Trouble and Treasure (#1, Trouble and Treasure Series) (20 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was enough to get me
to my feet. I took one step 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.
When that didn't happen I pointed at it. “You hold the door,” I
shouted at Sebastian, “I’ll find something to shove in front of
it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“
Fuck,” Sebastian offered.

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

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

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

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

T
he door gave an almighty shudder, pushing so hard into the
couch that I lost my footing and tumbled over. Before it could
open, before the gun could twist around in the person's grip and
fire my way, Sebastian gave a great grunt and put on a final burst
of speed, slamming the crate into the couch and pushing it back
into the door. The gun clattered out of the guy's grip, falling
onto the couch as the couch forced the door closed.

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

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

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

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

He didn't seem ready to give up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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