Trouble & Treasure - Dave Moyer (reading rainbow books .TXT) 📗

of the attic, briefly spying several dark shadows as they popped their heads up from the floor below, I crouched and followed Amanda.

Though I tried to keep my hearing trained on the steps of Maratova's men, 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 every time she inhaled and exhaled. It wasn't even that loud, and she had a hand clasped over her mouth, but for some reason I couldn't help but give it my full attention.

Jesus Christ, what had I put this woman through?

As we huddled 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 there were no more than three of Maratova's men in the attic with us, and I couldn’t hear any more on the level below. That being said, the sound of the storm outside had intensified, the roar of the wind punctuated with the sound of driving rain.

There was a flash and a resounding clap of thunder. The flash was powerful and lit up the attic. Something caught my attention. There was something written on the back of the chest of drawers. 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 been left over from a showroom or clearinghouse.

I didn't have time to wonder 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. I could swear they were talking about Maratova. Obviously they’d 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. They would realize a man like Maratova wouldn't trip over in an attic in the dark and knock himself on the head.

Though I still couldn't make out their exact words, I could appreciate the sudden tone and shift in their voices.

Oh fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Had Maratova woken up? There were grunts, followed by what I could recognize as swear words, and some low growling. Nobody growled like Maratova, not even a cornered lion.

Though Amanda was trying her hardest to hide her breathing, both her hands clutched over her mouth, I could still hear it. God dammit, it seemed to echo through the room, mine joining with hers, as if we were screaming to Maratova and his men where to find us.

There was another flash of light and an enormous clap of thunder, the storm now in full swing.

I redoubled my grip on the gun, convincing myself I could at least take out Maratova and maybe one other guy before I was shot myself.

I squeezed my eyes closed, and in a snap opened them again, ready for what I knew would come next. Chapter Nineteen

Amanda Stanton

It was horrible. I was huddled here waiting as footsteps neared us.

I began to shake, violent body-tingling convulsions that ripped from my head to my feet.

That would be when Sebastian reached out and softly touched my arm.

The soft, gentle move had a miraculous effect on me. It kindled my courage and reminded me this wasn’t done yet.

I could sense Sebastian tensing beside me, likely getting ready to jump from our hidey hole and shoot at Maratova and his men. Though Sebastian was capable at these things, I didn’t doubt it would end with him being shot.

I had to do something.

There was another clap of thunder and another enormous flash of light. The light lit up the room, but all I could see was the back of the chest of drawers and the curious perfect 12 that was painted on the back. After the illumination of the lightning subsided, I saw yet another slice of light cross through the room, belonging to a helicopter braving the storm.

That was my opportunity. I snapped up, planting both hands on the chest of drawers and shoving hard. It teetered and slammed into the floorboards with a reverberating thump.

Instantly they started shooting at us. Several bullets zipping past me, but I paid no attention as I picked up one of the large, sturdy legs that had come loose from the chest and I leaped forward.

Sebastian began to shoot, and at the same time tried to pull me back.

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. Before Sebastian could jump towards me and tackle me to the ground, I swung the wooden leg at the window.

The old glass smashed, scattering towards me as the wind caught it.

I ducked, crumpling into a ball as several bullets slammed into what remained of the window.

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 smashed window, illuminating the attic and lighting up the four men standing at the other end. The four men who happened to be armed and naughty, naughty criminals.

My stupid plan had worked.

Before Maratova and his men could do anything, a blast of machine-gun sliced into the attic.

I huddled against the wall, hands over my head.

“Stay where you are, hands up,” a loud voice echoed over the powerful megaphone from the helicopter outside.

From the other side of the attic another light sliced through the far window, yet another helicopter flying into place. The same threat was repeated, with another spattering of machine-gun fire to hammer the point home.

They were surrounded.

It was over.

Not too long after that I witnessed the compelling and welcome sight of several soldiers rappelling into my attic from a helicopter, several more climbing up the ladder from downstairs. They surrounded and disarmed 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 sat there, back pressed against the wall, legs splayed, a confused look on my face. Several soldiers asked me if I was okay, and I nodded. Sebastian, on the other hand, kept looking at me and shaking his head. It wasn't until Mark himself appeared to take Maratova and his men away, that Sebastian walked over and sat next to me, his back against the same wall as mine, and his legs splayed in the same fashion.

It was over. It was bloody well over.

“You,” Sebastian spoke to me, “Are nuts.”

“You,” I said with a light swallow, “Are a jerk.”

He took a deep breath. “I am sorry.”

It wasn't what I was expecting. Sebastian Shaw didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who ever apologized, let alone accepted responsibility for a mistake. Yet here he was, doing both.

“This is mostly my fault,” he added in a low but still clear tone, “And I'm sorry.”

I turned to him. I considered him for some time, lips pressed together. “You should be,” I said after a while. “But thank you for saving me.”

He nodded with a jerky movement. “Thank you for saving me too.”

Silence spread between us again, punctuated by the dying rain outside.

“Are we going to sit here all night?” Sebastian asked.

“Well, that all depends on if this is all over or not,” I said through a sigh, 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’s more to come?”

He didn't answer right away, but then he shook his head. “I doubt it, what happened here tonight will soon spread.”

“That doesn't mean they won't stop trying, right? As long as those criminals and whatnot think I still have those globes, they’re still going to come after me, aren't they?” My head was still turned his way. I was keen to pick up his expression not just his words.

He shrugged. “You don't have the other globes, Amanda. And that news will spread.”

“Are you sure they’ll give up? You said they would do anything to get their hands on them. Look what it did to Maratova,” I said, voice scratchy.

“And look what it did to me,” Sebastian added in a dull voice.

“What?” I craned my neck as I stared at him in interest.

“I… I’m a fucking bastard. I got you into this mess. The army were never after you, Amanda. They only ever wanted to find the globes and protect you. I lied to you… I kept you away from them because I wanted those globes to myself.” He stared at his hands, never glancing at me once. “I’ve been looking for them my whole life. They’re everything to me. And I thought if I handed you over to the army, I’d never get a chance to find them. So, Amanda,” he finally turned to me, gaze blazing with honesty, “I’m a lying bastard, and I am so goddamn sorry for putting you through this.”

I didn’t react.

I might have been justified in slapping him or grabbing a weapon and clocking him over the head. But I couldn’t. Because despite his lies, he’d still saved me from Maratova. He’d still manned up and called the army.

Sebastian Shaw was no hero. Maybe he wasn’t a total jerk either. He was somewhere in the middle, which made him just an ordinary man.

“Sorry, Amanda,” he offered in a quiet tone.

I let out an enormous sigh, chest punching out.

Yes, he was sorry – anyone would be able to tell that.

As I let go of any residual hatred towards him, I remembered something. “Hey, the pendant from the lighthouse, do you still have it?”

He leaned forward and grabbed his jacket, pulling it open and patting the internal pocket. He drew it out. Rather than hold it up 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 accepted it with a soft “thank you,” and with a small kick of excitement rippling through my stomach.

I read the inscription on the back. “The beginning brings 12, the end brings 12.” That was it. I read it out to Sebastian in shaky voice.

Sebastian pushed up and stood beside me. He repeated the passage and shrugged. “You’re Arthur Stanton’s great-niece, 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, “But it’s also that you think like him. You think crazy.”

I put my hands on my hips and shook my head at him. “And you think mean; I will stick with my way.”

Sebastian chuckled.

Then I got drawn into the clue. The beginning brings 12, the end brings 12. What could it mean?

Both of us turned to each other, both saying the same word at once “12!”

The 12, the perfect 12 painted on the back of the chest of drawers. The chest of drawers I had destroyed earlier in my attempt to defeat Maratova and his men.

It hit me. The two windows in the attic: one of