Through the foyer, out the front door, around the side of the house. Gigi tracked their progress as she and the other players followed Jameson and Avery. Down the cliff. Once they hit the rocks below, Gigi suddenly knew: They’re taking us out to the ocean.
It was darker now than it had been even ten minutes earlier, but hundreds of strings of tiny lights illuminated the way across the rocks to the shore.
“You made it in by sunset.” Even in a silk gown, Savannah moved through the night like a knife through butter. That she slowed her pace, even a little, Gigi took as an expression of love.
“I’m going to pretend that you don’t sound surprised about that,” Gigi told her twin.
“I’m guessing something happened during your exploration of the island?” Savannah raised an eyebrow. “Did one of the other players actually manage to get on your bad side?”
“I don’t have a bad side,” Gigi said pertly. “I believe in rehabilitation.” “I sincerely hope that is as terrifying as it sounds,” a voice said behind
them. Male. British.
And, Gigi realized, as he fell in next to them, tall. Very tall. “You think I’m terrifying.” Gigi was delighted.
“Don’t,” Savannah ordered. Which one of them was the intended recipient of that order was anyone’s guess.
“Is it your turn for the stay away from my sister speech now?” the masked stranger quipped. “It was so very effective for your brother when he told me to stay away from you.”
Gigi’s eyes widened as she swiveled her head to look at her twin. Do tell.
In the moonlight, the swirling, silvery-blue mask Savannah wore made her look fairy-tale beautiful, like a Snow Queen come down from the icy north to turn the world white. On either side of her face, a trio of teardrop diamonds hung down from the mask, resting on Savannah’s high, sharp cheekbones like actual tears.
Gigi couldn’t help thinking that she hadn’t seen her sister cry in years. Dad’s not in the Maldives! The dreaded mental chorus was back with a vengeance. He’s dead! He died trying to kill—
“And here we are.” Jameson Hawthorne’s voice cut through the night
air.
As Gigi took a final step forward toward the ocean’s edge, she realized
that she’d just stepped from rocks to sand. Black sand.
“Shoes off,” Jameson called out. Clearly, he was enjoying this.
Gigi didn’t even hesitate. She kicked off her flats and sank her toes into the sand. As chilly as the night air was, the grains of sand beneath her feet were warm.
There hadn’t been black sand on this beach earlier.
“Everyone should dance barefoot on the beach at night at least once in their life,” Avery said, sounding for all the world like a Hawthorne, magnetic and sure. “But first…”
“Masks off,” Jameson finished, moving forward to collect them, one by one. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep these safe for you. And the keys to your rooms, if you please.”
Safe from what? Gigi wondered, and her gaze was pulled out to the velvety black water. Waves lapped at the shore.
“Some of you have already found hidden treasure of a sort,” Avery said. “Objects that were hidden on the island that will be of use to you at some point over the next few days.” The Hawthorne heiress’s gaze went first to Savannah, then to Odette.
Gigi lifted a hand to her necklace and thought about the knife duct-taped to her thigh. The next few days. That was the first time any mention had
been made of the length of the game.
“There’s just one such piece of treasure left,” Jameson declared. “One more Object that could give you an advantage in the game you’ll be playing very shortly. You’ll have a little less than an hour to find that Object. We won’t steal too much of your time, but allow me to share a piece of advice that someone once shared with me: Leave no stone unturned.”
Jameson cast his gaze back up toward the rocks. Within seconds, Gigi was the only competitor still standing on the black sand beach. All the others had darted for the rocks.
Leave no stone unturned. Gigi looked back to Jameson, but he and Avery were dancing. Barefoot on the beach, Gigi thought. And then she thought about misdirection. About distractions. About hidden treasure and the fact that the black sand on this beach matched the sand in the hourglass inside.
Gigi dropped to her knees and began raking her fingers through the sand. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe everyone else was right. But she kept going. And going. And going. For twenty minutes. Thirty. Until—
“Back. Off.”
Gigi jerked her head up, toward the sound of that voice—not a quiet voice this time and not all that calm, but recognizable all the same. Brady Daniels. Gigi scanned the rocks, but the fairy lights only did so much. Then she saw movement. Definitely Brady. And the person he’d just told to back off—the person he was striding away from—was definitely Knox.
They were talking about a girl. Odette’s voice echoed in Gigi’s mind.
And, from what I gather, she’s dead.
Gigi tracked Brady’s movements as best she could through the dark, all the way back up to the house.
Who was she—and how did she die? Gigi curled her fingers into the sand beneath her, and she was suddenly struck, as she often was, by a rogue idea, the way another person might be struck by a bus.
What if, instead of spending any more time competing to look for the last Object, she took advantage of the fact that Knox was out here to steal back the ones he’d taken from her?
The bag. The oxygen tank. The wetsuit.
Gigi stood and brushed black sand off her palms. I am not, she told herself sternly, looking for an excuse to follow Brady Daniels back to the
house
