CHAPTER 87 GIGI
GIGI
I n the time it took Gigi’s beloved-against-his-will former teammate to deliver her to Alisa Ortega on what appeared to be a yacht the size of a sprawling sportsball field, Gigi ascertained three things from He of the Grumpiest and Most Inscrutable of Pants.
One: Knox had looked for her. He’d been looking for her for more than a day.
Two: He’d been paid to do it.
And three: Even though Knox had heard every word Gigi had told Jameson and Alisa about the Woman in Red, even though Knox was the one who’d placed the call to Alisa in the first place, he clearly wasn’t going to ask.
About Calla.
Gigi just kept thinking about the scar at the base of Knox’s neck, the one he’d called a Calla Thorp good-bye. She kept thinking about the way the Woman in Red had insisted there was no Calla Thorp anymore.
“It appears our business arrangement is at an end,” Knox told Alisa, handing Gigi over.
“Yes, yes,” Alisa replied curtly, “you’re heartless and driven only by greed and weren’t worried about Gigi here in the least. Ridiculous premise accepted. I have another job for you, Mr. Landry.”
“Not interested, Ortega.”
“You will be.”
Gigi felt a bit like she was watching two sexually repressed mountain lions playing Ping-Pong.
“I was just notified by security,” Alisa continued, “that Brady Daniels has disappeared from Hawthorne Island without a trace. I can’t help but wonder if he had help.”
Knox scowled. “You think he’s with Calla—or the other one.”
Zella , Gigi thought.
“I think,” Alisa told Knox, “that our business arrangement is not at its end.”