CHAPTER 19 GIGI
GIGI
Gigi awoke to chaos. The kind of chaos that involved a stranger who was both unconscious and in the process of being tied up.
“I’m not one to judge,” Gigi said, scrambling down from the loft to stand next to Savannah, who hadn’t so much as raised a brow at the display in front of them, “but can someone verify that this is the amiable sort of kidnapping? And also that we didn’t knock her out?”
Gigi’s questions were met with silence. Very suspicious silence.
“Knox?” Gigi prompted.
“Wasn’t me.”
Gigi turned to look at Rohan.
“She fights like an elite,” Rohan said by way of explanation. “It’s in everyone’s best interest, including her own, that she not be tempted to try me again.”
“And why were we fighting her?” Gigi was a big believer in generous uses of the word we.
Knox held out a sheet of paper. “She’s here for you.”
Gigi blinked, then took the paper, and sure enough, there her name was—her given name. For a moment, all Gigi could think was that the last two people who had called her Juliet were Zella… and Calla.
“What do you mean she’s here for my sister?” Savannah was less than pleased.
“The girl had knives on her,” Rohan replied. “Plural.” He stepped back to admire his work, which Gigi had to admit was… thorough.
Their guest, whoever she was, wasn’t going anywhere.
“Knives,” Gigi repeated. “Of the friendly and playful sort?”
“Who is she?” Savannah demanded.
“No idea.” Knox took the paper back from Gigi and handed it to Brady. “Who is she?” he asked, nodding at the regal-looking woman in the image—the artwork.
“That,” Brady said, looking up from the sheet, “is Saint Adelaide.”
“Who among us does not recognize medieval saints on sight?” Gigi said in her most philosophical tone.
“There’s a statue of her in town,” Brady replied. He glanced at Knox. “In front of the Musée.”
“Saint Adelaide,” Gigi said, her eyes widening with understanding. “As in St. Adelaide Parish. Someone sent her here.”
“Someone sent a knife-wielding psycho after you.” Knox was clearly feeling a little testy about that.
“What if that flower last night wasn’t Calla’s doing?” Brady said suddenly, crouching next to their captive, studying her intently. “What if it was hers?”
“What if she’s…” Gigi swallowed. “Whatever Calla is—or was.”
This girl wasn’t wearing a cloak, red or otherwise, but Gigi couldn’t help remembering that the Woman in Red had asked her if she knew the significance of the number three.
“Let me talk to her,” Gigi blurted out. “When our guest wakes up, let me have first stab at her.” Gigi paused. “Metaphorically.”
Not one person in the room jumped on that.
“I’ll have you all know that I’m an excellent interrogator,” Gigi insisted.
“People tell me all kinds of things.” She folded her arms over her chest and leveled a gaze at Knox.
“Things they don’t want to tell me, things they don’t want to tell anyone, but I just keep talking and talking until they break.
Also: smiling. Lots of smiling. And nicknames. ”
“Consider me convinced, little Gigi,” Rohan said.
“I’m only little,” Gigi retorted, “compared to people whose torsos and also legs are much, much longer than mine.”
“Rohan.” Savannah’s eyes drilled into his. “You promised.”
“I promised not to use your sister as bait, love, and now, we may well have another option on that front.” Rohan stared down at the unknown entity in their midst. “Let’s see how this plays out, shall we?”