Trouble and Treasure (#1, Trouble and Treasure Series) Read Online Free Page B

drawers of a side
dresser.
    I mouthed another silent swearword as I
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 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. 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,
didn’t. 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 so violently
I could feel it through my clenched teeth, the footfall got 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
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’d spent most
of the time crawling away from him in the mud). But there was
something about the silent way these men walked 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 wiped my eyes, tears forming and streaking down my cheeks.
That was when I realized I still held the gun.
    I gave an involuntary and audible
squeak.
    The steps stopped. They’d been heading up my
stairs before, but after a pause, they headed my way.
    My heart could have popped; never before had
I felt such intense, pressured stress. I could hardly breathe and
my eyes were so tear-streaked I could barely see.
    I’d 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 wasn’t anything 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.” Sure as hell the guys outside my kitchen door hadn’t
paused to reassure me they were here to help.
    I clutched the first thing I could find –
which happened to be a jar of dried pasta and not one of the knives
on the magnetic rack across from me. With the jar of pasta in hand,
I lurched towards the back door.
    It was at that point 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 as the kitchen door behind opened with a soft clunk.
    I’d never been 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 as the jar struck home on the guy's upper arm.
    “ Ow,” the man protested as a red dot of
light crossed his face and 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 realized
was Shaw, spat his words out in quick file, his hands
up.
    Despite his words, several more of those
red-pointed lights flew over the room and settled on or around
me.
    That's when I chucked the pasta jar right at
Shaw's head, ducked around him, and bolted out of the back
door.
    I heard the jar shatter against the floor,
heard someone swear, but didn’t stop to clean