CHAPTER 36 GIGI
GIGI
T he windows, as it turned out, were stormproof. “Seriously,” Gigi huffed, “who puts modern-day stormproof windows in an abandoned lighthouse?” It was madness! Thankfully, Gigi was no stranger to madness.
If at first you don’t succeed, hit harder and refuse to stop! Somewhere around the four-hundredth time, Gigi’s philosophy paid off. One of the splinters in the glass cracked all the way through.
“Victory!” Whack. “Is!” Whack. “Mine!” Gigi welcomed the shattering of stormproof glass with open arms. Figuratively—mostly. Either way, she avoided getting cut.
Even Gigi wasn’t quite optimistic enough to try to scale down a sixty-foot drop in total darkness, so she moved on to the next step of her plan: She bellowed.
Gigi bellowed like she had been born bellowing, like she was training to become a pro bellower, like she was single-handedly keeping the art of bellowing at the top of one’s lungs alive. She bellowed like her life depended on it.
After all, how long could it possibly take for a person with truly impressive lungs, shouting from their diaphragm, to be—
She heard a sound of a bolt being thrown, and the door to the lighthouse slammed open below.
That was surprisingly quick! Gigi edged toward the ladder and climbed down far enough to see a flashlight beam cut through the dusty air on the ground floor.
“Damn kids.” Based on that voice, Gigi inferred that the person who’d just spoken was male, fairly old, and also impressively cranky.
But who was she to be picky about rescuers?
“Me!” Gigi bellowed. “Up here! I’m damn kids .” She took to the stairs, going down them faster than was probably wise.
“I oughtta shoot you.”
Gigi slowed to a stop as the flashlight’s beam found her, and she realized that her rescuer was indeed holding a shotgun. “Please don’t?”
The shotgun was in his left hand. It hung by his side. That was a good sign. Right?
“You’re going to break your damn neck coming down those stairs that fast.”
Gigi took her new friend’s concern for her neck bones to be a very good thing and resumed descending, slightly more slowly this time. “I’ll be fine,” she called. “My bones are bendy, and the important thing is that I’ve been kidnapped, and you’re here to rescue me.”
Gigi was used to befuddling people. To his credit, her rescuer didn’t stay befuddled for long.
“I’m not rescuing anybody.”
Gigi took another turn. Just ten steps left to the bottom—and the now open door.
“You definitely are,” she informed the man with the gun.
“And you’re doing a stellar job of it. Just look at how well you took the kidnapping news!
If there’s one quality I look for in a rescuer, it’s a certain stalwart gruffness.
” Gigi stepped off the last of the stone steps and grinned. “I also like your beard.”
That got her no response whatsoever. In Gigi’s defense, it was a very copious beard.
“And frankly,” Gigi added, “the rifle doesn’t hurt.” If Slate did come back before she got out of here, her bearded rifle buddy might prove very useful indeed.
“I need to shoot somebody?” he grunted.
Gigi decided it would be prudent to take that question at face value. “The broody jerk in question did tie me up, but I believe in redemption, so I’m going to go with an optimistic no.”
Endearingly Bearded Man shifted his flashlight beam to the floor of the lighthouse. It stopped when it came to the silk bindings Gigi had so masterfully shed.
“Someone kidnapped you and tied you up?” EBM sounded, if not outraged, at least seriously annoyed.
“Indeed someone did!” Gigi replied. “Can I borrow your phone?”
“Don’t have one.”
Gigi blinked. Several times. “You… don’t… have… a phone?” She paused. “Like, on you or—”
“Don’t like phones.”
Well, that answered that. “You know what?” Gigi said, stepping past him toward the open door.
“I love that for you.” She walked right out of the lighthouse into the November chill, pitch blackness, and sweet, sweet freedom.
“Now, if you could please point me in the direction of civilization, I’ll be out of your hair. And your beard.”
“Civilization?”
“I need a phone,” Gigi said. “Or a way to get to Hawthorne Island.”
“You stay away from that place.” The beard did nothing to minimize the man’s scowl.
“I was just out there,” Gigi assured her newfound friend.
“For the Grandest Game.” She knew objectively that the location of this year’s game was a secret, but who was the guy who hated phones going to tell?
He gave no appearance of having any idea whatsoever what she was talking about.
“World-famous competition?” Gigi elaborated.
“Details very hush-hush this year? Run by Hawthorne heiress Avery Grambs?”
That got a response. “Avery.” His brow furrowed. “Hannah’s girl?”
Gigi didn’t know anything about Avery’s mother, but the name Hannah rang a bell. “Maybe?”
Her rescuer stepped in front of her. “In that case, you really don’t want to go into town.”
“Agreed,” Gigi said, nodding. “I want to go back to Hawthorne Island. But just for reference, which way is town again?”
Her bearded friend gestured with his flashlight.
“Excellent!” Gigi said. “In semi-related news, I need a boat. Do you have a boat?”
He glowered at her.
“You do!”
“I’m not taking anyone to that damn island.”
“In that case,” Gigi said solemnly, “I have no choice but to go to town.” She made it two steps before the old guy cut her off.
Gigi patted his shoulder. “Believe me, I am totally grateful for the stalwart rescue—A-plus—but I need a ride to Hawthorne Island, and if you aren’t feeling inclined to give me one, and you don’t have a phone, I’m going to town.
Either way, I need to get out of here before a certain someone gets back. ”
“A certain someone. Who kidnapped you. And who I am not supposed to shoot?”
Gigi patted his other shoulder. “Correct!”
“Damn kids.”
“It was incredibly nice to meet you, too,” Gigi replied. “Have a nice night!” She made it five steps past him this time, and then Endearingly Bearded Man spoke again.
“Fine,” he said roughly. “I’ll take you to the island at dawn.”