Trouble and Treasure (#1, Trouble and Treasure Series) (13 page)

“
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 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. He pulled off a string tightly
wound around the parchment and threw it to the ground. Then he
unwound the old paper, eyes darting over whatever he saw written
there.

I stupidly 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. He didn't; he shifted his jaw from
side-to-side – something he did a lot – and wound the paper back up
and popped it into the pocket of his shirt. He shrugged at me.
“Looks like old Stanton was fond of clues then.” He turned from me,
leaned down and grabbed the spade, and headed for the
door.

Teeth bared with frustration at how
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, dodging my way around
the obstacles that littered the floor and drawing up beside him as
he made it to the front door.

That would be when he flung out his arm,
stopping me in place.

The sound of a car 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 past to
see who it was. Though the fear twisting through my gut and rushing
down my back told me to turn and find somewhere to hide, it was
better to ensure there was something to run from first.

When the sound of gunfire or the guttural,
horrible laughs of criminals didn’t meet my ears, I sucked my lips
in with a pop. “Maybe it's someone else, someone who isn't after
us,” I suggested innocently.

Rather than tell me to shut up, Sebastian
turned to me and cut a finger across his throat.

I got the message. I took several steps
back.

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 walked
towards the door of the church.

Sebastian took a step to the left, raising
the spade up above his shoulder, getting ready to strike.

I freaked out. I 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 a whistling Yorkshire
hit man, but I couldn't take the risk. I wasn't anything like
Sebastian, and I had no experience with this thing; so excuse me if
I thought twice about clocking potentially innocent people over the
head with a spade.

My cheeks red from fright, my breath shallow
and quick, I stumbled through the door and 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 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. “Ah.... Hello,” I managed, “I'm fine.”

He nodded. 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. If I was any judge of character, I would say that this man
was 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 nodded.

“
I see. I often come up here myself, have a
look at the old place, check that no more vandals have desecrated
her.” He looked sincere.

I winced. 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?”

The door opened from behind me and Sebastian
walked out, thankfully not wielding his spade or gun. I could see
the gun 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.

The man looked surprised, and 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 laughed, “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 blinked, confused. That would be when
Sebastian leaned in, looped an arm around my middle and yanked me
over to him. 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 hadn’t, 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 towards the car.

“
Get off me,” I said as I wriggled free,
huffing heavily, hair messy against his shoulder.

“
Suit yourself,” he let go of me, walking
easily towards the driver-side door, “Hurry up and get in the
car.”

As I did, I heard a shout from the church.
Obviously the kind old gentleman had realized how much vandalism
we’d 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
brought the car around in a screeching turn and bombed down the
drive.

Amanda Stanton

After we made it onto the main road,
Sebastian driving too fast, I turned in my seat to face him. “You
know, if we’d 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, 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 driving, only one hand on the
steering wheel, and 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 hard, but it wasn’t
that girlie either, and he leaned back and rubbed a hand on it.

“
What did the parchment say anyway?” I
asked, keen to get the conversation onto something that was
important and didn't involve Sebastian's inflated sense of
self-importance and competence.

“
It was another clue.” He stopped rubbing
his shoulder and let his hand rest on his lap. There was something
infuriatingly maddening about men who didn’t drive with both hands
on the steering wheel.

“
What did my great-uncle's clue say?” I
straightened in my seat, nervous about what it could be, and a
great deal more nervous at the horrible situation I’d found myself
in. “Where are we going? 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 shut up, sit down straight,
and leave the rest of it up to me,” he said, tone as arrogant as
his suggestion.

I snorted with derision. “Where did you
learn to talk to women like that?”

It was his turn to snort. “Oh, Amanda,
don't you worry, I know how to talk to women,” he assured me,
playing with the collar of his shirt.

“
Are many women won over by your 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 narrowed, he gave me a sarcastic
look. “Believe me, honey, if I wanted to talk nicely to you, I
would.”

I ignored the kick of adrenaline that
zipped up my stomach at that thought, and more importantly at the
charming and yet sarcastic smile that preceded it. I swallowed
determinedly. “I doubt that, Sebastian,” I continued, on a roll
here, “I think you are the kind of man who thinks you're good with
women, because you happen to be attractive, but not because you
have any charm or an engaging personality.” My words came out, but
they didn't come out right. I’d intended to insult him, and I had
meant to point out how irritating and undesirable he
was.

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.” He straightened up, that
stupid smile still on his face.

Oh yes, he was arrogant, but oh yes, I
happened to be blushing like a burning hot ember.

It wasn't until he 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 smashed. What
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,
right? Did you get your degree on the Internet? Or is this some
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’s going on than you do. So why don’t you shut
up?”

I punched him on the shoulder again, this
time harder. “Tell me what was on that clue, and you tell me where
we are going next, or...” I faltered 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 pushing high into his
cheeks.

I darted a hand out and snatched the
parchment right out of the pocket of his shirt before he could grab
my hand. 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 didn’t try to
wrest it from my grip.

I 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 sat straight
, carefully rolling up the parchment and placing
it neatly on my lap. A place where the shadow met the light? Well,
that wasn't the most explicit of clues. Not only could it mean
anything, I didn't 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. “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 where it was, without any of
your help, Amanda. Or did you forget it was me who found those
scales?”

“
Yes,” I insisted, “But it was me who
figured out the clue. You obviously didn't have any idea 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 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 there was no point in
comparing Sebastian to Indiana – Sebastian not only didn’t wear
leather, foregoing the manly look for a suit, but he didn't have a
good bone anywhere in his body, and he sure as hell didn't care
about the history behind the items he coveted or destroyed. Excuse
me for thinking that possibly it might have been better to follow
through with the clue rather than the spade.