and entering.
Join the party.
But then the scrabbling turned into a tinkling as a window appeared to break in the library before us.
The burglar froze; he obviously didn't think it was a vandalizing bunny rabbit in there.
'Shit,' he said, quiet as a single drop of water on glass. Then he grabbed a hand around the top of my chest and thrust me to the side, out of the view of the open library door.
The sudden contact and press of his large, painfully bulky arm squeezing into my throat sent such a race of adrenaline through me that I jolted hard.
The abstract concept of the gun at my back had now turned into the undeniable reality of an arm closed tightly around my neck.
Desperation kicked through my immobility in an instant.
I screamed. Then I drove my foot back into the guy's knee and twisted to the side.
I had no idea what I was doing, but somehow I managed to wriggle free just enough to slam my foot harder into the guy's knee and give off another scream for good measure.
That's when three guys with guns burst from the darkened library. These guys weren't of the leather-jacket, home-burglar variety either. They looked like those SWAT teams I'd only ever seen on TV: machine guns, goggles, helmets, a variety of straps and pockets, and stances that had the undeniable menace of training.
I noticed the men, noticed their guns, noticed that they had just come from my library… and I kind of cracked. Something in me just tipped over the edge. The pressure of the burglar's arm around my throat had now redoubled since my failed attempt to free myself, and I just knew he was seconds from redirecting his gun to my head and playing hostage-taker.
So I grabbed the spanner – the one on the dresser, the one that was still within reach – and I kind of just swung it behind me.
It connected with the guy's nose in a haphazard fashion, but there was a definite and welcome cracking sound.
He dropped his gun from the surprise, his arm slackening around my throat. I ducked down, dropping to my hands and immediately scrabbling to the side like some totally razed-up crab in a scruffy dressing gown.
About a second later, there was a thump as the SWAT guys tasered the burglar with all the speed and efficiency of, well, SWAT guys.
The burglar's body jolted from the sudden, violent rush of electricity, and he fell to the floor with a thud that shook the lamp shades above.
He was down. His gun was gone. He was unconscious.
I sat on the ground, back tightly pressed against the wall several meters from the prone man, just staring at the scene. It was as if the shock and surprise of the situation – and the harrowing, unpredictable, relentless pace with which it had unfolded – had reduced me to a simple pair of eyes backed up by a narrow, panting breath.
But it was okay now; it was over. The cavalry had come.
I finally stared up at the three men in my hallway; one had leaned down and grabbed the  blaggard's gun, another had peeled off to check the burglar, and the other… well, kind of just stood there and stared down at me.
This was the point – TV had taught me – where gallant police officers should be saying 'it's alright now, ma'am; everything is okay.'
Silence.
Then the guy took several steps towards me, leaned down onto his haunches, and rubbed the back of his hand across his chin.
The hair on my arms spiked, and even though my system was already thoroughly worn out from fear, I managed a kick of unease.
Something wasn't right.
'Where are the artifacts?' the guy finally asked – voice practically toneless.
Oh – my – god.
I didn't answer; I just started at the guy in shock.
He just looked back. 'Take us to the artifacts,' his voice didn't change in pitch; there was no emotion there, just a mechanical ease.
He didn't stand up; he just waited.
Again?
I blinked quickly, shook my head, and then felt the strange press of tears welling up in my eyes. This was all just too much. Getting free from a burglar intent on stealing my goods, only to run into a trained team of mercenaries (because they sure as hell weren't the police) after my more sophisticatedly-named 'artifacts'.
What on Earth were these people after?
He motioned me up with a flick of his hand. 'Up.'
I didn't want to get up. I wanted to curl into a ball and wake up. This was all so strange, so sudden, and so unpleasantly, pressingly real.
'Artifacts,' he repeated the single word. He spoke with just the right amount of force behind his words to let me know that he didn't need to threaten me. He was a mercenary with two mercenary buddies and a couple of machine guns; I was a puddle of adrenaline fatigue and bathrobe. He would win.
I silently pushed myself to my feet. 'Just take everything you want,' I said through a thoroughly clenched jaw. 'I don't' know what you are after. Just-'
One of the other mercenaries suddenly held up a hand to his ear. Then his face stretched with a controlled but easily-recognizable tension. He made a fancy gesture to the leader.
'Move,' he said to me; for the first time emotion seemed to curl through his voice. It was bitter and sharp like vinegar onto a wound.
No, some part of me wanted to scream. This mix of fear, tears, bravado and gut-wrenching frustration all seemed to come upon me at once; as if every possible emotional reaction to this situation was coalescing into a tight lump in my gut.
The emotion swelled, and with it a strange determination seemed to settle over me. It was sharp, it was sudden, and I very much went with it.
'Go to hell,' I spat, 'get your own damn artifacts.'
But before the lead guy could shoot me for being a bolshy little hostage, I realized in an instant where I was standing.
Quick as I could I rammed myself backwards into the wall, and right into the light switch.
The hallway lights went out with a click.
I also realized I was still holding my spanner. I swung it before me in an arc as I pushed off the wall and ran to the side, heading straight for the darkened room before me.
It was one of the large drawing rooms, and from memory there was a giant mound of dog-eared magazines by the door. I ducked to the side, legs scraping along the side of the papers, but not enough to trip me up.
I knew the men were right behind me; I could hear their quiet, racing steps.
I twisted left and headed for the far end of the room, narrowly edging by the giant oak table that was scattered with old photos and torn newspaper clippings.
I heard a thud from the door as one of the mercenaries presumably collected the pile of magazines. Then there was another thud as one of them ran right into the table.
Perhaps they weren't used to navigating cluttered terrain; your average bad-guy-for-hire probably only had to put up with alleyways and abandoned warehouses.
Or perhaps it had only been luck, because seconds later I felt a hand snake out from the darkness and collect around my arm, pulling me backward with a snapped force.
I gave a strangled, puffed little scream before the very same hand managed to clamp around my mouth.
Terror engulfed me. And I do mean engulfed. It started in the back of my head, and like a powerful blizzard, burst forth and froze every single inch of me.
This was it, some part of me realized. This was it.
The light flickered on.
The three mercenaries were on the other side of the room; one picking himself up from the toppled mound of papers, another nursing his leg near the edge of the massive table, and the last one – the leader – by the light switch.
… And if all three were before me… that meant….
The mercenaries just raised their guns, and my captor raised his.
Dear… dear god… just… just what was happening here?
'This is our find,' the mercenary leader said, voice once again toneless.
This was my house, I wanted to shout back. Well, technically my dead great-uncle's house, but whatever.
The guy with his hand over my mouth didn't reply, but he did keep the particularly heavy-looking gun in his other hand very steady and very pointed at the mercenaries.
'Who sent you?' the mercenary leader asked. 'Shaw? Romeo? The Americans? The Brits?'
I didn't follow a word of what he was saying. Why would the Americans and British – or this Shaw and Romeo, for that matter – send all sorts of bad guys to my house? For these mysterious artifacts? Or did this select group (including entire freaking countries, apparently) just have it in for me?
The guy that held me didn't respond – just kept his grip and his gun steady.
I should never have come here, I realized in a pretty sharp flash. Because whatever the hell 'this' was right now, it was not worth the rather dull and dusty days that had lead up to it.
The mercenary leader finally just shook his head. 'Just kill them; we can find it ourselves.'
Ah….
My captor shot first; apparently he'd been ready for this particular turn of events.
With movements quicker than I could follow, he shot both pile-o-magazine-tripping mercenary and table-knocking mercenary right in their firing shoulders. Then he hauled me to the side, shot out the light above us, and narrowly missed a volley from the mercenary leader.
Just like that. And it all happened in a blink of the eyes; I swear.
I had just a second to process the I tumbled head-first into a pile of thankfully soft magazines, just as I heard another shot ring out.
And then there was a thud.
And then there was another thud as I slipped off the magazines and ended up as a puddle of worn-out fear and now dusty bathrobe on the floor.
I just waited there, lying face-first on the very musty carpet; I was totally spent.
There was quick footfall beside me; I flinched, not knowing what to expect.
But I wasn't wrenched to my feet, choked, and told to 'go and get the collector's items'.
In fact, the man offered two short words: 'stay here'. Then he moved off into the dark room, probably to go and check that the rival bad guys were down.
Stay here. The words echoed in my mind with a strange hollowness.
It took me a moment – in which I heard my captor likely shove at the prone bodies of the mercenaries – and then I decided that 'staying here' was not something I really wanted to do. Here was too full of bad guys, guns, and dust to be healthy.
I scrambled to my feet; even though I still felt the fear, the realization that I just had to get out of this place now pumped through my body along with every last drop of adrenaline I had left in me.
Despite all the shock, my eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness. Plus, over the weeks I'd really started to memorize all the box-filled death traps in this house.
Still on my hands and knees, I crawled under the table. From there I could crawl to the opposite side of the room and through a different door that would take me back to the hallway. Once there I'd just run like crazy and get the hell out of here.
Plan.
Action. I scampered with a fiendish frenzy. And even though the room was still very dark, my eyes were adjusting all the more. There was a strange, silvery, almost eerie light filtering through the various moth-eaten holes in the curtains. It had a dappling effect on the darkened room: offering just the barest amount of illumination to guess where I was headed and nothing more.
I crawled, the pound of my heart still beating violently in my throat. But even though my nerves were still fraught, I was glad of the action.
I made it under the table just as I heard a soft grunt from the other side of the room. Through a streak of light I managed to make out the rough, likely scuffed surface of a boot. It probably belonged to my most recent captor; the man who's hands smelt of a strange tinge of fine coffee and just the tiniest remnant of expensive French cologne. That, or it belonged to yet another new-comer intent on illegally and violently extracting the location of the 'historical products' or 'items of interest' out of me.
I continued to crawl underneath the table; I was headed to the far right corner. When I'd first come into this room, this giant oak table had been sitting roughly in the middle, with a most excellent view of the windows beyond. And this, of course, made it a most excellent tripping hazard considering all the boxes that lined every wall and the magazines that were strewn across nearly every centimeter of the floor.
But here's the thing: I'd pushed the table to the side, practically right up against the wall. And right on that wall was a second door to the room. At the time I had figured that it hadn't mattered whether I partially blocked off one door; now it seemed like that tiny little fact might save me. If I had just left enough room to open the door and squeeze through the gap, I'd be out of this room (hopefully) before Mr Coffee-and-Cologne-Hands could notice. Then I would run like the wind in any direction (probably the nearby road, on the off chance that some passing car wasn't filled with hoons and goons on their way to threaten and rob me).
I made it to the space between the door and the table, and managed to just stand up in the gap. Then I lightly turned the door handle.
There was the softest of squeaks as the aged and probably never-oiled mechanism rolled in my hand. I agonized over the sound with a throbbing, chest-aching fear. But it didn't stop me from immediately squeezing myself through the gap in the door, and finally out into the cold corridor beyond.
The moment my bare feet hit the once-plush now-thoroughly-torn Persian runner, a shot of sharp, bitter fear rushed over me. It literally seemed to push me forward. There was no question of hesitating anymore; there was no longer the possibility of cowering and dropping to my knees at the prospect of violent criminals in my library. There was only action.
My breath, though jagged and choppy, finally seemed to do more than heighten my anxiety; it allowed me to run for the front door. I kept my footsteps as silent as I could, but when I finally managed to grab the handle, I couldn't help but wrench it open.
'Don't,' a deep, resounding voice rumbled a single word from somewhere behind me.
It lit the final powder leading to my keg of panic, and I bolted. And I really do mean bolted. My feet hit the uneven cobbled stones outside the door with a frantic slap, slap. Then I just jumped the several steps that lead down from it (though they were small, it was still in the dark, and that was still impressive).
My naked feet finally reached the rough stones of the turning circle; but not once did I bother about the sharp, jagged edges that were lacerating my tender flesh. I just ran. I just ran; I was being chased, after all.
I could hear him behind me, hear the very measured pant of his breath, hear the very measured beat of his footfall.
The panic rose to a level I had never, ever experienced. Opening the door to a leather-clad burglar was one thing; having an evil SWAT team burst out of my library was another; and having a hand scented with coffee and cologne clamp around my mouth in a darkened drawing room was something again. But being chased so perfectly, so keenly, so efficiently from behind while I desperately tried to stumble my way to safety….
Before, I hadn't tried to fight back, but now I was acting in vain….
I screamed as he caught up to me. I was no longer really conscious of how I sounded; I was no longer doing it for effect either. That old mammalian part of me that just didn't want to die was giving out one last, gut-wrenching, lung-punching cry before it was all over.
'Jesus Christ, calm down,' came the barely-puffed voice of the man. He was right behind me.
Calm down? Why? Because it was easier to steal antiques from people who were stoic and silent?
I just put on another burst of speed and somehow managed to peel away from the guy.
Then I promptly fell into a hole.
Not thinking, and still pretty much in the dark, I put my foot in small dip in the land, then immediately fell forward.
I fell heavily. Maybe I sprained something; maybe I even broke something. But the scent of damp grass filled my nostrils and the sound of someone leaning right next to me enthralled my ears.
'Listen to me,' he said, voice quick but clear, 'I'm not here to hurt you. I saved you.'
Like hell he did; he broke into my drawing room and shot out my light.
'If you don't believe me, then here, take this.'
Something metal was pressed into my upturned left palm.
It felt like the butt of a gun; it was heavy and had a weight that offered unbelievable reassurance.
But had the guy really just handed me a gun?
I let my grip solidify around it, and I finally pushed myself off the ground. There was a dull pain in my right ankle, but I managed to look past it. In fact, I looked right at the guy who was now standing a respectable almost non-threatening distance away from me.
He had his hands up and his fingers spread in classic I'm-not-armed fashion.
Through the pale moonlight I fancied I could even see the expression of his face. It didn't look leering; I couldn't see the glint of his teeth as his lips puckered up to reveal a criminal sneer. It looked calm and aware.
I sat there on the grass, gun held awkwardly but nevertheless tensely in one hand. I stared at him. I stared at the dark shadows that obscured most of his face and the even darker shadow his tall, broad form cast against the grass.
The guy had just handed me his gun; Mr Coffee-and-Cologne-Hands had just armed me.
Was it a gesture of trust or just some bad-guy game? Would he wait for me to say something brave, then giggle, pull out his own bigger gun, shoot me, and shout 'puuuuuuunked' in a drawn out, nasal tone?
He didn't move his hands; he kept them up, still, and where I could see them.
'Are we going to do this all night?' he finally asked. 'It's just, I can't guarantee that no one else is coming.'
The last bit piqued my interest with a tense little wave of fright, and it finally broke through the gate of my silence. 'What do you mean? There are more? Who were they; who are you? What's going on here? Why did you give me your gun?'
As I asked the questions, the man brought one finger down for each. Though in an ordinary, non-bad-guy-filled scenario such a move would have seemed innocent, now the slowly moving fingers reminded me of a countdown.
'Don't do that; what are you doing?' I said, tension pulsing through my voice as my hands trembled around the gun.
'Keeping track of your questions,' he answered easily. 'Now, what do I mean? I mean that right now you aren't safe here. I can't guarantee that there aren't more guys out there; in fact, it is probably a safe bet that there are. What was the next question? Who are they? That depends: some of them are petty criminals hired on a whim by people who either can't afford or are too stingy and stupid to hire real mercenaries. The rest of them range from ex-servicemen with debts to pay to bankrolled killers.'
The term 'bankrolled killers' sent such a shiver down my spine that I very almost dropped the gun.
It didn't help that a wind was picking up, shaking the branches of the nearby oak trees and pressing through my sodden pant legs making the flesh underneath prickle and quiver.
'What was next?' the guy continued in a quick tone, apparently keen to finish all the questions as soon as he could. But still… he was taking the time to answer them. 'Oh yeah – who am I? We've met before, actually. Sebastian Shaw,' he said simply.
A tremble of recognition passed through me. I recognized the voice now – and that subtle mix of coffee and cologne. It was the man from the auction house; that persistent, dogged, hunkasaurus who seemed unusually interested in my spotting globe.
And now he was here, standing on my lawn, handing me guns, and shoving me to the side as he shot so-called bankrolled killers.
'You remember me?' he asked carefully, possibly realizing that a single name to a frazzled woman might not get him very far. 'We met at the-'
'Auction house,' I supplied in a very quiet, monotone.
'Yeah,' he said, and forgive me if it sounded almost caring. 'Two more questions, right?' he finally continued. But I'll start with the last one first,' he still had his hands in the air, and he still wasn't moving a muscle in my direction. 'I gave you my gun so you could trust me; it's one thing asking a panicked woman to trust you when you're holding the gun, but it's something else if you give the gun to her, right?'
He seemed to want my confirmation, but for some reason I was stuck on the term 'panicked woman'. Despite the fact that I clearly fit into that category right now, it seemed to rally my pride. 'Just hurry up and get to the bit where you tell me what's going on.'
'I'm afraid we probably don't have time for a full version,' he said, cautiously looking over his shoulder at the very long driveway that circled down to the road below.
There was a low, softly thumping sound of an engine running somewhere down the hill; it could be a farmer doing some late-night mowing… or another car-full of bad guys ready to do some people mowing instead.
As he moved his face towards the noise, I could see his sharp brow crinkle and press over his eyes. It really was Shaw, I realized. The build, the stature, the face, the voice. But apparently Shaw was a little more than a lawyer/ antiques dealer. That, or he just had a natural talent for putting down bad guys.
I stopped myself immediately; I couldn't start believing in this guy now. The gun was a gesture; I needed solid proof. For all I knew, he was a bad guy himself.
I saw the dips and ridges of his tensed neck muscles as he arched his head even further towards the sound. He didn't turn his body fully though, and he kept his hands firmly where I could see them. 'We might want to get out of here,' he said in a very low tone.
It reminded me of that particular purr of warning my cat would use if it saw a rival kitty crossing its turf.
'I don't trust you yet,' I said simply, 'so don't you move.'
He turned his head back to me, but apart from that stayed as still as a tree trunk.
'You tell me what is going on, then I'm going back into the house to call the police. No,' I quickly corrected, 'we are going back into the house.' I kept the gun firmly pointed at him.
I realized that I wasn't offering much incentive to this guy to play along – tell me your story and then I'll arrange for the boys in blue to put you behind bars.
But I had a gun, and guns offer real currency in otherwise-shitty deals.
He just sighed, though I could tell with every second he was paying less and less attention to me and my inexpertly-held gun, and far more attention to the ever-growing put-put of the engine echoing through the valley.
'Short version,' his tone was clipped, 'that globe you put up for auction isn't an ordinary antique. It has a treasure map on it. It's also part of a set – a set you said you own. And, combined, that set is a map to the greatest treasure humankind has ever imagined.'
My jaw could have literally dropped off at that. 'Treasure map?' I said, indignation bursting and crackling in my voice along with the ever-present fear and panic.
'Treasure map,' he repeated easily. 'You don't have to believe me. But do believe this: the men in there,' he shrugged towards the house, 'aren't here for tea and biscuits.'
I just sniffed, feeling the weight of the gun in my hand as if it were literally the only solid thing left in the world.
'I'm going to call the police,' I finally rasped.
'They won't get here in time,' he said, tone dropping a notch or two.
The fine hair along the back of my neck stood on end; the sound of the engine came closer and closer.
Down by the edge of the property I heard the crunch of tires against gravel.
'Find somewhere to hide,' Shaw stared straight at me, finally relaxing his arms and dropping them to his side. He didn't take one look at my gun as he moved back and turned towards the driveway below us.
'D-don't move,' I tried.
He responded by reaching into his pocket, then throwing a set of keys right at me.
The keys bounced off my chest, falling to the soft grass below.
'My car is parked on the lane-way,' he pointed across the field in the direction of town. 'It's by a grove of oaks, right next to a bridge.
I knew the place; I did not make a move for the keys.
'Lock yourself in or drive away – your choice.' He reached behind him and seemed to pull something from the back of his pants.
It was a gun. Another gun, apparently.
I had a gun and he had a gun – the odds were back to being totally and utterly against me (my only experience of firearms up to this point, after all, had been on TV and through the occasional video game).
'Go, Amanda, get out of here,' he encouraged with a sharp flap of his free hand.
I remained firmly where I was, gun still held before me, eyes now very wide.
Too fast, everything was happening too fast.
The car now came into view at the top of the incline we were on, though it wasn't a car – it was a big black van.
'Run,' Shaw snapped as he angled down to the ground, flattening himself as he raised his gun at the approaching vehicle.
Run?
At night, with bare feet, in a pink dressing gown, while every mercenary and burglar in the district wanted to steal my antiques?
'Or just stand right there and advertise our position; that's a great way to get yourself shot,' Shaw half turned to me, though his eyes were still focused entirely on the van, then he waved me down with an emphatic pat of his free hand.
I watched the hand flap in the darkness, the light rays of the moon glinting off some kind of ring on his middle finger.
'G-e-t d-o-w-n,' Shaw spat again. Then, obviously fed up at me just standing there all dithery and overcome, he snapped up and simply pushed me over with all the finesse and kindness of a play-ground bully.
I yelped, tumbled over, and once again came to rest face-first in the damp grass.
A scream of protest came to my lips, but the crunch of the van's tires suddenly seemed to become all the sharper. And judging by the clarity of the sound, it wasn't all that far now. Fifteen meters maybe, possibly even ten.
Lying on the ground, immobile, and face-first – again – seemed to give me just enough time to really process what was going on here. Very soon, this Shaw character was either going to shoot the occupants of that van, be shot by the occupants of the van, or throw up his hands and join their evil order – instantly turning around to capture and torture me.
I was exquisitely aware, as the crunch of dirt and stone under wheels filled the night air, of how slippery and sweaty my palms had become.
I blinked my eyes once, then screwed them shut against the outside world and all the apparent gun-toting misery it had to offer this night.
Then there was a single gunshot. Even though I had been expecting it, my stomach gave such a jolt that it seemed as though it would jump right out of my middle.
But just as my skin flamed and prickled with the expectation of a full-on gun fight, a massive beam of light seemed to settle over the area.
Even down in the grass I could see the bright light suddenly engulf the vicinity.
And no, my first thought wasn't aliens (well, maybe for just a nanosecond).
The sound of a chopper's rotors slicing through the night's breeze sounded from above.
'We have you surrounded,' a determined, guttural voice crackled over a loud speaker, 'stay in your vehicle. Any attempt at violence will be met with swift retaliation…'
Over the now thoroughly loud sound of the chopper, I couldn't actually hear whether the van was doing what it was told. So, with an almighty sniff, I raised myself up and took a peek.
The chopper above was hovering low – so low that the downward stream of the rotors not only flattened my hair, but threatened to flatten my body as well.
The black van had indeed stopped, possibly due to the fact that the helicopter above it was equally as black but far, far more menacing. Despite the phenomenal force of the downward draft, I stared up at the chopper above. Not only was it large and sleek, but it appeared to have two fairly prominent gun turrets either side of its nose.
Gun turrets.
A helicopter with gun turrets.
That point seemed to ricochet around my head with all the force and speed of a bullet. The mercenaries and burglars had been one thing – but this was something else entirely. The great hulk of metal that now hovered above my turning circle was something that belonged in a war – not on a country estate.
Somehow, this situation had taken a turn towards even greater danger and peril; and yes, I was still in my dressing gown.
'About bloody time,' Shaw managed to shout over the roar of the helicopter.
Just as the words left his mouth, several black-clad figures leaped from the open doors of the chopper and rapelled down, landing perfectly either side of the van.
They had very, very large guns.
With my hair still flattened against my face, and my eyes blinking hard to stay open, I just watched, bottom lip  quivering.
And then… then I pushed myself up, feet sinking into the damp, soft grass.
The spotlight from the helicopter was centered directly over the van.
I stepped backwards, receding further into the darkness beyond this fraught, incredible scene.
The men from the helicopter shouted various threatening orders at the occupants of the van. And even though I could not make out the exact words over the sound of the rotors above, I could bet they weren't asking for directions.
I took several more steps backwards, feet so gently pressing into the firm ground behind.
Then I turned.
I ran.
I ran because there was a helicopter on my lawn, there were mercenaries in my drawing room, and there was a burglar in my hall.
Keys jingling in my hand, gun immobile in the other, I made it to the house before anyone knew I was gone.


Chapter Two
Sebastian Shaw
I shouted over the sounds of the rotors, my voice straining with the effort. Even though the helicopter had already landed, it was taking too long for the damn rotors to wind down, and I really needed to get their attention now. So rather than just shout till my lungs were empty and my throat cracked and dry, I just pulled open the pilot's door.
'Hello to you, too,' said Garry, a giant with a baritone voice and a distinctive South African accent , so resonant that could have been heard over a jet engine.
'No time,' I shouted, 'she's done a runner. I've got a heavily armed team in the drawing room – just left of the front door when you come in,' I sliced a hand towards the large and imposing front door to the manor ahead of us. The place was huge, old, and judging by all the junk that had been in that drawing room, a bloody death trap. But hey, it had treasure too, otherwise I wouldn't damn well be here.
Maratova, his M-15 slung easily over his shoulder, jumped out of the back of the bird, scuffed army boots landing roughly on the loose stones of the turning circle beneath them. Hair whipping back across his face from the still dying rotors, he reached down, pulled up his balaclava and fixed it in place. 'We've got this, Shaw, you can go back to your books now.'
I ignored him. Maratova liked to think that a real man was judged by the length of his rifle muzzle; I didn't give a shit how long his muzzle was, and all I wanted right now was to find those antiques before one of the other teams got their hands on them. Oh, and there was the little fact that I'd turned my back on her for one second and the girl had done a runner.
With my gun and keys.
Shit, tonight couldn't get any worse.
Maratova cracked his neck, adjusted the sight on his rifle, then slapped me on the back as he walked past. He tapped his ear piece with one hand, cleared his nose, spat on the ground, and grumbled a 'got it'.
The only thing he had was an ego the size of Mars. And to hell with it if I was going to let this idiot ruin my find.
Shit, if I'd known they were going to bring Maratova along, I would have called the boys in blue instead.
But rather than fight him on it, I just gave a shrug, shot Garry a look, and walked off around the side of the chopper.
I had real intel on the targets inside, but Maratova wasn't the kind of gunslinger to stop and get his bearings. Shoot first and let someone else clean up was more his style.
Garry just gave a shrug, and the rest of the unit jumped out of the helicopter to follow their leader.
It wasn't as if they were going to face any resistance: I'd taken down Romeo's boys in the drawing room, after all.
'Fuck,' I quickly hissed as I remembered one tiny little fact. I'd given the girl my gun. The same girl was now holed up in her house somewhere. Granted, I hadn't been dumb enough to leave it loaded, but then Maratova wouldn't know that. And I could just see the woman, frightened out of her wits, doing the first thing she could think of with the gun and point it at the heavily-armed men smashing through her house.
She'd just been attacked by a unit of mercenaries. In her current state I doubted she could tell the difference between the good balaclava-wearing, gun-toting guys and the very bad ones.
So I turned on my foot, scattering stones as I went, and bolted towards the front door.
If she was smart (and I doubted that, considering how she'd announced to a room full of mercenaries, antiques dealers, shady Government agents, and plain old crooks that she had a set of the rarest treasure maps out there) she would have taken my keys and headed for my car, just as I'd told her to do.
But Amanda didn't strike me as smart. Amanda seemed ditsy, unkempt, and unlikely to be able to deal with a full-scale incursion into her country manor that well.
She'd be hiding under her bed – I'd bet a tenner on it.

Amanda Stanton
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried the door again. I screamed a silent swearword as I realized it really was locked. And the little click it gave as it resisted my desperate attempt to open it, seemed to ring out like the loudest of bells.
At that moment I swear I heard the front door open.
My heart back in my throat, my hand actually visibly shaking as I clutched the door handle, I stared around wildly.
I had made it to the kitchen. It was right at the back of the first floor, and it had a door that led out onto the back of the property. There was a garden path just outside that led into the woods, with a shortcut down to the lane-way beyond. There was an old bicycle tied up to a tree on that lane-way; a quaint vestige of my great-uncle's estate.
The guy – Sebastian Shaw, the extremely good-looking lawyer who had just turned out to be an extremely-good looking mercenary/spy/criminal – had offered me the keys to his car. But I wasn't stupid. There was no way I was going to get in his car. It was probably stuffed full of weapons, dead guys, and stolen goods. Hell no, I was going to take the bike, stick to the old country road, and cycle like a woman possessed, still in my pajamas, until I reached the local town.
But the very door that was meant to lead me to my brilliant escape was the very door that would not open for me. It was locked, the key all the way back near my front door, in one of the drawers of a side dresser.
I mouthed another silent swearword as I definitely heard the sound of heavy footfall coming from up the hall.
Instinctively I ducked to my knees, crouching and sidling awkwardly until I was hiding behind the island bench, back pressed up against a jar full of dried pasta and a knife board.
The gun was still in my hand, and I held it at an extremely awkward angle – afraid of the damn thing, but not willing to let it go when there were more unwanted guests traipsing through my great-uncle's manor.
I had no idea if they were 'good' or not. Just as I had no idea if Shaw had been honest. But somehow I doubted it. When it came to rescuing people from break-and-enters, the police had that covered – shifty men in suits, no matter how dashing, did not. Whatever Shaw was doing here, and whatever that helicopter and that van had to do with it, I doubted any of it was legal.
As I sat there, heart thumping away so violently that I could feel it through my clenched teeth, I picked up that the steps were getting closer and closer. I guessed there were several men, but not once did they speak to give away their exact number.
It was all so professional, and all so incredibly frightening. The burglar at the door and the mercenaries in the drawing room had been one thing – hell, even Shaw had been manageable somehow (if you count manageable to mean I had spent most of the time crawling away from him in the mud). But there was something about the silent way these men were making their way up my hall, the way each step was so damn precise and light that I had to strain my hearing to even pick it up.
Christ, Christ, Christ. I slammed a hand over my mouth, squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to make it all go away. I tried to wipe at my eyes, tears forming and streaking quickly down my cheeks. But that was when I realized I still held the gun.
I gave an involuntary and just audible squeak.
The steps stopped. Whereas they had been heading up my stairs before, after a pause, they now headed my way.
My heart could have popped at that moment; never before had I felt such intense, pressed stress. I could hardly breath, and my eyes were now so tear-streaked that I could hardly see to top it all off.
I had closed the kitchen door behind me, but I hadn't had the presence of mind to shift a table or something heavy in front of it.
So there was nothing but an unlocked door separating me from whoever the hell was beyond it.
If it was the police, if it was somehow the Army – if it was some legitimate Government security force, they would announce themselves. They'd shout out a quick 'this is the police, we're here to help you, ma'am, and we're here to catch the bad guys'. But sure as hell the guys outside of my kitchen door had not paused to reassure me they were just here to help.
In fact, it was just at that moment that one of them stood over the board right outside the door, the one that always squeaked no matter how softly you were treading.
And that's when I couldn't bear it anymore. I clutched at the first thing I could find – which just so happened to be a jar of dried pasta and not one of the knives on the magnetic rack just across from me. With the jar of pasta in my hand, I lurched towards the back door.
It was at that point that it opened towards me.
I skidded to a stop, a dark, tall, large figure before me framed by the moonlight. The man took a step forwards, just as the kitchen door behind opened with a soft clunk.
I had never been quite so desperate in my life, and my body, pumped with fright, did the first thing it could think of, and struck out at the figure before me with the jar. The pasta rattled around, just as the jar struck home on the guy's upper arm.
'Ow,' the man protested, just as a red dot of light crossed his face and then drifted to my upper arm.
I screamed. I'd seen the movies; I knew what was coming next.
'Hey, hey, hey – it's fine. Maratova, she's fine – she's fine. Occupant of the house,' the man, who I now realized was Shaw, spat his words out in quick file, his hands up.
But despite his words, several more of those red-pointed lights flew over the room and seemed to settle on or around me.
That's when I chucked the pasta jar right at Shaw's head, ducked around him, and bolted right out of the back door.
I heard the jar shatter against the floor, heard someone swear, but did not stop to clean up the mess and make sure everyone was wearing shoes lest they slash their feet on the glass.
No, I flew across the path, arms pumping wildly, feet stumbling in the dark, but never stopping, gun still held awkwardly in my vice-like grip.

Sebastian Shaw
'Did that woman just attack you with a jar of pasta?' Maratova snorted out his words like a bull.
I didn't answer, just turned to follow after her.
'We've got this, Shaw,' Maratova blurted out suddenly and gruffly.
Was that the click of a safety going off? Maratova was no idiot – his safety would have been off the second they saw that van. Nope, he would have clicked it on again just so he could click it off slowly to give me a pointed message.
While I often worked with the Special Operations Unit, we couldn't exactly be classed as friends. Well, not me and Maratova anyway. I had a certain history with that roving idiot.
It was a violent history.
But that wasn't the point. Right now Amanda was likely running down a dark garden path, seconds from falling in a ditch and breaking her neck. Or worse. As far as I knew, there could still be more bad guys – amateurs or professionals – roving those woods. And it wouldn't take Amanda long to realize her gun didn't work. Nor would it take long for her to be taken down.
'She's the owner,' I said quickly, 'she's scared, she has no idea what's going on-'
'And she's got a gun,' Maratova signaled two of his men to stay behind while he and another one headed for the back door.
'It's not loaded,' I spat back, trying to get it through his thick skull that Amanda was less of a threat than his own grandmother (though, knowing Maratova's particular upbringing, maybe that wasn't true).
'And how the hell do you know that?' Maratova brushed past me roughly, pausing to listen to my answer. It was obvious he didn't think Amanda could give much opposition; he probably thought he'd pop out and she'd be hiding stupidly behind a painted flower pot.
But that girl could run.
'My gun,' I snapped back. 'I gave it to her.'
The guy next to Maratova snorted and Maratova just gave a growl. 'I don't even want to know why,' and with that he turned stiffly and stalked out the door, gun raised.
'It's not loaded,' I almost screamed back.
'Way to go to break our cover,' one of the guys said – Jefferson, I think – who was left in the room. He raised his gun and took position near the kitchen door. 'Anyone in this house knows exactly where we are now.'
As if Maratova's loud, guttural, annoying tone hadn't already done that.
But rather than point that out, I sidled closer to the door. I was playing a fairly dangerous game here: I was on their team, technically, but that technically could see me with cable-tie handcuffs stuffed around my wrists and a black eye if I didn't respect their rules.
But something was niggling deep in my gut. And, yeah, it had something to do with the damn way she'd looked at me out near the turning circle – the whites of her eyes glinting in the moon light, her lips slack and her mouth open.
It was miles away from the light, breezy, frankly ditzy way she'd been when we'd first met. When she'd walked into that auction room, smiling nervously, the auction house owner tittering nervously at her shoulder, I'd been ready to write her off as a new secretary or PA – a really vague-looking one. But when she'd sat there through the entire auction, shock plastered over her face as the seemingly innocent spotting globe she'd put up for sale started to go for millions, that I'd realized something was up. It wasn't until Narcina – an Egyptian antiques dealer who often tried his hand at businesses less arty and far more illegal – walked right up to her and asked her to withdraw the item from sale and sell it to him for an even higher price, that I really knew something was wrong.
And that's when she'd done it. Shock still plastered over her cute little face, her button nose crinkled and her blue eyes almost popping, she'd stood up, blinked at the man, and stuttered, 'I have more of them. I have a set… five I think.'
God, you could have dropped a fucking grenade in that building and not one single person would have moved. They were all of them in there for one reason: the spotting globe at auction was worth potentially hundreds of billions of dollars in lost treasure. We're talking lost Spanish galleons stuffed with doubloons, Roman hoards, Egyptian tombs, treasures the Nazi's had stolen and squirreled away through the war. But while each globe was valuable, they did not work as a map until they were combined. There were five globes in total – and when Amanda had innocently admitted to the room that she owned the whole set... well.
My own heart could have stopped at that point. I'd only been searching for a hint of those globes my entire career, only to have one pop up for freaking auction down the street from my office. I hadn't had to battle bandits in South America for it, hadn't had to fight through the war-filled valleys and mountains of Afghanistan, hadn't even had to pull out my gun.
They were called the Stargazer Set: and among those in the know, they were the most famous, previously elusive, and most highly desired treasure maps in the world.
And ditsy Amanda had them. All of them, apparently.
But I was sure as hell that she didn't have a clue what they were, nor, it was obvious, did she understand what was happening to her now. Because what was happening right now – several highly-equipped, military-trained units kicking in her front door and demanding to see her goods – was what happened when you blurted out you had the Stargazer Set in your basement.
'Come on, Jefferson,' I tried, voice at normal level, as I was sure there was no one left conscious in the house, 'you know Maratova: he's going to scare the shit out of her, or worse. You really want that?'
Jefferson took a moment to wipe at his nose with the thumb of one of his combat-glove-covered hands. 'She threw a pasta jar at you – I don't think she's a fan.'
'She has no idea what's going on. She isn't the criminal here. Just let me…' I trailed off, not really sure what I actually wanted. Did I want to be the one to go out and pull her out of the ditch while she flailed at me with the butt of my own gun?
Not exactly. But I kind of owed it to the girl. She'd been dumb telling everyone in that auction room that she had the Stargazers, but I'd been worse for not warning her when I'd had the chance.
The trouble was I really wanted those globes. And now the only person who knew where the rest of them were, and the legitimate owner (not that anyone in this building – good or bad – really cared who officially owned the things) was pelting through the forest trying to get away from me. And Maratova, despite my insistence that her gun wasn't loaded, would still treat her as armed, and he'd use protocol on that. That same protocol would not be kind to Amanda. The poor girl would probably explode if she was tackled by a trained soldier or had several M-15's pointed in her face while Maratova screamed at her to drop the weapon and drop to her knees. In other words, she was in trouble.
There was a lot of trouble going on here tonight, and I doubted it was over yet.


Chapter Three
Amanda Stanton
I had no idea what I was doing, I just kept running for my life. My heart was beating so fast and so violently that a cold pressure was spreading through the top of my chest. I kept wheezing till my lungs were only half filling with air as I pelted along.
But I had to get out of here; there were bad guys at every turn and every one of them had nasty guns.
I had managed to make my way off the dark garden path, my bare feet grating against the rough stones and soil as I headed towards the forest below. And when I hit it, despite the leaves and sticks and god knows what else on the forest floor, I just kept on running. It was as if I didn't know how to do anything any more.
Oh, and there was that little thing about the horrible sound of several heavily-armed men in chase to give me extra incentive.
I hadn't had any time to think since the moment I had rolled out of bed and walked down stairs to meet the first of my attackers. But strangely, now, as I tried to navigate through the forest in the dark, my feet probably bleeding from the torture I was putting them through, the thought of exactly what was going on here was prominent in my mind.
They were after my globes; just like the one I had been so foolish to sell at the auction house earlier that week. The one I had found in my great-uncle's dusty, dirty attic.
When I had come to my great-uncle's estate, entrusted by the rest of my family to sort through his junk, I had never expected to find anything that was actually valuable. It was strange, considering the man lived in a veritable English country manor. But the truth was, old Great-Uncle Stanton only ever collected junk. From the mountains of yellowed paper in the drawing room, to the boxes filled with old tattered photos in the lounge room, to the cupboard full of used baked-bean cans, old Great-Uncle Stanton, though he was a collector, was certainly a collector of rubbish not treasure.
But that had all changed the Tuesday before last when I had finally made my way up to the attic. I could still remember the moment I had heaved the door open, and had heard the massive bang as the old wood had swung back on its hinge and impacted with the floor. A massive cloud of dust had been whipped up, and I had thought I would fall off my ladder from the coughing fit that ensued. But when I had finally pulled myself up and onto the floor of the attic, everything had been worth it. All those weeks of going through all of that junk, of trawling through the millions of old newspaper clippings, cigarette tins, postcards, stamps, and badges, so yellow, bent and rusted with age that I had to wash my hands every half hour – all of it had been worth it.
For there was treasure above. While the majority of the manor, from the bottom floor to the top floor, had been filled with glorified rubbish, in the attic was a sight I had never seen outside of a fancy museum. Statues were pressed up against the side walls, very old-looking urns were tipped over on their sides, coins spilling from them. There were incredibly old, fancy-looking desks and seats, clearly antique and clearly expensive. On a side wall amongst all of this treasure was a simple desk and on top of the desk were two things: one warn, leather notebook and one old fairly hideous spotting globe. A round globe set on a base, painted with a map of the world. Amongst all the wonder that surrounded me, for some reason it was that strange, simple sight that had caught my attention.
My old Great-Uncle Stanton had been the black sheep of the family, having left medical school halfway through his degree in order to take up treasure hunting instead. The rest of the family, suffice to say, had thought he was mad. And they had also thought, apparently incorrectly, that all his years of traveling and toiling had brought him naught but further insanity.
The family had been wrong.
Old Great-Uncle Stanton had had an attic full of treasure.
My great-aunt, Imelda Stanton, the true executrix of Great-Uncle Stanton's will, quickly dealt with the 'treasure', leaving me to deal with the dregs. Great-Uncle's Stanton's will had already gone to probate, all gifts given, and the residue of his belongings were to be sold and split up between the principle beneficiaries named in his will. So suffice to say, old Imelda had been pretty quick in getting the goods removed and sold off. But the dregs, oh, the dregs had been mine to 'deal with', as it were. And the dregs were nothing more than the junk downstairs and that strange spotting globe and old leather-bound book sitting on great-uncle's desk.
And yet, despite the fact there was no gold any more, there were no gems, there were no antiques, but there was still a pantry full of used baked-bean tins, for some reason my great-uncle's old house was still being assaulted by mercenaries, criminals, thugs, and bizarre coffee – cologne smelling lawyers. And all they really wanted was the globe, or rather the other ones. I had sold the original at auction, after all, and that little apparently innocent act had been what had started all of this.
I had to keep running, I had to get the hell out of here while I still could, I kept telling myself as the sounds of whoever was behind me and the chase they were giving grew louder and more insistent.
But I had a plan, and that plan was to continue running.

Sebastian Shaw
It was over for tonight, and hell, maybe it was over in general. Despite the fact I would have done anything for those globes, my hands were now tied, literally. It seemed I had not ingratiated myself all that well to my comrades in arms. In fact, at the second suggestion that I run after Maratova, the boys he had left behind had got mad, complaining I was drawing attention to them before they had checked the house fully for other contacts. So they had done the first thing they could think of: pistol whipped me , tied my hands behind my back with cable, and gaffer taped my mouth. It was genuine military hospitality.
Even though we were meant to be on the same team, technically, I didn't begrudge what they had done; they wanted those globes just as much as I did, maybe more. In fact, you could bet that every single well-informed, well-armed guy out there wanted the same thing.
You couldn't calculate how much they would be worth, and in fact it would be a world full of fun finding out. Treasure hunting, after all, was the grand pappy of fun.
I hadn't exactly grown-up wanting to be a treasure hunter though. I hadn't seen Indiana Jones as a kid and thought 'that right – that's the job for me'. Nope, I had just kind of fallen into it. I had actually grown up wanting to be a lawyer, and that dream had come true. Treasure hunting I had just fallen into.
But despite the thrills, spills, maps, and gold – treasure hunting also had it's down side, and Maratova, boy was he a down side.
By the time Maratova had come back to the manor, I was sure that Amanda would be dragged in by his side, a shaking puddle, tears streaking down her face, feet bloody from running through the forest, and body a bundle of bruises considering how incapable she seemed on her feet.
My expectations had been wrong.

Amanda Stanton
As I ran, careful to avoid the trees and scrubby undergrowth as best as I could, I realized I needed something to run towards. But the more I heard the sound of pursuit, the more I realized that I could not carry through with my original plan and run for the old country road and then into town; they would catch me the moment I hit open ground.
In fact I could not hope to outrun them at all – I needed a place to hide.
So I veered off, remembering that just down from this section of forest, down an old glade, was a storm pipe. It wasn't massive or anything, not like in Jurassic Park; it couldn't fit a van in there or anything, but it was big enough for me to crawl through on my hands and knees.
I managed to run to it, managed to fit inside, the old musty concrete of the pipe pressing into my nostrils, and there I waited, heartbeat pressed up close to my chest, teeth shaking in my head, as I waited for the sounds outside to cease.
For those short moments, or minutes, or hours – for I had quickly lost track of time – I had never felt so much fear in my life. It was like some kind of horror film where I was waiting alone, my attackers descending upon me from all sides, my escape routes blocked, my advantage lost, and my life probably to follow.
But as I rode out the fear, my hands so sweaty as they pressed up against the dirt and leaves underneath me that I would have to bathe for a week to get the marks out, the sounds did eventually pass.
Somehow I had managed to get away, that or my attackers were of the particular cruel variety and were standing around just outside of the pipe ready to catch me in a sack, or however it is you kidnap maidens in distress these days.
But eventually,  I realized that I was indeed alone.
I stood there, back pressed against the storm drain, mouth open without the ability to close it, for god knows how long. I was still waiting for every criminal in the country to round the corner, or jump out of the trees at me, all shouting that they wanted to see my goods, antiques, or old and valuable items.
But when the attackers did not come and I realized just how cold I was, I urged myself to move. One step, after that the next, I eventually gathered speed until I was walking briskly, but not running wildly, my arms turgid, filled with blood, at my sides.
I really did not want to flee from the forest only to find a major road; in my mind every satellite in the country, every machine that could fly, and every guy that had never listened to his mother and had become a murderous thug, were all trained, or milling about, on those open roads, ready to catch me the moment I nipped out from the forest. So I decided I had to keep to the forest as long as I could, or at least keep out of sight.
The section of woods I was in led behind several of the old country manors in the district, and I realized, teeth now actually chattering with the cold, that if I kept to the path and tried to navigate as best as I could from the lay of the land, I might be able to head to old Elizabeth Brown's house. Elizabeth had been a good friend of my great-uncle's, a woman of considerable eccentricity herself, but with better taste and less used tins of baked beans in the pantry. When I had been a child I had visited my great-uncle on many occasions, and had grown to know Elizabeth and remembered her fondly. In fact, since I had been at my great-uncle's manor dealing with the estate, I had been to Elizabeth's several times for tea, and she had always said to pop in whenever I was around.
Well, I was about to take her up on her invitation. I hoped that I wouldn't be bringing along a truckload of mercenaries and bad guys to the tea table though.
Somehow I kept my footing as I navigated in the dark. Even though it was a full moon, it was hard for the silvery light to penetrate through the thick canopy above. But I managed to make my way, as quietly as I could, as slowly as I dared. I soon realized that I was at the back of Elizabeth's property.
As I climbed the hill that led up to the back of Elizabeth's well-appointed manor, hot tears began to streak down my face. For some reason, even though I had been through everything a woman should not have to go through in her pajamas in one night, I hadn't cried before, or at least not like this. The tears came, flowing quickly, collecting along my chin and streaking down my throat, making the top of my pajamas wet. I couldn't stop them, not that I wanted to try. But I did clamp a hand firmly over my mouth, trying to stifle any sound of emotion that would break through, any clue to any bad guy that was hiding under the leaves or up in the trees.
So I climbed the hill, feet so thankful that soft, damp grass was under them that I almost began to cry harder.
And just like that – in a completely bedraggled, damp, shaking, tear-and-mud streaked fashion – I finally knocked wildly on the back door of Elizabeth's house.
It was some time before she managed to come to the door, and during all of it wild flights of paranoia kept wheeling around my mind. I wondered whether every bad guy who had 'visited' my manor had somehow gotten here first and was about to play a wicked game of Red Riding Hood with me: dressing up in Elizabeth's hideous, old, floral pajamas and slippers with curlers in their hair and coming to the door, gun tucked behind their hot-water bottles. Or, you know, just dashing out with a gun in hand and a balaclava on their faces.
When Elizabeth finally opened the door, I lost it completely. I kind of crumpled down to my feet, tears now so fast it must have looked as if I'd stood under a waterfall, and mye just a mouth, a babbling mess.
Elizabeth did not shrink from me and ask what on earth was the matter; despite her eccentricities, she was a level-headed woman. The very first thing she did was pick me up, looking me up and down, possibly for any trace of blood, and then she finally ushered me inside, closing the door and locking it firmly behind her.
She pulled out a seat from the kitchen bench, manhandled me into it, stood at the other side of the bench and looked at me directly, a kindly but serious look on her face.
'Well then, girl, you better tell me what's going on.'
It was some time before I could speak, and I wiped wildly at my wet and dirty cheeks with the sleeves of my pajamas, sort of doing nothing but mixing the muck around. But then I eventually gave a heavy sigh. 'You are not going to believe any of this, but my house... I just, there were mercenaries in my house. There was a robber at my door. There was a helicopter on my lawn.. And there was a lawyer in my kitchen,' for some reason I chose to end on the most benign point.
Elizabeth did not immediately burst out into laughter, and nor did she call the local hospital to get them to send down a psychiatric assessment flying squad. In fact, all she did was walk over to the kitchen door and neatly pull down the blind that rested over the little window that looked out at her backyard.
'I see,' she said, voice very even, without a hint of a laugh at all. 'Sounds as if you've had an adventure,' she offered a wan smile and then headed directly to the kettle opposite and turned it on. She pulled two brightly colored mugs from one of her cupboards and set them down.
I sat there perched on the edge of the kitchen stool, clutching onto the fine, probably silk cushion, for dear life as I tried not to fall off, the sheer fright of the night catching up with me.
Had I really just been robbed, or nearly robbed, by criminals, burglars, and soldiers? Or was this all a dream or had I hit my head or was I somehow on drugs?
'I think you'll need two sugars in your tea,' Elizabeth said as she practically tipped the sugar jar into my mug, 'perhaps three.'
'I just...' I had no idea how to make any sense of it all.
'The very first thing you need to do,' Elizabeth sat the tea down in front of me, turned the handle towards me and waited there with a diligent but stern look on her face until I reached for it and clutched it to my chest, 'is to drink tea. The next thing to do is to take several deep and long out breaths, have a sugary cookie, and tell me exactly what happened – from the beginning.'
' Shouldn't...' I hesitated for a moment, the warm tea as it steamed up my face possibly the most pleasant sensation I had felt all night, 'I don't know, call the police?'
Elizabeth waved a hand at me. 'Now now, darling, you never call the police until you have called a lawyer first. Trust me, you'll be safe here tonight, and I'll call my lawyer in the morning. No, you simply must get all this off your chest,' Elizabeth gesticulated encompassingly with her hands and took a very deep breath, looking for all the world like an enthusiastic drama teacher, 'then you just need to have a shower, and then you are going to go straight to bed.'
I narrowed my eyes at her, taking a welcoming sip of my tea. I really honestly thought that calling the police was a better idea, but then a little kick of uncertainty rushed through my middle. As paranoid as it sounded, those men that had descended in a helicopter had looked official, or whatever word you would use for it. And I had seen enough movies and read enough cheap adventure novels to know that the police weren't always the good guys. If some men who looked like they were from the real Army had turned out to be after my globes, without a care for myself, then perhaps somehow the police were in on it as well. I knew it sounded paranoid; I didn't really care in my current state. I was so full of adrenaline and supressed fear that honestly the only thing I wanted to do was crawl into bed and pull all the covers and even the pillow over my head. Because apparently no matter how old you are, there's always safety in a blanket.
Plus, maybe Elizabeth was right; maybe a lawyer would know what to do. At least then there would be more people involved in this, whatever this was. And I honestly really had seen enough crappy television and read enough cheap novels to know that when somebody powerful wanted you, they would go through any avenue, official or illegal, until they got you. Having a lawyer onside surely couldn't hurt.
At the thought of how much trouble I was in, I gave a horrible little shudder, sucked in a hearty draft of my tea, and tried not to cry again.
Elizabeth waited patiently until I could speak, even handing me a tissue.
For some reason I did not question whether sitting there on a seat in her kitchen was safe. For all I knew, whoever was chasing me was still after me, and within seconds would bust in, kicking in the door, guns blazing. But somehow, for some reason, I felt safe. Or, more likely, so strung out that I couldn't think straight.
I spilled the beans. I told Elizabeth all about finding those globes in my great-uncle's attic. I even told her all about the treasure that had been up there with them. Elizabeth, bless her eccentric soul, didn't bat an eyelid at the mention of incredible treasure two houses down belonging to a man that she had known for so many years. In fact, the only comment she could muster was that it all must have been very colorful. As if color was the most interesting fact about a hoard of gold, diamonds and other gems.
I continued to tell Elizabeth about the fact that my great-aunt, the legal executrix of my great-uncle's will, had taken the so-called treasure, and had left me with what she had thought was junk. But then, in a stroke of what I now labeled idiocy, I had bothered to do a little googling. Intrigued about the spotting globe and the journal I had found on that simple-looking desk in the middle of such a rich-looking room, I had wanted to find out more. So I had spent some aimless hours trawling the Internet for the mention of anything about spotting globes. And it wasn't too long until I realized that a spotting globe, at least if they were old and still intact, could reach a tidy sum. I had played around with the idea of snapping some photos and putting it up for auction on eBay, when I had realized that I still had the contact for the auction house that my great-aunt often used. So I had enthusiastically made a call and had arranged to see the head of the auction house. The poor man, realizing who my great-aunt was, had probably thought that I was going to sell something fantastically expensive. But when I had brought the globe to him, probably with a stupid grin on my face, he had been obviously disappointed. He agreed to the auction anyway, once again possibly out of allegiance to my great-aunt.
And that had honestly been the worst mistake of my life. I should have stayed at my old great-uncle's manor, clearing out his estate, spending my nights tucked in the library, a small fire in the hearth as I read through some of my old great-uncle's more exciting journals. But oh no, I had to put that globe up for sale. And to top it all off I had gone to the auction in person, where I had made perhaps my greatest mistake of all.
I hadn't really batted an eyelid when the auctioneer had called me, a strange spike of excitement in his voice, as he had let me know that there had been a considerable amount of interest in my item; a record number of people ringing ahead to ensure there was going to be space at the auction and that the item had not already been sold.
I had showed up the day of the auction in a pair of rather sparkly tights, a fairly funky floral dress, and some bedazzling Indian slippers. I soon realized that I was not dressed according to code.  I had never seen so many suits somehow pulled over such tight muscle. In fact, I had never seen so many bulging side pockets, nor had I seen so many leather straps curling over the shoulders and  slung below the armpits of so many men. Just a hint of the holster of a gun underneath. And then there had been the women with the incredible fingernails, the unbelievable power suits, and an unfathomable look in their eyes. Every single person in that room had looked like they could kill you in the blink of an eye, and several of them looked as if they made a profession out of doing exactly that. Suffice to say, my breath had caught in my throat as I walked down the passage between the neatly arranged seats with the neatly arranged, incredibly mean looking people sitting on them. I was so shocked to see such an array of, well, bad looking people. It sounded silly, but honestly, that was what they had looked like. They looked far meaner than anything I have ever come across in my life, and that even included my great-aunt.
And then the bidding had begun, and oh my oh my I had never been so surprised in my life. The asking price had been a little over £100. In the space of precisely 1 minute that sum had raised to almost £200,000. In fact, people were clamoring so much that they were standing, some of them on top of their seats, as they shouted to be heard, their hands waving up in wide arcs as they drew the price higher and higher. I was standing off to the side of the room, and when the price had reached 2 million, I'd almost fallen over. I'd reached out a hand to the wall beside me, clutching on for dear life, as I watched a roomful of men that looked like they could crack coconuts just by attacking them with only one of their incredible hands, and women who looked as though they could win in a cat fight with a leopard, dueling it out with nothing but their voices and their wallets as they each competed to win my spotting globe.
The price in the end had reached £15 million. But the strange thing was, others in the audience were still willing to bid, with some of them rising to their feet in anger as the auction hammer went down.
It almost seemed as if there was going to be a riot.
In all honesty, at that moment, I had wanted to take it all back. Not that I would have with a room that looked harder than diamond-studded steel, of course. But if I could have yanked that globe from sale, and run with it all the way back to my great-uncle's manor, I would have. I believe at that point I had started to realize that something was certainly 'up' here.
It was at that moment that I had been approached by a man in a very fine-looking cream linen suit. He must have known that I was the owner, because he bypassed the auctioneer, large brown eyes locking on mine, large curling smile spreading across his lips.
The first words out of his mouth were: 'I will offer you £50 million for that item.'
I think I had just stood there at that point, perhaps my lips had parted in a comical slow fashion, my bottom jaw dropping millimeter by millimeter as my very slow brain processed what he'd just said.
£50 million? Even though I had actually came from a fairly well-off family, and even though I had a trust fund of my own, that kind of money was incomprehensible to me.
But rather than squeak back at the man that the item had sold, or that I would talk to the auctioneer to see whether the auction could continue, I blurted out the dumbest thing I ever had in my entire life. Shaking just a little, clutching my hands behind my back so I didn't show my fear to that roomful of sharks in suits and skirts, I had tilted my head to the side, pulled my lips back in a supremely awkward grin and blurted out, 'but there are four more'.
Because there were four more, four more spotting globes from my great-uncle's collection. Well, technically.
Well, at that moment, the auction house that seconds before had been ready to explode with a number of violent shouts and accusations, became still like a cold and frosty night in the middle of nowhere. You could have dropped a snowflake and heard it hit the ground.
I had actually gulped and even patted my throat after-wards, and bit down very hard on my lip. The look on the man's face with that incredible cream suit of his, well, I'd never had the pleasure of being a mouse in a cat-and-mouse game before, but at that moment I knew exactly how it felt. It was hard to explain, but the corners of his eyes curled a little, the once passable smile on his lips now stiffening out, little slithers of white teeth poking through.
'I see,' was all he had said.
And that right there, had probably started it all. All that business with burglars in my hallway, mercenaries in my drawing-room, lawyers on my lawn, and soldiers in my kitchen; it was then and there that it had all begun.
After I had finished my story about the auction, having finally finished my tea as well, Elizabeth had brought out the biscuits and a slice. She kept plying me with sweet food and I kept telling her my story. And then in short, hiccupy fashion, I told her about what had happened at the manor only minutes before. But I left out one detail, a detail which I would regret quite possibly for the rest of my life; I forgot to tell Elizabeth about the man on my lawn, the one that had given me his gun, the one that had insisted he was out to help me, the one whose keys I still had in the top pocket of my pajamas. For some reason Sebastian Shaw's name was not on my mind at that moment, but in the next few months he would be all that I could think of.
Elizabeth had sent me to bed in short fashion, even insisting that I brush my teeth, on account of how much sugar I had just consumed. It was a surreal experience to be ordered to clean my teeth before bed, barely an hour after I had been chased through a forest by soldiers with guns. But I just followed what I was told; I was too tired to think for myself, too scared of the possibility that now the entire country was after me, scrabbling to get their hands on my remaining globes.
But despite the fear that still pulled its way through me, and despite the enormous amount of sugar I had had before bed, for some reason the moment my head hit the pillow I fell asleep. And I did not wake until morning.


Chapter Four
Amanda Stanton
The second I awoke, I had a strange feeling that I couldn't remember something, something very important. For a few blissful moments I just lay there, warm in my bed as I tried to remember what it was I had forgotten. Was I meant to call my great-aunt today? Was there a fair in the local village? Had I organized to meet a friend in town?
And then in a snap that actually shook me, I remembered everything that had occurred the night before. I had no idea how I could have forgotten it; it was the only night of my life that had involved so much action, so many guns, and so many people out to capture me. And so I just lay there in bed, with fleeting glimpses of the horrible previous night chasing through my mind as I curled up, clutching at one of the cushions beside me, unashamedly in a fetal position as I tried not to fall apart.
But it wasn't too long until Elizabeth called me down to breakfast. The smell of freshly-cooked pancakes with apple and blueberry sauce wafted up the stairs, and it was just enough to see me raise my face from the warm press of my pillow. Because if it was one thing that could distract me from my paranoid thoughts that the entire world was out to get me, it was good cooking and eating.
Elizabeth called me down the stairs, her rich eloquent accent tinkling like a little bell, worlds apart from the horrible screams that I had had to put up with last night. In fact, from her tone to the gentle pleasant aroma in the air, I was starting to believe that maybe what happened to me last night really was a nightmare. But as I padded out of bed, my hair an incredible mess at the top of my head, I caught a glance of my wrists and my feet: they were covered in scratches, bruises, and marks. And nightmares,  no matter how harsh and frightening, tend to stay in your mind. Reality, on the other hand, was way different.
I winced as I walked down the long stairs that lead to the bottom floor and the kitchen below. And it was honestly only the smell of fresh-cooked pancakes that kept me going.
If you'd asked me several weeks ago, before heavily-armed men had kicked down my door and chased me through the woods, and well before a roomful of obvious-looking criminals had paid millions for my spotting globe, I would have told you that I was a fairly independent, emotionally stable, almost tough woman. I was used to mucking out the horses stables, I was used to changing the tires on my car when I got a flat, I was even used to fixing up anything that broke in my home; my great-uncle, for all his apparent mad eccentricities, had taught me a lot. But still, no matter how much he had taught me, last night had taught me something new: all it took was a couple of pairs of scuffed army boots, a couple of uncocked machine guns, and a smattering of balaclava-wearing bad guys, and I could and would be reduced to tears.
But the thought of my old great-uncle, and the stories he'd used to tell me as I had sat by his knee in his library, bolstered me, and I did not fall down the stairs in a sobbing mess, feeling incredibly sorry for myself. Instead I heaved my way to the kitchen, nose still sniffing the air appreciatively, stomach gently rumbling, heart momentarily not beating through my chest in my efforts to run away from anything.
Elizabeth nodded at me as I walked into the kitchen, a manic-looking apron tied loosely over her even-more-manic-looking pajamas. 'I have made pancakes,' she announced as she shepherded me to the kitchen bench and placed an incredible stack of pancakes before me, the dark purple sauce dripping and oozing over and between them. Just one whiff of it was probably enough to give me cavities, but I helped myself to a stack of four enthusiastically.
'I called my lawyer, dear,' she nodded earnestly, 'he is going to be here any moment now. We are going to get this sorted; we are going to get this sorted today,' she said with an almost military-looking nod. Despite Elizabeth's colorful. and erratic personality, one thing that could be easily said about her was that when she wanted something done she would jolly well do it. And for just a second, I had something to smile about: I had someone by my side, somebody formidable, and somebody endearingly floral.
'But I'm in my pajamas,' I said through a massive bite of my food, sauce dripping down my chin, 'shouldn't I change?'
Elizabeth shook her head vehemently. 'You have just been attacked in your house by bad men carrying guns; you can jolly well stay in your pajamas as long as you like. Plus, my lawyer is a good chap.'
I just nodded my head. I really couldn't be bothered changing, plus, I didn't have anything to change into; all my clothes, though ostensibly not that far away, were still in a house that was possibly full of criminals. And in a situation like this, god dammit, anyone could understand that a girl had to stay in her pajamas.
Shortly after, as I sucked down a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice, Elizabeth disappeared from the room as the doorbell rang.
A little kick of fear and uncertainty managed to muddle around my stomach as I sat there waiting for the lawyer to arrive. I was suddenly realizing that it was getting very real again. For some reason, as I had told Elizabeth my story over so many sweets and sugary tea last night, and even as I had sat here this morning and downed the mountain of pancakes, I had managed to gain distance from the situation. But that distance rapidly reduced as I heard even but strong footfall coming down the corridor.
I even took a swallow as I put my orange juice down, took a hearty sniff, and turned to the kitchen door.

Sebastian Shaw
I sure had had one hell of a night, and I sure had bruises to prove it. God, I had a bruised ego as well. But when it had come to shrugging into my suit that morning, and getting back to my real job, I had managed it. Even though there were tracks of mangled skin around my wrists where the cable ties had dug into them, I'd managed to hide it with shirt cuffs firmly closed by cufflinks and a watch. And even though I had a hell of a bruise between my shoulder blades from where I had been pistol whipped, I just sucked it in and put on my best suit to hide it all.
So, despite my incredible night, I had to put it all behind me and get on with my 'real' job. That I had been let free from last night at all wasn't a surprise, nor was the fact I had come away with a range of bruises and injuries to show for my troubles. Of course the Special Forces team had let me go; they needed me, after all. And, to tell you the truth, I knew it was all just some painful lesson. Maratova, the titanic and idiotic personality that he was, was obviously trying to show who wore the man pants in this partnership. In fact, as soon as Maratova and his team had gotten back to the manor, empty-handed, with no babbling Amanda being manhandled between them, it hadn't been long before I had been let go. Maratova had leaned down, horrible breath breaking against my face, that scar in his top lip stretching as he sneered at me, then he had told me that from now on I played by his rules and I didn't break them. Because if I did break them there were always more pistol whips and more cable tie to go round.
I hadn't cared at that moment; Maratova could have pulled a knife and carved his name into my arm along with the lines 'don't fuck with me', and I wouldn't have bat an eyelid. I was far more interested in where little Amanda Stanton had run off to. After all, she still had my gun and keys.
But Maratova and his men made it no secret that I was to have nothing more to do with this. Amanda would be tracked down, and the globes with her, but they were to do it themselves. Little lawyer boy, as they often called me, was to get back to his day job and leave the real work to the men.
And so I had gone back to my day job, but I sure as hell wasn't going to stop there. I was going to find Amanda Stanton myself, not just because she had my keys, but because I had spent my whole life looking for those globes, and I didn't give a fuck that I had been called off this one.
I shrugged my shoulders, trying to ease my posture into a more comfortable stance and away from the stabbing pain in the middle of my back, as I finally knocked on the door. I usually didn't make house calls to my clients, but this was not an ordinary client. Plus, I was already in the area, and I couldn't pass up the chance of trying to find Amanda again.
'Sebastian,' Elizabeth whipped the door open, leaning on the frame and cocking her eyebrow, a sideways smile on her lips. 'You know, you are my favorite lawyer.'
'That means nothing, Elizabeth, as you hate lawyers,' I said with a smile, ignoring the wincing pain between my shoulders and the horrible grating feeling as my watch snagged against the raw skin of my wrist.
'But I don't hate you, and it is just lovely of you to come at such short notice.'
I nodded at her. To be honest, I had no idea what the old dear wanted; Elizabeth Brown was about as mad as they came. She was the kind of mad that saw her painting smiley faces and happy little flowers on the side of her Rolls-Royce in liquid chalk , just to brighten the days of others. She also had a hell of a lot of money, as did most of my clients. But at least Elizabeth didn't act like she did; she was of a very rare breed of actually kind rich people. So when she had called late last night, not long after I had returned home from my ridiculously unsuccessful venture, asking me to come around first thing in the morning to see to a problem with the law, as she had put it, I had of course accepted.
'I didn't think we should call the police until we really knew what we were dealing with,' Elizabeth waved me in through the front door, the two fairly simple but antique ruby rings on her fingers glinting under the morning sun.
I narrowed my eyes. I was very aware of Elizabeth's eccentricities, as I was aware that my well-off clients tended to be more suspicious of the police than some of those from the lower echelons of the socioeconomic strata. For some reason they always had the belief that the police would take their money off them, Robin Hood style, for just being rich. And while I wouldn't necessarily disagree with the police on that, the very economic stability of the modern age was built on the riches of the few being drawn from the very livelihoods of the rest. Still, when you need to call the police, you need to call the police, and even the most stuffy rich boy judge would uphold that law.
I played at the corner of my watch trying to push it up and off the raw skin of my wrist, as I wobbled my jaw around a bit. I really didn't think Elizabeth was the kind of old girl to get into anything too bad; when she'd called me here this morning, I thought that it was all about the problem she'd been having with one of her neighbors. Elizabeth was terribly fond of the environment, and despite her riches and very much because of her eccentricities, she ran an around-the-clock animal shelter. And then one of her new neighbors. had started up hunting: everything from the ducks to rabbits to even the occasional badger (despite their protected status, well at least according to Elizabeth anyway).
But for some reason, as I kept on playing with my watch and staring at the strange look in Elizabeth's gray eyes, I realized that perhaps today was different.
'She is in the kitchen,' Elizabeth nodded down the hall, her wild, never-kempt white hair being tossed around by a slight breeze and the movement of her head.
My stomach gave a kick, a real full on kick. Running a very quick tongue across my top teeth, I narrowed my eyes slightly. 'Who is in the kitchen?' I tried to keep my voice even, though god dammit if it shook.
'She is,' Elizabeth said, explaining nothing.
My heart beat a little faster as I followed after Elizabeth, and I kept playing with my watch. Couldn't be her, could it? She would have gone straight to the police, right? Wouldn't Maratova have found her hiding underneath a rose bush? Or perhaps even speeding around in my very own car? She wouldn't have just run over to the neighbors., would she? I mean, I had my misgivings about Maratova, especially his almost criminal attitude, but as far as I knew he was a capable soldier. How in the hell would have let Amanda, who seemed to have a character just a cut above jelly, get away from him and his unit?
The thought swilled around in my mind as I followed Elizabeth down the long hall. The scent of very tantalizing, freshly-made pancakes seduced the air, with just a hint of sweet apples and blueberries. They reminded me very much of my mother's cooking, and despite the situation brought a smile to my lips. And it was with that smile that I finally entered the kitchen.
And she looked up at me, Amanda Stanton, still in pajamas, even if they appeared to be new ones.

Amanda Stanton
I looked up. I had just loaded up another forkful of pancake ready to finish off the delicious remnants of my breakfast. But I dropped it, the fork clattering against the Wedgwood plate, the forkful of pancake tumbling off onto the floor.
I stood up immediately, the high stool behind me with the silk cushion clattering to the floor. I turned, on autopilot, the familiar kick of adrenaline from last night rushing through me, as I ran to the kitchen door.
I grabbed a hand to it and tried to yank it open, but it was locked. I probably gave a pathetic little wheeze at that, and tried a little harder, tried to force the door even.
'Don't worry about that, Amanda,' Elizabeth said, voice peaking with amusement, 'he is just a lawyer.'
I turned from the door, realizing that even with my best efforts I would not be able to open it, pressed by back into it, and stared at him wildly. He had the strangest expression on his face. The moment he'd walked into the room, a strange half smile had been playing on his lips, a distant look in his eye. And now the smile had stiffened, those handsome eyes widening and fixing right on me, his hands dead straight by his side. 'You don't have to do that,' he finally put his hands up. 'I'm here to help you.'
'You're her lawyer?' I asked, my voice cracking as it leveled out at a hideously high pitch.
Elizabeth looked interested and kept turning from me to Sebastian Shaw. ' Oh no, don't tell me that this is the lawyer that was on your lawn last night? While the mercenaries were in your drawing room, the burglars were in your hall, and the soldiers were in your kitchen?' Elizabeth spoke quickly, but despite her words, her tone did not peak with concern. Far from it – she looked amused and interested; even though I had tried to manhandle her door to get away from the lawyer by her side.
I just nodded, head so stiff, hands flat against the cool wood of the door behind me.
'But Sebastian is such a good boy,' Elizabeth pointed out with a flat nod, 'he's always been there for me when I've needed him.' She looked over at Sebastian, a fairly even expression on her face.
For Sebastian's part, he had not once taken his eyes off me. And while his hands were still raised, his fingers still and straight, there was such a stiffness and tension to his shoulders; it really did not look like a move of submission.
'But he had a gun,' I pointed out, stabbing a finger at him wildly, my voice peaking and dipping with emotion.
'Is that right, Sebastian?' Elizabeth crossed her arms. 'Did you go to Amanda's house last night with a gun?'
Sebastian, still with his eyes locked on mine, eventually put his hands down. He offered a simple, bare nod. 'That's right, Elizabeth.'
He said it with such ease, with such a truthful look in his eye, that you couldn't help but believe him.
But I shook my head, perhaps a little too violently; my incredibly messy hair bunching around my face as I did. I pointed at him again, the movement way too sudden and making me wince as I realized my wrists were far more bruised than I had accounted for last night. 'They broke into my house, Elizabeth, they tried to steal my globes.'
At the mention of the globes, Sebastian's expression changed; where he had once had a keen but even look on his face, he now looked almost dangerously interested. His lips spread back a little, a glint of his very straight and perfect teeth peeking out from underneath. And there was definitely a very hard look to his eyes. Then he sliced that gaze towards Elizabeth for the first time, and, if I was any judge of character considering how emotionally taxing my night had been, he almost look concerned. And then he shot that gaze right back at me, those eyes hardening again. 'You told her about the globes?' There was a definite accusatory note to his voice.
I receded back a little, even clutching my arms around my middle. This was not how it was meant to go. Elizabeth was meant to call a lawyer, a kindly old gentleman who would have sat there across from me and listened to my story and then gone out and made it all okay. She was not meant to call Sebastian Shaw, and Sebastian Shaw sure as hell was not meant to show up and get angry at me for sharing my story. But the look in his eye, and the certain tension running down his form, told me that he was very much angry, and that he is very much angry at me.
'Do you have any idea what you just did?' Now that his arms were no longer raised in fake submission, he held them very stiffly at his sides, hands rounded into soft fists, and for the first time I noticed the numerous cuts and bruises across the back of his hands and fingers.
'Excuse me?' My voice was about as high as it was possible to be. This could not be happening. Criminals did not act with such sincere indignation, as if you had somehow broken their trust by telling the kind old lady down the road about their misadventures and dabblings in the other side of the law. 'You broke into my house last night,' I began.
'Oh grow up,' he snapped, 'I saved you from those men in your drawing room. I saved you from those men in the van,' he gave me a very stiff, very unfriendly nod, 'if it wasn't for me, god knows where you'd be right now, but probably tied to a seat answering questions from real criminals.'
'Excuse me?' My voice was even higher this time; I simply couldn't understand what was going on here. Who the hell was this guy to get so angry at me?
Sebastian, still with a look that shot daggers at me playing across his face, grabbed one of the kitchen stools on the other side of the bench to me and sat roughly, pulling out the corners of his rather expensive suit jacket as he did.
Elizabeth, who was still watching us with great interest, took a little sniff and then turned towards the kettle. 'How about I make us all a cup of tea? Sebastian, would you like some pancakes?'
Sebastian turned to Elizabeth, offered her a very deep and genuine looking nod. He really appeared to look at her with real affection, and the smile that played across his lips was most certainly charming, just as it was most certainly at odds with the steely look he offered me next.
'Just what is going on here?' I tried again. But no matter how much I questioned this ridiculous situation, nobody else seemed to have a problem with it. For the love of god, I was about to sit down and have pancakes with a man who broke into my house only last night. This is not how things are meant to go. But perhaps this was how things went when you had forgone calling the police and had gone to bed after your home invasion instead.
I still stood with my back to the door, my arms clutched around my middle as tight as they could possibly get. And now that Sebastian had sat down, my gaze darted to the door behind him. If I somehow managed to get around the less-than-legal lawyer, I might be able to make it down the corridor and out the front door. And then it would be the old game of avoiding the criminals until they got bored and went home.
Sebastian saw where I was looking and slowly shook his head. He then sat back on his seat a little, moved his shoulders from side-to-side and shook his head again. He didn't even bother telling me I had no chance, he just got comfortable in his seat and shook his head like he was a master telling his dog not to jump on the bench.
I hardened my jaw at that, clenching my teeth.
'There are a lot of people out there looking for you, Amanda,' Sebastian started to drum his fingers on the table, his large golden watch on his left wrist slipping a little and showing deep cuts along the flesh. 'And trust me when I say they will not be as nice as I am.'
'Stop threatening me,' I said bravely, even letting go of my middle in order to clamp my hands on my hips. ' I'm going to call the police,' I put my head up, staring down at Sebastian.
He just chuckled. 'Well, if you are going to do that, you should have done that last night. In fact, that was exactly what I had expected you to do. You do look a bit stupid, after all.'
'Excuse me?' I blinked hard.
'But hey,' he leaned forward, still tapping his hands on the table before him, 'you didn't call the police, and now that would be the only reason that you are not in the hands of Maratova and his men.'
I swallowed, and it was damn obvious. 'Was he…. Was he the man who was after me last night?'
'One of the men, Amanda,' Sebastian smiled, and it wasn't altogether a nice smile.
'They are working with the police?' My bottom lip was hanging out a bit too much, and I couldn't seem to control it.
'I wouldn't say they are working with the police,' Sebastian straightened up again, even crossed his legs. He looked for all the world as if he was damn comfortable, completely at odds with how frightened and uneasy I felt. 'You're in a lot of trouble, Amanda.'
'But I haven't done anything.' I really was shaking now. 'I haven't done anything wrong at all.'
Sebastian just shrugged, for some reason he looked as if he was enjoying this. But then again, he didn't exactly seem like an upstanding character; it would take someone with a particularly flexible view of the law and morals to break into someone's house in the middle of the night, after all.
'Sebastian,' Elizabeth called from over by the stove, 'you stop baiting that girl right now. I called you here to get this sorted, and if you want to be fed you should jolly well get professional.'
Surprisingly Elizabeth's reprimand had an effect on Sebastian, and he cleared his throat, leaning forward a little and straightening up.
'I have no idea what is going on here,' I said very weakly and very pathetically. Boy was I sick and tired of how much was not under MY control.
'You put a spotting globe up for sale at an auction house, and that spotting globe…' Sebastian shook his head, swallowed, and for just that second looked almost as lost as I did. But then he hardened up and cracked his neck from side-to-side. 'Well let's just say that you've got the whole world's attention now. But more important than that,' he leaned forward and now he looked interested, really interested. His eyes, which had been mostly narrowed as he had looked my way, now opened wide, showcasing the pleasant blue of his irises. 'Where are the other globes, Amanda?'
My lips were parted, probably hanging open and making me look dumber and dumber by the moment.
'It is very important, Amanda; those globes are worth more than you can imagine. The one you sold at the auction house may have only fetched you £15 million. But altogether those globes…' He just shook his head. Then he locked those blue eyes on me again. 'Where are the rest?' He leaned even further forward, and it almost seemed as if he wanted to stand up from his seat, walk over to me, grab my shoulders and squeeze the information out of me. 'You have no idea how important this is.'
'What exactly are those globes?' Elizabeth asked, sounding interested but not exactly awed or scared by what was going on. 'They must be quite something to have so many strapping men interested in them at once.'
Strapping men? Was that really the most appropriate way of describing them? Surely horrible, evil criminals was better. But I held my tongue, bit my bottom lip, and watched as Sebastian started to carve up his pancake pile.
'Well, Elizabeth, I have to tell you that these globes are dangerous; you probably shouldn't know more than you already do,' he chose to shoot me a particularly mean look at that.
Elizabeth waved a hand that him. 'Oh pish, it doesn't matter at all. Now tell me, or I will not be paying your fee. After all,' Elizabeth leaned back on the stool she had picked up from the floor and had sat on neatly, 'I think you should remember, Mr lawyer, that not only have I engaged you in this matter, but I will also be the one paying you too. So why don't you go ahead and tell me exactly what those globes are, and why my dear Amanda is in so much trouble here.'
Sebastian just took another bite of his pancakes and gave me a particularly mutinous look and then shrugged his shoulders. 'They are treasure maps. Perhaps the greatest treasure maps in the world. At first glance, and to those who know nothing of their true origin and purpose, they would look like ordinary spotting globes. But once each of the globes are put together, across their surface are the locations of innumerable treasure hoards.'
Elizabeth clapped her hands together, a true smirk crossing her lips as her ruby rings banged together lightly. 'Oh, how exciting.'
Sebastian just snorted at that. 'I think the word you are looking for, Elizabeth, is dangerous.' Sebastian actually put his fork down and gave me a very pointed look at that. 'I wasn't kidding when I said that I had no idea how much those globes are worth. And I'm not kidding when I tell you that every Government, every henchman, every crook, and every mafioso will kill,' he stressed the word kill, 'to find out exactly what that sum is.'
I actually put a hand up to my chest, my heart was beating so strongly that I could feel it vibrating.
'And Amanda sold one of these at auction?' Elizabeth put her head to the side, looking genuinely curious. 'How unlucky. I imagine it would be quite an adventure to traipse around the globe finding hidden treasure.' She leaned back on her stool.
Sebastian snorted again. 'An adventure indeed, but not nearly as fun as dodging all the hit men, thugs, and mercenaries who will be after Amanda just so they can get their hands on the other four,' he looked over at me again pointedly.
I wasn't sure whether he was making things out to be more dangerous than they were just to get a reaction out of me. As he sat there, leaning back in his seat as he took deliberate mouthfuls of the pancakes without managing to spill any sauce down his middle (as I had done), he seemed far too collected and calm to be entirely trustworthy. Plus, he had that thoroughly annoying, boyish look about him. The one that told me this little lawyer had never gotten over teasing girls in the playground.
So I sniffed a little, straightened up, held my head high and tried not to be as frightened as the horrible uneasy feeling in my stomach suggested I was.
'So, Amanda, you want to tell me where those globes are? Or would you like to call the police and end up in Maratova's hands by the end of the day?' He leaned forward, smile unpleasant.
I gulped, I actually gulped. Because calling the police, as soon as I was able to get free of this insufferable man, was exactly what I had planned. And though I didn't know who Maratova was, I had a fairly strong suspicion that he had been one of the men with guns, one of the many, that was, from last night. And if he, who ever he was, could manage to get me even while I was in the protective custody of the police, then perhaps my paranoia was accurate; this situation really was as dangerous as it seemed, and just as ludicrous.
'Look here, Sebastian,' Elizabeth now leaned in, slapping her own hand flat against the table in order to get his attention. 'I imagine she would be a lot more willing to help if you would least offer to help her first.'
Sebastian looked mildly chastened, seemed to play with his jaw for a moment as if it were bothering him for some reason, and then opened his hands. 'Then we will cut a deal: you tell me where those globes are, and I promise I will do everything within my power to keep you safe,' though he had a truculent look on his face, his tone sounded sincere. 'Just don't tell me that they're back at the manor; I really don't want to have to deal with Maratova again today.'
'Who is he anyway?' I finally bothered to ask a very important question. At this point, while I had known academically that there had been quite a number of different bad guys after me, I didn't really know who any of them were.
'Not much to say: works with the Army, Special Forces, heads up their units that look for... shall we say the kind of valuable antiquities that governments, let alone museums, would kill for.'
Although he clearly had not finished speaking, I could not help but snort at that proposition. Governments and museums killing to get their hands on antiquities? Was this supposed be some kind of stupid movie? Governments didn't really send out Special Forces to go and find artifacts that 'belonged in a museum', to borrow a phrase from Indiana Jones. They were far too busy doing real, proper, democratic things with their time.
But Sebastian, if anything, looked totally unmoved by my incredulity. In fact, his face grew stony, even more stony than it already had been. 'I suggest you get all your laughing done right now, Amanda, because this is a very serious situation. You think Maratova is a friendly guy? You think he'll keep it all above board in his attempts to get those globes? Let alone all of the other teams that are out there after you. You need to take this seriously, very seriously. And while these pancakes have been delicious,' he finally pushed the clean and polished plate away from him, offering Elizabeth another thoroughly charming nod, 'it's probably time we get you somewhere that is really safe, and you get me those globes.' He licked his lips as he finally stopped speaking, and he shrugged his shoulders several times and corrected his watch on his wrist.
I just stood there and tried to think. I mean really tried to think. Because excuse me if I had never been thrust into a situation like this before; for most of my life when I hadn't been a student, or had been trying unsuccessfully to break into the world of journalism, I had led, well, the quietest life a person could lead. I had always had my trust fund to fall back on, I had never been in any trouble, I had always been the kind of girl who would come home straight after school or university, never going out and never partying unless I really couldn't get away from it. I had been the kind of girl who would spend every weekend at home pottering around, cleaning up, attempting to unsuccessfully start a garden, and then settling down with my dinner in front of the TV at night. In other words, I was absolutely not the kind of girl who had any familiarity with a situation like this. Beyond the crappy adventure and romance novels that I had read at airports, or the sensational made-for-TV movies I'd watched over the years, I had zero experience with, well, whatever this was.
Was I meant to trust this guy? While he had apparently saved me from the men in my drawing room last night, and he had even given me his gun, he seemed to know far too much about what was going on, and though he had told me some of it, it was obvious he was keeping most of it back. Plus, he seemed to know that Maratova chap, who I was fairly certain was the brute who had chased me through the forest last night.
No, there was simply too much to think about, and simply not enough time to decide whether I honestly trusted this guy. Plus, despite the fact he was world-class attractive, he was a world-class irritating schoolboy too.

Sebastian Shaw
I couldn't believe it, not really. How could I get this lucky? After completely failing last night and being pistol whipped for my troubles, I had somehow managed to find Amanda anyway. Or, better than that, I had just shown up for work, found her in Elizabeth's kitchen, and been fed excellent pancakes as a bonus.
But getting her to trust me, that was probably going to take some effort. Despite the fact I had bloody well saved her last night, several times in fact, and even given her my gun and keys, she still did not trust me. Jesus Christ, the woman seemed more flighty and suspicious than anyone I had ever met. Okay, well maybe that was a little bit of an overstatement; technically, if I had been in her shoes, and had had no real idea of what those globes were worth and what kind of trouble they could attract, I probably wouldn't be in the best of moods right now.
But the more she just stood there, back still pressed against the locked kitchen door, eyes occasionally slicing towards the corridor behind me, the more I lost my advantage. As far as I knew nobody else, apart from Elizabeth, had any clue where Amanda Stanton was. And she knew exactly where the remaining four globes were. But it wouldn't be long before Maratova would pop up; the man had more resources at his fingers than god right now, and he sure as hell wanted those globes just as much as I did.
I shrugged my shoulders again; the pain between them damn annoying. But what was irritating me more was that we weren't getting anywhere here. 'Look, Amanda, we really can't stay here any longer. You're going to have to trust me, let me know where those globes are, and we'll take it from there.' I was aware that my voice was probably a little too curt, that my hands as they rested on the table in full view were probably a little too clenched, and that there was a fairly pointed, stern stare on my face.
'Sebastian,' Elizabeth now crossed her arms, 'have you forgotten what I just told you? Stop berating the girl, and jolly well start helping her. If it is quite as dire as you're suggesting here, stop being a brute, and start being nice.'
Being nice? If Elizabeth wasn't one of my favorite clients, I'd laughed at that. Being nice wouldn't get them anywhere, not today and not until they finished this misadventure. If Elizabeth or Amanda were under any impression that whatever the hell would follow was going to be nice, then they were in for a very big surprise.
It was going to be violent, very violent. And I was sure that little-pajama-wearing Amanda wasn't going to be up to the task.
But did I really care as long as I got my hands on those globes? I'd have to find out.
'Elizabeth,' for the first time Amanda took a step away from the door.
I fought the urge to rise, sure that she was about to make a run for the corridor. The very last thing I needed was to have her run down the driveway to one of the many country roads around here, and probably right into the arms of Maratova.
'Can I really trust him?' Amanda finally finished. She did not look at me once.
Elizabeth slowly nodded. 'He is a damn fine lawyer.'
Amanda gave a little laugh, and damn it if it was actually cute as it rumpled her small bump of a nose. 'I think this is going to take more than a lawyer –'
'For once, you are right.' I looked up at her, this time trying to tone down my anger and irritation. I knew full well that I was misdirecting my ill will here; while Amanda might not have been taking this as easily as I would have liked, what was really pissing me off was how much I had ballsed things up last night, and how damn hard I would now have to try to stay out of Maratova's way. In other words, Amanda wasn't the problem, I was.
'Okay,' Amanda gave an enormous breath that puffed out her appreciable chest and momentarily covered her face with her hands. She even shook her head for a moment. 'Okay,' she said, breath quick, 'I can't believe I'm actually doing this, but okay, I'll trust you,' she blinked her eyes at me quickly. 'For now,' she clarified quickly.
I licked my lips quickly, nodded my head to the side, and finally rose from the bench. For some reason, even though it really didn't fit the situation, I reached out a hand to her.
She looked at it for a moment, clearly unsure of what to do with it.
'You shake it,' I said, voice amused.
'Okay,' she had a twisted, uncomfortable look on her face but eventually she reached out her own hand and tentatively took my own.
I did all the shaking, but hopefully the point was made that she had just agreed to a deal. And as a lawyer, and more so perhaps as a treasure hunter, I had no intention of letting her break this one.
'Am I going to go to prison?' she asked very quietly.
I wanted to laugh at her, not particularly because the question was stupid, but just because of the frightened, little 'rabbit' look on her face. In all honesty, she could end up in prison; I had no real idea how this was going to go down, and in all likelihood I would end up in prison too. But I would do anything to get my hands on those globes, and more importantly the treasure that they mapped. Hell, I was pretty much ready to do anything at all right now just for the chance of getting my hands on them, even sign my life away by helping Amanda get out of being in the incredible amount of trouble she was now in.
'I suppose you are going to need your gun back,' Elizabeth rose from her stool and even pulled up her sleeves.
'And my bloody keys; I had to walk into town and get a taxi last night,' I pointed out as I gritted my teeth softly and stared over at Amanda pointedly.
She just stared back, lips parted and pouty. 'Are you serious? I had to run through the forest in the dark with no shoes on to get away from some kind of Special Forces team, while my house was being trashed by bad guys.'
I shrugged my shoulders; she had me on that one.
Elizabeth led us both from the kitchen, and I was sure to stand behind Amanda, lest she took the opportunity to peel off into one of the side rooms, crank open a window, dive out, and run away from me for the millionth time. Despite the fact I honestly found her to be mildly pathetic, even I had to admit she was fairly resourceful when it came to running away.
Elizabeth led us into a large laundry just next to the kitchen. There were old tiles on the ground and they must have been cold, as the second Amanda walked onto them she began curling her toes and dancing around a little. That drew my attention to her feet. They had patchy blue and purple bruises over them and deep cuts.
Suffice to say it chagrined me a little, and I clenched my jaw just a touch harder. Fucking Maratova; this was all his fault.
Elizabeth led us over to her old washing machine, and on top of it stacked in a neat little pile were what I assumed to be Amanda's very torn and muddy pajamas from last night with my gun and keys placed neatly on top. I hoped to hell Elizabeth hadn't washed them. I grabbed them quickly, pocketing the keys and just holding the gun, as I did not have a holster on under my suit. I nodded at Elizabeth. 'Thanks.'
She crossed her arms and appeared to stare at the both of us for a while. 'Well, I suppose the two of you are about to go off and have some fun then.'
Amanda snorted.
I just nodded and shrugged my shoulders. 'It's vitally important that you don't tell anybody what happened here. Don't let anyone know that Amanda came here, and sure as hell do not mention anything about those globes.' I tried to look as serious as I could as I spoke to Elizabeth. Because this sure as hell was serious; I absolutely did not want the old dame to be brought in on this. Despite her eccentricities, I really doubted she had what it took to deal with some of the world's worst criminals.
She just shrugged her shoulders and inclined a hand at me. 'Oh, don't worry about me. I believe you are going to have your hands full dealing with Amanda.'
Amanda went a little pink at the suggestion, and I couldn't help but give a half smile in reply. 'Something like that,' I muttered.
While I really wanted to know exactly where those other four globes were right now, we'd already discussed enough in front of Elizabeth. Now that Amanda had agreed to let me help, in exchange for the exact location of those globes of course, I now had to keep this information to myself.
'We need to get going now,' I swung my keys around my fingers as I motioned with my head towards the front door. 'You let me know where those globes are in the car, we will get them,' I flexed my shoulders again 'and then we will see what happens next.'
'Um, I kind of need to change out of my pajamas first,' Amanda pointed out as she gestured with one hand towards the overly large and overly floral PJs she was wearing.
'Oh, I thought that was what you always wore,' I smiled at my own joke, even though it wasn't at all that funny. In fact, I pretty much smiled just to see the look of mutinous consternation cross her face.
'Don't you worry, dear,' Elizabeth suddenly walked over to one of the tall cupboards on the other side of the room, 'I have clothes that will fit you, dear.' She rummaged around for a while with, several odd garments falling on the floor by her feet. They were all colorful, and all equally as hideous. Elizabeth was the kind of woman who liked her clothes to match her personality, right down to the rhinestones and electric blue thunderbolts. Eventually, however, she pulled out a fairly ordinary-looking cream skirt and a white blouse that looked as though it was made from a tough but high-quality linen. With a little more digging she added a pair of gray stockings to the pile and finally a dark cream jacket. It looked like the female equivalent of a safari suit, immediately drawing up the impression of some of those pictures I had seen of female adventurers deep in Egypt during the '20s and '30s. All Amanda would need now was to pile her hair up at the base of her neck in a neat bun, add a dainty hat to the top of her head, and a small pair of glasses at the end of her nose and she would be the perfect picture of a ye-olde female adventurer. Well, were it not for the fact she had jelly for legs and a fantastic ability to run away from the adventure, not towards it.
Elizabeth picked the clothes up off the floor and handed them to her. 'These are very good clothes, dear, and they will keep you in good stead.' Then Elizabeth got a faraway look in her eyes. 'I can just imagine the adventures you're going to get up to.'
I tried not to snort at that; seriously, lady, I wanted to point out, we really weren't going to have adventures. All we were going to do was run for our lives as we tried, or at least I tried, to find some of the greatest treasure out there. And sure as hell Amanda wasn't coming along for that bit; I would keep her safe, all right, because I had shaken hands on that. But as soon as I had deposited her in a place I knew Maratova couldn't find, I was going to begin the real adventure, alone.
I stood there for a moment, wondering exactly how long this was all going to take, and just exactly how much gold waited for me at the end of it all. After several moments Elizabeth cleared her throat.
'Sebastian, this is the point when you walk out of the room and allow the lady to change,' Elizabeth looked at me pointedly.
'Lady?' I questioned immediately.
'Just shut up and get out of the room now,' Amanda brushed past me, grabbed the clothes in Elizabeth's arms, and pointed at the door.
I got the picture, and I didn't exactly need to be pushed from the room; Amanda Stanton was a galaxy away from my type. I liked my women like I liked my cars: fast and with a hell of a lot of grunt.

Amanda Stanton
Elizabeth followed Sebastian out of the room, allowing me to change in peace. I looked at the clothes that were in my arms as I bit at my lip a little manically. This was all so surreal. First all that mess with the globes, and now I was honestly being handed a bona fide safari suit, with the expectation that I would wear it while I traipsed around the world presumably looking for real treasure. But rather than just stand there, half dressed, as I really tried to appreciate the incredible strangeness of this situation, I hurried to finish pulling on the rest of the clothes. Sebastian might have been a lot of things, but for some reason I doubted he was lying about the amount of trouble that I was now in. Just as I doubted that he was lying about how dangerous this was for Elizabeth. I really did not want to stay here another moment in her home, with the possibility of bringing a world full of bad guys through her door.
Once I had pulled on the tights and shrugged into the jacket, I sashayed over to the mirror at the other side of the room and had a good look at my reflection. Despite the fact my hair was an amazing mess, well, I actually looked pretty good. I also looked pretty old; the fashion of the 1920s not exactly hip and now. But I had to admit that the cut and the color of the fabric actually suited me. I eventually leaned down and picked up the very sweet-looking shoes that Elizabeth had left for me. They were a pale brown with large brass buckles and a small heel. They matched the outfit perfectly, and in fact, all I would need was a nice flowing white silk scarf and some ladylike leather gloves and I would belong in an adventure novel from the turn of last century.
For the first time since I had trundled down my stairs last night to find criminals in my house, I actually gave a genuine smile and a small laugh. I would have to enjoy it while it lasted, after all, as I would soon be thrust into the company of one monumentally irritating Sebastian Shaw.
When I was finally satisfied with my reflection, brushing a hand down the fine and nicely  fitted cream jacket, I walked out of the laundry.
When Sebastian saw me, it was clear he found my outfit very amusing as he half turned away trying to hide the smile that spread across his lips.
What an insufferable git that man was turning out to be. I ignored him as I walked past him, both hands tugging down firmly on my jacket. When Elizabeth saw me she clapped her hands together, a warm smile pressing up her cheeks. 'Oh, Amanda, you look fabulous.' It was clear from the very genuine sparkle in the old woman's eyes that she was being honest.
'Something like that,' Sebastian mumbled, 'but right now, we really need to go.'
'Oh,' Elizabeth seemed visibly disappointed, 'isn't there time for me to make you some snacks for the road?'
I could not help but grin at that; Elizabeth really was the sweetest of old women. To actually bother to try and make them 'a snack for the road', when they were apparently being hunted down by the world's worst criminals; it was so terribly dear of her, possibly innocent and stupid considering the situation, but still dear.
'No time,' Sebastian said as he actually put his hand flat on my shoulder and pushed me forward.
If the man wasn't carrying a gun and wasn't such a large brute, I would have tried pushing him off and kicking him in the shins.
We quickly walked to the door, and the closer we came the more the situation began to feel real again. A cold tight pressure spread across my chest, and that familiar taste of raw fear from last night seemed to infect my mouth again.
Elizabeth actually gave me a hug before she opened the door. 'You will be alright, dear,' she assured me, 'Sebastian is an excellent lawyer.'
I didn't quite have the heart to tell her that Sebastian's lawyer skills aside, it sounded as if I would need an entire army on my side if I wanted to win this, whatever this was of course.
'Do you have a hat, Elizabeth?' For some reason Sebastian couldn't keep his eyes off my unkempt hair. Perhaps he was a neat freak, or perhaps he liked his women to be of the excessively clean and primped variety. 'Something with a big brim?'
Elizabeth clicked her fingers together. 'I have just the thing.' She darted off down the corridor, disappearing for a while. In those few moments Sebastian took the time to look at me, his eyes actually traveling down and then up my figure. I really want to slap him at that moment. I didn't care that the man was incredibly charming when he wanted to be, was obviously well off, was probably quite smart, and was undeniably attractive; he was far too insufferable for me to overlook any of those other failings.
Perhaps I really would be better off with Maratova, I thought to myself mutinously. Then again, I probably wouldn't be.
I found myself biting my lip hard by the time Elizabeth came back to us, thoroughly unpleasant thoughts kicking around in my skull. But then I looked up to see the hat that she had clutched in her old hands. It was white with a large wide brim, and had a wide silk ribbon tied around the middle. It was exceedingly pretty.
'That will do,' Sebastian said, hardly giving the hat a glance as Elizabeth handed it to me.
Once I had finally secured all of my hair under the hat, and had even managed to pull it down, two fingers pressing either side of the thick brim, almost like a Mountie in a salute, I finally waved goodbye to Elizabeth.
Then I turned to follow Sebastian.

Sebastian Shaw
She looked the part, I had to admit that. And the hat Elizabeth had dredged up for her actually suited Amanda, despite the fact her incredibly messy hair was still poking out from underneath. But it would do; all I had to do was get her to my car, drive into town, and keep her out of sight. The hat would be a start, but the rest would be up to me.
Luckily I owned more than one car, and that was the one I shepherded Amanda to right now. But that didn't mean I was prepared to just give up on the one I had stashed by the lane-way last night, and I patted the keys that I had jammed into my suit pocket with the intention of coming back later that day to pick it up. Well, that was if I wasn't busy finding treasure, of course.
I didn't bother to open the door for Amanda, and in fact I found it highly amusing when she paused, waiting for me to do it. I could tell that she was a well-heeled girl, and I had also done some checking on her last night, which helped. She had a trust fund, though not nearly as large as most of my clients, and was, of course, related to Imelda Stanton, who was damned well-known and damn rich indeed. But apart from her family connections, there was not a lot of information out there on Amanda Stanton. She had gone to uni, walked away with the most useless degree: an arts degree specializing in history and fine art. She had gone on from there to do various stints in volunteer organizations, especially ones that had anything to do with animals or the environment, and then pretty much vacillated for the rest of her life, as children born into rich families often do when they do not have to work for their crust. She did not have a police record, she'd only ever had a handful of parking fines, and she certainly wasn't on any lists. Well she would be now of course; but before that auction earlier in the week, Amanda had led an outstandingly boring life.
No, Amanda Stanton looked like the most ordinary of girls. I was absolutely gobsmacked that it was her of all people that had found my globes. Though technically, of course, it was not her at all, it was her Great-Uncle Arthur Stanton, adventurer extraordinaire. He'd done all the hard work and found the globes, she’d just put them up for auction in the most stupid manner possible.
She got in the car, the giant brim of her hat tilting and covering most of her face save for a thin line of her bottom lip and chin. Move over Serena, in that moment there Amanda Stanton looked more than attractive. But of course that moment passed when she opened her mouth.
'Where exactly are you going to take me?' she asked in that highly irritating pitch of hers. 'And should I call my great-aunt? I mean, what if people start to realize I'm missing? What if people go to my house and… well, notice all the guns on the ground?'
I just shook my head as I walked around the car, opened the passenger-side door irritatedly, and walked around the front of the car to sit with a thump behind the wheel. I ignored her as I started up the engine, scratched my neck, waved at Elizabeth, and moved into reverse.
'Won’t the police be looking for me? And what about this Maratova man? And last night while you were in my drawing room, you mentioned something about a man named Romeo, won't he be after me too?' Her voice was starting to pick up speed, the words blurring together as she was obviously having difficulty getting them out all at once.
If this woman didn't irritate me so much for some reason, I could endeavor to sympathize with her situation; she had just had one hell of a night, and had just learned that she was in more trouble than most people would ever be in their entire lives. But for some reason this chick irritated me, so I just pulled my lips back, my teeth still firmly together, in perhaps the worst smile I could muster.
It wasn't until I had gunned the accelerator perhaps a little too fast down the immaculately graded stones, the tires slipping a little as they tried to get traction on the uneven surface, that I finally answered her. 'You do not want the list of people that are after you, honey,' I took a great deal of pleasure in using that pet name for some reason, possibly because of the distinctly irritated look that showed on her face. 'And first things first: you need to tell me where the rest of the globes are.' I turned to her as I finally made it to the end of the driveway, turning into the large country road.
She did not answer right away, in fact, for some reason she seemed to hesitate. I sure as hell hoped it wasn't because she was suddenly caught with a desire to open the door and roll out of the car, in her never-ending attempts to flee me.
'Amanda, I need as much information as you can give me. And please, don't tell me that those globes are back at that house.' For some reason, I doubted they were. After all, if Maratova had just walked in there last night after he had lost sight of Amanda in the woods, and just found the globes lined up neatly under her pillow, I would have heard about it by now. Hell, every Government would have, every so-called treasure hunter to boot.
She bit her lip, and I only noticed because I took the time to take my eyes off the road to glance her way. 'Amanda?' There was a distinctly warning note to my voice, one that I couldn't suppress, making it sound as if I was about to pull my gun on her if I didn't like what she would say next.
'Well,' she began in a very small voice, 'technically I… don't have them yet.'
My lips curled into a true frown. 'Sorry?' my voice bottomed out very low. This wasn't all some game, was it? Had Amanda Stanton been lying when she had told that auction room that she in fact had the full set of the Stargazer Globes?
My throat became suddenly very dry at the prospect of how thoroughly fucked up this could be.
'I know where they are, I just don't have them yet,' Amanda started to play with her fingernails, rubbing at her hands nervously.
Before I could blow a gasket at the prospect that Amanda had been lying all along, and that the only Stargazer Globe had in fact already been sold off at auction, I took a calming breath. 'Where are they, Amanda?'
'Oh,' she clamped her hands very tightly on her lap, 'they are in his book. Well,' she moved her hands about is if she was trying to extinguish a fire, 'I don't mean to say that they're in his book, like they are somehow squeezed between the pages, because that would be silly.'
I didn't even bother to point out that yes, obviously that would be silly, just as silly as the current conversation. After all, all I really cared about were those globes, not how ridiculously cute Amanda's lips were as she caught them between her teeth.
'What book?' I asked after it became clear that Amanda was going to leave out the most important detail.
'My great-uncle's book, of course,' she said as if it was a plain fact I had somehow missed along the line. 'The one that had been on his desk where I had found the original globe, the one that had been in the attic full of treasure.'
I took the largest of stage blinks, almost wanting to run a hand all the way down my face. Was this chick for real? Where exactly had they gotten her out from? She was like some kind of thoroughly irritating mix of a ‘50s screaming heroine, a ‘20s prim lady, and a well-heeled hippie.
'Sorry? The roomful of treasure? What exactly are you talking about?' my tone was terse, and of course it was; this was like getting information out of a two-year-old.
'I found the original globe, the one sold at auction, in my great-uncle’s attic. While the rest of his house was full of junk, well, the attic was full of treasure,' she said matter-of-factly, 'there were even gold statues. But my great-aunt, owing to the fact she is the executrix of the estate, quickly dealt with those. Then she left me that rather inane-looking globe and all of Great-Uncle Stanton's papers. I suppose she thought they weren’t worth anything.'
I snorted at that. It didn't surprise me that Imelda Stanton wouldn’t have thought much of the dusty, old,  Stargazer Globe. She wasn't exactly the kind of old dame to look beyond appearances.
But that Amanda had obviously thought there was something to the Stargazers, or at least enough to put them up for auction and then find herself in the biggest trouble of her life, well at least that was a fact worth noting.
And that the globe sold at auction had been in a room full of treasure, well that was very interesting indeed. Could it possibly be that old crazy Arthur Stanton had already brought all the Stargazers together and found some of the treasure from them (it wouldn’t be all, well, not unless he’d hollowed out a whole city underneath his manor and had stacked it to the brim with the world’s greatest antiquities)? I really had no idea, but it was something to think about. And, I realized as I let a very genuine smile spread my lips, that any clues I was looking for might just be in the book Amanda was talking about. 
I took a corner a little too quickly, Amanda grabbing hold of the armrest, her legs stiffening as she tried to keep balance, her skirt riding up a little. I flicked my gaze down to her knee, then finally up to her face. 'Where is the book, Amanda?'
She had obviously caught me looking at her legs, and had sucked in her lips and narrowed her eyes. As if I was interested anyway. But rather than point that plain fact out, I just waited for her to answer the question.
'It's at the local library,' Amanda said with a shrug.
Before I could worry that yet again the next piece of the puzzle was back at old Stanton's house, it was as if she had come at me with a right hook, right out of the blue. 'What?'
She offered an awkward smile around gritted teeth. 'Well, you see, I accidentally took it to the library when I was returning a whole bunch of other books. And they called the other day to let me know, but I haven't had a chance to go pick it up yet.'
I just sat there and thought about that for a second, and then burst into laughter, laughter that was obviously pointed at her and how stupid she was. Seriously? She had accidentally taken what could just be one of the most valuable books in human history to the library by accident? I suddenly got the distinct impression that if you were to loan the Mona Lisa to Amanda, with explicit instructions to keep it safe, you would walk in the room five minutes later and find it broken on the floor, Amanda playing with her fingers awkwardly by its side. But I shook my head. Because, after all, this was actually pretty good news. It was at the library; it wasn't back at the house. And that it wasn’t back at the house meant that Maratova wouldn't have had a chance to get his hands on it yet. In fact, he probably didn't even know it existed. And unless Amanda had written up on a message board with giant texta that she had to go back to the library to pick up the book that had the locations of the four Stargazer Globes in it, Maratova was not going to find out any time soon.
At that point I did something rather brash, because fuck it if I wasn’t in a brash mood. I actually did a bootlegger turn on a tiny narrow country road. The library, after all, was in the other direction.
Amanda gave a sudden but small scream, sounding like some stereotypical soapy heroine who had just stepped on a mouse. 'What are you doing?' She tried to keep herself steady in her seat as the car screeched around in an arc, smoke curling up from the tires. Her legs splayed out all over the place, her skirt now rising up until it was several inches above her knees, her hat tumbling right off her head as her hair bunched up over her face.
'I'm going to the library,' I said in the coolest voice I could manage as I let go of the park brake and gunned the accelerator to speed out of the dangerous turn. I knew my car, I knew it would respond so predictably – it managed it, and only scraped past a bit of a hedge, several leaves and twigs falling in on Amanda through the partially opened window. Plus, the look on her face was worth it. I could bet my own expression was nothing but cool and calm as I straightened up the vehicle and continued down the road at a cracking pace.
She just sat there with her mouth open for a bit, trying to rearrange her skirt, as she picked out the twigs and leaves from her hair and threw them out the window. 'Right, of course you are, you mad bastard.' She grabbed the hat and shoved it on her head.
I just offered a sweet smile in return. Then, one hand on the steering wheel, one hand still resting on the gearstick, and with no other vehicles in sight, I turned to her. With a very serious expression I tilted my head to the side. 'Amanda Stanton, I need you to tell me exactly what is in that book.'
She looked at me, mouth wide open, brow pressed with obvious amazement at my antics. 'Are you out of your mind?'
I just shrugged my shoulders. If doing a bootlegger turn on a narrow country lane in an effort to get to the library as quickly as I could in order to get a book that told me the location to some of the greatest treasure maps on earth was mad, then yes, I am mad.
She continued to look at me, her mouth still wide, wide open. 'I don't have my library card on me,' she pointed out almost primly.
I snapped my head to the side and actually gave a short, sharp laugh at that. If Amanda Stanton was under the impression that I was going to let a little thing like not having her library card on her stop me from getting my hands on Arthur Stanton's notebook, then she really was as innocent as she looked. 'I hate to point this out, sweetie, but you own the book.'
'But they don't know me, they're going to need some kind of ID to ensure that I am who I say I am,' she set her hands back into her lap, for some reason holding on to her skirt tightly. Perhaps she was worried that I would take the next turn even more violently and it would end up over her head.
I didn't bother answering, because I couldn't think of a statement that could show her just how damn stupid she really was. So I just shook my head, ran a hand over the sharp stubble that was starting to appear on my chin, and hoped like hell that I wouldn't have much more to do with this woman.
After a while a thick silence descended over the occupants of the car. Amanda sat tensely in her seat, her hands pressed over the hem of her skirt, her ankles locked neatly, her head turned towards the window, the massive brim of her hat hiding her face. For my part, I just drove and thought about how much shit I was in.


Chapter Five
Sebastian Shaw
We made it to the library in good time, perhaps a little too good, as when Amanda pulled herself out of the passenger seat, she actually had to steady herself, one hand clutching at the roof. She also gave me a fairly mutinous stare. I just cracked a grin. Even though I thought there was objectively little chance of finding Maratova tucked up somewhere 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 very 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. Well, you should have seen the look she gave me at that.
The library was a small one, unsurprisingly, considering the absolutely tiny size of the town. I counted all of one coffee shop, several ridiculously expensive boutique stores that sold everything from thousand-pound scarves to those strange little boxes and trinkets that women seem to have everywhere once they pass the age of 40.  There was also, however, a police station. Though I thought the size of the town could hardly justify one, I had to remind myself that it was not 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. In fact, wasn't that exactly what had happened to Amanda? With a little bit of the story left out, of course. But for whatever the reason there was a permanent police presence in this town, it was a fact I did not want to become personally acquainted with. Because while I had taken some perverse pleasure in teasing Amanda with the horrible truth of what was pursuing her, and while I may have overstated a few things, I had not 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 up against the sandstone and white-washed walls. For a public building in such a well-to-do area. A peculiar and quaint remnant of a bygone era when libraries were built for the workers. I hardly fancied that the folks around these parts needed a public library; each of them would have their own private library anyway, but they would not allow their workers to 'borrow' their books.
I strode ahead, opening the door a little too briskly, the handle giving a thoroughly pleasant crunch as I turned it vigorously. 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 press and widen the corners my lips as I saw a middle-aged woman with glasses hanging off the tip of her nose waiting there for me. The effect was always the same; the lady’s cheeks began to flush, she blinked a little, then she looked to the side, possibly to check that it was indeed her that I was smiling at. But by the time I had made it to the counter, placing a hand neatly down 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 little bit harder.
'Hello, ma'am,' I kept a 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 in response. '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.
'Certainly, sir, what book would that be?'
At that point, before I could continue, Amanda gave a strangled little cough, indignation as clear as day, pushed past me, whipped off her hat and shook her head a little. '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, patting Amanda suddenly and possibly with a little too much gusto on her shoulder. She bounced forward with the impact, mumbling a swear word in response.
'It's a little brown leather-bound book,' I smiled again and I tried to make it as dazzling as I could, really trying to spread my jaw wide, 'you can't miss it.'
The woman just nodded, smiling at me; she didn't seem to be paying any attention to Amanda at all. She then disappeared to a side room, telling us that 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 had thought her expressions and actions had been mutinous before, I was wrong. Her eyebrows descended all the way down to her eyes, her lips drawings in so much that I could only see a hint of the pink flesh as she sucked them into her mouth. And her chin dimpled and hardened as if she’d turned to bloody stone.
At that moment an old woman in pearls and silk walked past, a book in her hand, which she clearly had not checked through. I turned to her, offered her one of my smiles, and patted Amanda hard on the back just to ensure my flighty charge's horrible expression didn't kill the old dame.
In another moment the lady behind the counter was back. She did not hand the book to Amanda, she handed it straight to me.
I dipped my head in a thoroughly gentlemanly way. I even tried to keep my attention on the lady as I thanked her, even though every part of me wanted to run to the car, ditch Amanda, and find out exactly what was in the book. But I controlled myself until we were out of the library and heading back towards the car. But then the temptation of what exactly lay between the worn and aged leather-bound pages got too much for me. I untied the two leather strings that were holding the book in place, almost reverently, and I finally opened it in my hands.
Jesus Christ, I thought to myself, a clear sweat picking up over my brow and collecting between my fingers. This was… it was incredible. I began to flick through the pages quickly, my attention all but consumed by the incredible 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 had actually held them.
I shook my head, overcome by the realization of what I had in my hands. And that would be when Amanda made a strange little 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 noises she seemed to make all the time, as if she was one of those children’s toys you squeeze to get them to make humorous high-pitched noises.
'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 and an expression seriously at odds with the thoroughly rich air that he emanated. I just snorted and did not 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 finally snapped the book closed, ready to tell Amanda to grow up and stop being so pathetically paranoid. Because the only thing the man in tweed looked like he wanted to do was rationalize our finances and sell us stock in his company. 
But that would be when I saw the other man, the one who was walking across the road to us, the one who was about 6’5, with an incredible 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 did not bother to turn to check to see whether she was doing as I told her to; if there was one thing that was turning out to be reliable about Amanda Stanton, it was that she was pretty good at running away from trouble. And there was no doubt that trouble with a capital T was now walking across the road to me. I shook my head, realizing that my only weapon was tucked under the driver seat of my car, not that I could exactly whip out some guns and start shooting at this guy on a sleepy British village high street. Though probably this guy wouldn’t have the same compunction as I.
I saw him reach for something behind him, and saw the glint of metal as he pulled it out from the back of his pants. Fuck, I thought to myself, this was it.
I ducked behind a lamppost, for all the protection it would give me, before the guy could start shooting. And just as he did, the first bullet ricocheting off the pavement by my feet, probably as my first and last warning shot, I heard screeching tires. The little part of my brain that was not 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.
In another moment the distinctive shiny dark blue of 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 had ever heard. But somehow she kept it together enough to lean back and open the driver's side passenger door for me. I didn't need any more incentive. Keeping low, I practically 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, just as a new set of bullets slammed into the side of my car. But 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 obviously had her foot slammed down all the way on the accelerator, because my car's engine revved with a great roar, just as I caught sight of the thick-necked goon as he ran towards the car. His gun was aimed right through the glass at Amanda. I jumped up in the back, moving between the front seats, and practically tackled Amanda as I tried to cover her body with mine. The car swerved erratically 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. And more importantly, the bullet, meant for Amanda's head, missed its mark and lodged itself into the driver’s head rest. I did not let Amanda up, one arm still pressing down roughly on her back, my other hand latched on to the steering wheel, but I was sure to tell 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 had managed to turn a corner, finally leaving the thick-necked goon behind.
I still didn't let Amanda up, keeping my own head low, just about level with the dash-board, as I checked wildly from side-to-side in case more bastards with guns popped out of the woodwork. And then, finally, driving so fast that the car practically 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 as she slowly straightened up, body practically convulsing as she shook wildly with fright.
I thought I had seen the gamut of possible expressions on her face so far, but this was a new one. She looked, well, let's just say that her eyes were as wide as they possibly could be, a couple of tears even streaking down the sides of her cheeks, her lips open and still with fear – no terror.
While I was intending to make some kind of tough wisecrack or just point to the passenger seat and tell her to move over, I paused. 'It's all right, Amanda, it's all right,' I finally managed.
She just looked back at me, wide eyes closing a touch, wiping at her tears with her wrist. But 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 right now.' I did not let go of the top of the steering wheel, but then again, 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 for a moment.
'I think we need your kind of shooting more right now,' she finished her sentence.
'I can shoot and drive,' I snapped back, wondering what kind of a treasure hunter couldn't.
But just before I was ready to push the issue, she swerved suddenly, grabbing the steering wheel with both hands and using her wrist to pivot my hand off. Just 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 quickly sped up and shot around the corner, blocking us from view.
Without another word of protest, I climbed into the passenger seat. 'Put your seat belt on,' I commanded her, as I did not 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 be able to twist around in my seat and shoot from any angle. I did not bother grabbing Amanda’s hat and handing it to her, reasoning that by now it was fairly obvious that 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 practically pressed up to the verge.
I didn't speak for a moment, 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 over the back of her hands, and a light one across the top of her head just along her hairline. But through it all, she kept driving, and even though I really didn't want to admit it, Amanda was pretty good.
With the woods growing even thicker on both sides of us now and the road growing ever windier, Amanda finally 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 just a little comforting, she took a surprise turn. Rather than continuing along the road, as I thought she would have, she took a sudden turn onto a gravel road that led up through the woods. She slowed down just 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 did not have my seat belt 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 now dry from where they had once been splattered with tears, Amanda did not 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 quickly, 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 did not take her eyes off the road. Which was probably a good thing, because my expression was some kind of ridiculous mix between impressed and incredulous. Was she joking, was she about to take us to the police? Or was this once-irascible, overemotional chick actually taking the driving seat, as it were, and getting us to where we needed to be well before I had even thought of it?
Rather than question her, I leaned back between the seats and tried to find the leather-bound journal that I had seen on the back seat as I had practically rolled into the car earlier. I twisted around as I searched for it, my leg pressed up against Amanda's arm. And when I finally 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 just grinned as I began to search quickly 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 actually on track here, she just 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 quickly found the page and handed it back to me, without a single word.
I let my eyebrows press up a little, licked my lips, tipped my head to the side a bit 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 quickly read the page she had 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 at that, because 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 teeth and swore quietly.
But before I could ask Amanda whether she was sure she was on the right road and whether she was sure that this church existed at all, we crested a hill, the thick, dense woods falling back beside us to reveal a naked hilltop beyond. And right on top of that hilltop, with the woods encroaching on all sides, was 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. And 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. And 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 finally 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 just as she did. Not even bothering to turn to her, my gaze still locked on the strange 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 as she did not put the hand break down.
But I did not remove my hand either, and finally turned to her, hoping my expression told her just how stupid I thought that was. 'Then park it on the flat, dear.' 
Amanda swore at me as she turned the car back on and moved it a little until it was right outside of the church and now on the flattest ground.
I got out of the car, and even though my heart was actually 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 really was as abandoned as it looked. I told Amanda to stay in the car while I slowly 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 finally satisfied, I walked up to the front of the church, running a hand over the old, weathered door before I finally pushed it open. While there had probably once been a lock on the chain that was wound up around the two large tarnished brass handles that were on each of the two doors, it looked as though it had been stolen or lost over the years. 
It wasn't until I had walked all the way into the church and had disappeared from sight that I heard Amanda's door open and close.
I heard her hurried little 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 take all of my attention.
It was a shambles, all right, with all of the pews pushed over, and just so much broken, shattered wood scattered everywhere. At the end of the church what looked like a once great stained-glass window was completely shattered, with just a hint of colored shards remaining around the corners of the window frame. And 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. Finally Amanda caught up, pelting through the door, as if she was some kind of lost puppy that was 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 didn't bother expanding or explaining that particular statement, and just walked ahead of me, surprisingly quick on her feet as she dodged between the broken pews and chunks of rock from the ceiling, her heels tapping lightly as she went.
She bit her lip lightly as she surveyed the church, her eyes wide with interest as they finally settled on the broken stained-glass window at the far end. She quickly picked her way towards it.
'You are going to break your neck if you don't look where you're going,' I snapped at her, and just as I did, I lost my own footing and slammed harshly to the ground, the book slipping out of my grip and sliding across the floor.
Amanda did not bother to laugh at that, and just turned around, picked up the book quickly, 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 my shoulders, cracked my neck, and followed her with a stony look on my face. Once I finally reached her as she stood on what remained of the Bema the raised platform where sermons would once have been given, she did not look around, her eyes blinking quickly as she read from the book, her finger marking her place as she kept on looking up at the stained-glass window and back at the words before her.
I watched for a moment, irritated by how damn cute she looked when she was biting her lip like that. Eventually I got over it though, cleared my throat, put my arm out and leaned against the wall by her side, finally leaning into view. 'I think you'll find that I have a little bit more experience of this stuff than you do.'
She glanced over at me quickly, then just ignored me and looked back at the book, flicking a couple of pages forward and then back a few as she clearly looked for something.
I cleared my throat again, leaning even more in front of her. 'You can give me the book now, Amanda.'
She finally 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 at that point. '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 little cemetery at the back.
'Give me the fucking book, Amanda,' I was now stalking along beside her; after all, this was not how it was meant to go down. She was meant to be huddled up in the car at this point, crying her little heart out at the nasty little shootout that I had had with the bad guys. She was not meant to be rebounding this quickly, 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 fairly sombre and even creepy looking sight. But that did not stop Amanda from marching towards it, her heels clattering softly against the cracked and over-grown path that ran alongside the church and led to the graveyard beyond.
'Just what exactly does that gravestone have to do with anything?' I finally 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 was not meant to be enthusiastic about treasure hunting here; she was meant to be an emotional wreck, just as she had been last night. This girl was rebounding far too quickly, and I did not like it one bit.
I cleared my throat. 'Do you think this is some kind of movie?' I said through a twisted smile. 'Because 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 kind of 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. And now 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 just took the book, held it before her for a second, and just before I could reach for it, she tucked it behind her back.
Now I had absolutely 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 completely normal tone as if what had just transpired had not occurred, 'and,' she said with that same enthusiastic grin spreading across her face, 'I think he even took me here once.'
I just 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 just kept ignoring me until she finally picked her way through the graveyard and right to a gravestone at the back. And 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 exact and fairly attractive shape that the skirt gave her butt at that point I would have tackled her and stolen my book back. But instead I just 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.

Amanda Stanton
Dear god this guy was annoying, he really, really was. But for some reason, despite the absolutely frantic last several hours that I had had with him, I was starting to get a handle on this. Of course I was still completely frightened and overcome by the reality of it all, but at least I wasn't a sobbing mess in the back of his car.
Blame it on all of those stories my great-uncle had once told me, the ones about adventure and treasure, the ones that the rest of the family had told me were nothing but lies. Because, despite the crazy awfulness that was happening to me, I was starting to realize that those stories had likely been totally true. And dammit if there wasn't something romantic about that, something incredible, something to distract me from the fact I was being hunted by god knows who with god knows how many guns.
And the possibility of realizing how true my great-uncle's tales had been was pretty much the only thing that was stopping me from truly freaking out about all of this. If I just threw myself headfirst into this adventure, if that was the right word, and I didn't give myself time to appreciate how much trouble I was in, then I might just hold myself together.
After all, my great-uncle had been able to do it all those years back. Why couldn't I do it now? And hell, Sebastian, who was turning out to be an incredibly annoying lecherous idiot, could obviously do it to. And if he could do it, god dammit if I wasn't going to do it better.
With a sniff I reached out my hand and gently ran my fingers across the inscription that had been carved into the plain gravestone before me. In all honesty, I did not really know what I was looking for. There had simply been a passage in my great-uncle's journal that had suggested that 'the stone which lay under the sky god's tree holds the key'. And I knew from my studies that oak trees were the tree which was most often struck by lightning, and therefore had been associated in ancient times with gods of the sky. And I assumed that this gravestone was the stone that the passage referred to, being, as it was, under an oak tree.
'Hey, do you possibly want to give me the journal, just so we can, I don't know, get this over with before Maratova and his men find us?' Sebastian looked up at the sky at that moment, possibly checking that helicopters or nasty soldiers weren’t simply jumping down from the clouds above.
While I had no doubt that Sebastian was right, and that Maratova and more were after us right now, for some reason I did not feel as if we were about to be disturbed any time soon. Plus, although I did not really know how these kind of things went down, I assumed getting my hands on the next Stargazer Globe would at least give us some leverage. Plus, it was something to keep busy with, and right now I really needed to keep busy.
At that point, Sebastian just leaned down, setting his gun into the back of his pants and grabbing at my elbow. He yanked the book out from underneath it, despite my protestations.
'You jerk,' I complained as I fell against the gravestone, having lost my footing.
He just grinned, picked up his gun, and started to leaf through the book. I resisted the urge to lash out and kick him in the shins, but only just. Instead I stood up, dusted off my skirt, and swore at him. 'You keep on going on about how quick we need to be, but you don't appreciate that not only am I the great-niece of the guy that wrote that book, but I've actually read it, as well as most of his other notes.' I crossed my arms tightly in front of my chest.
It was Sebastian’s turne to ignore me, and he did a sterling job, one eyebrow raised as he quickly flicked through the journal.
'You know, you really are an insufferable jerk,' I continued with another sniff.
'I didn't see you complaining about me when I saved you from the guy outside the library,' he said without looking up as he gently turned the pages of the journal.
I snorted at that. 'And I didn't see you complaining when I saved you from that guy outside the library, or have you forgotten that it was me that pulled up in front of him, opened the door, and got you out of there before he could shoot you to pieces, and you hiding behind a lamp-post?'
He smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile, and it wasn't a smile that suggested he was giving in to me. He did, however, finally look up. 'I imagine what we'll be looking for is in the dead center of the church,' he actually gave a yawn as he closed the journal with a snap. 'I think you will find all that junk about clues is just to confuse us. I'll bet you that the only place structurally secure enough is the center of the church.'
Jesus Christ, he had such a sanctimonious look on his face. Seriously, not even his mother could like this guy. There was something so exquisitely arrogant about him, something so…. Well, let's just put it this way, all I wanted to do was slap him.
Without saying where he was going, or suggesting I follow, he turned and walked back to the front of the church. Well, he could get stuffed if he thought I was going to follow him. He might have thought he was the world's greatest treasure hunter, but that did not mean that he knew my great-uncle. Arthur Stanton had loved clues, he had loved games too. Every Saturday when I had gone to visit him as a child, he would always hide things around the house for me and would leave me little clues written on scraps of paper hidden beside the fridge or behind the couch in order to find them. No, Sebastian could think what he wanted, but honest to god it was wrong and fueled more by his testosterone than his reason.
I turned back to the gravestone, sticking my tongue firmly behind my teeth as I tried to think. The inscription on the gravestone was a fairly simple one, and no matter from what angle I tried it  did not seem like a clue.
'The stone under the tree,' I mumbled under my breath. I repeated it several times as I walked around the gravestone, careful not to walk over the grave itself, of course. Because unlike Sebastian, I had respect for the dead. I checked on the back of the gravestone, running my hand all the way across its length in case there was a mark to indicate a message had worn off over the years. But there was nothing. I then decided that perhaps the stone under the tree indicated something else, and I turned to survey the old oak behind me. I stared up into its gnarled, many-branched trunk. There wasn't a stone lodged anywhere, or not that I could see. And if the stone was actually buried at the roots of the enormous tree, then I was stiff out of luck, because I didn't have a spade and I didn't fancy asking Sebastian for one. In fact, it was at that moment that I started to hear loud banging noises emanating from the church behind me, interspersed with even louder and irritatingly manly grunts.
Muttering to myself about how annoying that man was, I tried to think of what else a stone could be. Whenever my great-uncle had posed me a riddle, or begun a game which I could not end, he had always told me to think of at least 10 possibilities of what I could do next. He called it fluid thinking, and had muttered something about how he had learned it from a great priest in Peru. Basically, when you are stuck, try to think of 10 possible solutions, and really force your mind to finish the task, no matter how hard it gets, and no matter how much your mind wants to wander away.
So I held out my fingers in front of me and waggled them for a bit. 'The stone could mean the gravestone,' I held up a thumb. 'The stone could mean a stone buried under the roots of the tree.' I held up another finger. 'It could mean a name, like John Stone or something,' I held up another finger, smiling as my answers were finally starting to become more creative. 'It could mean a gem or some other precious stone, perhaps in a ring, and perhaps the inscription is on the inside of the ring,' I held up another finger, my answers coming quicker now. 'It could mean a characteristic, perhaps something that is stone-like, concrete, solid, but not technically made of stone.' I began to bite at my lip harder, turning around as I stood there, staring up at the church, the rest of the graveyard, the oak, even the woods beyond, as I tried to think of yet more possibilities. 'What else does stone mean?' and then I blinked quickly, smiling with surprise as a fantastic thought popped to mind. 'Stone as in the unit of measurement,' I couldn't keep the smile off my face. But then I turned back to the tree, and wondered exactly how a clue could be found in a unit of measurement that was somehow meant to be under a tree.
I remembered another snippet of my great-uncle's advice: if you are having trouble seeing a solution, take 10 steps back. Arthur Stanton, bless his soul, always did things in groups of 10. It was another reason that the rest of my family, especially my Great-Aunt Imelda, had pronounced him as being batty.
But considering how crazy my current situation was, adding some more crazy to it didn't seem like it would make a difference. So I took 10 steps back from my situation, my hands clasped behind me as I inched my way through the graveyard, keeping my eyes on the oak tree.
The solution didn't exactly pop out at me, and I stared at the oak tree, head on the side, waiting for inspiration to strike.
And that would be when I heard the guffaws of laughter behind me.
'You are fucking mad,' Sebastian said between even harsher laughs.
I turned, cheeks irritatingly flushed at being disturbed so rudely. 'Shut up,' was all I could manage.
He had a spade slung across his shoulder, one arm resting on it easily. He had taken that ridiculously expensive-looking jacket off, and had rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, the first several buttons were also undone. I noticed the deep marks on his wrists – no wonder he had been so well dressed this morning. I wondered to myself what had exactly happened to him last night – perhaps he was into S&M? I noticed also that somehow, despite the fact that the end of his spade was covered with dust and clogged with dirt, his shirt was still as pristine as it had been first thing that morning – so he was a neat digger too.
He must have caught my gaze as it lingered over his arms (even I had to admit that they looked damn fine extending out of his sleeves like that). 'Staring again?' he questioned.
I just shot him an irritated look. I tapped my hands on my legs and tried to raise my head up until I was staring down my nose at him, despite the fact that he was a fair bit taller than me. 'Well, so have you found it then.'
I could tell by the less-than-triumphant look on his face that the answer was no. But that didn't stop him from offering me one of those awful, little, excessively-arrogant smiles. 'No, have you fallen over and broken your neck from walking backwards in a graveyard yet?' He brought the spade down in an easy arc and let it sink into the soft ground below him.
I sucked in my lips, trying hard to think of something a little more dignified and witty than shut up.
'Excellent comeback,' he said after a while. Then his expression hardened a little. 'How can you be so sure,' he grabbed the journal that had been tucked into the pocket of his pants and gestured with it, 'that your great-uncle wasn’t lying?'
'Are you suggesting that because you haven't been able to find the globe after all of two minutes of digging, in a place that you arbitrarily decided was the right one, that the globe isn't here after all?' I was sure to blink very slowly at him to try and get across to him just how stupid that was.
His lips pulled back over his teeth and he snorted out a laugh. 'Listen to me, lady, I have been in this business a lot longer than you have. And this,' he gestured to the church and the graveyard with the journal, 'doesn't feel like a treasure trove to me.'
I crossed my arms and stared back at him. 'Well, it isn't meant to be a treasure trove, is it? It's meant to be the location of a treasure map. And the map is meant to lead us to treasure,' I said each word very slowly and very clearly, as if I was talking to the very densest of children.
He just shook his head, lips pulling up even further over his perfect teeth.
'Did you actually find anything in there?' I did not uncross my arms, and nor did I tone down the harsh edge to my voice; this guy completely deserved it, after all. 'Or did you just find dirt?'
He quickly raised his eyebrows and then dipped them again. 'You are showing far too much attitude, and not nearly enough gratitude. Or have you forgotten that I saved you last night? Would you have preferred I left you to the less-than-kind activities those mercenaries and criminals could have dished out to you?'
I hated the fact that I gave a little shake at that. I might have been holding it together, even going toe-to-toe with this irascible and pompous idiot, but that did not mean that I had forgotten what happened last night. And nor did it mean that I had gotten over it. I was going full steam ahead here, in the hope that I did not have the chance to truly appreciate how much trouble I was really in.
Sebastian kept his gaze completely stony, his stance tense and thoroughly macho. But I fancied, just as my own shoulders twitched at his words, and my eyes blinked quickly and half closed, that he softened a little. Shifting his jaw from side-to-side, he glanced at the oak behind me. 'Did you find anything?'
I shook my head. 'I'm still kind of in the looking-for-clues stage,' I admitted honestly and with an annoyingly innocent voice which I tried to cough through at the end.
'Well, all I found was a set of scales. I was right,' he said a little too quickly, 'and there certainly was treasure at the center of the church; it just wasn't what we were looking for.'
I looked up sharply, letting my lips just open a little in surprise.
He must have thought I was shocked and awed by his ability to find treasure so quickly, and one corner of his mouth clinked up in a self-satisfied grin. 'It is gold too, or at least gold-plated.'
Blinking, I rushed past him, heading to the church. It was a long shot, but now he had found scales, did that mean that the stone in the clue really was the unit of measurement? But before I could race off and see the scales for myself, I realized I still had not solved the clue properly. Because it had spoken of the stone found beneath a tree.
Sebastian chuckled lightly as he drew to a stop beside me, spade slung over his shoulder again. 'Keep your skirt on, rookie; the treasure isn't going anywhere.'
'Is there a tree in the church?' I quickly asked, playing with the end of my fingers as I always did when I was thinking hard.
'Not yet, but I imagine when these woods have their way, they will encroach right into that church,' Sebastian answered, and for the first time he did not add a sarcastic grin or mean little wink to it.
I plunged my top teeth into my bottom lip, noted the way Sebastian smiled very curiously at that, and turned to run towards the church.
Perhaps I had been wrong, and the tree referred to in the passage was not the one in the graveyard. Perhaps, somehow, there was a tree in the church, or at least something that technically fitted the description of the sky god’s tree.
Showing thoroughly too much excitement, and even grinning wildly at the possibility that I might just solve this clue after all, I ran into the church. Sebastian had pulled aside the broken pews and had even rolled several of the massive stones that had fallen down from the ceiling above to the side, clearing a neat semicircle right in the dead center of the church.
There was now a rough hole dug right into the middle of the clearing, several of the flag stones shifted off to the side, and a neat little package sitting reverently on top of one, chunks of dirt covering the stained cloth with leather tied around it like a parcel.
I rushed over to it, Sebastian warning yet again that unless I slowed down, I would break my neck.
I sat down next to the package once I reached it, pulling down my skirt as I did, lest it rode up from behind.
I finally picked up the package gently, placing it on my lap as I unwrapped it. It really was a set of scales; Sebastian hadn’t lied about that. And it really did look like it was gold. An infectious smile spread across my face as I tried not to get too excited at the possibility that I really could figure this clue out.
'I found that; it's mine,' Sebastian clarified very quickly, letting the spade clang down beside him as he walked right up to me and then loomed there.
As I held the scales, playing lightly with the mechanism, and gently moving it around as I surveyed it completely, I strove to ignore him.
'As great as it is – and you should remember it's mine,' he clarified again, 'we really need to find the globe that is meant to be here. If it is in fact here,' he sighed deeply. 'Because every second we stay here, is a second they,' he stabbed a finger at the door, 'get closer to finding us.'
I put a finger to my lips and hissed out a 'shhh'. And then, still biting my lips, I looked around the church. There certainly weren't any trees that I could see, unless they were very, very small. But finally I let my eyes settle above me, and noticed a very sturdy-looking wooden beam that ran across the length of the church, obviously supporting the heavy ceiling above.
 I stood up, careful not to drop the heavy scales, head still turned towards the ceiling.
'What kind of wood do you think that beam is up there?' I asked quickly.
'Probably oak, probably from the woods outside, why? Do you think we can knock it down and use it to smash our enemies?' he took the chance to gesture with his gun. 'Because I think I'll stick with my gun.'
I practically did a dance as the word ‘oak’ issued from his mouth. The tree of the sky god. And I had a set of scales in my hand, scales that had been found under an oak tree, or at least a section of such a tree.
‘Do you have a stone on you?' I quickly asked Sebastian.
Sebastian's eyebrows smoothly peaked together. He slowly leaned down, picked up a small stone from next to my foot, brushing a little too close to my leg as he rose, and handed it to me. 'You really are mad.'
I took the stone and threw it away. 'Not a stone, a stone.'
He laughed loudly. 'Fuck,' he let the word draw out. 'Sorry, of course, a stone,' he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
I put one hand on my hip, despite how heavy it was to hold up the scales with the other. 'I need a unit of measurement. You know, a stone of weight.'
If he looked incredulous and sarcastic before, now he just looked dismissive.
'Look there is a passage in my great-uncle's journal that says that there is a clue to the globe's whereabouts on a stone under the sky god’s tree. And the sky god’s tree, I think, means an oak tree, because that is what was often associated with sky deities in ancient times,' I kept my words clear and slow, as if I was leading a class of five-year-olds, 'and now that you've found a set of scales, I think the word stone refers to the unit of measurement. So maybe if we could-'
Sebastian suddenly leaned in, grabbed the scales off me, brushing past my arms as he did, and stared down at them.
'Excuse me,' I blurted out.
Sebastian licked his lips. He then placed the scales on the ground, picked up his spade, and before I could stop him swung it around in a great arc and struck it.
I actually gave a stifled little scream. 'What are you doing?'
While his first blow had dented the scales, it hadn’t broken them. But he pulled up his spade to strike again, and before I could stop him, he settled yet another blow.
'It's gold.' I tried to reason with him, as he struck again with a seriously excessive manly grunt pushing his chest out.
'Soft metal,' was all he said as he tried to strike it again. After several more blows the weighing mechanism snapped off. Letting the spade clatter to the ground, Sebastian dropped to his knees, grabbed the base of the scales in one hand and tipped it up. He shook it, and in another moment a small parchment of rolled-up paper tumbled out and onto the ground by my feet.
The look on his face was a mix of schoolboy enthusiasm and irritatingly attractive charm. He raised an eyebrow, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and dipping his head. 'There is your clue, Amanda.'
I leaned down to pick it up, but before I could get there, he snatched it off the ground, looking right into my eyes as he passed me and stood quickly. He pulled off a string that was tightly wound around the parchment and threw it to the ground. And then he finally unwound the old paper, eyes darting over whatever he saw written there.
I stupidly just stood there and waited for him to offer me the parchment once he had finished with it, or at least tell me what was written there. Of course he didn't; he just shifted his jaw from side-to-side – something he did a lot – and then finally wound the paper back up and popped it into the pocket of his shirt. Then he shrugged at me. 'Looks like old Stanton was fond of clues then.' He turned from me, leaned down and grabbed the spade from by his feet, and headed for the door.
Teeth bared with frustration at how incredibly arrogant this man was, I balled my hands into fists and followed him. 'I could have told you that, if only you could listen.'
I marched behind him, quickly dodging my way around the obstacles that littered the floor and drawing up beside him just as he made it to the front door.
And that would be when he quickly flung out his arm, stopping in place.
The sound of a car slowly drawing to a halt outside filtered through the crack of the half-open door.
'Fuck,' he said quietly, repeating it several times with a bitter twist to his voice.
Heart in my throat, I tried to move passed him to see who it was. Even though the fear twisting through my gut and rushing down my back told me to just turn and find somewhere to hide, I forced myself to realize that it was better to ensure there was something to run from first.
When the sound of gunfire or the guttural, horrible laughs of criminals did not meet my ears, I sucked my lips in with a pop. 'Maybe it's someone else, someone who isn't after us,' I suggested rather innocently.
Rather than tell me to shut up, Sebastian just turned to me and cut a finger across his throat.
I got the message. I took several steps back.
And that would be when I heard whistling. A pleasant, competent tune that seemed to drift peacefully through the door. I was no expert on bad guys, but I didn't know whether they whistled while they worked.
'Visitors? Been a long time since we've had visitors,' a man with a thick Yorkshire accent said as he appeared to walk towards the door of the church.
Sebastian took a step to the left, raising the spade up above his shoulder, getting ready to strike.
At that point, I kind of freaked out. And, before I could really think about it, dashed in front of Sebastian, opened the door, and thrust myself through it.
I had no idea what would meet me outside, and whether the whistling Yorkshireman was in fact a whistling Yorkshire hitman, but I couldn't take the risk. I wasn't anything like Sebastian, and I certainly had no experience with this kind of thing; so excuse me if I thought twice about clocking potentially innocent people over the head with a spade.
My cheeks thoroughly red from fright, my breath shallow and quick, I stumbled through the door and practically right into the arms of a stunned-looking farmer.
He didn't have a gun, or not that I could see; he wore a simple tweed jacket and a small cap on his bald, round head.
He blinked quickly as I appeared, panting on the doorstep.
'Hello there,' he said politely, 'you are a bit flushed, Miss, everything all right?'
I tried to get a hold of my breath, and nodded my head quickly. 'Ah…. Hello,' I finally managed, 'I'm fine.'
He nodded his head. At no point did it look as though he was about to grab two pistols from the back of his pants and gun me down. In fact, if I was any judge of character, I would say that this man was just about as nice as the friendly smile on his face suggested.
He nodded at me again. 'Nice church, isn't she? Doing a bit of sightseeing, ma'am?'
I just nodded quickly.
'I see. I often come up here myself, have a look at the old place, check that no more vandals have desecrated her,' he nodded his head low and looked very sincere.
I bit my lip a little too hard at that. After all, did vandalism include digging a dirty great hole in the middle of the church, finding treasure, and bashing it to pieces with a spade?
'Did you have a fright, Miss?' The man asked kindly. 'Only you are still all flushed?'
At that moment the door opened from behind me and Sebastian finally walked out, and I noted that he thankfully was not wielding his spade or his gun. In fact I could see the gun very neatly and discreetly tucked into the back of his pants, and he had obviously left the spade inside. He had an even smile on his face and nodded at the old man.
For a second the man looked surprised, and then he slid his eyes from Sebastian to me, one eyebrow arching up. 'I reckon I can figure out why you are all flushed, Miss,' the man gave a little laugh, 'you know, it used to be the same in my day; this old place was where all the lovers went to get away from prying eyes.'
I just blinked at that a bit, completely confused. And that would be when Sebastian leaned in, looped an arm around my middle and yanked me over to him a bit. He didn't bother answering the man, he just offered him a half grin.
The man laughed heartily. 'Well, sorry to have disturbed you two.'
Before I could clarify the situation, and point out that I had not, and never would be, caught in a compromising situation with Sebastian Shaw, Sebastian began to pull me down the steps.
'Well, you two enjoy the rest of your day, but not too much,' the man chuckled as he waved us goodbye.
Sebastian had a firm hold of my waist as he tugged me quickly towards the car.
'Get off me,' I said as I finally wriggled free, huffing heavily, hair messy against his shoulder.
'Suit yourself,' he let go of me, walking easily towards the driver-side door, 'just hurry up and get in the car.'
And just as I did, I heard a shout from the church. Obviously the kind old gentleman had realized just how much vandalism we had gotten up to. I patted my hands wildly in front of my face. 'Drive, drive.' I snapped at Sebastian as I saw the form of the previously kind old gentleman running out of the door and towards us.
Sebastian hardly had to be encouraged, and soon he had brought the car around in a screeching turn and was bombing down the drive.


Chapter Six
Amanda Stanton
After we had made it onto the main road, Sebastian driving entirely too fast, I finally turned in my seat to face him. 'You know, if we had just found something that weighed as much a stone, you wouldn't have had to destroy those scales.'
'Well excuse me if we didn't have time to sit around and try and find a fucking stone of weight. Have you forgotten, Amanda, that you have half of the world breathing down your neck, trying to kill you?'
'You keep on saying that, but I think you mean we,' I pointed out quickly, swallowing the tide of fright that lapped up at my belly.
'True, but I can look after myself. If I stopped looking after you, however, that would be your part in this game done,' he leaned in but kept on driving, only one hand on the steering wheel, and even took his eyes off the road to look over at me, 'do you need me to paint you a picture of what that would look like?'
Despite the fact he was driving I balled up a fist and hit him on the shoulder. It wasn’t very hard, but it wasn’t that girlie either, and he did lean back immediately and even rubbed a hand on it.
'What did the parchment say anyway?' I asked quickly, keen to get the conversation onto something that was actually important and didn't involve Sebastian's inflated sense of self-importance and competence.
'It was just another clue, of course,' he finally stopped rubbing his shoulder and then let his hand rest on his lap. There was something infuriatingly maddening about men that did not drive with both hands on the steering wheel; it really, really irritated me to think of how arrogant you would have to be to not put driver safety first.
Well, then again I realized with a bitter, short laugh, I knew exactly how arrogant you would have to be – just as arrogant as Sebastian Shaw.
'What? What are you laughing at?' he asked after a moment.
'You, of course. Now, what exactly did my great-uncle's clue say?' I straightened up in my seat, feeling a little nervous about what it could be, and a great deal more nervous at the horrible situation I had found myself in. 'And where exactly are we going now? Are we going to find a clue? Are we going somewhere safe?' my voice was quick as I fired off each question in turn.
'Why don’t you just shut up, sit down straight, and leave the rest of it up to me,' he said, tone just as arrogant as his suggestion.
I snorted with derision. 'Where exactly did you learn to talk to women like that?'
It was his turn to snort now. 'Oh, Amanda, don't you worry, I know just exactly how to talk to women,' he assured me, playing with the collar of his shirt.
'Really? Are many women won over by your little macho man display? Or do you find yourself leaving bars with drinks dripping off your face? Do older women hit you in supermarkets with their bags? Do young girls scream in your face, kick you in the shins, and run off down the street?'
With eyes entirely narrowed, he gave me a sarcastic look. 'Believe me, honey, if I wanted to talk nicely to you, I would.'
I ignored the little kick of adrenaline that zipped up my stomach at that thought, and more importantly at the incredibly charming and yet sarcastic smile that had preceded it. But I swallowed determinedly. 'I really doubt that, Sebastian,' I continued, on a roll here, 'I think you are the kind of man who thinks you're good with women, just because you happen to be quite attractive, but not because you actually have any charm or engaging personality,' my words had come out, but they hadn't quite come out right, I realized a little too late. I had intended to insult him, and I had meant to point out just how irritating and undesirable he was. But for some reason I'd had to include the fact that he was dammed attractive in there, and now I bit my lip at my mistake and receded back in my seat at the thoroughly ridiculous grin that spread across his face.
Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he leaned across to me as much as he could, not facing me, but keeping his eyes on the road the entire time. 'Amanda, I'll tell you a secret: all it takes is being attractive.' And then he straightened up, leaned back in his seat, that stupid smile still on his face.
Oh yes, he was absolutely arrogant, but oh yes, I just happened to be blushing like a burning hot ember.
It wasn't until he had joined one of the major roads that I plucked up the courage to speak again. 'I'm not sure if you have forgotten this, but the side of this car is riddled with bullet holes,' I pointed to the passenger-side window and the driver's side window, 'and both of these windows are kind of smashed. What exactly do you think is going to happen if we pass a police car?'
'I will give them the chase of their life,' he grinned.
'Grow up, seriously, you're a lawyer? Did you get your degree on the Internet? Or is this some kind of game, do you pretend you're a lawyer so you can ingratiate yourself with old ladies and have them make you pancakes and call you dear?'
'I'm a lawyer, and I also know a lot more about what is going on than you do. So why don’t you just shut up.'
I punched him on the shoulder again, this time even harder. 'Tell me what was on that clue, and you tell me where we are going next, or...' I faultered as I tried to think of a damn good threat.
'Or what, Amanda? Are you going to wrestle it  from me?' he said, stupid grin now all the way into his cheeks.
I just blinked, licked my lips, darted a hand out, and snatched the parchment right out of pocket of his shirt before he could grab my hand. And then I turned to the window with it, hiding it close by my chest so I could read it before he could snatch it back.
Although he swore at me, he did not try to wrest it from my grip. And very soon I had finally managed to read the clue. It was in my great-uncle's familiar cursive handwriting, and it spoke of shadows and light, more specifically entailing that the whereabouts of the next clue was in a place where the shadow crossed the light.
I finally sat straight in the seat, very carefully rolling up the parchment and placing it neatly on my lap. A place where the shadow met the light? Well, that wasn't exactly the most explicit of clues. Not only could it mean practically anything, I didn't really think I had any idea to narrow it down.
'You have no idea, do you?' he sounded amused.
I turned to him and narrowed my eyes quickly. 'I'm not sure if you've forgotten, but the only reason we have this clue,' I gestured with it lightly, 'is because I figured out the last one.'
'Right, I knew exactly where it was, without any of your help, Amanda. Or did you forget that it was me that found those scales?'
'Yes,' I insisted, 'but it was me that figured out the clue. You obviously didn't have any idea that there was something in the scales until I figured it out. Plus, seriously, you didn't have to go and hit it with a spade.'
He laughed out loud at that and for far too long. 'You really have seen way too many movies. Trust me, if you can hit it with a hammer, hit it with a hammer; it's quicker than all that clue bullshit.'
Indiana Jones would have jolly well taken it to a museum, I wanted to point out. But it didn't seem like there was a point to comparing Sebastian to Indiana; Sebastian not only did not wear leather, foregoing the manly look for a suit, he didn't appear to have a good bone anywhere in his body either, and he sure as hell didn't appear to care about the history behind the items he coveted or destroyed. And excuse me for thinking that possibly it might have just been better to follow through with the clue rather than the spade.
'So where are you taking me?' I finally asked.
'Petrol,' he finally said.
I glanced over and noticed that we were almost at empty. And then I gave him the kind of look that he thoroughly deserved. 'You came with an empty tank?'
He just sneered at me. 'Excuse me if I didn't prepare to cart you around the country, looking for clues and running from goons. Today,' he adjusted his collar, ‘was meant to be an ordinary day, not like last night.'
I pressed my lips together stiffly and gave him a stern look. 'How exactly are we meant to get petrol? People are going to see our car and they’ll call the police.'
Sebastian didn't answer, and neither did he look pleased. In fact, it was clear that he was having trouble with that idea too.
I gave a deep sigh, wondering exactly where I would be this time tomorrow. Would I be in prison? Would I be with that man Maratova? Or Romeo? Or would I be… well, dead? As that horrible thought found its way into my mind, I drew my hands together and began to rub them quickly, drawing in on myself a little.
He glanced my way, and then leaned down to turn on the heater, despite the fact that two of the windows were completely smashed.
I didn't have time to think that his gesture was sweet, because for some reason it gave me an idea. I suddenly recognized the section of road we were driving down, and realized that it was not too far from a little barely-used side road that connected onto the lane-way that was by my great-uncle’s manor.
'Your car, why don’t we take that?' I asked excitedly.
Sebastian made a show of looking conspiratorial, darting his eyes from side-to-side and leaning down a little into his collar. 'We are in my car,' he whispered.
I rolled my eyes. 'Your other car, the one that you said you'd parked in the lane-way last night, the one I gave you the keys for this morning. If we could get to that, and if that isn't riddled with bullet holes, then we can drive that instead.'
While the beginnings of a sarcastic smile began to spread across his lips, it dwindled after a while. Perhaps he actually thought it was a good idea, because, it was a good idea. We could hardly continue driving around the countryside in a car that looked as if it had just driven through a war zone.
'If you keep on continuing down this road, there's this little kind of side road, it's not very obvious, but I can point it out,' I kept gesturing towards the road, fingers a little wild as I did, 'we should be able to take it, even though it is quite rough, and it might damage the suspension,' I pointed out evenly.
'Well, you know what? I already have to book this car in for some bodywork anyway,' he said dryly. 'But I don't know if this is a good idea; if I know Maratova, he would still have guys out looking for you near your house. He is the kind of guy who does things thoroughly.'
For some reason I felt quite sick at that thought. And even though I was taking great pleasure in finding Sebastian highly irritating and arrogant, I had to admit that he sounded as if he was infinitely better than this Maratova chap. And that, I guess, meant that I had to be very thankful that Sebastian had technically saved me from the man. Technically, of course, because I had done most of the saving when I had managed to run through the woods in the middle of the night with no shoes and had given my captors the slip.
'Honestly, this side road is hardly used; only locals really know about it,' I continued. 'Plus, I mean, you got away from them last night...' I trailed off, not really sure what I wanted to say.
Sebastian ticked his head to the side. 'I guess it wouldn't be too suspicious if I went and picked up my car, but you sure as hell have to stay out of sight,' he turned to me and locked me in a very stern and serious look. 'I will try and park somewhere safe, out of the way, you stay in this car, and I will go and get the other one.'
I just nodded. I found his tone irritating and overbearing, but I really couldn't find fault with his words.
He shook his head and gave a low whistle. 'I sure hope I don't have to run into Maratova again,' Sebastian licked his lips.
For the first time, I started to wonder what exactly Sebastian's relationship with this mysterious Maratova was. All I really knew was that Sebastian happened to be a lawyer who was somehow a treasure hunter too. I could remember that he had been there at the auction when I had sold off the other globe. And, of course, he had been at my house last night when he had saved me from the mercenaries in my drawing-room.
But that did not mean that I really knew what kind of relationship he had with the other players in this game. He certainly seemed to be willing to do whatever it took – legal or illegal – to get his hands on those other globes.
I began to play with my hands again, wondering if I could honestly trust this guy.
'Look, you'll be okay, I won't be that long,' he said, for the first time his voice almost sounding concerned.
Was he looking at my body language, noting the fact that I had just pulled away from him, that I was now staring at the window, playing nervously with my hands in my lap, and thinking it meant I was scared? Well he was right, in a way, but I wasn't particularly scared of being left alone in the car. I was, however, very scared that if I trusted this man and he turned out to be bad, then it would probably be the biggest mistake of my life. The amount of trouble I was already in was huge; the amount of trouble I could add to that if my only apparent champion was in fact a crook, was something that sent the coldest of chills through me.
But, just as I did give a shiver from that horrible thought, Sebastian seemed to misinterpret it again. He lent down, twisted the knob on the heater to full, and gestured that I put my hands in front of one of the vents. 'There's not much I can do about the windows, owing to the fact they have great sodding bullet holes in them, but you can have my jacket if you like.' He twisted his head and nodded at the back seat, where his jacket was folded neatly.
I was just a little tiny bit flabbergasted at that. Sebastian, after all, in my mind was not a real gentleman. He was the kind of guy who liked to pretend he was a gentleman so he could gain the attention and affection of ladies; in other words, he would ask you how your day had been, but walk out of the room before you had answered, or something similar to that. I had the picture painted of Sebastian Shaw in my mind as one of an arrogant, self-interested tosser. And yet here he was, apparently genuinely concerned that I found his shot-up car a little chilly.
And that was enough to chase the doubt from my mind for now. 'I'll be fine,' I even smiled a little, and it was quite different from the smile I usually showed Sebastian; I didn't have to think about it, for one, it just happened.
'Suit yourself,' he shrugged.
I quickly pointed out the hidden little lane-way off to the side of the road that would be a shortcut to the lane-way that was near my great-uncle's manor. And soon we had traveled more than half way. It really was a horrible road; there were potholes the size of tires, and some of them connected up into great ruts that seemed to span almost the entire road. Sebastian swore colorfully as he unsuccessfully tried to avoid them all, car bouncing around frightfully as the tires dug into the treacherous dips. Thankfully there was not too much mud, as fun as it would be to be stuck in a bogged car, tires churning up the mud as it spat through the holes in the windows and covered both of us.
He parked under a tree, though technically along this road everywhere was under a tree; the great big oaks, birches, elms, and pines all pulled up, right against the road, forming a thick canopy above. It was little wonder that this road was hardly ever used; this close to the forest it was always being plagued by falling down trees and branches, let alone the damage from encroaching roots and run-off when it rained heavily.
'Just stay in the car and stay down,' Sebastian said for what felt like the trillionth time.
I just nodded my head, trying not to be truculent about it; after all, the advice wasn't there to irritate me, presumably it was there to keep me out of the hands of international criminals and wayward super soldiers.
Sebastian kept cracking the knuckles of his left hand as he walked around the car, muttering to himself that perhaps he should find a way to park it further off the road and down an incline. I pointed out that as fun as it would be to drive his luxury vehicle off the side of the road and into a tree, there was little point; this road really was hardly ever used. I faced little to no chance of meeting anyone on it.
Sebastian didn't look too moved by my words, in fact, if anything, he looked like he was about to get back in the car and drive off again.
'Maybe this isn't such a good idea,' he said, voice extra gruff for some reason.
'Look, it’s not as if we have a lot of choice. There is going to be a limit on the amount of time we can drive around in a car that looks as if it has been target practice for an entire army.'
He didn't bother arguing at that, just cracked the knuckles on his right hand this time, shook his head, warned me one more time to stay down and to stay quiet, and then finally began walking away from the car and towards the lane-way probably a good kilometer away.
It was strange watching him go, for some reason it made all the feelings that I had managed to keep control of since last night bubble back up to the surface. Perhaps it was being alone, or perhaps it was the fact that for the first time I was simply sitting still and not running from anything or having to point out to Sebastian just how idiotic and arrogant he was. I honestly had time to think, and time to feel, and what I was thinking and what I was feeling weren't exactly pleasant.
There had been a particular surreal feeling to everything last night, and with the excitement of finding the scales in the church and cracking my great-uncle's clue, it almost seemed that what I was doing here was something adventurous. But now the reality was sinking in, and I realized I was sitting in a car that had no windows because they had been shot out by men who I did not know, and who only knew me as a person to kidnap and torture. I was also currently desperately fleeing for my life with a man who I hardly knew, and who I honestly did not believe capable of truly caring about my situation; Sebastian was after the other globes, that much was nifestly clear.
This wasn’t an adventure; this was a nightmare.
I ran my lips through my teeth, closed my eyes tightly as tears threatened to well up within, and rested my head back roughly against the head rest behind. I even began banging my head against it lightly several times, as several errant tears trickled down from my eyes and spilled over my cheeks.
I couldn't really see this ending very well. Sebastian was right, after all, and this was not a movie and nor was it a trashy airport novel. In the real world when criminals were after you, that did not give you license to walk right into the bad guy’s den and shoot everything up, steal the treasure, and retire on a nice tropical island. You had to go to the police, and if you didn't go to the police – which was exactly what Sebastian and I were doing – then there were heavy consequences down the line.
I shook my head quickly several times, more tears sliding down my cheeks, their coolness distinguishable from the burning, puffy, unpleasant feeling of my skin as I twisted my face with tension, trying so hard not to cry.
By this time next week I would probably either be very dead or very possibly locked up in a prison cell somewhere.
And that burst the banks, for some reason, and I finally let go of what little control I had, and let myself cry, jolly hard. Because I had a lot to cry about right now. This time last week I was over the moon at having found treasure in my great-uncle's attic. This time the week before last I was holding down a part-time job in a cafe, wondering whether I should go back to uni and study something actually worthwhile that would give me real job prospects.
And now look at me? Sobbing my little heart out in a shot-up car on a lonely country lane-way while I waited for a lawyer who dabbled in treasure hunting to bring around a new vehicle that wouldn't get us pulled over by the police.
I kicked my shoes off, bringing my legs up onto the seat and hugging them tightly. It was about then that I heard the noise of a car coming up the lane-way towards me.
Unless Sebastian was a world-class runner, or had fashioned a helicopter out of some twigs and leaves, then it sure as hell wasn't him; not enough time had passed to allow him to get to the car and travel all the way back here. Plus, the car was coming down the lane-way, from behind, from where we had joined from the main road further up. And I was fairly certain that Sebastian would have tried to save time and would plan to come up the lane-way, rather than drive halfway round the countryside to come in from the back.
Despite the hot tears still streaking down my face, my mouth went suddenly very dry.
A horrible energy prickling up over my back, I let go of my knees and tried to catch a view of the vehicle through the driver's side mirror. The only problem was we had left that behind in the village when it had been shot off by a man whose neck reminded me of a tree stump.
So I did the only thing I could think of, and opened the door carefully, dropping quickly to my knees. 
The car wasn't yet upon me, but I could hear it churning up through the treacherous road, the bounce in its suspension as it hit all the same potholes that we had hit.
Without hesitation I turned and ran, staying low, away from the car, until I was well behind the old and large trunk of an elm.
My breath was far too short, and far too quick, and seemed to choke through my throat as if it no longer had the room to make it all the way to my lungs. And I swallowed wildly as I waited to catch a glimpse of the vehicle coming my way.
Even though a part of me tried to entertain the prospect that it still could be Sebastian, I knew that was a faint and dim hope. And sure enough, in a moment, I had been proved right; a large, black, four-wheel-drive hurtled down the road, drawing to a sudden stop as it rounded the corner and presumably saw Sebastian's car.
Even though four-wheel-drives, and particularly large and overly petrol-guzzling ones, were very common in this part of the country, tinted windows were not. And the car that now parked right next to Sebastian's sure as hell had the darkest tinted windows I had ever seen. I imagined that even if I walked right up to them, I wouldn't be able to catch a glimpse of who was inside.
The effect was instant on me: my hands drew away from the tree where I had pressed them there as I peered so intently at the oncoming car, and they shook as I let them drop by my side. Even though it would have been rational to stay and see who exactly got out of the vehicle, I had far too much fear kicking around in me to consider reason right now. Taking the most enormous swallow I could, somehow hoping that would allow me to breathe properly again, I turned carefully, ensuring that the bulk of my body could not be seen past the trunk. Then I dropped very low and tried to scamper as quickly as I could to the protection of an even larger tree further back. The plan was to continue doing that, ducking from tree to tree, until I was well and truly gone, no matter how long or how far that would take me.
'What the fuck happened to this car?' A very gruff and deep baritone rang out from behind me, giving me a fair indication from the language and the tone that this was not a country farmer here, one with a particular love of military-grade cars and tinted windows.
'It's had the shit shot out of it,' replied a man with a wiry tone, offering a little laugh at the end, as if a completely bullet-riddled Lexus car was about the most funny sight on this green Earth.
Even though every part of me told me to keep on running, and not to squander my lead, for some reason I wanted to stay and listen further. I really had no doubt in my mind that these men were after me, but that did not mean that they knew I was here. Perhaps they had come across the car by chance, and wrongly assumed that I was with Sebastian right now, and not exactly behind a tree barely 20 meters from them.
I bit my lip so hard that the pain radiated down into my chin. But I ground to a halt, pressing my back up as far as I could against the rigid bark of the large oak tree behind me.
'Hey, I know this car,' a far more unpleasant tone replied, 'it belongs to that little lawyer shit.'
Now my eyes widened quickly, and I clamped my teeth down, lips sucking in. Even though I really did not know anything about the man, for some reason I was certain that the guy that had just spoken was Maratova. The same Maratova that Sebastian kept warning me about, the same Maratova that apparently had chased me through the woods last night.
And that thought was enough to see me shaking, arm actually jittering so hard that the tips of my fingers danced over the wood of the trunk behind me as I tried to hold myself steady.
'Well, looks like someone got to him,' the barritone replied, voice not exactly peaking with concern.
'Should we call it in?' someone else asked.
'Don't have the time, plus, not our problem,' the barritone replied, voice very even indeed.
For some reason the man's tone was starting to get to me; it didn't seem right somehow. It seemed as if he was artificially holding his voice even, as if he was trying not to frighten someone. I hardly doubted he was doing it for the benefit of his men; I didn't really think the Army was a place where the softly, softly approach to interpersonal conversation was cherished. No, there was another reason here.
My lips dropped open slightly, my throat now completely dry. Very carefully I tried to step back from the tree, and it was at that moment that I heard the crack of a twig not too far from my left.
My heart gave a kick, and I had never felt anything like it. An intensely cold sensation rushed across the top of my chest, a horrible tingling feeling cascading down my arms and legs.
They were hunting me. The apparently normal conversation by the car was probably meant to draw my interest and distract me while they sent several other men off into the forest to corral me.
'Still, it's a pity, looked like it was a nice car,' someone said as the sound of a door being opened filtered through from the lane-way behind me.
They were continuing the conversation, no doubt intending to do so right up until several soldiers popped out of the bushes and rugby tackled me to the ground.
With a fresh, undeniable, inescapable tingling pulsing through my body, I did the only thing I could think of, and I ran. It might have been smarter to slowly peel off, assess the lay of the land, and try to pick the best route possible. But I was not in a sensible mood here; I was about to be the little antelope captured by the pride of lions.
As I launched myself from the protection of the tree, heart beating so fast, chest trying so hard to suck in deeper and longer breaths, the conversation behind stopped.
I had stupidly, stupidly kicked my shoes off in the car, and once again I found myself running from the Army in the woods, barefoot and desperate.
As I belted forward, in my peripheral vision I saw one of them, crouched low by the side of a tree barely five meters from where I had been. And the second he saw me, was the second he snapped up with the speed of a jumping spider.
I just screamed, constricted throat making it sound as if I was choking.
Arms flailing about madly, feet striking the ground with hard, shuddering, desperately quick footfall, I just ran in the only direction I could see that didn't have a crouching soldier in it.
Sure enough, as I pelted forward, I heard another one move from my other side; snapping up just as quickly as the other one had.
This section of wood was infamous for its dips and rises, seemingly level hills suddenly dropping off dramatically into tree-lined ditches – and just as I could hear the breath of the closest soldier behind me so loud that it sounded as though it was issuing from my own skull, I came across such a treacherous rise.
Foot striking a raised root, and knee buckling at the sudden pressure it sent zipping through my leg and up my hip, I fell forward, suddenly realizing that the ground gave away sharply. With no time to scream, I sucked in a breath, closed my eyes, and somehow managed to tuck my body in. I hit the ground and began to slide down the sharp incline, leaves and twigs grating and brushing quickly over my scooting form.
I had no idea how long it took, but eventually I rolled onto a thankfully-soft pile of leaf matter at the bottom of the incline. Were it not for the fact my body was already primed with adrenaline from the pressing issue of having several heavily-armed soldiers chasing me, I would probably have lain there for quite some time, shocked as I tried to process what had just occurred. But I didn't have that luxury.
Shaking violently, my teeth actually clattering as a tried to clamp down hard on my jaw and get a hold of myself, I pushed myself to my feet. It didn't feel as though I had broken bones, and I really didn't have time to check for the bruises and scratches and cuts that I knew for sure would be there.
'Come on, Amanda, you don't have to run from us,' one of the soldiers said from the top of the incline.
But I chose to ignore his words as I saw two others expertly making their way down the horrendously steep incline towards me.
'We are here to help you,' the soldier tried again. He was not the barritone, that much I did know, and his voice, dare I say it, had a kinder edge.
But that did not stop me from turning from him and resuming my escape. 'Like hell you are,' I muttered under my breath.
I heard him swear, just as I heard the other two soldiers as their boots skidded, but they did not fall, as they made their way quickly towards me.
What little advantage I had gotten by throwing myself bodily down the steep hill was quickly being eaten up, and I turned to try to continue to run.
Though I had not been to these woods for many years, I still remembered them from the fond times I had spent with my great-uncle as a child. He had often taken me out here, sat me under the different trees and told me of his various adventures. I remembered the time he had pointed out this hidden, old lane-way to me, leading me along it, my small hand in his, as he pointed out all the different trees and plants and birds.
And just as I ran, feet so startlingly sore and painful that it practically made me want to close my eyes to get away from the horrible feeling, I remembered something more. My great-uncle had told me that this lane-way, and the woods around it, were completely surrounded by one of the country roads. And, if you kept walking down with the dip in the land, you would get to the road below.  The other thing he'd mentioned was the thing I had just proved to myself as I had thrown myself face-first down that incredibly steep hill: the land around here was just full of ditches, valleys, and bloody horrendously steep hills.
And that would be when I saw another incline pop right up in front of me. This time I managed to skid to a halt, grabbing at a tree trunk before I fell off the hill and rolled down to the flat almost 20 meters below.
But they were right behind me, and I do mean right behind me. For some reason my hearing was more acute: I could pick up the tread of their boots as they ran through the soft forest floor. I could even pick up the little metal clinks and clangs as whatever horrible weaponry they carried impacted with their belts and buckles as they threw themselves forward.
But below me, just beyond the massive dip, was the road. I could see it, see the little slice of gray bitumen through a gap in several trees.
So I did it again, this time intentionally. Taking the most massive of swallows, and wincing like I had never winced before, I plunged over the dip in the hill, trying to keep myself low for as long as I could. I had intended to control my descent, but quickly I started to slide out of control, and once again I had to curl myself in tight as I began to roll violently down the incline.
I thought I heard someone swear from behind me; it was hard to tell as air rushed past my ears, the sounds of twigs and small branches cracking as I skidded and rolled past. And then, once again, I finally bottomed out and reached the flat below.
This time my body felt so bruised and battered that I gave out a terrible little moan as I pushed myself to my feet.
'For fuck's sake, love,' the soldier from before shouted from atop the incline above, 'we are not here to hurt you. We are here to get you to safety.'
I think I was crying now, it was hard to tell; the skin along my cheeks, nose, and forehead was so tingly and over sensitized from the fall and incredible rush of adrenaline that was pumping through me, that it was hard to differentiate between a stinging sensation in my eyes and the possibility of tears rushing down my cheeks and over my chin. Plus my face now felt so dirty from the beating I had given it by rolling down two inclines in the space of less than two minutes that you would probably have to press right up close to it in order to see the tears, if they really were there, between the mud, muck, and scratches.
  And, just as if on cue, in front of me, near the road, I saw someone move. But before my heart could give a leap at the possibility that Sebastian was there for some reason, I quickly recognized the large, heavy, black-leather coat and incredible thick neck. It was the man who had shot at us outside of the library. He was barely five meters before me, picking his way towards me from the road beyond. He had a gun in hand, and sliced his eyes upwards to the soldier on the rise. But before he could do anything, he sliced his eyes back to me and then pelted for me.
I didn't have time to think; I had just fallen down yet another incline, body so full of painful protestations at my punishment that all I could really do was stand there and shake.
But the soldier above yelled, 'contact'. And just as he did several bullets zipped around me, but not close enough to indicate that I was the intended target. In fact one of them seemed to rip through the shoulder of the thick-necked man's leather jacket, one plunging into the ground right next to his boot. It was enough to make him falter, and he jerked back quickly, just before his outstretched hands got a hold of me.
I threw myself to the ground, or fell, more like it. My legs just buckled out from underneath me, mouth so open and wide and limp that I didn't think I could ever get it closed gain. I tucked my arms over my head, nestling my chin down until it was as close to my chest as I could make it.
I could hear the noise of the soldiers above, as they kept shooting, kept shouting. And then I heard far closer shots as the thick-necked man obviously drew his own gun.
And with the smell of dirt clogging my nose, the mud on my face now definitely mixing with the tears that I knew were flowing from my eyes freely, I took several horrible sobs.
But some part of me, even though most of me wanted to just sit there huddled until everything was over, told me that I had to get up and move. I couldn't just assume the fetal position and wait to be kidnapped by the victor; I had to act, I had to get away.
Pushing myself to my feet, arms and neck so stiff that it felt as if I was trying to unwind a coat-hanger, I finally plunged myself into the woods by my side, as far away from the shouting and gunfire as I could get.
I just ran, ran, and ran. Whereas before I had noticed the pain in my feet and the tears streaking down my cheeks, now I noticed nothing; my attention was completely and inexorably focused on getting the hell away.
Eventually, as the sounds of the gunfight were swallowed up by the woods, I found myself facing yet another incline.
And for the freaking third time, I slipped right down it. The only difference was, this one led straight to the road. In an uncontrollable, desperate descent, I rolled right off the hill and straight onto the bitumen below.
There was a sudden and violent screech of tires, and a massive wave of air broke against me as something large and fast dodged closely by my side.
Before I could process what had just happened, or more likely, what hadn't, I heard a car door slam.
'Amanda? Amanda?' It was Sebastian, and in another second he was right by my side, lifting me up off the road.
His face was actually still with shock, a fairly tender and overwhelmed expression muddling his features, one completely at odds with the character I was so sure he had.
He just shook his head several times and led me to the car. 'Get in the car, get in the car,' he needlessly repeated as he opened the passenger door for me and gently but quickly led me towards it.
Behind us the sound of gunfire suddenly stopped. Sebastian twisted his head in a snap towards it and let out an even quicker swearword as he slammed my door closed and pelted to his open driver’s-side door. He jumped in, slammed his own door and did not bother to put his seat belt on as he slammed his foot on the accelerator and the car sped off down the road.
I was shaking in my seat, clutching my hands incredibly tightly as I rocked back and forth.
I was aware that Sebastian was looking at me, slicing his head back to the road as he took another corner at full speed, and then looking back at me. But not caring how I looked, I just sat there, knuckles perfectly white against my pink flesh as I continued to rock back and forth, back and forth.
He reached out a hand to me, hesitated for a moment and then patted me on the shoulder. 'You're okay, you're okay, because you’re here now, you're safe,' his voice was very quiet, very at odds with his usual arrogant gusto.
I just shook.
'What happened? Was it Maratova? Did he find you?' Sebastian did not slow the car down, and in fact it sounded as if he gunned it even harder at the mention of Maratova's name, the engine revving wildly.
Eventually I was able to nod my head, and then just kept on nodding for some reason, as if I was one of those little dolls with a bouncing head that sat on the car's dashboard.
'Fuck,' he said, the word bitter and drawn out, 'that fucking bastard.'
For some reason I felt cold, frigid, my limbs seizing up. I wanted to huddle into a little ball and try and keep what little warmth I still had left in me inside.
Sebastian wound up his window, which had been down when he had rescued me, and turned the heat on to full bore, directing each of the vents towards me. 'I wish I had some water in this car,' he mumbled.
I was blinking ferociously, my hands still so tensely clutched shut I sat on them to stop them from falling off. I didn't really understand why I was being so pathetic here, if in fact I was being pathetic. One of the things about facing a situation so very strange and so much more frightful than anything I had ever faced before, was I had no idea how to act. How were you meant to act when you had just thrown yourself down three cliffs to get away from soldiers and criminals who were chasing you?
'Oh, shit, you are covered in scratches and cuts,' Sebastian said, voice quick, tone low and almost emotional, 'Jesus Christ, I should not have left you alone. I'm so sorry.'
I just nodded my head, not really sure what I was agreeing to. I knew, after all, that I was covered in scratches. I could feel them, the hot, tingling pain that covered my feet and hands. But should he have left me alone? Would we have been any better off if he had been there? I had no idea. Just as I had no idea what was really happening to me, what exactly was going on.
But I was surprised that I wasn't crying any more, that was one thing. My tears had dried up, possibly giving up trying to wend their way through the caked mud on my face. Or maybe they had just run out. Or maybe I didn't feel like crying any more, maybe I just felt like sitting down and not moving for a week until everything finally made sense.
'I will take you somewhere safe, I will take you somewhere safe,' Sebastian kept on repeating, as if if he said something comforting twice it would somehow make it twice as comforting.
'I'm okay,' I finally managed to speak, but my words were so quiet and so gentle that they couldn't have convinced anyone.
Sebastian gently shushed me, just repeating that I was okay.
'I am okay,' I said, voice getting just a touch firmer. I was even able to let my hands go, the knuckles stiff but finally relaxing a little.
'What happened? How did they find you?' Sebastian asked, facing me as much as he could as he kept on driving way too quickly along such a narrow road.
'They came not too long after you left,' I said, voice quiet, but thankfully even, 'and, well...' I just trailed off.
He raised a hand quickly. 'It's okay, I get it. Those bastards.'
Yes, but were they? For some reason as I sat there, finally warming up from the heaters that blasted warm air my way, I was starting to do some serious questioning. Yes, I had just been chased, and yes, by soldiers of all people. But for some reason I could not get the words of one of them out of my head. The one who had not been Maratova, the one whose voice had sounded kind even. He had told me that they were not here to hurt me, that they were here to help me, that they were here to take me somewhere safe. And, sure enough, they had not shot me, as if that meant anything. But more importantly, they had, in a way, protected me from that thick-necked man in the heavy leather jacket. If they had not been there, in fact, well... I really had no idea what would have happened. But I could picture very clearly the look that thick-necked man had had as he reached for me, his eyes so unpleasantly wide, a look of even more unpleasant certainty on his face.
I leaned forward quickly, sucking my lips in tightly, and putting a hand on my stomach; I felt suddenly sick. A powerful wave of nausea was ricocheting through my stomach, just as those bullets had ricocheted through the woods.
'Oh shit, are you okay? Did they hurt you? You didn't get shot, did you?' Sebastian fired off his questions just as the soldiers had fired off their guns at the thick-necked man.
I was not sick; I was overcome, completely drowned by the situation. I did not know what to believe, and I did not know what to do next. Despite my fear of Maratova, and the fresh memory of being chased last night, I was starting to question just exactly why I was running from the Army at all. After all, they were meant to be the good guys. But for some reason I had convinced myself, mostly through the words of Sebastian, that I had to get away from them.
Was it the right thing to do?
'We need to keep moving, get out of the country as quick as we can,' Sebastian said.
Well, that made me freak right out. I gave a startled, choked little bluster. 'Get out of the country? What? We can't come back ever again? What do you mean? What have we done?' my words all came out at once, as if my silence had been a great dam that had just been broken by Sebastian's suggestion.
'I don't mean out of the country, I mean out of the countryside,' he clarified quickly. 'You haven't done anything wrong, Amanda.'
I really wished that I could believe that, but the strange thing about having so many people, including the Army, chasing after me, was that it made me feel as if I was nothing but a criminal. Innocent people, after all, had nothing to run from.
A silence stretched between us for several minutes, and while I was aware that Sebastian kept on turning to me to check how I was, I couldn't think of anything more to say to him. I was thankful that he hadn’t run me over, and forever thankful that he had gotten me away from the bullets and shouting. But I really didn't know what to do from here. Something was telling me that if I chose not to go to the authorities now, then it would be too late.
The thrill of having solved my great-uncle’s clue and having found the scales in that church had been completely wiped from my mind. The reality of this desperate adventure, and more specifically running from criminals and soldiers, had completely overshadowed any illusion I may have had that I was somehow a budding treasure hunter myself. I was not built for this, because I was pretty sure that this should not exist; the rules of law did not make room for people to dash around the countryside shooting at each other and trying to look for treasure maps.
But as the day wound on, and the sky became overcast, I began to realize that despite the fact I did not know what to do next, we were still heading somewhere new. Sebastian obviously knew where to go from here, even if I was too frightened and overcome to give it a single thought. We had left the countryside some time ago, and while we had not joined onto a highway heading into the city, we were still heading out along a far larger, far wider main road.
With clouds overhead pressing in, threatening rain in an hour or two, I realized that I could hardly sit there and stay quiet forever. 'Where are we going?' I eventually asked, voice croaking.
Sebastian played with his collar, as if it were bothering him. 'We have to keep moving, our advantage is the only thing that is keeping us ahead.'
I did not exactly understand his words, and he did not exactly pause to elucidate them. But despite the fact I was still getting over the shock of my little tumbles in the woods, I began to realize what he meant. 'You're going after the other clue, aren't you?'
He just nodded his head.
He was going after the other clue. I had almost been kidnapped by two different sets of people, and I had given myself a harsh beating trying to get away from them, and Sebastian was going after the next clue.
For some reason all I had thought was that he was going to get us somewhere safe, somewhere where I could have a shower, somewhere where I could change out of my completely torn tights. But oh no, we were headed to the next clue.
I was distinctly aware in that moment of the irony of it all. I had seen my fair share of ridiculous adventure movies, and read perhaps more than my fair share of even more ridiculous airport novels, and I knew that the golden rule in both genres was to never stop. Once the action started, the character would never be allowed to pause until it was all over. They would be chased to the point of exhaustion, but somehow they would push through. It was all in the name of adventure, after all. And audiences did not want to see the protagonist go back home and have a kip after a lengthy and powerful car chase. They did not want to see their hero stretch out and have a siesta and a snack after having escaped from the pirates or mercenaries. The entire point was that from the moment the action began, it did not end until the story ended.
But this was not a book and this was not a movie, and all that served to make this reality completely horrible. Normal people, real people, needed time to process events, especially stressful, traumatic ones. And I was being given no time. I was simply being pushed from one frantic experience to another. And while, from the outside, it might have made this damn entertaining adventure and action, from the inside it felt like it would turn me insane.
'Look, there will be an end to this,' Sebastian assured me.
An end? When? And what exactly would it look like? Would the end be when I finally handed myself over to Maratova and his men and they gently pulled me aside and informed me that they really were the good guys, whereupon they would take out all the bad guys and I would be able to resume my normal life? Or would the end look more like me being shot to pieces by some heavy-leather-jacket-wearing goon? Or would I end up in prison?
'I don't really want to do this anymore,' I surprised myself with my own words, but they were genuine and they were honest. Because I really, really did not want to do this anymore. It might have been wild to begin with, and I may have been briefly excited at the prospect of finding treasure in the church, but I was over it now. This had to stop.
Sebastian just gave an awkward and light chuckle. Perhaps he thought I was joking. But then he gently and slowly licked his lips, eyes staring out at the road. His eyelids descended a little, stare looking dead. 'I wish I could make it stop. But the reality is, as long as everyone else out there thinks you know where the globes are, there isn’t going to be an end. Not until we find those globes.'
I took a bitter little swallow, feeling just how ragged and raw my throat was as I did. It was yet another sensation that was entirely unpleasant, and one that I would not have been facing if the events of the last 24 hours had not taken place. And it made me bitter, very bitter. 'Then we find a way to tell them. There must be some kind of way,' I said, voice desperate as it peaked and pitched loudly. 'I made a mistake in selling that globe at auction,' I kept on swallowing between my words, throat horrendously dry and sore, 'but surely there is some way to get away from this.'
Sebastian actually winced. If it was because of my rather desperate and pathetic plea, I was not sure; it was hard to get a read on Sebastian Shaw, and even harder to tell whether he was showing genuine compassion or just putting on an act to ensure I played along.
'Look, Amanda, I promised that I would get you out of this, and I will,' his voice was far more quiet than previously, and slower, as if he was choosing his words carefully, 'but you are going to have to trust me. I know these people, you don't. I know this industry, you don't. I know how these things go down, you don't. And trust me when I say that the only thing to do right now is to get our hands on those other globes.'
I really, honestly had no idea whether to believe him. But at that moment I was too tired, too injured, and too desperate to bother doing anything else. So I just gave a single, bitter little nod and let him drive on to god knows where and to god knows what next.


Chapter Seven
Sebastian Shaw
Shit, I was being a bastard, I really was. I mean, just look at the girl, she was covered in scratches, covered in mud, clothes torn, shoulders completely huddled as she could hardly look at me. I should not have left her alone in the car; I really should have gone with my gut instinct and we should have continued along in my shot-up Lexus, ditching it at the first chance, but not going anywhere near old Arthur Stanton's manor again. Because I knew Maratova, and I had known that he would have left some kind of look out around the manor. And sure as hell they had found her, chased her through the woods, and given her what looked like the fright of her life.
But that wasn't the only reason I was a bastard, and it wasn't even the most prominent. Number one on the list of reasons to hate myself right now was that I was fucking lying to her. In all honesty, the best thing she could do right now was to go straight to the police, hell, maybe even straight to Maratova. While the guy was a monster, he wasn't nearly as bad as the others that were after her right now. And obviously the Army could offer her more protection than I could. But there was this little problem for me, the singular reason that I was truly a bastard; if I lost Amanda now, I might just lose my chance at getting the Stargazers. And I had been after those my whole life.
Even though I honestly wanted to check on her to see that she was still okay, and wasn't about to black out or anything, I was finding it harder and harder to turn to her. I usually compartmentalized my work, rationalizing away the shitty things I did in order to get to whatever treasure waited for me, but this was a new low for me. To be honest, I hardly ever had to deal with people outside of my profession. And I wasn't talking about lawyers here: I was talking about treasure hunting. It was a closed off, specialized world, where everyone was cutthroat, and it really didn’t matter if you had to tread on someone else's toes to get to what you wanted, because the toes belonged to a hairy, mean, son of a bitch who would as soon as kill you is look at you.
But Amanda was just normal, or at least innocent. She wasn't from this world, and it was clear that she really didn't belong here.
I shook my head several more times, and sliced my gaze to the side to check on her, without turning to her fully. For some reason I was worried that if I faced her right now she would be able to see the lie dancing through my eyes. Pick up that I was leading her astray, that honestly the best thing she could do right now was ditch me and flag down the next police car she saw.
I had been honest about one thing: I really was going to do everything I could to keep her safe. But I was just going to do that while getting my hands on those globes. I really, honestly had been tracking them my whole life, and I just couldn't let go of them now. Even if it meant that I had to do what I was doing: lying to a woman who looked as if she couldn't exactly take any more.
And right now, rather than taking her to the hospital or a least a pharmacy to get some bandages to clean her up, I was heading straight to the next clue. Just because I didn't want to lose any time, just because I didn't want to give anyone else any time to catch up. I didn't even want us pulling into a service station to grab her a drink and a bite to eat.
Dear God, I really was a bastard.
'Where are we going?' she asked again, voice completely gentle, but not, I fancied, because she was trying to be nice – she probably lacked the strength to make her words any more forceful. In fact, she was probably using all she had left just to sit there.
'The coast,' I answered, honestly. Although I had not exactly planned on telling her everything, the words just came out. After all, I really did owe it to her.
She just nodded, those hands of hers still clutched in her lap. They were dirty and covered in scratches, just like the rest of her. Those strangely fitting and cute clothes that Elizabeth had given her were now completely ruined and completely muddy. There were several leaves and small sticks hanging out of her hair, but I didn't bother telling her, considering her general state right now.
For the millionth time I really thought about how much of a bastard I was. Did I really need her? Could I get through this on my own? Could I deposit her at the nearest police station? Maybe even call Maratova myself? After all, I had that little, worn, leather journal of her great-uncle’s. And, now that I knew that the locations of the four Stargazers were in there, surely I didn't need her anymore?
Well, that would be the case if she hadn't proved to be so useful at that church. Even though I hadn't admitted it to her, I probably wouldn't have solved that clue without her.  I always took the direct approach when finding treasure and solving clues: the one that usually involved the most explosives and the least thinking. After all, it didn't matter how many permutations there were to a particular puzzle that kept you from the treasure within; if you packed enough c4, you could just blast right through it.
But in the few glances that I had managed to snatch at Arthur Stanton's journal, I was starting to appreciate that he was the other kind of treasure hunter: the kind that solved puzzles, that looked for clues, that tried to respect the old and dated logic of whatever dead culture they were trying to uncover treasure from.
And Amanda seemed to be like her great-uncle; annoying though she could be, she seemed to at least think things through, and at least slowed down long enough to look for clues. Well, that was, of course, when she wasn't pelting through the woods trying to get away from soldiers and bad guys.
And there was that other little fact that she had known him: Amanda, presumably, had grown up to some extent with Arthur Stanton. And that gave her a distinct advantage in understanding how the old codger had thought. It hadn’t taken her long, after all, to realize that the scales held a clue. And I had been frankly impressed that she had realized what the clue had meant, even if I had  ignored it completely and destroyed the scales with a spade. No, it seemed that Amanda was good at this: she thought like her great-uncle, and she had known him.
I wanted those globes, I really did. And if keeping Amanda Stanton along for the ride was the key to getting them, then so be it. And if it made me a monumental bastard to do this to her, then so be it – I would make it up to her later. I’d shared the treasure with her, maybe even represent her for free if this little adventure ever ended up in the courts.
But even I had to shake my head at my own thoughts: seriously, there was no way I could rationalize this to make it sound as if I was justified in stringing her along. Nope, I was just going to have to come to terms with the fact that I was a universal-level dick.
'Why are we going to the coast?' Amanda eventually asked. There were great long pauses between her questions, and I really didn't know whether she was so tired that it was taking her that long to think of a new one, or whether she was processing my answers that hard that it was taking her virtually minutes to complete her analysis. Was she on to me? Did she appreciate how dodgy my story sounded? Was she thinking about ditching from the car at any moment and heading to the authorities?
'We are heading to a little coastal town,' I said, trying to keep my voice even, trying to keep all emotion out of it lest I accidentally revealed to her what was really going on.
'Why?'
To be honest, I wasn't exactly sure that that was in fact where the next clue was sending us; it was more of an inkling than a well-developed theory. It was just that I had actually recognized those scales that we had dug up from the church, and more importantly, I had known where they had been made. A little town on the coast, a town not more than an hour from their current location. And if I gunned it, I could get there in half an hour.
'The scales, I know where they were made,' I eventually answered, with 100% honestly. It was probably the sheer guilt I was feeling over lying to her, because suddenly I was being very honest indeed.
'So you're going to the location where they were made?' She kept on asking questions, and while I found it a little annoying, I couldn't deny that at least it gave me a smile to realize that she was finally comfortable enough to talk.
'Yes.'
'But how is that going to help? The clue did not say anything about going to the place where the scales were made,' she said, and though her voice was still quiet, her words were gradually growing in strength.
I coughed a little, exasperated for some reason. Probably that I didn't exactly appreciate my plan being challenged this far into in. 'Amanda, trust me, I know how these kind of clues work.'
'And I know how my great-uncle thought, and he would never have done something so straightforward,' she replied at once.
I actually had to clench my teeth hard not to point out automatically that I was the treasure hunter here and that she wasn't. After all, wasn't she validating the entire reason I was keeping her with me? Showing me that I did not know as much as I liked to think I did about those clues, and more importantly about the man who had thought them up?
Taking an enormous swallow, not necessarily because my throat was constricted, but more because I was trying to swallow my ego here, I tried to loosen up my shoulders. 'What do you think the clue means, Amanda?' I eventually asked her. And dammit if I wasn't being honest here. After all, she had been an asset at that church. And once again, dammit if I wasn't being a bastard here…. But that was a fact I was going to have to deal with later.
She sat there for a long while, and when I finally glanced over to see if she had simply withdrawn back into itself, she was just sitting there looking thoughtful. She even scratched at her hair a little, her teeth biting into her bottom lip as they always did when she appeared to be thinking. And when I felt that familiar little flick in my gut at how impossibly cute the move looked on her, it was followed by a wave of even harsher guilt. I am such a bloody bastard, I thought guiltily, even partially closing my eyes for moment as I winced to the road, with my guilt some how rising higher and higher in my awareness.
'The clue said something about the next clue being at the point where the shadow crosses the light,' she repeated slowly.
I just nodded. I just let her speak, just let her think out loud. Because if she really could find out where the next clue was... well, I would have even more reason to keep her along for the rest of the ride, and more reason to hate myself after-wards for being the world's biggest arsehole.
'And now that you said that the scales are from a town on the coast...' she trailed off. 'I guess that might be important, but I doubt that the next clue is where the scales were made.'
I ran my tongue around my teeth as I waited for her to think. I was going out on a limb here, I mean, really, what if the globes didn't even exist anymore? Yes, that had been a genuine Stargazer Globe at the auction, and it had come from Arthur Stanton's collection, and there was a yellowed leather journal in the back of my car that held clues to the location of the other four Stargazers. But what if the journal was a fake, or what if the Stargazers had been found long ago, or had been destroyed? Jesus, anything could have happened to them. And while I was damn sure that I would have found out by now if they had been discovered, that did not mean that they had not been damaged or destroyed by accident and by people who did not know their real worth. And as for the journal, while it did look like it held clues to their location, for all I knew it was just the ramblings of Arthur Stanton after he really had turned batty. Maybe he had only ever been able to find one of the globes, and had gone bonkers trying to find the others, finally writing that journal in a haze of insanity pretending he really had known where they were. There was just so much that could go wrong here. And was I really prepared to string Amanda along on the slim chance that the journal was real, that it held clues to the actual location of the Stargazers, and that she could somehow help me find them?
Even though I had been in this business for some time, for some reason today was seeing me do a hell of a lot of soul-searching. And yes, it was because Amanda was sitting right next to me, her stockings torn, her feet covered in mud and blood, several bright bruises along the backs of her hands, her usual indignant expression replaced with a quiet and subdued one.
Amanda began to count on her fingers quietly. I had no idea what she was doing, and for a fleeting moment I wondered whether she was counting the reasons not to believe me and to get the hell away while she still could. But that familiar look of thoughtfulness was on her face, just as was the little rumple to her nose and the bite to her lip. Rather than smile at it, even though that was my first inclination, I glanced back at the road, shook my head heavily, and tried to keep it together.
'My great-uncle used to say that there is an infinity of answers to any question, but that if he could think of at least 10, that was at least something.' She kept on trying to count on her fingers, teeth drawing and pulling over her lip lightly as she did. 'He used to sit me down with him, and we would try and solve puzzles, and each and every time he would try and make me think of at least 10 different solutions.' She had a faraway look on her face, a distant-looking smile to her lips. And in that moment, at least, she did not look as though she had been desperately fleeing from a gun battle hours before. In fact, that look of pressed, curious, involved attention was back on her face; the same look she had gotten at the church.
'10 different beings?' I finally joined in the conversation. 'You only need one, the right one.'
She took a moment, then she eventually shook her head. 'There is no such thing as right, or at least that's what my great-uncle used to say. He said there were 1 million different ways to find lost treasure, and there were 1 million different things you could find other than lost treasure. You had to pick where, when, and how. And if you fool yourself into thinking that there is only one right way, and only one right answer to a clue, then you restrict your possibilities.'
To be honest, it was total bullshit; I had been in this business long enough to know that. But maybe that was just the reason I was bringing Amanda along. It was obvious I didn't think like Arthur Stanton, and that she did. And yeah, that made me horrible, and yeah, I was still having trouble coming to terms with what I was doing, but it didn't mean I was about to stop. 'So, what do you think the clue means?'
She leaned back in her seat for a moment, eyes blinking quickly. It drew my attention to them, made me realize that they were a pretty almond shape, one you don't see too often.
'Okay, what are 10 things on the coast that make light and shadow?' She put her hand up, getting ready to count. 'Lights,' she held up a thumb, 'um, I guess there could be some kind of luminescent fish,' she said, voice awkward as it was obvious she realized how stupid the suggestion was.
I couldn't help but snort with laughter. 'Luminescent fish? Are you serious?' I knew that I should be being nice to her; she had just had a hell of a trauma. But I could hardly let go of that little tone of derision. Because I couldn't quite imagine Arthur Stanton leaving one of the Stargazer Globes to the watchful protection of a school of luminescent fish.
'It's just a suggestion,' she had an annoyed note to her voice, one that sounded far more like the tone she had been using with me before she had had her most recent run-in with Maratova. And to be honest, it was damn comforting. 'The entire point of this exercise is that you try to think laterally and creatively. If you knew the right answer to begin with, then you wouldn't be doing it, would you? Do you know the answer, Sebastian?' She crossed her arms and looked across at me challengingly.
I actually took my hands off the steering wheel and held them in the air in surrender, careful to ensure the car was going straight before I did.
'Put your hands back on the wheel,' she said tersely.
'Okay, okay,' I said through a light chuckle, 'and ignore me. Keep on thinking.'
She looked across at me, eyes slightly narrowed. It wasn't just my imagination, she was now sitting straight in her seat, her hands no longer awfully tensed in her lap, and that sick, pale white color was gone from her face. And apparently all it was taking was an argument with me. Well there you go, I didn't know that I could have that effect on women, but life is full of surprises.
She held up a third finger. 'Well, it could mean,' she pressed the finger into her palm and looked around for a moment, 'perhaps there's a specific streetlamp somewhere, or for all we know there might be a famous lamp store in that town.'
I just nodded, not wanting to discourage her, but realizing her suggestions weren't exactly amazing. I was starting to question whether she really could solve the clue, and obviously, whether I really should keep her along.
'What's the name of this town anyway? Can you tell me anything about it? Are there any famous landmarks? Anything particularly notorious that happened there?' She asked one question straight after the other, hardly with a breath between them. If I didn't know from experience that she had just come through a hell of an adventure barely an hour before, I would say that Amanda was calm, collected, and completely interested and involved in the task at hand. But knowing what I knew, I could see that while her eyes were wide with interest, they were narrowed at the edges, a distinct wet look to them. And while she did sit up straight in her seat, and while her hands were loose and neat in her lap, there was still a thread of tension through both her shoulders, pulling them together and hunching her back.
'There's not much there, a beach made of rocks, a pretty boring promenade, a couple of pubs, and a lighthouse,' I listed off all I could remember; though I had not been to that town for some time, I could remember that it was not exactly the pinnacle of culture, history, or infrastructure. We would be lucky to find a seat at the local pub that did not smell powerfully of fish; most of the town being populated by fishermen, and fishermen being what they were, never giving a fuck what they smelt like.
But you should have seen her eyes, they widened so quickly and she blinked with such a stiff, wild look on her face that I couldn't help but be drawn in, my own jaw slackening, lips parting.
'Did you say a lighthouse?' She actually waved a hand in front of her face as if she was hot or flustered.
My eyes narrowed; I didn't get where she was going. But I nodded nonetheless. 'A big one, out on the headlands.'
Swallowing, running her lips through her teeth like she always did, her cheeks warming up pleasantly; the look on her face was damn near infectious.  My great-uncle loved lighthouses. In fact, he had a picture of this big one up on his wall when I was young.'
I did not laugh at her, even though the inclination was there; after the truly startled look that had crossed her features, I had expected her to come up with a brilliant insight, not a fairly innocuous fact that her great-uncle had been partial to lighthouses.
But she must have seen the less-than-impressed look I gave her, and her cheeks dropped a little. 'You don't get it, do you?'
Even though I didn't think there was anything to get, I just shrugged my shoulders.
'The point where the light crosses the shadow,' she put one hand down as she said light and then one hand down as she said shadow. 'My great-uncle wouldn’t have given that clue unless it was important, unless we could actually locate something that had a light source, but also a shadow, and that the both of them crossed at the same time,' she just played with her hands as she spoke, crossing them and uncrossing them. 'And if you think about it, a lighthouse can do that. If it is during the day, or if it is at night and there is a bright enough external light, then the lighthouse will have a long shadow. But because you can-'
'Turn on the light fittings,' I jumped in, 'you could shine the flood lamps over the light house’s shadow.'
She leaned back and nodded.
I didn't want to tell her that it sounded crazy. Firstly, why would you turn on the lighthouse during the day? If you had enough sunshine to cast a shadow from the building, then presumably the atmospheric conditions were such that you did not need the lighthouse to be on to shepherd ships.
But she just seemed so damn adamant. So I just licked my lips and tried not to feel sick at the possibility that this was all a huge mistake. And I didn't mean about the ridiculous possibility that the lighthouse wasn’t the clue we were looking for. I meant at the growing likelihood that not only was the clue useless, but that Amanda was equally as useless to me, and that in bringing her along not only was I putting her in danger, but I was shooting myself in the foot at the same time.
'Look, I know how my great-uncle used to think, and trust me, this is just the kind of riddle he would have thought up, and just the kind of solution he would have made to it.'
I just mumbled, not saying yes and not saying no.


Chapter Eight
Sebastian Shaw
It wouldn't be long until we reached the coastal town, just as it would not be long until the growing ominous gray clouds above us finally let loose with what looked like it would be a great thunderstorm. If, on the slimmest of chances, Amanda was somehow right, and somehow the next clue would be found at the lighthouse, then we were running out of daylight.
I put my finger in my collar again and pulled my shirt away from my neck. I was sweating something chronic here; the heat had been on full bore for the last half hour. But even though I really wanted to turn it off and open a window, I noted that Amanda was still sitting there are a little huddled, her arms still wrapped around her middle. She looked cold, so I kept them on, because maybe I wasn't that much of a bastard after all. 
We spent the next 20 minutes in pretty much complete silence. I spent the entire time thinking about how much I could be fucking up here, and god knows what Amanda thought of. But soon the road before us opened up and a clear picture of the coastal town opened out below, the headland just visible beyond, a small white and red line indicating the lighthouse.
Even though my first choice would have been to drive to the site where the scales had been manufactured, I decided to go to the lighthouse. Maybe it was to placate Amanda, or maybe it was on the incredibly slim hope that she was right, or maybe it was because the light really was dwindling, those clouds coming in thick and fast both off the coast and from behind. We probably had half an hour before the heavens opened up and things got very wet and very rumbly. And while it would not bother me to work in the rain, I wasn't entirely sure I could do that to Amanda, not after what she been through today.
It took us less than 10 minutes to negotiate the narrow road up past the town and to the headland, and we hardly passed any vehicles on the way. As we drew closer and closer to the coast, the road on my right dropping off to the sea below, I couldn't help but notice how choppy the waves were getting. With the promise of a storm brewing, and the wind whipping up, pushing the car as I drove, the sea below was getting ever more violent. And that was another little fact against us: not only were we running out of light here, but lighthouses were built to resist storms, people weren't so much. And if the next clue was really buried at the point where the shadow crossed the light (notwithstanding, of course that that could be any point along the circumference surrounding the lighthouse that its shadow could cross) then I really did not want to be digging during a freaking storm.
Amanda had her face turned towards the sky above, and her lips were opened lightly, her eyes blinking occasionally as they fixed up at the racing clouds above. She looked cold, she looked thirsty, she looked tired, and she did not look as if she was prepared to go digging for a clue at a lighthouse in a storm. A small fact that we had over-looked was she also did not have any shoes to go poking around in the dirt and grime again.
Not for the first time I checked my rear-vision mirror, even twisting around slightly in my seat to ensure that I got a full view of the road both in front and behind. So far I had seen precious few vehicles, and none that piqued my interest or elicited any concern. And this was a very good thing, because I really did not need more company now. I could just imagine battling a crew of criminals in a lighthouse as a vicious storm whipped up waves on either side. And I could just imagine what would happen to Amanda in such a situation. She would either drown, be captured, be shot, or worse. And dammit if I hadn't promised to keep her safe.
As we neared the lighthouse, I really wanted to turn back towards town. As far as I could tell, no one had followed us and no one should know where we were. It meant that I could book us into a hotel for the night and we should be fine. Amanda could get her shower, get her meal, and get a soft bed for the night. And I could jolly well get a beer.
But she seemed to pick up the closer we got the lighthouse, her shoulders angling her face towards the window, her cheeks almost pressed against it as she tried to get the best view of the building.
I had seen my fair share of lighthouses over the years, not because I was an aficionado or anything, but just because I had been to many places and plenty of coasts. For some reason, it was always popular to bury your treasure on the coast. Probably because it was the first point of contact with land after lengthy sea voyages, and also the point at which sunken treasure might wash ashore after a storm.
And they were always different; the design of lighthouses was always dependent on the coast upon which they stood and they had to protect. Sometimes they were embedded into the cliff, their structure supported on one side by the great ragged rocks that they were meant to protect ships from. Sometimes they were built atop massive cliffs, far away from the waves, with nothing but a tower atop a well-built house. At other times they were squat, round, short little affairs, built-in regions where the waves were so powerful that anything tall would be toppled by their sheer force.
The lighthouse before us was of the first variety; it was built into the rock behind it. The first two thirds of the tower looking as if it almost grew organically from the cliff face itself; being made from exactly the same light-colored stone. In familiar style, little, reinforced windows appeared along the length of the tower, spiraling around so they could match the internal staircase that spiraled around inside, leading to the powerful lamps above.
Even though the clouds were gathering faster and faster, there was still just enough light so that the lighthouse cast a shadow, and I had to admit my eyes were drawn to it with keen interest. Even though I honestly did not think that any of this would work, and that this wasn’t the real solution to the clue, I couldn't deny the tingle of exhilaration that jumped across the back of my arms and down my back. Because dammit if I wasn't a treasure hunter, and dammit if I didn't love my job.
These days most lighthouses were automated, and I was thankful not to see a car as I finally pulled up on the bare gravel parking area on the cliff above the lighthouse. There was a fairly serious-looking rail that ran around the edge of the cliff, splitting only at one point as it led onto stairs that seemed to descend down the side of the cliff and onto the wide stone ledge that led around the bottom of the lighthouse, a rusted, green, copper colored door visible at the base of the building below. The stairs that lead down the side of the cliff looked pretty sturdy; massive metal bolts securing them to the rock.
I turned off the engine, this time actually pulling the handbrake on; while I had to admit that we might require a quick getaway, I really did not want to see my car roll off the side of a cliff and into the sea.
I got out of the car, face instantly turning to the sky above, those clouds racing ever quicker.
Amanda got out too, and I watched her wince, pain obvious, as she put weight on her feet.
I turned practically instantly, shook my head, and motioned with my hand back to the car. 'You can stay in the car.'
'I know I can stay in the car,' she said as she straightened up her back a bit, 'just as I know I can get out of the car and join you in trying to solve this clue.'
I didn't bother repeating myself; it seemed as though she had made her mind up. And even though she winced with every step she took on the hard and rough stone of the parking area, I just bit my lip and turned away. I considered taking off my own shoes and offering them to her, but I could plainly see that I was quite a few sizes larger, and I really did not want her to trip while she was walking down the stairs and fall into the raging sea below.
And then I remembered something. Damn, I had a pair of high heels in my boot, and no, of course they were not mine. Let's just say they were left over from a one night stand.
I rushed to the boot, searching around the junk I usually kept there until I found them. I had intended to drop them off at the owner's office – a fiery, red head who had been ridiculously good-looking indeed. But with one thing and another, mostly running into Amanda Stanton and trying to secure the Stargazers before every criminal in the world managed to beat me to them, I hadn’t managed to drop the heels off. And when I finally produced them triumphantly from my boot, you should have seen the look on Amanda's face. She blinked, a little too quickly, her chin dimpling with amusement, as she took a quick look at the heels and then down at my own feet.
'They aren't mine.' I said, voice probably a bit too forceful. 'They are from a one night stand,' I clarified quickly.
Well, the look on her face didn't exactly improve. Where it had moments before showed intense amusement, she now crinkled her nose in disgust.
'Look, if you want to come along, you are going to need some shoes, and this is all I've got,' I held the high heels and dangled them in one hand.
She did not look pleased, and in fact she still looked far too insulted from the one-night-stand comment, if insulted was the right word. But she eventually limped over and took them from me, turning them over in her hands to expect them.
'Do they pass?' I said, voice sarcastic.
'They will do, not too high that I’ll break my neck going down the stairs.' She seemed to check the thick and not-too-high heel with her hands, trying to pull it apart as if she was testing the strength. Then she just shrugged her shoulders, put one hand on the car to support herself, and tried to wriggle into them.
I tried not to watch as she did, even though she was showing an appreciable amount of leg from the slit in her skirt; despite my nature, it didn't seem right. So I turned, played with my jaw, and took the opportunity to survey the road. It was a one-way road that terminated at the small parking area that I had just parked in. The only way out was along the way I had come in. It meant it was fantastic to see oncoming traffic, and incredibly bad if we had to get away, because if someone was blocking the road further up and was waiting for us, there was no way past. For not the first time, I got the distinct feeling that the best thing to do was to get the hell out of here and find a hotel to stay in for the night.
Something didn't feel right. And maybe it was just the fact that this clue of Amanda’s was incredibly shaky, or maybe it was more. I had been in this business long enough to realize that you had to trust your gut, even though your gut did not speak in easy-to-understand, full sentences. And speaking of guts, Amanda's stomach took the opportunity to rumble, and she clutched a hand to it quickly, looking a little embarrassed.
She hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and even though knowing Elizabeth the breakfast had been massive, that had been a long time ago. And she wouldn’t have drunk anything either, a fact I could easily tell by the fact she kept swallowing uncomfortably, occasionally even patting a hand to her throat. And suddenly I didn't really care about the fact she looked damn good in those heels, suddenly I just wanted to get her a drink, and no, not an alcoholic one.
'Let's get it over with as quick as we can,' I mumbled quickly, intending to at least give her version of the clue of go, and then taking her back into town. And then, who knew, probably depositing her at the local police station and finally calling Maratova.
She walked away from the car, and even though she was slow, and had an obvious limp, she managed to stay upright and stable. Rather than pay attention to her injuries, she quickly took the opportunity to stare across at the lighthouse. Playing with their lips, she walked closer to the rails, finally latching her hands onto them as she leaned forward and obviously tried to track the path of the shadow.
'Do you think the lighthouse is open?' she asked fairly innocently.
No, of course I didn't. You did not leave a lighthouse unlocked, unless you had a really big, butch lighthouse operator who lived there. The thing about tall abandoned buildings was that every kid in the local district would find some way to vandalize it.
But rather than flat-out deny it, I wondered whether I had anything in my boot that could break through a lock. Or even if it was worthwhile, because at that moment I actually started to look at the lighthouse, actually let my eyes lock onto the dwindling shadow it cast.
Amanda, one hand on the railing before her, moved the other round, her fingers drawing a circle in the air. It was obvious she was trying to track with her hands and eyes where the probable shadow would move and whether light from the flood lamps could cross it.
But I just stared at a section of the cliff face below us, right near the railing. The railings, though sturdy, looked old. And even if they had been replaced once or twice since the lighthouse itself had been built, the section of cliff that they had been dug into looked as if it had not changed.
I walked over to the top of the steps, teeth grating a little as something distinct caught my eye. And with a quick glance across to the lighthouse I realized that the little thing that was catching my eye just happened to be in direct line of the lighthouse, both in line with its shadow, and with one of the windows that its powerful lamps shone through.
Without a word, I took to the stairs quickly, feet dancing out in front of me, metal grating ringing from the impact of my steps.
Amanda asked what I was doing, even came to follow me, but I was too focused to answer. I did not want to lose sight of what I had seen: that little glint of metal that had been near the stairs.
And sure enough, when I had gotten barely a quarter of the way down the strong metal steps, I stopped, dropping down to my knees, latching a hand on to the railing and pulling myself out from the steps, until I was leaning as far from them as my arms could manage. Just to my left, just in reach, was a section of the cliff, and it was flat for some reason. But that was not what had gotten my attention; it had been the fact that there was a little metal trinket resting there. It would have been completely innocuous were it not for the fact that it was lodged into the stone, a crack having been formed in the rock by some fashion, and the metal trinket being shoved tightly down it.
To be honest, it wasn't much of a clue, and it was a pretty damn poor indication that treasure lay here. But I went with it, and leaned out as far as I could until my fingers finally brushed against it. I wasn't quite sure what I was meant to do here, but I figured grabbing the trinket and having a damn good look at it would be the first step.
Amanda stopped several steps above me, both hands on the railing, her body pressed into it, her face tense as she watched me. She didn't ask what I was doing; apparently it was obvious. But when I finally managed to latch my fingers over it and began to pull, I recognized it was an impossible task to yank it out of a stone. I gave it my best shot, grunting all the time, but it didn't work. And I finally drew myself back in, swearing forcefully. Amanda stepped down at that point, hovering close to me, possibly frightened that I might fall considering how far out I had pulled myself from the railing. But I managed to get myself back, and straightened up, cracking my shoulders, and shaking my head.
Amanda just licked her lips, grabbed the railing where I had just pulled myself in, and she pressed herself against it as far as she could, obviously trying to get a better view of the trinket. 'Do you think that's it?'
No, I honestly didn't. It had caught my eye, yes, and technically it was in a place where the shadow met the light. But that did not mean that I honestly thought it was our next clue. It was just a shiny trinket that had managed to catch my attention, and god dammit if I wasn't a treasure hunter; when I saw shiny, I tended to move heaven and earth to get to it. But I did not tell her that, I just shrugged my shoulders, possibly a little petulantly.
'You know, I think I might be able to reach it,' she stood up onto the step above, grabbing the railing with both hands and leaning forward.
'Hey, what are you doing?' I said immediately, stepping in. She had just had a big day, and just like you weren’t meant to drive heavy machinery when you were drowsy, you sure as hell were not meant to lean over railings on a cliff when you were dead fatigued.
'Do something useful, and hold my arm,' she said as she brought one leg up and tried to haul herself over the railing.
'No you don't,' I snapped quickly, 'get back over here.'
But it was too late; she had already managed to climb over the railing, still holding on with both hands, one foot on the edge of a step, one wedged onto a tiny rock ledge.
'Amanda,' I snapped, voice even angrier, 'get back here.' I moved in to grab at her, to secure an arm around her and to latch my free hand onto the railing to ensure that she could not fall. But just as I did she let go of the railing with one hand, using the other to span the gap and finally grabbing hold of the trinket. It was the most precarious of positions, and I had to say my heart beat frantically just seeing it.
'Amanda.' I latched one hand onto the railing, with the other arm I put it flat against her own forearm as she held the railing, securing it in place with perhaps the most determined grip I had ever been able to muster.
'It will be fine,' she said, voice a little shaky as she tried to yank at the little trinket sunk into the rock.
'No, it won't be fine, get the fuck back here now.' Keeping my arm were it was, I pressed myself into the railing further, finally letting go of it with my other hand, and leaning out to grab hold of the back of her skirt.
She fidgeted a little but kept her stance, and kept trying to yank the object free.
'Amanda.'
At that exact moment there was a monumental clap of thunder from above, accompanied by a massive flash and, you guessed it, the beginning powerful drive of rain.
Neither of us were expecting it, and though Amanda only tensed a little, flinching only a fraction at the surprising sound, it was enough to see her footing slip.
I launched myself against the railing, grabbing so hard on her arm and her skirt as I tried to yank her backwards.
Though she tumbled a little down the rocks, her shoes sliding and scampering wildly against the rough stone, I finally managed to secure her in place, somehow wrapping my arms around her waist, even though I dangled half over the railing myself.
Her breath was sudden and shallow, her diaphragm pressing up against my arm in little puffs and spurts. And dammit if I couldn't feel her heartbeat reverberate through my arm as it was pressed so closely to her chest.
She hadn't even screamed, though she started to whine a little now, somewhat like one of those old klaxons that they had used in World War II to warn people of air raids.
I pulled her back in, until I had her back secured against the railing, but before I could try and pull her back over, she crossed one of her arms over, grabbed the railing, turned and faced me. And finally clambered over herself, despite the fact I hardly wanted to let go of her. But she had somehow wriggled free, and before I knew it, she had jumped back over the railing, and stood beside me, pressing her back into the metal, taking several massive breaths.
I just shook my head, it was literally the only thing I could do.
She finally offered me an awkward, toothy grin. 'Thanks.'
I just kept shaking my head. This girl was crazy.
The rain really began to drive down now; I was already completely wet, and I watched as rivulets ran fast down Amanda's face, pooling off her chin and dribbling down her neck.
She shivered a little, drawing her shoulders in and shuddering, because hell it had gotten cold.
Blinking hard, and trying to hide under my eyebrows as I tried to stare through the driving rain, I turned back towards the strange object that was still embedded in the rock just out of our reach. And that would be when Amanda thrust a hand in front of my face, a small metal chain dangling there. Brow clicking down a little, lips pulling apart, I grabbed it from her, somewhat like an excited child grabbing the cookie from the cookie jar.
Even through the incredible storm that was whipping up around us, I managed to bring the chain right up to my face, brushing a finger over the surface of the strange little pendant at the end. Of course I couldn't bloody make out any writing on it; I was having trouble seeing Amanda through this incredible rain and through the dark shadow that the looming clouds above had cast over us, and she was just standing by my side. Was she? At that moment I looked up to see Amanda had in fact walked down several of the stairs, and she was taking to the rest very slowly indeed. She had one hand still latched on to the railing, head at an angle, as if she was staring down at the lighthouse below with a great deal of curiosity.
'Amanda?' I tried to shout through the rain. But I had absolutely no idea whether she could hear me over the driving force of the gale and the thunderous sound of the rain as it drove into the metal gangway we walked on. But she didn't stop; she kept on walking down the stairs, head still held at that curious angle. 'Amanda?' I tried again, even though it was obviously useless, and finally pocketing the strange trinket, I went after her.
The clouds above was so damn gray and blue black that it did not matter that there was probably at least a good half-hour of light left before dusk; it was getting almost pitch black out here. And hell, the crashing and wild waves below as they roared up and broke against the side of the lighthouse and the cliff didn't help things at all. They gave this little situation a hell of a lot more of a dangerous feel, and I really, really didn't need any more danger today. And I was damn certain that Amanda didn't either. Several weeks ago she would have just been an ordinary girl, and ordinary girls do not spend their days being shot at by criminals outside of libraries, being chased through forests by soldiers, and spending their evenings trying to get into lighthouses in raging storms.
So I picked up my pace a little, and I had to admit it wasn't just the thought of how cold my neck had become from the absolute river of water that was rushing down my back, over my head, down my arms, and completely soaking my body in a chill, frigid wash. And even though I was pretty sure I was still a bastard, I couldn't help but want to get out of the rain for Amanda's sake. Ordinary girls like her couldn't hack situations like this; they just weren't made for it. She was probably the kind of girl that would spend all of her nights at home with a cat on her lap, some inane romance novel in hand, with a plate of home-baked cookies beside her. She was definitely not the kind of girl that was used to guns, treasure, wild weather, and wall-to-wall danger. So yeah, it was my prerogative and my duty to get her out of here. Even if it was just to stave off the screaming and whining that I knew would happen later.
But as I rushed down to get to Amanda before the crazy girl could slip on the steps and tumble right down and into the raging sea below, I bloody well saw something. And it was certainly not something I had expected to see. Out in the surf, not too far from the lighthouse, was a light, and it obviously belonged to some kind of ship. But we weren’t talking an oil tanker here, or a fishing ship, or even just a yacht too damn stupid not to berth before a storm. No, because where this thing was, it was moving fast, damn fast towards the lighthouse.
I swore, and I swore hard and loud, but not loud enough to make it over the incredible cacophony of the waves and wind.
I ran towards her now, keeping a hand hovering over the rail as I did, not wanting to slip myself, collect into her back and push the both of us into the sea below. I finally caught up to her, grabbing at her arm unceremoniously, and pulling her back.
'Hey, what are you doing?' she practically screamed at me, but she didn't look that angry, she was obviously just trying to be heard over the gale, the rain, and the waves.
'We need to get back to the car,' I shouted back and did not let go of that arm for a second.
'But there is a light out there,' she pointed towards the light that had been narrowing in on the lighthouse.
The only problem was that when I glanced in the direction she was pointing, just to confirm that it was still there, it wasn't.
Fuck.
Amanda whipped her head around too, apparently searching this way and that for the light, and then she sucked in a surprised breath that even I could make out over the gale as she clapped a hand over her mouth. 'Oh my god, I think there was a ship out there, god, has it sunk? We have to call the authorities.'
Oh no, we really, really didn't. Because I was 100% sure that while there had been a ship out there it had not sunk, and it had not been an ordinary ship at that. I tugged on her arm and tried to pull her back. 'We have to get back to the car, Amanda, we have to move now.'
'Shouldn't we go and check-'
'Amanda. Now, trust me, there's no one out there that is in trouble,' I screamed back, 'except for us.'
She obviously didn't understand, and with the acute trouble I was having trying to be heard over the storm, I didn't exactly have the ability to tell her. But it was pretty simple: the light she had seen had not belonged to some simple fishing ship or some incredibly brave and stupid pleasure cruiser. It had been fast and it had been brave enough to head straight towards a rocky coast in a wild storm, apparently unaffected by the chop of the waves. Yeah, I had been in this business long enough to know an experimental vessel when I saw one. And I had damn well been in this business long enough to know that with the Stargazer Globes on the line, every army, every mercenary unit, every crime lord would try everything they could to get their hands on them. And yes, that meant cracking out the highly-sophisticated boats, helicopters, spy satellites, weapons; we weren't playing with boy scouts here.
'But,' Amanda began to protest.
I kept on scanning the horizon as I latched my hand onto her wrist instead and started to pull her up the gangway. It wasn't as if there was any chance of me actually seeing anything considering how dark it was and how driving and complete the rain was around me, but I kept trying anyway. Because I knew they were out there, somewhere, probably crawling up the freaking cliff beside us. And who exactly they were, well I didn't quite know right now. But I did know one thing – they would be after Amanda, and through her, the Stargazers. Not for the first time, and not for the last, I really started to berate myself over how much of a bastard I was for not dropping her off at the authorities when I had had the chance. While she had been extremely useful, and I really did not want to give up on her now, the longer she was with me and the longer she was not in the protective custody of Maratova, the more danger she was in. And yes, it was danger of the damn dangerous variety; not to be confused with movie-style, popcorn action where no one really got hurt and the hero always won in the end.
Amanda pulled back on her arm. 'Where are we going? What's going on?' she kept asking.
'Anywhere but here.' I answered as quickly and loudly as I could.
And even though she resisted for another moment, she finally slackened her arm, but rather than let me pull her along, she began to run in her own right, despite the fact she was in heels and despite the fact the gangway was now completely wet and slippery.
Perhaps I'd underestimated her. And as that little treacherous thought wound its way around my cerebellum, a fucking bullet ricocheted off the step above me, slamming to the side and lodging itself into the cliff on my left, flakes of rock exploding from the impact.
Amanda tensed, pulling back automatically, grabbing with both hands at the rails and crumpling down until she was on her haunches. I just threw myself down on the steps, as another bullet zinged past me.
God dammit, we were obviously too late. And I didn't have my gun on me, for some absolutely stupid reason I had left it in the back of my car, probably thinking that nobody was following us. Well wasn't that about the stupidest idea I had ever had, because clearly someone was following us. Unless the lighthouse keeper had seen us nick the trinket that had been lodged in the rock, and had come out guns blazing at our little theft, that was.
I felt the metal stairs underneath me shake a little, as the weight strain on them changed. Somewhere, whether it was above or below, someone had just stepped onto the gangway. Gritting my teeth, I raised my head a little. The one thing I could be thankful about was how damn hard it was to see out here through the driving rain and dark, and that was probably the only reason I hadn't been shot yet.
I had zero idea of who was out there and how many of them there were, but sure as hell I knew they were armed and they weren't frightened to start a fight.
We had two options: try to make it back to the car where my gun was and then presumably drive like all hell and try to get away from whoever was out there, or head back towards the lighthouse. And I really did not need to turn around to be able to tell that the waves were now so wild and violent that they were crashing up and over the railing that ran all the way round the bottom of the lighthouse and lead to the single door below. Hell, and it would be locked; I knew that for sure. In other words, heading to the lighthouse was suicide.
But just as I decided to make a run for the car, I felt more shakes through the stairs, and they were coming from above me. There was now no doubt that there was somebody on the gangway and that they were now walking down towards us. Well, I say walking, I mean stalking; that peculiar kind of quick, tensed movement that you get when you are tracking a prey.
I didn't think: I just stood up, whirled around, grabbed Amanda as she still sat huddled against the railing, and pulled her downstairs. This time she did not resist at all, and once again I felt my grip on her slacken as she matched pace beside me. After all, if there was one thing Amanda could do, it was run away.
She wasn’t screaming either, which was another thing I had to admit about her; apart from the occasional lungful of air she'd given me last night at her great-uncle’s manor, Amanda couldn't exactly be classed as the damsel in distress from a B-grade '50s flick. While she was obviously out of her depth here, and had never faced a situation as dangerous and perilous as this before, she was hardly hanging off my arm and waiting for me to protect her from all the bad guys.
I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that, but now wasn't exactly the time to reflect upon it.
The wind took that opportunity to blow even harder, and I was practically forced off my feet as an incredible gust slammed into the front of me. But as I swayed on my feet, Amanda just turned her side to the brunt of the wind, ducked down a little, grabbed at the railing for a moment, and then kept on running. Seriously, it didn't seem as if there was anything on this green Earth that could stop Amanda from trying to get away when she wanted to.
The closer we neared the end of the stairs, the more the intense spray of the waves managed to reach us. While neither of us were exactly dry, the seawater as it raged and broke against the cliff and rock below wasn’t like the rain; the salt water ran over my face, forcing my eyes to blink in pain, and collecting at my tersely closed lips with a horrible salty tang, my wounds from last night were also not that well healed that the sting of salt water did not send an intense current of pain up my arms.
The stairs we were on went right down to the concrete and stone pathway that led all the way around the lighthouse. And while there was a monumental, incredibly sturdy-looking wall that ran all the way around it, the waves from below broke against it violently, sending raging rivers all along it until the water finally rushed back to the sea.
It really was suicide. I could see the door below, but our chances of making it there were pretty damn slim. While we might be able to force our way there through the water, what exactly we would do once we got there, I did not know. It wasn't exactly as if I had a crowbar on me here or awesome explosives – anything to get the lock off that door that I knew would be there. And what exactly did I think I would do once I was in the lighthouse? They weren't exactly known to be bastions of protection. I really doubted that there was a fine selection of automatic weapons stashed  in the kitchen, or a nice thick blast door we could hide behind until the mercenaries got bored and too cold and went home.
The only thing the lighthouse could offer us right now was the fact that it was not out here; there would be less rain, waves, and mercenaries in there. But while the rain and waves could be kept at bay, the mercenaries would find a way to get in.
But the funny thing about danger was that it rarely offered you a safe alternative.


Chapter Nine
Amanda Stanton
Oh god, it was happening again. It was barely a few hours since I had been chased through that forest by those soldiers, and it was happening again now, wasn't it? I had heard those two bullets, I had seen the look of frigid surprise and fear on Sebastian’s face as he had shouted at me that we needed to get back to the car. But I had bloody well resisted for a moment, not really knowing what was going on, and not wanting to be pulled along like some kind of well loved doll behind a child. But even though Sebastian hadn't taken the time to fill me in, I had finally figured it out. And I was bloody stupid for not doing it sooner. Of course there was somebody after us. When had there not been somebody after me for the past 24 hours?
But now I seemed to be trapped on his rickety little metal staircase, being pushed towards a lighthouse below, a lighthouse that just so happened to be completely surrounded by an angry and wild sea. Dear god, could my life get any worse right now?
I took that exact moment to slip down, the ridiculous heels that Sebastian had given me losing their grip along the slicked and treacherous metal. Thankfully I had a handle on the rail, but that did not stop me from slipping down several steps, knees grating against the rough metal. Before I could swear and check them for blood, Sebastian had already pulled me to my feet and was once again pulling me down towards the lighthouse, one hand clutched over my arm. I really didn't know what he thought we would do once we got there, and I really didn’t know why he kept grabbing me and tugging me along like some kind of kart or shopping bag. Well, I knew the last part; he was doing his best, no matter how annoyingly macho, to keep me from whoever the hell was shooting at us from behind. And yes, I didn't mind that so much. But I very much did mind the fact that the lighthouse below us looked like it was being completely swamped by the waves. Even if we did manage to make it off the staircase and onto the path that appeared lead to the door, I really didn't know how we would withstand the battering of the waves below. The wind and storm had whipped up the waves into such a frenzy that they were pounding against the heavy-looking wall that ran around the path leading up to the lighthouse. And they were so high and so violent that the tops of the waves managed to make it past the wall, completely 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 it would likely send us tumbling down with the rest of the water, until we found some gap between the stairs and the wall to fall through and end up very much drowned at the bottom of the sea.
Really, I just couldn't see how this was going to work, but that did not stop Sebastian for one second. And I guess that was one thing I could say about the guy: despite the fact he was supremely arrogant, he didn't stop, not for anything. He obviously knew what he wanted, and a raging ocean and ferocious storm were not going to stop him. But whoever was shooting at us from behind, that was probably going to be another matter.
We finally reached the end of the stairs, and the storm and the waves were now so violent that even standing on the last step, we were still being chased by the tips of the waves that managed to spike over the wall and rocks below. I actually had to hold on firmly to the rails, not just from the horrible strength of the gale, but to protect myself from the brunt of those incredibly strong waves. If I could have thought of anything useful to shout at Sebastian at that moment, 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 incredible sound around us would probably still drown my voice out. In fact, it seemed to reduce our ability to communicate down to simple touch itself. And while it irritated me on some level (on a level that could still exist despite the fact I was desperately running from a gunman towards a lighthouse that was almost inundated by violent waves) I did not try to wriggle free from his grip. Because that was really the only thing that was keeping us together; I couldn't talk to him and could barely see him considering how dark everything had become under the shadow of those horrible clouds above, and how much my eyes stung as wave after wave crashed against those walls and managed to spray their salty water over my face.
But I did choose to move his hand. Not only was it painful to have his strong fingers gripping into the soft flesh above my wrist, I really didn't like the idea that I was just some kind of little toy that he was dragging along on his adventure. So grabbing my own hand on to his wrist, I used a trick that my great-uncle had taught me. I jammed my thumb into the little nook between his wrist bone and where his thumb began and I squeezed, and just as I did I twisted the arm he held towards his thumb, and the combination of the move allowed me to break free. Whether he was surprised, I couldn't tell, and I didn't wait to find out. But I did grab his hand and held onto that firmly. Really, despite the fact that my belly was absolutely shaking from fear, not to mention the fact I had never been so cold in my entire life, there was no need to grab onto my arm like that. Not only was it dangerous – because if he took a tumble he would probably break my arm – but god dammit if it didn't seem right. I might not be a professional at this, but I had jolly well been running for my life for the past 24 hours, and as horrible as it was, I still wanted to do this on my terms.
I think he might have shouted something at me over the storm, but of course I could not make it out. But he did not yank his hand free from mine and try to grab out at my arm again, thankfully. Nope, he just let me hold his hand. But it really wasn't a romantic Beatles moment we were having here; we were still running from god knows who towards god knows what.
Sebastian seemed to hesitate on the last little step for a moment, and I could make out through the darkness that his head was turned towards the raging waves below. He seemed to be looking at them, his shoulders and neck moving back rhythmically in time with the waves, as if he was trying to get a feel for their pattern. And then he finally moved, and maybe he had learned this time, because he did not drag me along, he just offered a gentle tug of my hand as he finally stepped off the last step and onto the completely soaked concrete path below.
The metal steps we had been on joined right up to the path, but there was a gap. And there was probably a very good reason for it; with all the water that seemed to inundate the path during the storm, it had to go somewhere, otherwise it would just build up between the path and wall, and probably flood through the little copper colored door that led into the lighthouse. And the little gap between the metal staircase and the path was just exactly where that water flowed. And that meant that the water, as it rushed past them on its way back to the sea, was most ferocious and most powerful at precisely that point.
Sebastian had an arm latched around the last section of the rail, and I saw the force of the water beating against his legs as he stood there, his body teetering back every time another wave broke against the wall sending more water our way. I still had my feet on the last step, still just above that raging torrent. And despite the fact I had for some reason insisted on holding his hand rather than being held by him, I began to hesitate. Obviously I was not the action chick I had previously fancied myself to be moments before.
But 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. But I did practically jump off the step, right at Sebastian. Despite the fact there was almost no visibility and despite the fact my heart was now pumping so violently as the situation became more horrible and far more real, I still managed to notice Sebastian's expression in that moment. For some reason I managed to make out the size and shape of his eyes, the tight angle to his jaw, and the slack opening to his mouth. He didn't look completely frightened, he didn't look completely arrogant, he didn't look completely overcome. It was kind of a jumbled mixture of everything, and on top of that, there was a certain fixity to his gaze. And I noticed that most of all as he grabbed me after I had practically jumped off the step and into his arms. I couldn't say that time was slowing down at that point; we weren’t that lucky. But I could say that for some reason in that moment my brain chose to fix exactly on his expression, and I managed to pick up details and movements that I had not before. And that fixity to his gaze, that seemed to suggest to me he would do anything, anything at all – it stuck with me. It bored right into my head like a worm through an apple.
Of course, I didn't exactly have the time to wonder why; another bullet whistled through the air, lodging itself into the wall opposite. I ducked instinctively, noting that Sebastian did the same, and still holding onto his hand, and despite the force of the water around us, I headed forward towards the protection of the other wall. And 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 had designed this lighthouse realized that if anyone was stupid enough to be trying to walk towards it or away from it during a full-blown storm, they would really appreciate a handhold.
I latched my hand on to it, just in time, as a huge wave broke over the wall, sending a mass of water along the path. I still held onto Sebastian's hand, as he had not yet made it to the rail, and as the water swept past me, it upended my feet, but not once did I let go of the rail and not once did I let go of his hand.
In the darkness and in the confusion I saw that he lost his footing as well, falling against the path, water rushing around him as he did. But I kept hold of that rail and kept hold of him; I had never been so desperate in my all life not to lose my grip, and yet I had never faced such an incredible force either. Water seemed to come at me from every angle, covering my face, getting in my mouth, rushing over my back, over my eyes, the flesh smarting and stinging as my nose filled with the salty water and I choked it back.
But I held on. And finally the brunt of the water rushed past us, allowing us to stand.
I shook, I shivered, but I still did not let go of the rail.
I was aware of the sound of another gunshot, this time closer, but for some reason I was frozen in place.
If another wave hit, just like that one, I didn't think I could hold on again, and just the fear of it meant I could not let go.
Then Sebastian got to his feet, and I saw a flash of that fixed look in his gaze again, even though the rest of his expression was completely frightened, completely wild, and obviously completely wet. But, the water running rivulets over his nose and chin, and still not letting go of my hand, he motioned me on with a wave. And then he finally used his free hand to latch on to the same railing that I held on to for dear life. And despite the ferocious sound of the storm, I heard him say that we had to move on.
It was enough to cut through the fear that welded me to the spot, and I let go of the rail.
The door to the lighthouse could not 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 had to hunker against the rail to not be washed away.
But we somehow managed it, inching our way forward despite the force of the water.
The door was now right before us, and I noted with something that bordered on euphoria that the clever chap who had set up a railing along the wall had put two either side of the door. And both I and Sebastian latched on to one each. The door was also thankfully in a nook, and while it was not completely protected from the waves which still battered over the walls, we were no longer subject to the brunt of their force as they flowed back to the sea. I kept hold of my railing, knuckles and hands completely and utterly white from the cold and the force of my grip. I practically rested my head against the wall by the door, panting wildly, breathing shallow and fast.
'We have to get this fucking door open,' Sebastian screamed behind me. And because of the protection of the nook, I actually made out his voice. 'We are sitting ducks.'
No, we were half-drowned, panting, completely-fatigued ducks.
Sebastian latched a hand on to the door handle and tried to open it again, but it would not work. There was a dirty sodding chain running over the door handle and connecting up with both of the handrails, and it had a real big lock on it. And no, it didn't look like the kind of lock that would fall off in a storm, nor could Sebastian just yank it off with one go; 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 seemed to shake. But there seemed to be little point, unless we had a miracle here, there wasn't going to be any way we would be getting into the lighthouse.
And 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 did not let go of the handrail.
'Amanda.' Sebastian screamed. But just as he did I heard another bullet ricochet off something else, and 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 had been able to run. But here, with my back pressed up against the lighthouse door, with my hand latched on to the railing for dear life, I was completely stuck. There was nowhere to move because the only door to go through was locked.
I had never thought that I would be one of those girls to give up, but obviously I had never been in the kind of situation where giving up was my only option.
My arm shook so violently as it held onto that rail, and I just let my head drop forward, my eyes screwing closed, my lips scissoring to the side in a horrible, final, but silent cry.
And 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 practically fell through behind him. Just in time, as another bullet sunk into the path where I had been crumpled.
Sebastian latched a hand to the back of my collar and pulled me through the door. And then he slammed it closed.
I was not dead, I was not drowned, and I had not been shot. I was in fact 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 had asked me 24-hours ago what the expression on his face meant, I would have said that it was a combination of arrogance and entitlement. But in that moment I had a different perspective. The exact peak to his eyebrows didn't suggest to me that he thought he was god's gift to women or the only man capable of getting the job done; it told me he had just been through the experience of his life and was happy to be alive. And the exact dip to the corners of his lips did not tell me that he thought I was pathetic for just lying there on the floor of the lighthouse, not jumping up and finding some piece of furniture to lodge against the door; it told me he was concerned. Yes, concerned about me. And no, I did not know whether he had always had those expressions towards me, and whether those expressions had in fact meant what they meant now, but it didn't matter. Because there was still men out there with guns.
As if to remind me, I heard another bang as a bullet apparently lodged into the door.
It was enough to get me onto my feet. I took one step backwards, 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. But when that didn't happen I pointed at it. 'You hold the door,' I shouted at Sebastian, 'I will find something to shove in front of it.'
Sebastian didn't argue; he just nodded his head, backing himself up against the door, planting his feet out before him and leaning into it. He was absolutely and completely dripping with water. His white shirt just hung off him, pants slack against his legs, and hair dripping all over his face. And if he looked like that, I shuddered to think what I looked like. But now was not the time to find a mirror and fix my hair. Instead, somehow managing to still stand in these heels, I latched onto the couch that was close by the door and began to push it towards Sebastian.
I had never been one of those girls who had never moved a piece of furniture in their life; I was the kind of woman who rearranged my house every other weekend. Plus, over the past couple of weeks I had been lifting more than a few of the atrociously heavy boxes that were everywhere in my great-uncle's house. So I managed to get the couch over to Sebastian in good time, and yes, I did notice the surprised look in his eyes.
But he moved out of the way, and helped me shove the couch right against the door.
'That is not going to be enough,' he said, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, still holding onto that chain for some reason.
I looked around the rest of the room, trying to look for anything that would be steady 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 just 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 relatively 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 had found the couch, and next to it was a heater and a simple-looking bookcase. Then across the other side was a coat rack, and let me tell you it had a fine array of very heavy-looking jackets on it, several pairs of thick and sturdy-looking wellington boots lined up underneath. And just 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 will get a crate,' he said, voice still gruff, but calming down. It still had that tired, pressed edge to it, but the desperation was gone.
I did exactly 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, not taking my eyes off him for a second.
Before he managed to get it halfway towards me, the door gave a great shake. Surprised, I screamed, but I did not let go of the couch.
'Fuck,' Sebastian offered as he pushed the crate faster towards me. But it seemed heavy, and he was taking his time.
The door in front of me gave another violent shudder, and in another second I saw the door handle turning, and just as it did it began to push hard against the couch. I pushed back, 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 on scrabbling forward, kept on 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 desperately to keep that couch against the door. But with every second that went past, the door managed to open a little bit more.
And just when it opened an inch, a black object was pressed through. I didn't need too long to figure out it was a gun. Whoever it was that was out there fired the gun, and the bullet shot past, lodging itself into the wall above the bookcase.
At that moment, the door gave an almighty shudder, pushing so hard into the couch that I finally lost my footing and tumbled over. But 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 person's grip, falling onto the couch as the couch forced the door closed.
There was a perfect moment of silence were I just lay there on my back staring across at the couch and the door, waiting. Waiting for what, I did not know. But the moment was so pressed, so tense, so silent that I doubted I would ever feel another like it.
Sebastian still leaned into the crate, arms tense, shoulders braced, feet planted far out from him 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 finally managed it. Sebastian however stayed exactly where he was, body looking like it was under a tremendous amount of pressure as he kept pushing the crate towards the door. I just 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 finally placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. 'I think it's fine now,' I said through a swallow.
But 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 incredibly heavy-looking crate was enough to keep the door closed. Plus the door itself was incredibly heavy and strong; and looked like it was made completely from thick metal. Once again I had to take my hat off to whoever had designed this lighthouse, for they had done a sterling job. So again, I wasn't exactly an expert on these things, but the door did not look as though it couldn’t simply be shot through; it just looked too thick. And with the crate and couch pressed against it, I doubted that whoever was out there would be able to push their way in again.
But it took ages for Sebastian to relax; I did not 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.
Finally he gave a swallow and slowly 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. But 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 eventually offered, 'this wasn’t how I want to spend my night.'
I blinked at that, my lips straightening a little and then wobbling. 'And what exactly did you have planned?'
He took a moment, gave a twitching half smile, and then shrugged. 'Not this.'
I was a little disappointed at his answer, but I didn’t let it show. 'You do realize the night isn't over, don't you?'
He just shook his head slowly in reply. 'Oh yes, don't you worry about that.'
I licked at my lips, and instantly regretted it is the salty tang of seawater met my efforts. And then I gave shiver, 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 there. 'We should look for some dry clothes,' he nodded his head upwards, indicating the rest of the lighthouse above.
I let my head tip and stared at the ceiling. I had kind of forgotten that there would be a lot up there. It was impossible to tell from outside just how many floors there would be. But this was quite a wide lighthouse, and it was obvious from the decorating down here that the original intention was that someone was to live here. And hey, hopefully that did mean that there were some dry clothes left. And at that moment my stomach gave a rumble too, and I realized just how much I hoped there was some food up there as well.
But whether I could relax enough to get changed and enjoy a meal while there were criminals swimming around outside, I did not 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?' I croaked out.
He took a long moment to answer, just sat there still hunched over that box, head angled down, but eyes angled up towards me. And then he just shook his head simply. 'Sorry, Amanda,' he added quietly.
And he actually, genuinely sounded sorry. For a lawyer and a treasure hunter I wasn't really sure if I had ever heard the truth from Sebastian, but in that moment I was sure he was not lying.
Shivering I nodded back at him. 'What do we do now?'
He just shrugged. He looked uncharacteristically defeated. It was the angle to his back and how bowed and low his shoulders were, not to mention the slightly glazed, sallow look to his face. 'We are in a lighthouse during a storm with a fuck load of criminals behind us,' he just 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 that these incredibly 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. And 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 had 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, to the next 10 hours; but we damn well would not be safe forever. We were sitting ducks, and though we might be slightly drier than we were outside, we weren't all that much safer.
Sebastian was looking at his feet, and it seemed apparent that he had no intention of stopping. I got the distinct impression that he wouldn't look at me for some reason, that it wasn't the general ‘70s appeal of the rest of the room that had him staring so fixedly at his shoes.
I wanted to ask what we were meant to do next, but considering just how defeated he looked I really didn't think I would get a reply. Plus, I kind of already knew the answer: nothing. Unless there was another miracle, like the one that had gotten us in here in the first place, then we were very much stiff out of luck. If this was a movie, however, I would probably be lucky enough to find an old World War II bunker underneath the lighthouse, with a path that handily led up into the center of town, possibly even the police station. And if this had been one of those trashy romantic action novels that I always read at the airport, well, let's just say Sebastian and I probably would have found some other way to spend our time while trapped together. And yes, that little thought did bring a flush to my cheeks, but it hardly helped. Because this situation was neither of those two things. I could not hope for some kind of spectacular miracle, and nor can I hope for, well, you get the picture.
But I didn't want to give up. I really, really didn't. Yes, the situation seemed hopeless, and yes, there were some pretty desperate and well-equipped men outside with every intention of finding their way in here. But I didn't believe in no-win situations, and neither had my great-uncle. Okay, so he had believed in some pretty crazy things, but he had always been the kind of man who would instil in you at any opportunity that there were always more possibilities than you could see at first glance. If something looked determined, if something looked inevitable, and especially if something looked desperate, have another look and you'd be surprised at what you would see the second time round.
Despite how stupid and naïve it probably sounded I honestly believed my great-uncle. Fair enough, thus far in my life I hadn't really had too many of these kind of experiences that invited you to look for another way out when you were stuck in a lighthouse surrounded by the world's most determined criminals. But even despite the odds, that did not mean that defeat was inevitable. The only thing that made defeat inevitable was giving up.
I took a heavy breath, for the first time actually filling up my lungs rather than panting and half wheezing as I stood there. And it steeled me.
'We should investigate the rest of the lighthouse,' I said, ignoring a great drip of water as it ran down my nose and off my chin, trickling down my throat in the coldest way possible.
Sebastian did not 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.
If I was a reasonable type of girl I would have taken the evidence of the professional treasure hunter giving up as enough of a reason for me to give up too, but my great-aunt had always said I was ditzy, crazy, and too much like my great-uncle. Well I certainly hoped she was right about the last part.
I didn’t turn from Sebastian, still hoping that he would raise his chin and look at me, get that same fixed look in his eyes that he had had when we were on the path outside. I took several steps backwards, despite how stupid it was to do this while in heels and while dripping wet against the bare floor, but he still did not look up at me. And so I just eventually turned around, headed to the stairs in the center of the room and took them silently.
I was starting to realize that Sebastian really was more complicated than I had originally given him credit for. Not, of course, that I had had a great deal to do with him before last night. While I had met him at the auction briefly enough for him to introduce himself and to establish his interest in the globes, that had been in it. Barely a two-minute interaction. And forgive me if for most of it I had been too interested in how peculiarly handsome he was and how damn fine he looked in his suit. Oh, and of course, a little bit overcome by the fact that the dusty old globe I had found in my great-uncle's attic had just sold for two million.
I could hardly say that the brief and fairly volatile interaction that I had had with Sebastian last night had been any better. He'd saved me from the mercenaries in my drawing room, given me a gun outside, and had then appeared at my kitchen door. Exhilarating, quick, and hardly the kind of experience that gave me enough time or thinking space to really get to know someone.
And while I had traveled with him today, been with him in the car as he had taken the corners far too quickly, been with him at the library as he had seemingly chatted up a woman 15 years his senior, and of course, had the displeasure of running for my life with him towards a lonely and isolated lighthouse – I still really hadn’t had the kind of interaction where I could draw any lasting conclusions about the man's personality.
Yes, it was clear that I found him annoying; there was something about a lawyer/ treasure hunter who was fabulously good-looking, fabulously charming, and fabulously competent that of course meant he was fabulously arrogant. But it seemed that Sebastian Shaw had a personality that went beyond arrogance, had a history and a life that went beyond a mere lawyer who dabbled in action on the weekends.
What exactly that personality was, well, I was only just scratching the surface. He seemed to be surprising me at every turn. I could not have predicted that the same man who had arrogantly shouted at me for getting Elizabeth involved in the situation this morning, would be the same man who was now sitting defeated on a crate downstairs. There was a mismatch between my expectations and what he was doing, and it clearly told me that I really didn't know the guy at all.
Shaking my head, I continued upstairs, hand on the railing, possibly holding it a little too tightly. I still couldn't shake the body-memory of having to hold on for dear life outside against the storm. Plus, there was a great deal of residual adrenaline and fear rushing through my body. In fact, at the sound of a squeak on the stairs above, I gave a sudden jump, a little squeak of my own issuing from my lips. But when it was just the stairs, and not a light-footed mercenary stealing down them, I just rolled my eyes at myself and continued on.
I had never been in a lighthouse, despite the fact I'd always been attracted to them for some reason. I loved the sea, I also loved storms, but only when I was safely inside a building. And I always figured that lighthouses were just the place where you could get both. The ocean was always so dramatic, a coast always changed day-by-day, allowing you to be surprised at just how powerful and yet tame the weather can be in the space of 24 hours. In fact, as stupid as it sounded, I'd always had a silly dream of buying a lighthouse one day. Not one that was still operational, of course; just one I could appreciate. But now I was stuck in one, with the very real possibility that I would not live through the night; I couldn't exactly enjoy the moment here.
I finally crested the stairs onto the next floor. It was slightly narrower than the floor below, the lighthouse though thick, still tapered up to a point above. This floor was still sweet, and far more furnished than the one below. Possibly in the event that it was far less likely this one would get flooded by water inching its way under the door. And yes, despite the fact the situation was ludicrous, I somehow managed to smile at this cute little room before me. It was circular, of course, with a vibrant red carpet all over the floor, several comfortable-looking seats with a couple of equally vibrant throws over the back of them, and even a little television on a desk to the side. As I walked my way around the room, 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 the last seat, I grabbed one of the warm-looking woolen throws, and pulled it around my shoulders. I nestled right into the fabric, not caring an inch about the itchiness of the wool, but letting the blissful warmth of it finally touch against my frigid skin. Sniffing, I walked further into the kitchen, grabbing at the first cupboard I saw and opening it.
There was a can of baked beans, in fact there was a whole collection of them. And even though the past several weeks living at my great-uncle's house had made me believe that I would never look upon a tin of baked beans with anything but disgust again, I actually cracked a huge grin. I grabbed the can and put it down on the bench, still smiling. Then I bit heavily into my lip and kept on walking around the kitchen and then back around into the lounge. Even though my stomach really was rumbling, I still wanted to explore the rest of the lighthouse. Plus, I really wanted to get into some clean clothes, and even though it was highly unlikely I would find anything in my size, I desperately needed to ditch these heels.
And the heels made me think about Sebastian again. He told me they'd come from a one night stand. How very charming. What kind of a man actually admitted to that? Sebastian obviously.
But then again, before I could get angry at him for it, I realized he was still the same man who was sitting on a crate downstairs, shoulders hunched together, head directed towards the ground, eyes hooded with fatigue and surrender.
Complex bloody fool, I thought to myself. Movies, on the other hand, had taught me that your average male treasure hunter was anything but complex. They were meant to be the kind of guy that knew what they wanted, always got it, and never thought or acted beyond that. They didn't show emotion beyond mild frustration at whatever got between them and their treasure, and they certainly never gave up.
Keeping the woolen blanket clutched tightly around my shoulders I decided to take the stairs up to the next floor. Once again the stairs creaked and squeaked as I walked up, but I ignored it. Finally I reached the next floor, and I turned the light on once again. 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 incredibly hard, I slowly inched my way towards it. I could see from a distance that the view outside was of nothing more than dark seething clouds and driving rain, but that did not stop me from creeping towards the window as if I would see a monster which its face pressed up against the glass outside.
My top teeth were now sunk so hard into my bottom lip that unless I lessened my bite I would draw blood at any moment, but finally I made it up to the window. Rather than face it in full, I pressed my back to the side and finally 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 for some reason, I let my eyes dart over the cliff, searching desperately for anything that would let me know there was someone still out there. I didn't really know what I was looking for, of course, but I kept looking none the less.
I didn't see anything, and in another moment I finally receded.
'You should stay away from the windows,' Sebastian said suddenly from behind me.
I actually gave a loud yelp, jumping back in surprise; I had not heard him walk up the stairs and from the tension I had built within myself as I had watched out that window, I really had not been ready for a surprise like that.
'Sorry,' he replied after a moment. Then, with a sigh, he walked over to the closet, opening it and rifling through it quickly. He threw a pair of pants down by his feet, followed quickly by a checkered shirt. And then, searching through a little more, he grabbed at a pair of track pants and another checkered shirt, turned to me and threw them my way. Even though I was ready for it, I didn't manage to grab them, and just 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 crinkling his lips.
'What?' I managed after a moment, leaning down to pick them up, 'you threw them too low,' I eventually added.
'Of course I did,' he replied easily, leaning down and grabbing at the clothes by his own feet.
I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at what he had given me: a pair of thick, warm-looking blue track pants and a red and blue checkered shirt. Fashion, pure and simple.
'Sorry, but there's nothing else in here,' he said after a moment.
'Actually,' I made a show of looking at the track pants, 'these are fine. Right now, anything that is dry is fine.' I smiled and I smiled hard at the end of my sentence. I wanted him to know that everything was okay, that despite the fact that we were in an incredibly desperate situation, I was okay.
But he just 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 a slightly uneasy feeling in my stomach. And it wasn't because I felt frightened or angry at him; it was because I couldn't understand how to make him, well, more like Sebastian Shaw again. The Sebastian from this morning, the one who had been practically angry at me for being upset and running away to Elizabeth's, I doubted that he could be so withdrawn and defeated. But my eyes were telling me otherwise.
As I finally began to change my clothes, shrugging out from under my shawl, despite the fact I really didn't want to, considering how damn cold I was, I began to appreciate just how much movies and books had lied to me. After all, they had told me that men in situations like this don't have emotions. They don't ever feel defeated, and they don’t ever give up. They didn't seesaw between competence, arrogance, surrender, humor, and apprehension. The men I’d seen in all of those action flicks were beyond stoic; they did not seem to be the types of creatures who ever felt a thing. And yet here I was, faced with somebody who clearly had feelings.
Licking at my teeth and wiping my face, I finally changed into my new clothes. They were warm and dry, and while the shirt was a little bit scratchy, it would do. I was more than happy not to put my high heels back on though; that was another thing the movies had lied about. It was not safe, it was not recommended, and it was practically impossible to run from danger while in heels. No, if I couldn't find anything else, I was just going to have to wrestle myself into some of those giant wellingtons downstairs. Now those were more like action shoes, less attractive of course, but who was I out to impress today?
With a sigh, I took to the stairs, intending to find Sebastian, even though I wasn't really sure how much good that would do. While he at least had come upstairs, finally leaving that crate of his, he was still very much withdrawn.
I finally reached the level below, walking into the room and then stopping suddenly; Sebastian had not finished changing. While he did have pants on, he was certainly lacking a shirt. He looked over at me, impassively, grabbing at the shirt he put over the back of a seat and finally shrugging into it.
I, being the fairly decent girl I was, quickly turned my back. 'Sorry,' I mumbled sharply.
He just chuckled from behind me. 'You are all right, Amanda,' he said after a moment.
I didn't immediately 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 are a pretty weird woman,' he said after another moment.
I wasn't exactly sure what that was meant to mean, and finally turned to face him again.
As I did, realizing that he was actually fully dressed now, 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.
To be fair, the both of us were in matching red and blue checkered shirts, both of us in dark blue track pants as well. And while we matched, it wasn't exactly a pleasant match. While presumably the men that hunted us outside were dressed in the latest of military gear, Sebastian and I looked like we had 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 just chuckled back. I couldn't really think of anything intelligent to say, so I ended up just shrugging my shoulders and rolling my eyes.
Slowly the other side of his mouth kinked up. And that was all he did. He didn't add anything, didn't emphasize just how bad I looked; he just stood there, one hand on the back of a seat, both sides of his lips curled up in a smile.
Once again, I was surprised at how much can be said without words.
And that would be when there was a bang from upstairs, the kind of bang that you could not ignore easily. I instantly flinched away from the stairs, taking several very quick steps into the room and towards Sebastian.
His eyes flickered with concern, head turning instantly towards the ceiling, still wet hair dripping down his face. He mimed a silent expletive and shook his head. 'That better be them,' he said very quietly.
Before I could ask who, the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs above me filtered into the room.
I instantly took several more steps back, my head shaking for some reason, shoulders suddenly tensing up.
'Get down, get behind his seat,' Sebastian motioned to the seat, voice quiet but firm.
I didn't protest, did exactly 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 coming in short sharp bursts again, I listened with all my might to the sound of those footsteps as they neared. It sounded as if there was more than one person; the beat of the footsteps too close together for it to be just one man. I took a bare moment to squeeze my eyes shut and try to block out the rush of fear. It was so horrible, so choking as it welled up within me, twisting around my gut as I waited, waited, and waited. There was nothing I could really do; once again I was trapped. The stairs were the only way up or down, not unless I wanted to bravely open the small window above the kitchen sink and stupidly jump out, that was.
But before I could even entertain that as a possibility, I heard the steps stop, and then finally they walked out across the same floor that I was on, my hands trembling as I felt the vibrations of their footfall.
I did not make a sound, and I did not move; I just stayed there, face pressed up against the old leather of the seat in front of me, one hand over my mouth to make sure I did not make even the smallest of sounds and give my position away.
While moments ago I had been wondering just what Sebastian was thinking and just why he had seemingly given up, I was now completely swallowed up by the situation again. The blood pumped violently and strongly 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 had managed to get a weapon, or whether he was, in fact, opening the window, ready to take his chances with the storm and incredible drop below.
I heard someone give a rough cough, and for some reason it sent a tremble of recognition through me. I didn't know why, but I knew that cough.
'You here?' a voice asked.
The voice was Maratova. Even though I had had precious little to do with him, and even though through most of it I had spent my time running away from him, I knew that voice.
At that moment I had never been more frightened. Despite the fact that at least I now knew that the boys did not belong to Romeos men, whoever they were, or some other band of merciless criminals, I was still shocked with the fear that raced through me.
And that would be when Sebastian walked right past me, he didn't rush, he didn't attack, he just walked.
'Shaw,' Maratova said, voice a growl, 'about fucking time.'
My heart was beating so strongly that I felt sure that everyone else in the room could hear it.
Sebastian didn't answer at once.
'Where is the girl?' Maratova asked.
I could have screamed, and it was only the fact that I had one hand clutched over my mouth that I didn't.
'You did the right thing,' a different soldier said, and I remembered the voice as belonging to the man who had kept on telling me that they were only there to help me; the soldier from the woods this morning who had shot at the thick-necked goon and not at me.
'Mark,' Sebastian said finally. There was a real note of... something different in Sebastian's voice. And I had no idea what it meant. I didn't exactly have the time to analyze it; I had no idea what was going on here, and I only knew that it frightened the hell out of me.
'Come on, Shaw, you called us. Stop wasting our time,' Maratova replied, still growling.
I was shaking now, shaking far more violently than I had shaken before. While I had once believed that I was trapped, I now knew that I was cornered in a way I could never have appreciated. Because I was starting to realize that Sebastian had just sold me out.
'She is...' Sebastian trailed off.
I did something very brave in that moment, something that didn't seem possible considering how frightened I was. But shaking all over, I stood up from behind that seat, bringing myself up and out of hiding. Despite the fact that all I really wanted to do was run and get the hell out of here, I just stood there behind the seat and stared out at the three soldiers before me, without looking at Sebastian once.
I hadn't ever really seen them up close, considering the only two times I had been close to them I had been trying with all my might to run in the other direction. But I could easily figure out who Maratova was. He was the one in the middle, the tall one with the incredibly broad shoulders thick, muscular neck. The one with depressed, drawn lips and eyes that stared out at me with a hollow, dead, but very determined look. He was the one that made me shiver all the more.
I really hardly glanced at the other two, and I certainly did not turn to Sebastian.
I had no idea what was going on, that was for sure. Sebastian had spent all of his time telling me about how much we needed to stay away from Maratova, and yet now it seemed that he himself had called the man. Sebastian had sold me out.
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,' he said, and I realized that he was the only other soldier that I knew: Mark.
I just stared back at him, completely still, not blinking, and not speaking.
He took his hands off the heavy gun that was on a strap over his shoulder and let it drop to his side, raising his hand gently and slowly. 'It's fine, we aren’t here to hurt you.'
He sounded so genuine, so honest, and there wasn't a skerrick of emotion on his face to suggest he was lying.
'We're just here to help,' he said again, 'and it sounds as though you need a little bit of help, Amanda.'
Yes, it did. But I had no idea whether the three soldiers before me were going to offer any. But one thing was clear, Sebastian certainly wasn't. He had called them here, told them exactly 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, when Sebastian had been the one who had called them here in the end? Had all this been some kind of game from the very beginning? Had Sebastian had some kind of strange plan, and was this part of it?
I swallowed slowly, painfully.
I really did not know what to think, and it wasn't exactly as if thinking would help anyway; I had zero options here. And even though my great-uncle had always told me never to believe that, I couldn't help but feel defeated.
Sebastian was keeping a very pointed and conspicuous silence by my side. In fact, he was even leaning away from me as if I was some kind of fetid, rotting scrap of meat that he didn't want to be anywhere near.
I swallowed again, this time a little harder.
Mark finally began to put his hands down. 'Amanda, we are going to take you somewhere safe. You can trust us,' he said, and he certainly sounded genuine.
Eventually, slowly I just nodded. There was nothing else to do – so why not just try to trust this guy; it wasn't as if I had anything left to lose.
'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 little grunt.
And I just stood there, getting colder by the moment. It wasn't just that my still-wet hair was dripping down my back; it was that the man I had thought I could trust barely moments before was turning out to have completely played me. It sounded as if he had been in contact with the Army the whole time. So why lie? Why make me believe that they really couldn't be trusted? I had 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 in this way? 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 a little. He had very wide, very bright, very expressive eyes and they now locked onto me. He looked pleased that I had 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 then flicked them back again. 'But there's a storm outside,' I replied quietly.
He shrugged his shoulders. '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 just blinked hard, remembering how exquisitely awful it had been getting in here in the first place. I really didn't want to walk on that path in a storm again.
'Up to you,' he said, and he really seemed to mean it.
This, him, this Mark guy, he was exactly the kind of soldier you saw in action films and books. Dedicated, genuine, loyal, and just a bit dashing. He was exactly the kind of guy you wanted to trust when you were in danger. In fact, if he had been there last night, if he had 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. All the horrors I had faced today I would not have met if only I had met Mark first.
Maratova, on the other hand, did seem to live up to his monstrous reputation. I was scared to even look at the guy, but wasn't sure whether it was my latent fear leftover from Sebastian’s lies, or whether I really was getting a creepy vibe off the guy. But I decided to ignore it.
I took a big breath then I licked my lips and finally shrugged my shoulders. To be honest, I didn't really care how we got out of here, just as long as it was all over. And I was starting, slowly, to realize that it might just be. The cavalry was here, and even though I had spent the past day fearing them, everything was turning out to be okay, or at least it appeared to be.
'Do you know how many contacts there are out there?' Mark asked Sebastian.
'No idea,' Sebastian replied, voice far quieter than it usually was, his shoulders still hunched for some reason, and his body still leaning away from me almost as far as he could get without plain walking across to the other side of the room.
'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, incredibly, 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 had believed, they seemed to be the saviors I required?
The more I thought about it, an awful, sick, stodgy feeling took my stomach. God, just 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 had had the chance?
And while I could easily say that it was all Sebastian’s fault, it was clear that Sebastian was working with them. I was just so confused.
And just as I stood there, completely wallowing in my self-hate, I heard the wind pick up from outside. What had been previously a gale seemed to fire up into a full-blown storm indeed. There was even a sudden and powerful clap of thunder above us, and a correspondingly bright flash of light that filtered in even through the small window above the sink.
My shoulders jumped instinctively, but fortunately I did not yelp in surprise.
'Wow,' Mark said, drawn out and slow, as the rumble of thunder had passed, 'storm is picking up.'
It was an obvious statement, and it was obviously true. Because I could hear it outside, 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 eventually 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 really think about it myself.
Mark glanced towards the small window in the kitchen, and then nodded his head slowly. 'Sure seems that way.' Then he turned and faced me in full, sucking his lips in an offering – a smile. 'We will be out of here once the storm dies down a bit, it won't be long.'
I just nodded evenly. Wow, it was all going to be over soon. Just like that, only 24 hours after it had begun; soon this adventure would be over. If you could even call it an adventure. It was more like a disaster, an appalling disaster. Something I could have stopped early on if only I had not been so foolish. I had been paranoid, for some reason I had tricked myself into believing I couldn't call the authorities, and yet here they were, hardly dragging me off to prison... well, yet. And I had Sebastian Shaw to thank for the fact I had not trusted them sooner.
In that moment there was another horrendous clap of thunder from above, and an enormously bright flash of light from outside the small window. The incredible sound of the thunder actually shook through the building, the plates and cutlery shaking around in their cupboards, a picture on the wall behind Sebastian actually falling off.
'You really picked it,' Mark added once the thunder had finally subsided.
Mark seemed to act in a very easy and friendly manner towards Sebastian, and even though Sebastian still seemed to be strangely withdrawn, I still got the distinct impression that they were friends. So why exactly had Sebastian never told me about Mark, but had spent all of his time painting Maratova as some kind of evil monster? In fact, Mark seemed to be the one in charge. That, or Maratova was just a strong, silent, and incredibly overbearing kind of 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 after all? I wasn’t sure, but I doubted it; I got the impression that if he had been, things would have turned out a lot differently. He seemed to be the kind of guy who thought about things before he did them, a fact I was now appreciating was not something that Sebastian seemed capable of.
'We will be fine here, the storm will probably blow itself out in the next half-hour or so,' Mark shrugged his shoulders. '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 have barricaded it, but you probably need someone to watch it.'
Maratova actually growled. 'You should have told us that first, Shaw,' he virtually spat.
Perhaps there was one thing that Sebastian had been honest about; Maratova seemed to have a true enmity for him, and as I watched as Sebastian finally turned to gaze back at the man, I realized that the feeling was very mutual. But still, why Sebastian had lied to me the entire time about everything else, I had no idea. None of this made any sense, and the only thing I was really sure about was that Sebastian had been lying all along.
'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 then 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 his head. 'Maratova,' Mark flicked his head upwards.
Maratova just grunted, turning easily, and headed off towards the stairs. But not before he shot me a look, and it wasn’t the kindest of looks. It actually made me swallow, swallow really hard. What was this guy's problem?
And then it was just the three of us. Sebastian still leaned away from me, and Mark still looked on at me, a calm smile on his face.
'Are you okay?' Mark asked. 'We didn't get a chance to...' he stopped speaking for a moment, obviously unsure of how to say what he wanted. 'Um, in the woods,' he tried.
I knew exactly what he meant, I also knew why he was dodging around his words. After all, I had been running like a mad woman from them in the woods, and it wasn’t exactly a fond memory.
I shrugged my shoulders, playing with my hands. 'I'm fine,' I said after a moment.
'Your feet?' he said, words 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 just not women he had been chasing through the woods with a gun.
I shrugged my shoulders again, for some reason a smile playing at my lips. 'They hurt like hell,' I said very honestly.
He just winced a bit and nodded. 'Sorry about that.'
It wasn't his fault; it was very much 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, and that was it, and it was very 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 have had quite a day,' Mark turned to him. 'And I have to say, I wasn't exactly 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 rug that was over the back, and handed it to me.
But I hadn't shivered because I was cold; I had shivered at Marks words. They had reminded me that Sebastian had been the one to call in the cavalry.
'I didn't want...' Sebastian trailed off, he seemed to have unusual trouble in speaking, especially considering how quick and acerbic he usually was.
Mark just frowned a little. 'What exactly happened? How did you two end up here? How did you find her?' Mark angled his head towards me. 'Last we saw her she was in the woods by Stanton's estate. How did she end up here?'
I blinked a little and cleared my throat; what was going on here?
Mark quickly turned my way, the beginnings of a guilty look on his face. 'I apologize, ma'am, I did not mean to talk about you in third person while you are still in the room. It was rude of me.'
I blinked back my surprise. 'You're okay,' I replied with a little stutter. I was not used to this kind of politeness, especially considering my day.
'Can you tell me how you got here, Amanda?' He now turned to me instead.
I opened my mouth wide, completely confused. Wouldn’t he know? He was working with Sebastian, clearly, and it had been Sebastian who had brought me here. Well, I had been the one who had suggested a lighthouse, but Sebastian had chosen this lighthouse. And while it had corresponded to the clue we had found in the church, surely Sebastian had let the Army know that before he called them. He had probably been in contact with them all day long.
I bit my lip and shrugged my shoulders. 'His car,' I finally replied, incredibly dumbly.
'I found her,' Sebastian suddenly cut in.
Mark just nodded, looking a little confused, but not suspicious. 'That's very lucky,' he said with a nod. And it was clear that he honestly believed it was lucky.
But it just made me more and more confused. It had been Sebastian who had found me after my little flight through the forest this morning, he had been the one to pick me up and put me in his car, and drive off like a lunatic on speed. But now it was almost as if Sebastian was implying he found me somewhere else.... Was he trying to keep the fact from Mark that he had, in fact, been with me since this morning?
Sebastian licked his lips quickly and stared down at the floor. 'Lucky,' he repeated, voice dull.
Mark just nodded his head. 'I have to be honest with you, ma'am, there are some...' he trailed off, looking very awkward again as he searched for the right words, 'not so nice guys after you at the moment.'
For some reason, despite the fact he was very much right, and 'not so nice' was an incredibly light way to put it, I still smiled. 'Yeah, they ruined my drawing room.'
Mark nodded sagely. Then he took a large breath, chest puffing out a little. 'Did they get the globes, Amanda?'
It was the first time that he'd mentioned them, and god, it was the first time I had thought about them in ages. But that was what all this was about, those sodding globes. From the start, from that fateful moment I had taken them to auction, everything that had happened to me after-wards had all been because of those bloody globes.
I just shook my head.
'Where are they now? You can tell me, I will keep you safe and I will keep them safe,' Mark said, and once again he sounded completely genuine. A promise from Mark seemed to be worth 1000 from Sebastian.
'I don't have them,' I croaked.
Mark just nodded, probably thinking that it was obvious that I didn't have them on me, unless the pockets in my track pants were a lot roomier than they seemed. 'Where are they?'
'I-' I began.
'They are in a safe place,' Sebastian suddenly cut in.
I was surprised at how quickly he interrupted me, but far more surprised at what he said. Because it was a bloody lie. Neither I nor Sebastian had any idea where those globes were, and considering just how kooky and mad my great-uncle had been, it was not that reasonable to conclude that they were in a safe place. They were probably in a mad place.
What was Sebastian doing?
I turned to him, my brow drawing down a little as my lips widened in a confused move.
Mark just nodded though, obviously trusting Sebastian. '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 then he sliced his eyes towards me quickly, 'but you do not have to worry, Amanda, everything is under control.'
No, I very much doubted that, but still even I could appreciate that things were a lot safer now that the cavalry was here and I was no longer at the whims of the mercurial Sebastian.
But that didn't stop me from crossing my arms, confusion peaking and mixing with the general tide of fear and frustration that had stayed with me over the last 24 hours. 'I don't have the globes,' I repeated again.
Sebastian instantly put a hand up, finally turning to me, his expression... odd. 'It's okay, Amanda,' he used a very careful and condescending tone, 'they will be safe for the time being.'
Once again, though what he was saying wasn’t exactly a lie, it was very far from the whole truth. He was obviously trying to pretend that while we didn't have the globes with us, we still very much knew where they were. Which was a fat lie; the only clue we had to the whereabouts of the other Stargazers was the little leather journal in the back of Sebastian's car, not to mention the pendent he had in his pocket.
It was the first time, since we had made it to the lighthouse, that I had bothered to think about that pendant again, and my eyes instantly sliced towards his pocket.
What was he playing at?
He watched my gaze, obviously knew what I was thinking, and licked his lips in what could only be termed a very nervous way.
'One of the boys said that Maratova’s team pistol-whipped you last night,' Mark interrupted, obviously not appreciating that Sebastian and I were having a little moment here.
Sebastian swallowed uncomfortably. 'Yes, they did, got me right between the shoulders.'
Mark just blinked heavily and let out a very pressured sigh. He looked ready to say something, but when he looked at me he just pressed his lips closed. Though I still couldn't tell for sure, I had a suspicion that Mark was Maratova’s superior in some fashion, and that even he wasn't that fond of the man’s, shall we say, incredibly brute-like nature. Maybe Sebastian really had been honest about that; the only truth he had bothered to tell me over the past day, because I was now damn sure that everything else had been a lie.
'I take it the Army is not about to suspend my contract,' Sebastian asked after a moment, once again turning from me, and looking like he had zero intention of ever turning back.
Mark shook his said. 'We appreciate your service, Sebastian,' and he left it at that.
To say that I was confused was a gross understatement; I had no idea what was going on any more. Didn’t Sebastian work for the Army? In which case why was he lying to them? Who was this Maratova, and if he was half as dangerous and uncontrollable as I was starting to pick up from this conversation, then why on earth was he allowed to be here? Wouldn't he have been kicked out of the Army long ago?
I shook my head, biting my bottom lip and wondering if this would ever make any sense. And just as I did, there was another enormous clap of thunder, but this time it was accompanied by a far greater shake, the kitchen suddenly erupting in a cacophony of clattering cutlery and crockery. And even though the clap of thunder was incredibly loud, I fancied I heard something shatter upstairs; just 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 even 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 really seemed to be capable of.
I watched both of them as they tensed, obviously waiting to see if they heard any more suspicious sounds from upstairs. But quite frankly, the sound of the storm outside was horrendous by now, and through the reverberations from the waves below and the roar of the sea and wind, I really doubted they would be able to hear much at all. Well, not unless it was loud and right by their ears.
But it was at that moment I heard footsteps descending the stairs, very heavy footsteps.
I watched Mark as he licked his lips quickly, raising his gun. But before anything could happen, I heard a gruff call from just up the stairs. 'It is just me,' I recognized Maratova's voice.
Despite the fact it was obviously not a new hoard of criminals descending from above, I couldn't say I was comforted much. I really couldn't shake the very cold and dead feeling that Maratova gave me.
In another moment, he had descended all the way onto our floor, finally 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 now slick against his face and his collar saturated.
Mark looked confused. 'What? Why are you-' he began. But before Mark had a chance to finish, Maratova did something a little unsuspected, he raised 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 finally 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, 'now hands behind your head, turnaround, on your knees,' from the exact horrible tone to the man’s equally horrible voice, I was left with no illusion that Maratova was not joking.
I had just gone from the apparent safety of being with the cavalry, to being right back at the mercy of the real criminals who were after me. And it didn't surprise me in the least that Maratova had joined their cause.
I just 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, of course.
The look on Mark’s face was horribly compelling; his skin was now 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 just as Maratova said.
A moment of exquisite fear suddenly 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.
But then Maratova just 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 actually jumped and gave a frightened yelp at the sound, shaking as I watched Mark fall unconscious to the ground, body completely limp, head turned to the side.
And that of course meant Maratova now turned to me. And I really, really 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 arsehole,' Sebastian growled.
Maratova just turned to Sebastian and waggled a finger at him. 'What makes you think it's a good idea to piss me off now? You think there is anything stopping me from shooting you?'
Now I really did start to shake. Everything was happening so fast, and I had never been so frightened. Even in the past 24 hours, with all that had happened to me, this was the most confronting experience by far. At least when I had been running I had been able to move, able to do something to get myself free. But there was nothing I could do here. I was completely powerless, there was nowhere to run, and there was no way I could stop this monster from doing whatever he would do next. And despite how much I despised Sebastian right now, I really, really did not want to see him die.
'Don't,' I found myself saying at once. I took an enormous swallow that I was sure everyone in the room could hear. 'Don't, I'll go with you, I will get you the globes, you don't have to do anything else,' my voice was about as pathetic and shaky as it was possible to imagine, but I still forced my words out, because it was desperately important that I do so.
Maratova, ignoring Sebastian, now turned to me. He just nodded his head once, stiff and low. 'Yes, you will.'
I wanted to close my eyes for a moment, see if I could try and wake up. But I forced myself to rivet them open, and I just stared back at Maratova. I might have been shaking, it might have been damn obvious to everyone that I was completely frightened and overcome, but I still stood there and I still met his gaze. I did not close my eyes and I did not turn away.
In fact, pressing my teeth closed, my lips still open around them, I gave another swallow. 'Then let's go,' I said, something suspiciously close to bravado suddenly tingling in my stomach. Though I didn't know much about this kind of situation, well, nothing more than what I had erroneously come to believe from movies and books, I realized that this situation was at a tipping point. If I didn't do something, no matter how pathetic or how seemingly useless, I was sure that Maratova would come good on his threat and kill Sebastian. So I did the only thing I could think of; I appealed to a treasure hunter's heart, no matter if Maratova's heart was in fact still there. I bit my lips desperately. 'We will 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 slightly, his nose crumpled, his brow pressed down. He looked both amused and very mildly confused, and mixed in with his expression was his usual level of palpable danger and rage. 'Oh really? And why is that?'
I kept on swallowing, I didn't try to stop myself; I was beyond trying to pretend I wasn't scared here, all I really needed to do was ensure I kept Maratova's attention off Sebastian. I tried to think quickly, playing with my hands ferociously as I kept my gaze solidly on Maratova. 'Because 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 on my part, because I had no idea who Romeo's men were; it was just something I had heard Sebastian mention several times. All I had been able to conclude was that they weren’t the Army, and whoever they were they were obviously pretty dodgy. But for all I knew the men in balaclavas that were standing around behind Maratova were Romeo's men. But it was the only thing I could think of, and I was desperate here.
When Maratova didn't immediately begin laughing, my heart gave a shake.
'I... we saw them in town,' I continued to spin the lie. Even though it could very well have been the truth; the man in front of the library could in fact have been a Romeo man.
Maratova just kept watching me, not indicating once whether he thought I was lying or not.
So I just kept on spinning and spinning my lie: 'we only narrowly got away from them, but I'm sure they followed us here.'
'And how do you know that?' Maratova asked, sliding his jaw from side-to-side as he did.
I really didn't have much to lose any more, so blinking hard I pointed with a shaking hand downstairs. 'Because there was one outside.'
Maratova now gave a sharp short laugh, but it didn't sound happy. In fact, he stared across at me for one more horrible moment, and then turned to the balaclava-clad men behind him. He mumbled something to them. He then turned back to Sebastian, that familiar glint of horrible anger in his eyes.
'So we have to go now 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, now licking at my lips ferociously, 'I mean, I didn't have a choice, they managed to capture me.'
Maratova now flinched. 'Where are the other globes?'
'They are 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.
'But, they don't know where it is in the house,' I added quickly, 'I didn't tell them that. But we should hurry, because it might not take them long to find out.'
Maratova now looked at me, his brow dropped so much that it was practically flat against his beady, hooded eyes. But 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 towards the window at the ferocious storm outside. I appealed to his manliness, or apparent lack thereof. Because only a real criminal would try to make their way out of a lighthouse during an incredible storm. A sensible, girly criminal, on the other hand, would stay put until the rain and wind had subsided and they could be sure that they would not get their balaclavas wet.
Maratova just ground his teeth.
'I guess I don't know much about Romeo's men, but I think a little rain wouldn’t stop them,' I blinked several times.
'If you are lying to me,' Maratova suddenly took a step towards me, bowing his head low.
I really didn't need him to finish off his threat; I was sure I knew just what he had in mind. A man like Maratova had a limited and very violent imagination. But for some reason even his threat could not suppress the kick of courage that had wound its way through me at the lie I had spun him in order to get his attention off Sebastian. 'Do you know how much those globes are worth?' I answered simply, not swallowing once.
And that appeared to do it; Maratova finally straightened up a little, turned to his men, and nodded upstairs.
I had no idea what I had just gotten myself into, but at least Sebastian was still standing.
Not for long that was. Before I could do anything, before I could even track his movement, Maratova had walked over to Sebastian and had pistol whipped him right on the side of the head. I actually 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.


Chapter Ten
Sebastian Shaw
I awoke with a thundering headache, and for a moment I couldn't tell the difference between the roar in my own brain and the roar of the wind outside. But licking my dry and cracked lips, grabbing a hand to my head, and blinking my eyes rapidly, I finally pushed myself into a seated position. My head was swimming, and I groaned with pain and nausea.
'You think you have it bad,' I recognized Mark’s voice from somewhere beside me.
Finally I managed to blink through the pain that was blanketing my attention to see Mark sitting in one of the god-awful old brown leather seats.
'Did you radio in help?' I croaked out suddenly.
Mark shook his head. 'He took the guns, took our radios, even took my watch.'
'How's Anderson?' I asked, finally managing to pull myself up to my feet, even though I had to instantly latch a hand to the side of the kitchen bench to keep me steady.
'Fine, though he still has the same headache we do,' Mark massaged his brow.
'Fuck,' I shook my head several times.
'I can't believe he did this,' Mark said, voice low.
I could; Maratova had always been a loose cannon. In fact, when I had finally come to my senses after Amanda and I had managed to make our desperate way into the lighthouse, I had called the Army and let them know where we were on the express condition that Mark was to lead the team. I wasn’t going to let Maratova call this one, but then again, Maratova had obviously had different plans.
I couldn't believe this. I blinked hard at the pain that was still snaking its way through my brain and skull. I had thought I was finally doing the right thing by Amanda. I had finally come to my senses, realized just how much of a bastard I was being, and I had called the Army here because there was no other way I could see of getting her out of this safely. And now look where it had gotten me? Amanda was probably....
'Fuck,' I said, shaking my head even more bitterly.
'He even cut the phone lines, smashed up all the radio equipment,' Mark stretched his neck, 'thorough.'
I had called the Army in in the first place using the phone line downstairs. As Amanda had traipsed around above, probably thinking that I was still sitting dejectedly on that crate by the door, I had finally made my mind up, found the phone downstairs, and made the call.
And now Maratova had cut the phone line, smashed up all the radio equipment in the lighthouse, and taken every weapon we had had.
Shit, shit, shit.
'We will get out of here soon,' Mark said, 'the storm can't last too much longer.'
I finally turned my head, no matter how aching it was and how horrible the stabbing pain that shot down my back felt, and I stared out the kitchen window. The storm was very much still in full swing: the clouds outside were just as dark and dangerous as before, and I could still feel the barely perceptible shakes of the lighthouse as wave after wave battered its side. While Mark was right on some level, and the storm would eventually subside, it wouldn't be quick enough for me. The only thing I wanted to do right now was find Maratova, find Amanda, and fix it all.
Because there would be a finite amount of time that Amanda had. She had lied for me, god dammit, after everything I had done to her, she had lied for me and had put her life on the line. Perhaps she was a good judge of character, and appreciated just how apparent it was that Maratova had wanted me dead, because every single time he had turned to me, she had found a way to get his attention. She had told the brute that the globes were back at her house; she’d spun a pretty convincing web of lies to get him hooked. But when Maratova found out they were just that – lies – well, I really didn't want to think about what he would do next. And that was why I had to get to her. And I knew where she was; back where this thing had begun 24 hours ago.
I allowed myself to be drawn in by the view of the storm outside, and I pursed my lips in thought as I stared at the driving rain, listened to the howling wind, and felt the pounding of the waves. I knew what I had to do; there was really only one thing for it. I shook my head, because I sure knew it was going to hurt too.
'What are you thinking?' Mark suddenly asked.
Was it that obvious? 'That maybe the storm-' I began.
'You go out there, you drown,' Mark said quick and firm.
He didn't know that for sure, after all Amanda and I had managed to get in here in the first place, even though it had very much almost killed us both. And I owed it to her to try again.
'No,' Mark said suddenly.
He'd always been a good judge of character. In fact we had always been friends; I couldn't count the amount of crazy missions I’d been on with him. Back in the good old days, before Maratova had joined the team. Now Mark wasn’t even technically on the unit that dealt with my particular specialty of finding and retrieving 'treasure'. He had moved on, moved up the ladder, and the worst possible replacement – Maratova – had taken his command. And that had been why when I had called the Army I had specifically asked for Mark. Little had I known that Mark had in fact already re-joined the team for this mission. While he had not been there last night at Alfred Stanton's manor, apparently he had been reassigned this morning. The higher-ups probably realizing that this was way too important to let the psychotic Maratova fuck up. They wouldn’t have been pleased that Maratova had managed to let Amanda go last night, probably less pleased that they had chased her in the first place; the Army wasn't meant to run its own citizens down; they were meant to provide security and solace in times of need. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised whether Maratova had gotten in deep shit last night, and maybe it had even been the catalyst for his final and spectacular desertion half an hour ago.
But he had always been dodgy, god dammit, I had always been able to see that. Seriously, if there was anyone who I would be suspicious of going off the reservation, it would be Maratova.
I licked my lips again, even shaking my head.
'You aren't going, and that is in order,' Mark said, voice now completely firm.
'I think you will find I am a lawyer, not a soldier, and you can't order me around,' I offered a wan smile.
'Sebastian,' his voice was drawn out and low with warning.
I put my hands up. 'Look, technically she's my client, and I have a duty.'
'A duty to drown in a storm?' Mark replied automatically, face completely stony.
'A duty to try not to drown in a storm while trying even harder to get her the fuck back from Maratova,' I straightened up a little.
'Don't do it,' Mark tried one more time.
'I think you will find that us lawyer types are accomplished at saving our butts,' I headed to the stairs.
Mark finally rose from his seat.
'You aren't coming,' I said automatically, 'and you sure as hell aren’t going to order Anderson to come along, because this really is suicide.'
'Then why the hell are you going?' Mark tried.
I didn't really have a good answer for that, I really just didn't want Mark to risk himself over something that was possibly the stupidest plan in the entire world. 'Look, I need you here, I need you to wait it out and then go and call the cavalry.'
'We don't even know where they're going,' Mark said.
I hesitated. I knew very well where they were going. Mark may have been whacked unconscious before Amanda had schemed up her ingenious plan, but I hadn’t been. They were very much going back to Arthur Stanton's manor.
But that wasn't why I was hesitating, god dammit, the reason I was hesitating was because I really was a bastard. If, somehow, I managed to get there, save Amanda, and deal with Maratova, then I would be able to continue my little treasure hunt in peace.
But that treacherous, horrible thought only managed to grab me for a moment. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and sniffed. 'They are going back to Arthur Stanton's place; Amanda managed to convince him that the globes are back there.'
'Convince him?' Mark asked immediately.
'They aren't there,' I said, voice tense.
'Shit, Maratova will-' Mark began.
A raised a hand to silence him. I really didn't need anyone to paint the picture I was already painting in complete and horrible details for myself. And that was why I was going to stop this, that was why I was going to brave the storm outside, drive like a maniac, and fix everything I had fucked up in the first place.
'I will call the Army when I get out of here, my phone is back in my car,' I said with a nod, 'but if I don't-'
'I'll say something nice at your funeral, and I will call them myself,' Mark said with a low nod.
Right, well this was it then. I, the bastard, was growing up.


Chapter Eleven
Sebastian Shaw
Somehow, somehow I actually made it across the path. If Amanda and I had thought that the storm had been bad before, we were dead wrong. From the second I had opened the door, I realized just how stupid and suicidal my plan was. The sound of the waves alone as they broke against the stone wall that surrounded the lighthouse was bad enough. And the water now completely swamped the path.
But I didn't even hesitate, gritting my teeth and then plunging ahead. It was so god dammed dark now that the only light that made it through the complete shadow of the clouds above were the powerful beams of the lighthouse itself. Somewhere along the line they had obviously turned themselves on, content to do their real job despite the shenanigans that were occurring down below. But I couldn't say that the slices of light that illuminated the waves and rocks below were all that useful in enabling me to navigate my way back to the path. I had managed to find a sturdy torch inside which was definitely useful now. I hadn't bothered grabbing one of the large jackets or the tough-looking gumboots even though I sure as hell would have appreciated the warmth and protection from the driving rain; with the powerful movement of the waves on the path, I didn't need any more bulk. What chance I had would come in my ability to be quick and resist the pull of the waves as they relentlessly returned to the ocean.
I began my slow and treacherous walk to the metal path above. I had no idea if my car was still there, but had a feeling that it would be. Hopefully untouched, hopefully my gun in the back seat, and ever so hopefully Arthur Stanton's journal there with it. In fact, I was half sure I still had a suit in the boot that I was meaning to take to the dry cleaners.
Maratova had come with the Army, and they had come, like the crazy bastards they were, by rappelling from a helicopter onto the roof. And it had appeared the criminals Maratova now worked for had come in the same way. Hopefully that meant that they had never even seen my car, let alone had a chance to run it off the cliff. Because if they had, Amanda and I could kiss the hope of finding the rest of the Stargazers goodbye; the journal was the only real clue.
But I held onto the hope that my car was fine as I moved, hand over hand, inching along the rail, stopping every single time a wave battered over the wall, which seemed to be every half second.
Mark could have been shouting his encouragement from the kitchen window above, but there would be no way I could hear it over the waves. Mark could equally have been shouting at me to watch out for the multiple goons and criminals that were probably milling around out here, but once again, there would be no way that I could hear it above the storm.
I had to keep a look out myself while trying not to drown. And no, I hadn't forgotten that there were probably still some guys out here. I doubted that the guys who had chased us to the lighthouse were with Maratova's team. If they had been, I'd have imagined that the Army wouldn't have come of their own accord; they wouldn't have needed me to call them. Maratova would have led them here with the intel from his less-than-legal criminal-gang connections. No, so there had be another group out here, and who knew, it probably was Romeo's team. Maybe Amanda had been right after all.
Even though the salt water absolutely gushed over my face, I forced my eyes to keep open. Wave after wave crashed over the wall, slamming into me as I held on to the rail. Each time I was flung against the rail, and each time I somehow managed to keep my hold. And slowly, so painfully slowly I made my way over to the metal staircase.
Rather than stop and think when I finally reached it, I threw myself at it. By now the ebb of the water along the path was so damn strong and there was so much of it that it created a roaring waterfall between me and the staircase. But I didn't think, because I didn't have time to; I just let go of the railing and hauled myself towards the staircase. No longer holding onto anything, the force of the waves hit my legs, pulling me down, my body crumpling against their force. But in the confusion and rush as I began to slip with the water towards the gap between the staircase and the path, I lached out desperately with one hand. I managed to grab the very edge of the railing of the staircase. And I held on harder than I had ever held on in my life. Showing strength that they certainly don't teach you in law school, I managed to pull myself up. My mouth and throat and nose were inundated with salt water so that I choked. I managed to pull myself up, body completely beaten by the fatigue of holding myself up against the strength of the water and waves, but I crawled in and forced myself up several steps until I was out of the brunt of the waves.
I kept crawling my way up the stairs, hand clutching tight to the rails until I managed to pull myself into a standing position. It didn't matter that I was possibly more tired than I had ever been in my life; I couldn't rest, I had to get to Amanda, I had to get to Maratova, I had to end this.
So, lungs burning from the effort, chest so cold that I fancied I couldn't even feel my heartbeat any more, I tried to run up the stairs. The rain was still wild, the wind even wilder as it whipped around me, chilling my frozen body even further. But I steeled myself; I just kept a hand on the rails and kept on running up those stairs.
I finally managed to crest the top of the stairs, and just before I could appreciate that I had just won a victory here, I saw the van parked by my car. It was heavy, it was black, and it had two incredibly unfriendly looking guys in it.
I could just make them out through the driving rain, and it was a good bet that they could see me too. But my car was still there, parked off a little to the side and further up.
Just as I heard two car doors slam, I gave it all I had and ran for my own car. A shot blazed past me, lodging itself in the dirt further up, but I kept running, and I managed to make it to my car. I dodged down low, even rolled and brought myself up to the driver’s-side door. I grabbed it, opened it, and hauled myself in.
A bullet slammed into the back of my car somewhere, probably the boot, and hopefully not one of the fucking tires. Rather than reach around and grab the gun that was somewhere under the back seat, I just keyed in the ignition code and the car revved into life instantly. And yes, I had an ignition code, not because I was lawyer and I could afford a car without keys, but because I was a god damn treasure hunter, and that was how we rolled.
I didn't bother to put my lights on, just flung the car into reverse, the tires skidding hard against the rough gravel. And when I had made my makeshift turn, I kicked at the accelerator, shooting off onto the road I could barely see through the sheets of rain that were smashing against the windscreen and the turgid clouds that were blocking out all moonlight from above.
I eventually turned my lights on with a flick, using a free hand to wipe down my face, water pooling off my fingers as I did.
My breathing was ragged, fast, and uneven, but I eventually I let out a short laugh. Somehow, somehow I had just made it. True, there was now a van full of armed bad guys on my tail, but I had not drowned and I had not been shot, and I was in my car. These were all good things, well, apart from the bad guys on my tail, of course. But I could deal with them.
They were in a van; I was in a very fast car. And it was my moment to show just how fast I could go; flooring my foot on the accelerator, eyes wide and plastered on the road, trying to ensure I didn’t hit a turn too fast and freaking flip my car. There’s a good reason that you are meant to slow down at night, especially on nights when the weather is so wild that you have to put your windscreen wipers on their top setting; you can't see shit ahead of you. Even on full beam, I had to keep my eyes absolutely locked on the road before me, all my attention zeroing in on the road so I didn't make a single and fatal mistake. My only hope was that the guys driving the van weren’t that good, or hadn't bothered buying the fancy arsed tires that I had.
While I did see the lights of the van behind me, there was no doubt that I was putting distance between me and them. I just had to keep it that way, and even though I really, really wanted to rifle through the back seat and ensure that Arthur Stanton's journal was still there, I kept my eyes on the road. You were never meant to take your eyes off the road when driving normally, at a dignified speed, with clear visibility and good road conditions. You were absolutely never ever meant to take your eyes off the road when driving at 140 km down a winding road in the dark with torrential rain and gale force winds and bad guys on your tail.
So I just kept focused, and I kept my foot on the accelerator, car practically growling as it continued forward – at my command.
Eventually I had put enough distance between them and myself that I no longer saw the lights, and while that could easily have meant that they had just turned them off so they could sneak up on me, I doubted that they were stupid enough to have done that in these conditions. I had considered doing it myself, but I would have quickly driven off the road, and that would have been the end of my little adventure.
No, I had left them behind. But I didn't relax until I joined the main road, finally entering the highway that would lead me back to Amanda's. And even then I wouldn't exactly say it was time to relax, I might have let my chest deflate a little, even finally grabbed the chance to turn the heaters on.
The first thing I had done when I was sure I was clear of the men in the van though, was to call my contacts in the Army, let them know what was going on, let them know everything. I did not hold anything back, because yes, I would like to think I had learned my lesson. It was only because I had systematically lied to Amanda and my contacts in the Army that this situation had been allowed to get this far. Yes, granted, my suspicions about Maratova had been dead on accurate, but I could have played this better, much better.
Right now the cavalry was making its way to Arthur Stanton's manor. But they sure as hell weren't going to have an easy time of it. Maratova and his men were not playing games, and they were not new hands at this. They would be equipped, and they would be ready to repel attackers. This was not going to be a simple matter of the Army flying in and everything working out; no, it was far more likely to end up as a siege, or a hostage situation, depending on what angle you wanted to view it from. The point was, it would not solve itself easily, and it would not be quick.
And that was why I wasn't turning off the road and heading home like I could have done. I was heading at full speed to Arthur Stanton's house as well, not because I honestly thought the Army would need a hand; I had no intention of waiting around with them outside as they tried to deal with a hostage situation in their unique manner. No, I would go and make my way into that building on my own terms, silently, and quickly. Maratova had underestimated me.
I was still wearing the sopping track pants and checkered top I had found in the lighthouse, and I didn't bother pulling in at a service station to change. Hell, I still hadn’t looked in the back seat to ensure that my gun was there and Arthur Stanton's journal was there too. I didn't have time because I doubted that Amanda had time. And the more that I thought about her, well, it just hit home how much of a bastard I had been. Yes, this was all my fault, but at least I wasn’t the kind of guy to just leave it at that. I had fucked things up, but I was in a fixin' mood.
Generally, at legal speeds, it would have taken around two hours to make it to Amanda's, more considering the road conditions tonight. But I wasn’t driving at legal speeds; I was driving at very, very illegal speeds, but only when I was sure that there were no police cars around.
It took about an hour and 15 minutes until I hit the countryside. I came to the edge of Arthur Stanton's estate up on the hill to my left through a row of swaying poplar trees that were being tugged about in the ferocious winds. It wasn't as if I could see from this distance whether the place was already overrun with helicopters, guns, soldiers, and bad guys. But I could bet that it was, or at least not far from it. And that was why I didn't take the turn that would lead me up the road that would join to the estate’s driveway. No, I took the turn to Elizabeth's instead. Though I hadn't even thought about it last night when I had driven to old Stanton's estate, it backed onto a wood which also abutted Elizabeth's. That was, after all, why Amanda had ended up there this morning. If I had just been on the ball last night, I might have popped into Elizabeth's on the way home. It stood to reason that a personality like Amanda’s would turn to a personality like Elizabeth's. Both of them were a little bit more than insane. But I had not known last night that Amanda hadn't been picked up by Maratova, that she had somehow managed to escape. If I had known she had escaped, maybe I would have tried harder to track her down. Not that it mattered now, of course.
But I still had a plan, and that plan still involved Elizabeth. Because, if Amanda had ended up there, it meant that she had found her way there through the woods, despite the fact that there would have been serious surveillance on them last night. And maybe that gave me a chance to make my own way through those very same woods. And I really needed a chance right now. Because I honestly fancied I was Amanda's only hope, a hope she wouldn't have needed if I hadn't been such a bastard.
But I finally took the very long driveway that led up to Elizabeth's. Due to the incredible size of the properties around here, she was a fair distance from Arthur Stanton’s estate, far enough that the Army would not bother her, and far enough that she would have no idea what was going on down the road. Hell, Elizabeth was probably sitting on the couch watching television, completely unaware of what was happening at her neighbor’s house. Just as presumably what had happened last night.
I pulled up as close as I could to her house, and finally had the opportunity to check my back seat. I could have pumped the air with a fist when I finally latched a hand on to both my gun and the journal. Finally something was going right for me.
I then looked up at Elizabeth’s house: there were no lights on and a car was not parked up front as it usually was. She didn't look as if she was at home, and maybe that was a good thing. Because she really did not need to be brought any further into this mess.
I took the opportunity to quickly change into the crumpled, but at least dry, suit that I had in the back of my car, stuffing the gun down the back of my pants. And just before I slammed the door cshut to head to the woods, I remembered something. I quickly dropped to my feet and grabbed the pants I had let fall there and I searched the deep pockets like a man possessed. Heart beating in my ears, teeth clenched, I finally found it. The small pendant from the lighthouse. The very reason Amanda and I had gone there in the first place. Fuck, what with one thing and another, I had completely forgotten about it. Ever since Amanda had been taken, I had not thought about it once. In fact, I had not even thought about the Stargazers once. Because if I had been thinking about them, I wouldn't have faced the raging storm and the waves outside of the lighthouse with the pendant simply stuffed into my pocket. I wasn't that stupid. But somehow, somehow it had bloody well managed to stay in my pocket, despite how much the waves and water had beaten me.
The second thing that was going right today, if you could call it that even. I closed my eyes, and closed a hand around the pendant. It bloody well better lead to one of those Stargazers. 
But I didn't have time to finally read the inscription on the back yet; I had to save Amanda. It was time to get my priorities straight. It was the last time I was going to bring somebody innocent into one of my games. First save Amanda, then retrieve the Stargazers. 
I just put the pendant into the inside pocket of my suit jacket.
And then I ran to the woods behind Elizabeth’s house.
The weather was still absolutely wild, and while it was not raining here, the wind was blowing through the forest with a violent howl. The clouds above were becoming just as dark and brooding as they had been at the lighthouse. I had no doubt that very soon they would open up and dump the exact same storm on me again. But at least it meant one thing: above the wind no one would be able to hear what was going on at the Stanton estate, and with the brooding, completely dark clouds, no one would be able to see the lights of the helicopters, and I did hope that there were helicopters – ones belonging to the Army, that was. All of it meant that there would be confusion, and confusion was exactly what I would need to slip into Stanton's house unnoticed.
Third bit of luck today, but it bloody well better not be the last.
Hold on, Amanda, I thought as I ran through the woods in the dark, not wanting to draw attention to myself with a light.
Just hold on.


Chapter Twelve
Amanda Stanton
I was so stiff and cold, my clothes still completely saturated. We had managed to make it off the top of the lighthouse and in to a waiting helicopter that was somehow flying above us, despite the incredible winds and the storm. But I had never been so frightened in my life, realizing at that moment that I simply was not cut out for the Army – perhaps that was why I had never aspired to it as a profession. Climbing up a rope ladder in a storm off the top of a lighthouse was an experience I never, ever wanted to repeat again. That would be if I had the opportunity, that was. Because for the third time Maratova was turning on me, eyes hooded, face now exquisitely compressed with anger.
'Where are the globes?' he asked again, tone menacing.
I had achieved what I had set out to achieve; Maratova had not shot Sebastian, and presumably Sebastian was still alive somewhere, though with one hell of a headache. But as for me, well, I had never been in so much danger in all my life. I had no doubt that Sebastian would not have done the same for me – risking his life to get me out of danger – but we were different people. And no matter how much I hated the two-faced, arrogant jerk, I didn't want him dead, and certainly not at the hands of this Maratova fellow. Because I knew now what I had suspected before: the man was clearly a p-s-y-c-h-o-p-a-t-h with a capital P.
But now that left me very much at the whims of his crazy mind. While I had managed to make him believe me when I had suggested that the globes were back at my great-uncle's house, now that we were very much inside that house, there was a finite amount of time I could string this lie along. And I could tell that Maratova was starting to suspect that something was up.
I kept staring at the floor, not wanting to raise my eyes to meet his gaze. 'They are here,' I insisted again, still staring at a patch of dirt on the kitchen floor. The house was in shambles, even more than it usually was. With the excitement of so many people breaking in to it last night, there was glass traipsed all the way through the carpet in the halls, the kitchen backdoor had been kicked in, and the windows in the library were broken. And I hadn't even had a chance to look upstairs yet; god knows what they had done up there.
'Stop playing us along, Amanda,' Maratova growled at me, even taking the opportunity to tap the side of his gun. He was still dressed up as a soldier, still had official Army fatigues on, and still very much had regulation weaponry. But the other men with him did not: they were all dressed up in varying shades of black, and though they had finally taken off their balaclavas, they were all still armed to the teeth. They hardly spoke unless spoken to by Maratova, and I got the picture that he was definitely their leader and had not just chosen to join them on a whim that very night.
 I put my hand up, still not moving my head to look at him, still staring fixedly at that patch of dirt on the kitchen floor. I had to think of some way to string this along, even though I really didn't have a hope. If I could somehow find a way to distract Maratova, I might just be able to make a run for it. And well, I had already escaped from him twice, perhaps I could make it third time lucky. So I took a deep in breath, my cheeks stiff as my mouth drew into an opened-lip frown. 'They are in a safe place,' I began.
'You take us to them now,' Maratova took several steps towards me, bobbing his head down to my level, the whites of his eyes growing larger as his brow raised in anger.
'Okay,' I said weakly, 'they are in the... attic.' It was the only thing I could think of. And considering I had found the first globe up there, at least it wasn’t a complete lie. But I had been through that attic completely, and there sure as hell weren’t any more globes hiding in the cupboards or on top of the desks. But there was a lot of dust, a lot of creaky floorboards, and no light to speak of. They would have to use torches, and they would have to go through the little hole into the attic in single file. My only hope was that the several weeks I had spent building up an immunity to the enormous amount of dust in this house would somehow give me an advantage. Perhaps if I managed to kick up enough dust I might just be able to give all of these men a terrible coughing fit and take the opportunity to run like the wind. It was a silly plan, but it was all I could think of.
Maratova just nodded. He kept his gaze on me though, and it was very apparent that his threat was still there. If I was lying, or if I was playing them, well, I'm sure Maratova would find creative ways to make me regret it.
But it was just as I led them to the door, Maratova right behind me, hand always on his gun, that I thought I heard something through the howling wind outside. And that thing sounded like a helicopter. I paused in confusion, wondering whether Maratova was just calling for reinforcements, but when I saw Maratova freeze by my side quickly, hand at his earpiece, I realized that perhaps the helicopter was uninvited, or more likely, whoever was in it.
Maratova snapped his head to the side and gave low, quick orders to the other men. Though I couldn't make out his exact words, I did hear something that sounded like the Army. That one little word managed to rekindle my hope. Could they be here? Had Sebastian lived, found a way to call them, found a way to tell them where I was?
But would it matter? I was no expert on these things, but I realized that Maratova had a substantial number of men with him: almost 20 the last I counted. And they were all thoroughly armed. I couldn't say that any of them looked to be that incompetent; they all had that steely edge to their gazes, that frozen look to their expressions that told me the only emotion they were capable of was barely suppressed anger. And even though the Army might really be here – even though that could really be their chopper flying around in the storm outside, I still knew enough about odds to know that the cavalry were not a safe bet. Maratova and his team were armed, they were in the building, and by my reckoning, which was not a sure thing, I would bet they were fully capable of repelling boarders. And as if to confirm my suspicions, I saw Maratova point several of his men towards the kitchen door. He half turned from me as he spoke into his earpiece, mumbling directions to the rest of his team. I had no doubt that they were getting ready to 'engage', as it were.
But where exactly did that leave me? I was fairly sure I was the only innocent here, but perhaps one innocent civilian amongst 20 other criminals became insignificant. Because if the Army really did want to take back this house, I doubted it would be easy, and if it was hard, how exactly they were meant to keep track of me and not shoot me, I did not know.
But at that moment, as I heard several shots ring out from the kitchen door, no doubt directed at the helicopter above, I felt Maratova push hard at my back.
'Keep moving,' he growled, 'take me to the fucking globes, Amanda.'
Oh great, there was about to be a full-scale war over my house and I still had to take him to the globes. This man really was insane. What exactly was he going to do once he had the globes? Well, not that he was going to get them, because they weren't here. But what did he think he was going to do? Just tuck them under his arm, whistle blithely, and walk on by past the Army? Or, I realized with a gulp, take a hostage and demand a helicopter?
I bit so hard on my lips that I really did draw blood this time. I licked away at it with a wince, just as Maratova pushed me hard in the back again. 'Up the stairs,' he snapped by my ear. 'Quick.'
He obviously wanted to get into the attic before World War Three broke out in my library. Which was just great news for me. Because the second we got up in the attic, and Maratova saw how empty it was, and how it very much didn't contain any more globes, he would very likely shoot me.
But my only hope was that he hadn't fully realized that I was lying yet. I had imagined that the Army, as well as every bad dude in the neighborhood, had thoroughly gone through my house last night after I had escaped. After all, neither Maratova nor the rest of the crooks seemed to be the kind to request permission from the owner before they rifled through somebody's goods. But when I had said the globe was really in the attic, Maratova had not instantly called my bluff. So either he had not checked the attic last night, or perhaps he thought they were cleverly hidden in some secret door or something. Or maybe he really did know that I was lying, and was getting ready to push me down the attic stairs.
There were three levels to my great-uncle's manor, not including the attic above. And as the stairwell ascended to each level, on either side of it there were large plate-glass windows. And they now offered a view of the storm growing outside. Billowing dark clouds met my eyes, the tops of trees swaying madly in the wind. And here and there I saw a powerful light slice through them, either from the helicopter above as it hovered in the gale or from vehicles on the ground. After all, I had no idea how many people were out there now. And while I assumed it was all the Army, judging by my luck, it could very well be every other criminal on earth. After all, if it was one thing the last 24 hours had taught me, it was just how valuable the Stargazer globes appeared to be, and to just what ends people were willing to go to get them. And those ends usually involved chasing me.
'Stay away from the windows,' Maratova growled as he kept on pushing me up the stairs.
If he wasn’t the psychopath he was, and he wasn’t armed with a sodding great gun, I would have snapped at him for that. I didn't exactly appreciate being pushed upstairs, but then again when it came to my list of things to complain about, I really didn't appreciate being kidnapped either.
As we ascended onto the third level, I caught yet another view out of the windows, and saw yet more lights slicing around outside. Maratova obviously saw them too, because he swore and snapped at me to move faster.
I walked along the wide corridor that branched off on either side to the many rooms of my great-uncle's manor. In many ways it was a lovely house, or it could be if it wasn't so filled with junk. It was large and had a beautiful old charm to it. And the grounds were stunning and enormous. While there was the forest that virtually backed up to the kitchen, on either side of the house there were great lawns, leading down to several little gardens each surrounded by large box hedges. Though they had fallen into disrepair since my great-uncle's death, they were still sweet. And before this horrible adventure had begun, before I had found that fateful globe up in the attic, I had often eaten my lunch in one of those gardens. Sitting on one of the old and weathered seats I would stare out at the overgrown foxglove, verbena, lavender, and pineapple sage. It was the kind of house and grounds that, with proper care, would be splendid. It was a pity, in a way, that it was going to be sold off by my great-aunt. She was the executrix of my great-uncle’s estate, and the house, while it had not been bequeathed to anyone in the will, was to be sold off as residuary. But right now the sad fate of my great-uncle's estate wasn't exactly something that should be taking up my attention; the psychopath with a gun at my back was the only thing I should be worried about.
I finally reached the end of the corridor, pointing up to the little square indent in the ceiling. It was actually quite hard to make out. It was painted exactly the same white as the rest of the ceiling, and the only indication that it was different was a barely perceptible indent that ran around it.
'We need a ladder,' I said.
Maratova just swore. 'Get one now.'
I just nodded my head slowly. I had hoped that he would get a ladder himself, or at least offer to carry it, giving me a convenient opportunity to escape. But obviously that was a silly hope.
'There is one just in here,' I said, indicating one of the rooms further down the hall.
'Move slow, get the ladder, I will be right behind you,' Maratova snapped.
Of course he would be. I went into the room, and went to turn on the light, but he grabbed my hand in an instant. It sent such a shiver down my spine as I tried to pull away from him, but his grip was too firm.
'Leave the light off,' he held my wrist far too hard and then finally let go.
I just sniffed in the dark. 'I will break my neck looking for it in here,' I eventually managed, massaging at my wrist.
'It will save me having to do it later,' Maratova replied.
How nice. I gave a shudder at his threat, but I did not make a sound. Instead, navigating only by the bare light that was filtering in through the large windows in the room, I tried to locate the ladder. It wasn't until a slice of light from outside shone through the windows suddenly that I managed to see it propped against the opposite wall.
'Get the ladder now,' Maratova snapped again. In the entire time I had known him, which was thankfully not very long, I had never heard him simply speak a word; everything was pressed out with a great deal of tension and anger. How this guy had gotten into the Army, I didn't know. Perhaps they had lowered their psychological health standards that day.
I eventually made my way over to the ladder, slipping on several loose magazines on my way, but not falling over. I heaved it in my arms, not bothering to grunt even though it was seriously heavy, and managed to get through the door, though I smashed into practically everything in my path. Maratova just growled at me to stay silent, and I just grunted in reply, purposefully banging the ladder into the door on the way.
I eventually manhandled it until it was underneath the attic.
Maratova, hand still on his gun, looked up at the attic above. 'If you're lying, Amanda, I will break your neck,' he said, voice devoid of any emotion.
I felt a very powerful wave of sickness rush through my stomach, and I even touched a hand to my belly, but I did not respond to him.
'You go up first, slow, and you stop when I tell you too, otherwise I shoot,' Maratova pulled out a handgun as he spoke, training it right on me.
Even though the light in the corridor was off, I could still see him sufficiently to note the move; I could even make out the little triangles of white at the corners of his eyes. And for some reason they were the scariest damn things I had ever seen. The gun was one thing, those little triangles of white were another.
Sinking my teeth into my lips despite the fact I had made them bleed already, I turned slowly and made my way carefully up the ladder. Despite the sound of the gale outside and the occasional shots that I heard coming from the levels down below and from around the house, it seemed that every creak of the ladder as I climbed it was like a scream. And that was not to mention Maratova's breath: for some reason it reverberated around my head, louder than the thunder had been at the lighthouse, louder than anything I had ever heard. It made me feel sick.
I eventually reached the top of the ladder and reached up to push on the attic trapdoor above.
'Slow,' Maratova warned, and I felt the cold of a gun pressed into my back.
I very slowly pushed at the attic door. It creaked open, and I equally slowly pushed up and up, but once it had reached a 90-degree angle, I lost my grip and it fell the rest of the way, slamming on the floor of the attic with a thunderous bang. It actually made me jump, and I shuddered on the top of the ladder, grabbing a hand on to the open frame of the attic door to steady myself.
'Get up, slow,' Maratova warned again, voice growling even louder, obviously annoyed at the noise I had made with the trapdoor.
I closed my eyes for a bare instant, and then opened them again to the awful realization that nothing had changed, and that this horrible situation wasn't some kind of nightmare. I slowly pulled myself up and onto the attic floor. And in that moment I was possessed with the idea of grabbing at the door and slamming it down hard on top of Maratova. But it was as if he knew what I was thinking, and he put on a burst of speed, grabbing the side the attic frame and pulling himself up with a great grunt before I could act on my thought.
The attic was darker than the landing below, there being only two windows right at either end. As I saw Maratova stand, I could only differentiate his form from the shadow cast on to the open attic door below.
But every now and then another one of those slicing lights managed to track over one of the windows on either side of the room, sending in sudden splashes of illumination. I saw Maratova standing there, gun in hand, still very much pointed at me, and then I would pick up an image of the desks and cupboards neatly stacked on either wall, and then a bare flash of the dusty floorboards beneath us.
'Where are they?' he asked, and there was a definite note of finality in his voice.
Below, despite the sound of the storm, I could still hear the occasional gunshot, the occasional shout, the occasional crunch of tires as a vehicle neared from outside. I had no idea what was going on down there, I had no idea who was winning, but I had a fair idea that it did not matter. The only thing that held any meaning for me right now was the fact that Maratova was barely a meter away from me with a gun pointed right at me, and a very good reason to use it. If I did not show him where the rest of the globes were right now, I could bet I would be dead within a minute.
'They are in a... secret wall compartment,' I said after a moment, coming up with a lie quickly. Secret wall compartment? It was incredibly lame, but it was the only thing I could think of. If I was lucky it could buy me some time.
'Where?' Maratova snapped at once.
'I,' I kept snapping my gaze around, trying to find my bearings in the bare flashes of light that came through either window, 'it's hard to see in the dark.'
'Where?' Maratova snapped again. Obviously he did not want to hear excuses, even though my excuse was actually pretty good. Even if I wasn't lying, and the globes really were up here, there would be no way I would be able to locate them in this gloom. Maratova might have the sight of a bat, but I knew that the instant I moved I would trip over something and likely tumble down the open attic door below.
And as if in reply to that little thought, Maratova, gun still trained on me, leaned down and closed the attic door. He did it slowly, and for some reason it was one of the most frightening moves I had ever seen. On some level I could understand why he had done it; obviously he did not want to make it easy for the Army if they managed to make it into the house. But all I could think of was that I was now alone in the room with him. Which was stupid because I had been alone on the stairs with him, I had been alone on the landing with him too, but for some reason being alone in the attic with him was different. My breath started to come in little punches, almost as fast as my heartbeat, my mouth suddenly incredibly dry. My eyes felt as if they were as wide as they could possibly get as I tried to watch him in the dark.
'Where is it?' he snapped again.
My mind was slowing down, my ears filling with a distinct buzzing noise, and my arms were shaking again. The only thing I could think of was that this was it. I was going to die. And I was like a deer stuck in the headlights; I could not move, I could not think of anything else, and I could not answer him.
'Amanda,' he said, voice slicing out in an obvious and pointed threat.
In the past 24 hours I had apparently run the full gamut of fear. I had given up, I had run, I had fought, I had pleaded desperately, I had done it all. But now I froze. I was completely and utterly stiff, incapable of nothing but looking on at Maratova as I waited for him to kill me.
'Amanda.' he roared. 'Give me the fucking globes now.'
The exact note of anger and rage in his voice was finally enough to jolt me into action. I actually gave a sudden and incredible shake that ran all the way down over my back and legs. I darted to the side, noting that there was a large cupboard off to my left that was pulled away from the wall. I saw it in another flash from one of the roaming lights from below, and blood absolutely bellowing in my ears I threw myself towards it.
He just yelled, not firing at me, but I heard the weight of his body shift as he threw himself towards me, heard the groan of the floorboards as they absorbed the force of his chase.
Heart hammering away in my throat, I made it behind the cupboard, but I did not collapse there as my brain told me to do, too overcome by fear to move on. No, instead I pushed hard at the cupboard, flattening my shoulder into it and giving it all I had.
And it moved, teetering forward, and then finally smashing to the ground. In the dark I had no idea whether it had gotten Maratova, or even where he was. But I finally heard him trip against something, heard the floorboards groan as something heavy hit them. He swore harshly, I turned, spying another tall bookcase pulled away from the wall further up the attic, as yet another slice of light darted through the windows at the other end. I ran towards it, leg collecting on the side of a desk, but not falling over and managing somehow to stumble my way over to it.
And just as I pressed my back into it I heard his breath near, heard his growl.
So I pushed again, and the bookcase teetered then fell, slamming onto the attic floor with an enormous thud. But before I could pause to wonder whether it had collected Maratova, I felt a move beside me, felt him grab out a hand and latch it onto my elbow.
I screamed louder than I ever had before.
But before I could do anything, his arm was suddenly snapped away as I saw a dark shadow collect into his side. There was a massive grunt and I staggered back as I realized someone had just grabbed Maratova off me, and that same someone was now grappling with him on the ground.
Through the dark I could not track who was who, even when the lights from outside sliced through the windows. I had no idea who was fighting Maratova, but my only hope was that they won.
Eyes wide, I watched the scene, trying desperately to track what was going on. But then I finally realized I had to do something; I had to help whoever it was down there, because if I didn't and they lost, then I would lose next.


Chapter Thirteen
Sebastian Shaw
Maratova shoved his hand right into my face, his palm cupping my chin and trying to force my head backwards. But in reply I punched deep into his gut, regretting it instantly as my knuckles bashed up against the hard weave of his body armor.
Maratova quickly replied by bringing his other arm around, gun still in his hand, and smashing it against my left temple.
Though the blow was incredible, this horrible and sudden pain shooting across my brow, I didn't let go of him. In fact I managed to grab a hand over his elbow, yanking it back, the gun finally falling from his grip and clattering across the ground.
Jesus Christ it was dark in here; the only thing I could know for sure was that Maratova was on the floor with me and he was murderously angry.
He brought up his leg, kicking it into my knee, the tread of his boot dragging across my flesh. It hurt like hell, but I just rolled back, regrouping and throwing myself back at him.
I managed to land another punch, this time into his jaw. But though it was hard and solid, it didn't knock him out, but it did make a crack.
Maratova just redoubled his efforts, kicked out at me again, and this time landed a blow right in my gut. It sent me slamming backwards, and in an instant he was on top of me, hands around my throat. Choking, spluttering, unable to suck in a breath, I brought my own hands up and tried to get his hands free of my throat. But I was quickly losing energy, quickly losing strength, and as I grabbed his hands, I was beginning to black out.
My vision began to go blank, my arms and hands slackening their grip and threatening to fall by my side.
I didn't even have time to think that it was over; my brain was too starved of oxygen to even bother.
But apparently it wasn't quite over yet.
There was a sudden loud crack, and Maratova fell backwards.
The instant his hands fell away from my throat I sucked in several choked breaths, staving off the unconsciousness that had almost claimed me.
Dizzy and only just aware of my surroundings, I saw someone standing over Maratova, something heavy and dark in their hands. They had obviously hit him over the head, and in doing so had saved my life.
The person dropped to their knees right beside me. In a sudden and erratic slice of light that filtered in through one of the windows behind me, I saw it was Amanda. And she apparently saw it was me, because her eyes opened wide and she even gave a little shake as she receded backwards. 'Sebastian? Sebastian?'
I couldn't exactly answer; I could hardly breathe. In fact, I was only just holding onto consciousness, staving off the blackness that was looming at the edges of my vision. I was choking and coughing hard, throat wheezing as I tried to suck in breath after breath.
Amanda leaned over me, grabbed both my shoulders, and in another flash of light I saw the expression on her face. Her brow was pulled up, her eyebrows peaked in the middle, her lips open wide, her cheek slack. She was worried, she was worried about me.
'God, are you alright, are you okay?' she asked, words jumbled together.
Those were meant to be the words I was supposed to be asking her. After all, I had come here to save her. But I couldn't squeeze out a single word; all my attention was devoted to breathing right now.
In another flash of light I could see that she was biting her lip again; she always did that. I might have only ostensibly known her for the past 24 hours, but I could bet that not a day would go by without Amanda Stanton biting her lip. She did it when she was frightened, she did it when she was confused, she did it when she was thinking, and she did it when she was flirting with you.
Eventually after I finally managed to suck in enough breath, the darkness at the edges of my vision subsided, and I even managed to push myself up a little.
Amanda instantly put a hand on my shoulder to steady me. 'Are you okay?' she asked quickly.
It was probably obvious that I wasn't okay; I had almost been choked to death by the world's greatest psychopath. But I finally managed to nod my head in a complete lie. Though it wasn't a total lie, as technically I wasn't dead yet.
In another flash of illumination from outside, I saw that Amanda was still biting her lip.
Of course she was. For some reason it made me smile; Amanda Stanton had managed to make me smile despite the fact I had almost lost my life to Maratova, the building was still completely full of bad guys, and both of my knees fucking hurt.
'Are you okay?' I finally asked her, my throat so growly and croaky I sounded as though I was recovering from a week-long cold.
She nodded her head vehemently. Obviously it was also another lie, as I really doubted she could be that okay considering the slew of things that had happened to her over the past 24 hours. But her enthusiasm counted for something, as did the fact she was still biting that plump bottom lip of hers.
I eventually sat easily on my own, still panting, but not about to lose consciousness any time soon. I rubbed my throat with my hands, almost as if to convince myself that it was still there and it wasn't the crumpled mess that it would have been if Amanda had not clocked Maratova on the head in time.
I eventually let out a heavy sigh and managed to push myself to my feet. Amanda was there every step of the way, hovering next to me like a protective mother hen. Even though her movement was distracting and again made me smile, I turned my head instantly to that dark shadow of Maratova on the floor.
I didn't like to kill people; it was illegal for a reason. Murder was abhorrent. And killing could only ever be the last option after you'd exhausted every other means to solve a solution. But that being said, in that instant I still felt the desire to reach around to the gun still tucked into the back of my pants and shoot Maratova.
He was a monster, fuck it, he was a monster.
But the feeling passed. It was obvious that he wasn't going get up any time soon; Amanda had obviously done a sterling job in knocking him out.
And with a deep breath, I remind myself that despite my love of treasure hunting and danger, I was still a lawyer. And as a lawyer I was very aware of the law; and despite all of the other laws I had broken tonight, I wasn’t going to pass that particular line. But having said that, I still pulled my gun out of course, not being completely stupid. The house was overrun by criminals, and it always paid to be prepared.
Gun in one hand, I did drop down beside Maratova, pressing my fingers into the side of his throat, trying to get a pulse. He had one alright; the big brute was not dead. And from the exact pace of his breathing, he sure as hell wasn't awake either.
'Let's go,' I called over to Amanda.
She was standing beside me, body obviously stiff even through the darkness; had she been worried that I would kill him?
But as soon as I rose to face her, she let out an enormous breath.
'Where?' she asked quickly. 'Is everything fine now? Are all the criminals gone? Is the Army here?'
When she wanted to, Amanda could ask several million questions at once. She could bombard you like a machine gun. But, to be fair, if I was in her position right now, I would be asking questions too.
'No, they are still downstairs, and this is still a very bad situation,' I said truthfully.
She just gave a little nod. 'How do we-'
'Get out of here?' I finished up her sentence and then took the opportunity to scratch at my upper lip. 'Miracle,' I shrugged my shoulders, 'and if that doesn't work, we find a nice place to hide and we wait it out.'
She nodded; it was a pretty sound plan after all. With the amount of firepower gunning it out downstairs and outside, I really didn't think I could safely shepherd Amanda out of the house. And that really meant the only option left was to find a place to hide in the hope that everybody else fought it out themselves.
Licking my lips and running a hand down my throat, I nodded towards the open attic door.
It had been a stroke of luck to find Amanda in time. Though I had made it to the house before the cavalry had engaged Maratova's men in full style, I hadn't had a clue where she would be. And then I had remembered that little detail she had mentioned; she’d found the original globe in the attic. And it had stuck in my head, because even though I had only known this girl for about 24 hours, I was starting to get a feel for her. And sure as hell she would probably have told Maratova that the other globes were in the attic, just because she couldn't think of any other room to mention. Plus, I had to give her credit that it was a pretty good move too. The attic was large, dark, and you could only get up to it through a small manhole – meaning only one person could move through it at a time. It created a bottleneck and a potential opportunity.
But Jesus Christ, I would never forget the rush of blood to my head as I saw the ladder at the end of the hall on the third floor, and heard the thumps and shouts from above. I had run at the thing, breath stopping in my chest as I threw myself up it.
And when I had finally hauled open the attic door and hauled myself onto the floor, I had seen a small shadow dart behind what looked like a bookcase, a far larger shadow darting in after it. I had just floored it, getting to Maratova just as he had grabbed at Amanda, and wrestling him to the ground.
'Where should we go?' Amanda asked by my side.
To be honest, I had no idea; this was her house after all. Or, technically her great-uncle’s estate, as I had absolutely no illusions that old Imelda Stanton would sell this place off just as soon as all the junk had been cleared from it.
But I just pointed towards the still open attic trapdoor. If the ladder wasn't underneath, obviously leading right up, I would suggest that we stay right here. The attic was relatively closed off from the rest of the house, and would probably be the best place for us to hide. But unless I could jump down, hide the ladder, and then somehow get back up to the attic, it would be a pointless and obvious hiding spot.
But just as I motioned to Amanda to head towards the attic door, I heard footsteps on the floor below. Heavy footsteps, followed by fairly gruff shouts, the kind of gruff shouts that told me that the shoutees were not sodding Army, because nobody that trained would give away their position so easily.
I silently mouthed a litany of swear words and shook my head in desperation. I went to grab at Amanda's arm to try and pull her back away from the trapdoor and into the safety of a shadow somewhere, but my hand changed track halfway through the move, and I ended up grabbing her hand instead. Possibly the memory of how she had expertly reversed my own grip whilst on the staircase to the lighthouse suddenly popping into my head. Apparently Amanda was not the kind of girl that liked to have her arm grabbed; she liked to hold hands instead.
But that did not stop me from pulling her away from the trapdoor and down to the other end of the attic. But as usual, though I pulled her to begin with, she quickly met my pace, my grip slackening off as she did. Honestly, I could very well give her credit for how damn good at running away she was.
I heard a shout from downstairs, fancied that I even picked up several words, among them 'attic' and 'Maratova'. I shook my head all the more, repositioning my hand on my gun and still holding onto Amanda with the other one.
Carefully, and as silently as I could, I made my way towards the back of the attic, and Amanda matched my speed and my stealth. In fact, while I made the occasional floorboards creak, she never did.
Right at the other end of the very long attic there was an array of furniture lined up against the wall. And we made our way to it just in time as I heard Maratova's men below finally begin to climb the ladder.
I searched around for a good hiding place, but before I could find one, Amanda began tugging at my hand, pointing in the dark to a heavy-looking chest of drawers off to my side. I could not see anything, but I let her pull me along until we finally made it to the chest of drawers. It was against the corner of the room, one of the only windows in the attic just above it, one of the long walls of the house on its other side. But when I reached it I realized that it was not pushed up to either of the walls and there was a considerable gap behind it, just the kind of gap that both of us could hide in.
I let Amanda go in first, and she dropped to her knees, finally breaking my grip, as she quickly squeezed her way into the gap. With a final look out at the rest of the attic, briefly spying several dark shadows as they popped their heads up from the floor below, I crouched and followed Amanda.
Even though I tried to keep my hearing trained on the steps of Maratova's men as they entered the room, I couldn't filter out Amanda's breathing. It was heavy, stark, and with my arm pressed up against hers, I could feel her body shake up and down every time she inhaled and exhaled. It wasn't even that loud, and she had a hand clasped over her mouth in order to suppress any sound that might try to escape, but for some reason I couldn't help but give it almost my full attention.
Jesus Christ, what had I put this woman through? What had she been through in the past 24 hours, and how much of it was my fault? I had had ample opportunity to warn her after the auction, and I had had an even greater opportunity and an even greater moral imperative to take her to the authorities today, to finally get her the protection she needed. And yet, here I was, and here she was, hiding in an attic from hardened criminals with only one gun and very little help. If we ever got out of this, I would owe Amanda everything, and I do mean everything. Though I had never been ashamed of my life before, or at least not ashamed of my actions and behavior, the past 24 hours had taught me just how much of a sodding bastard I was. And right now I was willing to give anything for a chance to redress those mistakes.
As we huddled there in the corner, our sides pressed together, sharing the pressured silence, waiting for whatever would happen next, I kept a firm grip on my gun. My guess was that there were no more than three of Maratova's men in the attic with us, and I could not hear any more on the level below. That being said, the sound of the storm outside had intensified, the roar of the wind now punctuated with the sound of driving rain as the clouds above finally opened up and let forth their bounty. This freaking storm seemed to have followed me all the way from the lighthouse, and obviously wasn't done taunting me yet. Because in that moment there was a flash and a resounding clap of thunder. The flash was powerful, the lightning obviously not having struck too far away, and in that moment the sudden illumination managed to light up most of the attic. Even though I should have taken the opportunity to lean out as far as I could without bringing attention to myself, in order to ascertain just how many other men were out there and where they were, something caught my attention. On the back of the chest of drawers that Amanda and I were hiding behind, there was something written. Though I could not be sure, in that moment it looked as though a large 12 was painted on the back in black ink. It was curious, the exact curve and shape of the number drawn with a careful artistic hand, and not the usual scribble you would expect if the 12 had simply been left over from the showroom where it had been bought or from the carpenter who had built the chest of drawers in the first place. No, because the 12 was perfectly centered, perfectly crafted, and quite beautiful. It felt as though it was meant to draw your attention, as though it was meant to indicate far more than you could glean from first glance.
But I didn't exactly have time to wonder just what it truly meant, because I heard the not-so-welcome sound of several footsteps nearing us. There was also the sound of low, hushed voices. And I could swear that they were talking about Maratova. Obviously they had found him, and if they had found him, I didn't doubt they could find us too. These weren’t idiots we were dealing with; these were highly trained,  freekin' criminals. And they would realize that a man like Maratova wouldn't just trip over in an attic in the dark and knock himself on the head. No, he would have had help. And that Amanda was no longer with him would probably indicate to them just exactly who it was that had helped Maratova into unconsciousness.
Even though I still couldn't make out their exact words, I could appreciate the sudden tone and shift in their voices, and it was as if a powerful hand was now wrenching at my gut; had Maratova just woken up? Because there were grunts, followed by what I could recognize as swear words, and even some low growling. And nobody growled like Maratova, not even a cornered lion.
Great, maybe I really should have shot him when I had had the chance. Because now he knew that neither Amanda and I were going to play nice, Maratova would likely find an exceptionally creative way to play mean.
Even though Amanda was obviously trying her hardest to hide her breathing beside me, both her hands now clutched over her mouth, I could still hear it. And god dammit it seemed to echo through the room, mine joining with hers, as if we were practically screaming to Maratova and his men where to find us.
In that moment there was another flash of light and an enormous clap of thunder, indicating that the storm was now pretty well right overhead. But once again rather than use the opportunity to sight out my enemy, my gaze was drawn to that strange 12 painted on the back of the chest of drawers before us. It was so perfect, it was so clearly not a mistake.
And it was so clearly not something that should be taking my attention right now, because right now I could hear slow, careful footsteps nearing us.
I redoubled my grip on the gun, convincing myself that I could at least take out Maratova and maybe one other guy before I was shot myself.
I squeezed my eyes closed for just a second, and in a snap opened them again, ready for what I knew would come next.


Chapter Fourteen
Amanda Stanton
It was horrible, it was so horrible; just huddled here waiting as I could hear footsteps near us. I had thought that I had been trapped in the lighthouse; that was nothing compared to this. I was now stuck behind a chest of drawers, crammed right in the corner of the attic. Now this was being cornered; there was literally nowhere else to run. And with Sebastian next to me, I could not even peer my head out around the chest of drawers to see what was going on. The only sense I could rely on was my hearing, and with the storm raging outside and the thunder cracking overhead, I could only differentiate the slightest of sounds coming from the attic. I had no idea how many other people were out there, nor had I any idea where they were. They could be at the other end of the attic, climbing down the stairs back to the third floor, or right next to my chest of drawers, ready to peer over the top and shoot me right there.
If it was not for the fact that my arm was pressed up right against Sebastian’s side, I did not know what I would have done. Scream? Try and run fruitlessly? Just flop onto the ground and cry and wail that I honestly did not want to die? If it was one thing that the past 24 hours had taught me, it was that you did not react to fear and danger in the same way; when the context was different, your reactions were different. Sometimes you managed to dredge up courage from within, sometimes courage left you completely. And maybe that was the whole point of a terrifying, perilously dangerous situation: it controlled you, you did not control it.
If I ever got out of this situation, I was never going to make another enemy in my life. Not that I had ever deliberately sought out people to hate me before, but I sure as hell was never going to innocently sell a famous treasure map at auction again. I was going to live a very quiet and very simple life. I was going to live the kind of life that my great-uncle had lived; a little bit mad, granted, but mostly peaceful, holed up in the country somewhere, surrounded by great books on adventure and travel, gardens and trees, and with no criminals around to shake a stick at.
I really wasn't going to get to live that dream though; there were still criminals in my house, the Army on my lawn, and one jerk of a treasure hunter by my side. Because, no, I still had not forgotten that Sebastian had betrayed me. And while I was incredibly conflicted that it was him who had come to save me, I still remembered what he had done in the lighthouse. And while we sat there together, huddled in the corner, his arm flush with mine, I tried to make sense of it all. But I couldn't, I couldn't make sense of anything. I simply did not have enough information. Sebastian Shaw, the lawyer and part-time treasure hunter, was a complete unknown. He was a man I had seen once at the auction, last night in my drawing room, this morning as Elizabeth's, on the road by the woods when he had saved me from being chased by the Army, and then again several moments ago when he had rescued me from Maratova. That was about the sum total of all interactions I had had with this man, and no one, no matter how capable of reading a person, could come to a valid conclusion about someone's personality over such brief interactions. Was he a jerk? Was he a hero for saving me so many times? Or was he somewhere between both of those places, the arrogant and sometimes horrible, but equally sometimes courageous and loyal lawyer and part-time treasure hunter. God, the only thing I knew was that if I honestly wanted to figure out who Sebastian really was, I would need more time; and more time was something I had run out of.
I think I began to shake at that moment, my arms fidgeting around as my torso shook from side-to-side. But I did not want to unclamp my hands from around my mouth; I was not so gone that I had forgotten the desperate need for quiet. But still, I could not stop shaking.
And that would be when Sebastian, using the hand that was not currently holding his gun, reached out and softly touched my arm. That was all he did. He did not grab my wrist and try to pull me along like some munted toy that was a necessary part of his adventures but not something that was expected to say a word or raise a finger in help. He just rested his own hand on my arm and I stopped shaking.
In fact, the soft, gentle move had a miraculous effect on me. The courage that had briefly shown itself when I had stood up to Maratova, when I had decided to intervene when Sebastian was grappling him on the floor – it returned. It seemed to rush up my middle, inflate my chest, widen my eyes.
I had to do something. Because god dammit, this was my house (well, no it wasn't, but near enough), this was my life, this had been my day that Maratova and his men had ruined, and god dammit if I hadn't had enough.
From the burglars at my door, to the mercenaries in my library, to the soldiers on my lawn, to the Army in my woods, to the criminals who were now in my attic – it all had to stop. It would have been about midnight last night when it had all began, and I wouldn't fancy that it was almost midnight now. And a full 24 hours was jolly well too long for a non-stop adventure like this. It had to all end so I could finally crawl into my own bed (well, not mine, but near enough) and wake up tomorrow for a long morning bathing, eating, sipping tea and yes crumpets. No more running from thick-necked goons shooting at me outside of the village libraries, no more desperate attempts to run to a lighthouse during a full-blown storm, and no more hiding from psychopaths in the attic.
I could sense that Sebastian was tensing even more beside me, it seemed as though he was getting ready to jump out from our hidey hole and shoot at Maratova and his men. But even though Sebastian seemed to be fairly capable at these kind of things, I did not doubt that it would all end with him being shot. And even though I still had not made up my mind as to whether he was a jerk or a hero, I really still didn't want him to die.
No, I had to do something. I had to remember my great-uncle's golden rule: there are always more options than there appear to be, look beyond the appearance and you will find the reality. Whilst huddled in the corner, shaking for my life, I had made myself believe that I was stuck. That I was plumb out of luck and out of options; that all I could do was wait to be found or shot or both. But there are always an infinity of options, you just had to stall your reactions long enough to look for them. And in that exact moment there was another clap of thunder and another enormous flash of light. The light lit up the room, but all I could really see was the back of the chest of drawers that we were behind, and the curious perfect-looking 12 that was painted on the back of it. But just after the illumination of the lightning subsided, I saw yet another slice of light cross through the room, obviously belonging to a helicopter outside which was still braving the storm.
And that was my opportunity. I stood up, as fast as I could, planting both hands on the chest of drawers before me and giving them a jolly good shove. Once again there was a moment of teetering, and finally it fell over, causing a thundering crash as it smashed into the floorboards below. Instantly I heard several bullets slamming past me, but I paid no attention to them, all I did was pick up one of the large, sturdy legs that had come loose from the chest of drawers as it had broken and I leaped forward.
Sebastian began to shoot, and I fancied even tried to grab me to pull me back. I was going to have none of that though. I was not that stuffed toy that was going to be pulled along on this adventure, silent and incapable of action. This was my adventure too. This was my house (well, not really, but close enough), this had been my mistake, and this was going to be my victory.
Just as the bullets rang right past me, clipping the flesh at the side of my arm, I made it to the window behind the chest of drawers. Just before Sebastian could jump towards me, and tackle me to the ground, likely saving me from the spray of gunfire that was about to slam into my back, I swung the leg from the chest of drawers right at the back window. The window itself was old and even let a slight draft in in places where the glass had separated slightly from the supporting lead lining that ran through it and divided it into quarters. I swung my makeshift baton right in the middle one of the planes, and it smashed against my efforts.
And then I ducked, just crumbled into a ball as several bullets slammed into the rest of the window, shattering the rest of the glass easily.
And that would be when one of the roaming lights from outside belonging to that awfully timely helicopter zeroed in on the room. It shone right through the now completely smashed window, completely illuminating the attic, and especially the four men who were standing at the other end. The four men who just happened to be armed and naughty, naughty criminals.
My stupid plan had worked.
Before Maratova and his men could squeeze off any more rounds at me, there was the glare of machine-gun fire as it came slicing in from the helicopter outside and spattering into the attic. I just huddled right against the wall underneath the window, hands over my head.
'Stay where you are, hands up,' a very loud voice came in over the powerful megaphone from the helicopter outside. And despite the wild storm that was still in full rage outside, there was no doubting the words and neither was there any doubting the particular strong and threatening tone that accompanied them.
Then from the other side of the attic another light sliced through the far window, obviously yet another helicopter flying into place. The same threat was repeated, with another spattering of machine-gun fire to obviously hammer the point home.
They were now surrounded, the very same criminals that had surrounded us, were now surrounded in turn.
It was over.
Not too long after that I witnessed the compelling and very welcome sight of several soldiers rappelling into my attic from a helicopter, several more climbing up the ladder from downstairs, entering the room and completely surrounding and disarming Maratova and his men. Although they went to disarm Sebastian too, one of them recognized him and waved the other soldiers off. For my part, I just sat there, back pressed up against the wall, legs splayed slightly, probably a completely confused look on my face. Several soldiers asked me if I was okay, and I just nodded my head. Sebastian, on the other hand, just kept looking at me and shaking his head. It wasn't until Mark himself had appeared to take Maratova and his men downstairs and the hell out of my house for good, that Sebastian finally walked over to me and sat down roughly right next to me, his back against the same wall as mine, and his legs splayed the same way as mine.
It was over. It was bloody well over.
'You,' Sebastian finally spoke to me, 'are absolutely nuts.'
I did not really know how to take that, so I just smiled, not that Sebastian could see it, considering it was still dark. But we could just make each other out through the lights coming in from below and outside.
'And you,' I said with a light swallow, 'are a jerk.'
I let that little sentiment settle in for a while.
'I am sorry,' he finally said.
It wasn't what I was expecting. From the little time I'd known Sebastian, he did not seem to be the kind of guy who ever apologized, let alone ever accepted responsibility for a mistake. But here he was, apparently doing both.
'This is mostly my fault,' he finally added in a low but still clear tone, 'and I'm sorry.'
I just turned to him and looked at him in the darkness, not capable of making out anything more than the dark shadow of his form and the slightly hunched look to his shoulders. I really considered him for quite some time, lips pressed together, despite the darkness. 'You should be,' I said after a while. 'But thank you for saving me,' I added eventually.
He nodded his head with a jerky movement. 'Thank you for saving me too.'
Silence spread between us again, punctuated only by the now dying sounds of the storm outside and the leftover shenanigans the Army were getting up to downstairs.
'Are we just going to sit here all night?' Sebastian finally asked.
'Well that all depends on if this is all over or not,' I said through a sigh, finally bringing my legs up and hugging them. 'You said before that every man, his dog, and his team of mercenaries are after my globes – does that mean there is more to come?' I turned to him slowly.
He didn't answer right away, but then he shook his head. 'I doubt it, what happened here tonight will soon spread.'
'But that doesn't mean that they won't stop trying, as long as those criminals and whatnot think I still have those globes, they are still going to come after me, aren't they?' My head was still turned his way, as I was keen to pick up his expression and not only his words.
He shrugged. 'But you don't have the other globes, do you, Amanda?'
I just shrugged. I had been dumb enough to suggest to an auction room full of incredibly hard-core criminals that I did have the remaining four Stargazer Globes, and I really doubted that sending all of them through a fax saying I had been mistaken, and please ignore me, was going to make them give up. If Sebastian was right, and the last 24 hours had taught me that he was, then the people out there who wanted those globes were going to stop at nothing until they got them.
'Don't worry, the news will soon filter through that you don't have them,' he said, voice even. 
I still was not entirely sure whether he was telling the truth though.
'You said that they would do anything to get their hands on them. Just look what it did to Maratova,' I said, voice a little scratchy.
'And just look what it did to me,' Sebastian added in a dull voice.
I paused, not sure how to reply. After all, I still did not know the truth about Sebastian, nor did I fully understand why he had made me think the Army had been after me, only to then call them to the lighthouse himself.
Sebastian let out an enormous sigh and leaned forward for a moment. And then he told me everything. He told me that the Army had never really been after me, that they had only ever been after the globes and, like a good Army should want to do, protecting its civilians. The psychotic Maratova, of course, was another story. But the reason that Sebastian had made me fear the Army, had stopped me from going to the authorities, was that he had wanted me to help him find the globes. Yes, it was all about him.
I did not react to the news immediately. I did not lunge forward and smack him right on the chin, or pick up the trusty chest of drawers truncheon that I had used to smash the window and use it to clock him over the head. After all, there was the little fact that he had finally come to his senses and had called the Army to the lighthouse. Fair enough, that had led Maratova right to me, but that clearly had not been Sebastian's intention.
So it was in fact turning out to be that Sebastian was halfway between a jerk and a hero.
'Sorry, Amanda,' he offered again. And he did sound like he was telling the truth, the Sebastian-Shaw version of the truth.
I just let out an enormous sigh, noting that the clouds outside were finally thinning, a slivver of moonlight filtering in through the broken window behind us. It lit up the attic with a silvery glow. And for some reason it reminded me of something. I quickly turned to Sebastian. 'The pendant from the lighthouse, you still have it?'
He suddenly leaned forward and grabbed at his jacket, pulling it open and patting the internal pocket. And he finally drew it out. It was as if he had completely forgotten about it too. Rather than hold up in to the light and look at the inscription on the back, he handed it over to me.
'This belongs to you, Amanda,' he said through a  thin smile.
I just accepted it with a soft thank you, and then with a small kick of excitement rippling through my stomach I finally stood up and held it towards the moonlight filtering in through the window behind.
Even though it was still hard to make out the inscription considering the light, I soon realized there wasn't much to make out. But eventually, eyes squinting I finally managed to discern the passage 'the beginning brings 12, the end brings 12.' That was it. I read it out to Sebastian, in a little shaky voice as the excitement that had kicked up in my stomach quickly subsided when I realized I had simply no idea what the clue meant.
Sebastian pushed himself up and stood beside me. He repeated the passage and then shrugged his shoulders. 'You are Arthur Stanton’s great-niece, in fact, the only reason I brought you along in the first place-'
'Is that you're a jerk,' I replied quickly.
'Is that I'm a jerk,' he agreed with a slight nod of his head, 'but it is also that you think like him. You think crazy.'
I just put my hands on my hips and shook my head at him. 'And you think mean; I will stick with my way.'
Sebastian just chuckled.
And then I got drawn into the clue. The beginning brings 12, the end brings 12. What exactly could that mean?
And then in an instant the both of us turned to each other, both saying exactly the same word at once '12'.
The 12, the perfect strange 12 that was painted on the back of the chest of drawers. The chest of drawers I had destroyed earlier in my attempt to finally defeat Maratova and his men.
And then it hit me. The two windows in the attic, one of them would let in the morning sun, and one of them would let in the setting sun. And this chest of drawers, if I was not much mistaken, would have sat roughly in the middle of the attic before all the furniture had been moved around to collect all that lovely treasure. And if that chest of drawers really had sat in the middle of the room, then in the morning the 12 on the back would have been illuminated by the sunshine, and in the evening the 12 at the front would have been illuminated by the setting sun too. In other words, the beginning of the day would bring 12 and the end of the day would bring 12.
Both of us quickly turned to stare at the shambles of the broken chest of drawers to our side. And soon I realized that engraved on the front of one of the drawers, probably the one that had sat in the center, was a beautiful little gold-leaf 12.  
Sebastian dropped to his knees and began searching through the broken wood and drawers that were at our feet. And I joined him, though I didn't really know what I was looking for. I assumed that we would find another clue, and I thought it would probably be cleverly written on the back of one of the drawers, and that we would really need a torch to see it.
But then I heard Sebastian's breath stick in his throat, and I saw him lift up the back of the chest of drawers. On the inside of the wood, directly opposite the perfectly painted 12, was a small box. It wasn't that much bigger than two fists put together, and considering its size could have remained within the body of the chest of drawers forever without somebody noticing.
Even though I honestly still thought we were simply going to find another clue inside, I realized that Sebastian of all things was starting to shake. His shoulders were shivering a little, and I reasoned he might be cold from the incredibly drafty attic considering it now had two gaping windows, but I doubted that. Finally I moved over to his side, biting at my lip again.
Whatever it was, Sebastian didn’t thankfully smash it on the ground and start stamping on it to open it. Nor did he dash down to the garden shed and find a spade to whack it with. No, he just opened it, finding a latch somewhere and finally lifting the small lid.
I leaned over his shoulder just in time to see him pull out a small object. It took me a while to realize that it was a very small spotting globe.
'Jesus Christ, we found it,' Sebastian said, voice shaking.
As my heart began to kick into gear at his obvious surprise and the obvious gravitas in his voice, I still couldn't help but notice that he had said we had found it, not he.
'What-' I began.
'It's one of the Stargazers,' Sebastian said, voice reverent.
'But it is so small.' I protested. I had, after all, found the first one. And it had been a large spotting globe that had sat on a desk, and that was far, far larger than the small item Sebastian now held in his hands.
'They don't all look the same,' Sebastian said, voice still shaking, and then he began to laugh slowly.
'But...' I trailed off. Had we honestly just found another one of the Stargazers? Sebastian wasn't lying to me, was he? He wasn't joking, was he? Because considering my day and night, I wasn't in a particular joking mood. But as I watched Sebastian cradle the small spotting globe, saw the slack-jawed look of wonder on his face, I realized that he wasn't.
He began to laugh harder, an enormous, enormous grin spreading across his face. 'I thought it would take my whole life to find one of these,' he said, 'and all it took was a day with you.'
For some reason I blushed at that, thankful that the light was too dim to make out the exact hue of my cheeks. 'But what does this mean now? It doesn't exactly belong to me, or us even. The only reason I sold the other one was the Imelda was not interested in it, and told me to put it up for auction. All that money just goes back into the residuary of the estate. And now she knows what that is worth it is hers; she is the principal beneficiary.'
Well that put a dampener on Sebastian's mood. Though he still held the globe reverently, he now let it drop to his side.
He took a moment, and I was very aware of his breathing. 'It's okay, Amanda.'
'It is?' I questioned him automatically. Though I hadn’t known him long, I had known him long enough to know that these Stargazer things were incredibly important to him. And I was starting to appreciate that if something was important to Sebastian, he did not just let it slip.
'It's okay,' he said again, 'it's just a treasure map. Plus,' I could see him suddenly smile in the dark, 'I know about Imelda Stanton – and the old girl wouldn’t sell something like this. And you, you know where she lives.'
I gave a stuttering cough. ‘Are you suggesting trying to steal it from my great-aunt?’
He put his hands up. ‘I’m a lawyer,’ he said in a quick, sarcastic voice. ‘I’m suggesting that, if ever we feel the need, we can always borrow it from her. Plus,’ his voice grew more serious, ‘the Stargazers only work once you’ve got the whole set. So we can let Imelda hold onto it for now.’
I gave a soft laugh, which ended in a sigh and somehow transmuted into an enormous yawn at the end.
'Think you've had enough today, time to go to bed, Amanda Stanton,' he suggested as he nodded his head.
'But there are still criminals in my library,' I said through another yawn.
'They are all being taken away by the Army,' he assured me.
'But there are soldiers on my lawn,' I pointed out through another yawn.
'I'm sure they are packing up as we speak.'
I closed my eyes for just a moment. I couldn't really believe it was all over. And despite Sebastian's assurances that every crooked crook in the neighborhood would soon get the picture that I did not have the Stargazer Globes and leave me alone, I still couldn't shake the feeling that all of this was not quite over.
But Sebastian was right, it was over for tonight. And eventually, though not for several hours, I finally found myself back in bed where this had all begun over 24 hours before.


Epilogue
Amanda Stanton
One week later, after the police and Army had finally moved on, my safety apparently finally assured, I had a visit from my lawyer, which was a funny thing considering I had never had a lawyer in my life. But that was what Sebastian was calling himself now, and who was I to disagree.
With the morning sunshine filtering in through the shambles of my kitchen door, Sebastian and I sat on the stoop and watched the sunshine warm up the countryside outside. He had brought a box full of pastries and cakes from the village, and I was now enjoying a very chocolaty one as I stared out at a bird washing itself in the birdbath.
Sebastian, as he was now my self-appointed lawyer, had demanded that I show him all legal documents regarding my great-uncle's last will and testament, and he was now pouring over them, a pastry in one hand that he kept on going to bite, pulling away from it every time he flicked a new page. Sebastian the lawyer was a completely different creature to Sebastian the treasure hunter, though they both wore the same suit and were both equally handsome.
Sebastian kept shaking his head, and I just reached for another pastry.
'That's four of those you have had now,' Sebastian noted as he licked his finger and turned another page, never looking up at me, apparently completely absorbed by the incredibly boring documents he had on his lap.
'I think you will find that I have earned these,' I said after I took another enormous bite at a pastry, 'I did a lot of running last week.'
'Good point, finish them all off,' he said with a nod of agreement, still staring at the documents on his lap.
He honestly did look completely absorbed by them. And I couldn't guess at why he found them so damn interesting, but every now and then he would get a wry smile on his face.
'Did your great-uncle leave you anything in the will?' He finally looked up at me, taking a very small bite from his pastry.
'He left me some money. I haven't received it yet, he didn't exactly have any cash flow when he died, but I think it's meant to be taken out of the estate once this place is sold,' I said and I couldn't stop my voice from dropping a little, as I was kind of fond of this place. Yes, it held some pretty uncomfortable memories for me, but even the knowledge that every criminal in Christendom had traipsed through it fighting each other and the Army, it still did not ruin the appeal of the general country charm. It really was the kind of place that, if you looked after it properly, would be a beautiful home for the rest of your life.
'Nothing else?' Sebastian asked, voice very professional.
I couldn't help but smile at the change in him. I still remembered the man who did nothing but swear and shout at the thick-necked goons who had been after us last week. I thought about it all for a moment, even biting at my lip, and yes, I did notice that he always smiled when I did that now. 'There was a gift, but it didn't go to probate, because no one could find it. It doesn’t exist anymore,' I just shrugged my shoulders.
'Do you know what the gift was called?' Sebastian still had that incredibly professional look to him.
'I can't really remember, I think it was in Ancient Greek or something,' I shrugged my shoulders.
Sebastian just nodded. He very much looked like he had a secret, the kind of secret that was tugging up at the corner of his lips and making him smile in the most charming of ways. 'Ancient Greek for stargazer perhaps?' he finally asked, that damn professional tone still giving his voice a very authoritative edge.
I just frowned at him. 'No, I think it was light map or something. Anyhow, there was obviously nothing like that in his estate, so the gift failed...' I started to trail off. There was a specific kind of look in Sebastian's eyes, and it had a distinct treasure-hunter touch to it.
'Amanda,' he winked at me and sucked in his lips, 'I'm fairly proficient at Ancient Greek-'
'As well as arrogance,' I interrupted automatically.
He smiled easily at my jibe but continued. 'Amanda, trust me, because I have a feeling my Ancient Greek is better than yours.' He pulled up one of the pieces of paper he had been pouring over and held it over to me. 'Is this a copy of your Great-Uncle Arthur Stanton's last will and testament?'
I laughed at the excessively professional move, and then managed to nod my head.
'Then I am happy to inform you, Amanda Stanton, my client,' there was a distinct kink to his lips, ' that there has been a mistake, and the gift referred to here,' he pointed to a section of the will, 'has been mistranslated. It should not read light map, but stargazers, and I think you will find that there are items within your great-uncle’s estate that match the terms of that gift.'
My lip just wobbled down. 'But the will has already been finalized,' my voice was very quiet now.
'And I think you'll find that I am a very good lawyer,' he blinked hard.
'But, Sebastian... I am not sure I want the Stargazers. Just look at all the trouble they’ve already caused me,' I gestured to the door we were sitting next to, the door that was completely broken, the one that had been broken by world-class criminals.
'Look,' he smiled again, 'as your lawyer, I can suggest selling the globe, using the funds to, I don't know, maybe buy a nice house in the country,' he pointed to the kitchen, clearly indicating the house we were already in.
I just stared across at him, lips parted and dropping open all the more. 'I really, really do not want to go through another one of those auctions,' I answered very honestly.
He burst into a low laugh. 'Neither do I. This time I suggest I find you a client and we sell it off quietly.'
I just looked at him. 'Why don't I just give it to you,' I said very quietly, saying the thought as soon as it leaped into my mind, even if it was the stupidest thing to do. Because if I could sell the globe and gain enough funds to buy my great-uncle's estate outright, giving the funds to Imelda to satisfy the residuary of the will, then that was obviously exactly what I should do. But for some reason, even though I was very well aware of that, I still offered him the globe. And no, I had not forgotten the fact he was a world-class jerk, and I also had not forgotten the fact that he was also a bit of a hero.
He looked at me very steadily and eagerly for a moment, and then smiled. And even though I had seen Sebastian smile before, I hadn’t quite seen a smile like this. It is very personal, and it seemed like the kind of emotion that he showed to hardly anyone. It seemed to leave a very large question mark in my mind about my new lawyer Sebastian Shaw – a question mark that invited me to search even deeper for the particular mysteries this man held.
But he finally shook his head. 'Though as a treasure hunter I would be willing to take you up on your ridiculously generous offer, Amanda, as your lawyer, I advise against it. I can help you find a client to sell it to,' he put up a hand before I could look at him worriedly, 'a perfectly legal and dignified client. Possibly the Army,' he grinned.
I shrugged my shoulders. 'Seems fair. But what about you? Aren’t you a treasure hunter’ I crossed my arms as I looked at him, hoping he realized I was serious despite my tone.
'Don't worry about me, Amanda, Mark wouldn't keep it all from me anyway. He is an alright soldier, but he is a terrible treasure hunter. The Army will call on me, and thankfully this time they won't send Maratova along for the fun.'
I actually grimaced as he mentioned that horrible man's name. 'But you won't get to keep the treasure yourself,' I smiled wanly.
'It's never about keeping the treasure for yourself, Amanda, it's about finding it,' he said, a very curious tone to his voice. 'Plus,' he finally drew something out from the deep pocket inside his jacket.
It was my great-uncle's journal. I had completely forgotten about it. What with one thing and another, I honestly hadn't bothered to remember that within those yellowed and dried-up pages were the potential locations of the remaining three globes.
And then I understood the curious look that had passed over Sebastian’s face.
He leaned back on the stoop a little, handed me the journal, and stared out at the beautiful morning beyond. 'You know, Amanda, you are pretty good at treasure hunting. You're better at running away from trouble, but sometimes those two things go hand-in-hand. And,' he turned to me, a particularly inviting smile on his lips, 'if you are ever interested in finding more treasure...' he shrugged his shoulders and trailed off.
My instant reaction was to laugh at him. Considering the amount of 'trouble' that I had had to run away from last week, there was no way that I was ever going to put myself in a situation like that again. But then I let my eyes drift down to the journal in my hands, and a small but familiar little kick of exhilaration managed to creep through my gut. Even though it had been horrible, at times it had been exciting.
As a little girl I had sat on my great-uncle's lap and had listened with perfect attention as he had told me stories of adventure, danger, and treasure. I had imagined, way back then, that I would grow up to have similar adventures of my own. I had grown up, of course, but not to become a wild adventuring treasure hunter; I had a part-time job at a cafe and an unemployable degree in history.
But Sebastian kept on looking at me, and the offer was clear, and with the distinct curl to his lips it almost seemed as if there was something else on offer too.
But could I, mild-mannered Amanda Stanton, actually become a treasure hunter?
'It would be dangerous,' Sebastian added with a shrug, 'really dangerous.'
'I've dealt with dangerous,' I said softly.
'There would be a lot of trouble; there is always trouble,' he added with a sniff.
'I have dealt with trouble too,' I didn't take my eyes off him. 'But I am sure I would still need a good lawyer to help me through it.'
Sebastian cracked into a grin and I mirrored it all the way.
'I'm a great lawyer,' he said after a moment, 'among other things,' he added with a pretend formal nod.
'And apparently I'm a pretty good treasure hunter,' I sucked in my lips and gave a cheeky grin.
'Then I think we might make a damn good team, Amanda Stanton,' Sebastian said.
It was crazy, it was insane, it was incredibly, incredibly mad – but I agreed with him.
I picked up my great-uncle's journal and opened it on my lap.
Two stargazers down, three to go.
THE END

This series is continued in the next book, The Cross of Constantine, which is currently available.

Other books by Odette C. Bell
Sci-Fi Romance:
The Betwixt Books One and Two
Lucky Star (#1, Out of her Time series)
A Plain Jane Series
Urban Fantasy:
The Witch's Bell Series
Mythology:
The Modern Gods Series
Other Sci-Fi:
The Adventures of Oatmeal Series
Now Summon
Super heroes:
Electric Wonder Girl
Supernatural:
The Agent
Gladys the Guard
What is Released
Fantasy:
Abby the Witch