Two of a Kind (Fool's Gold #11)

Gideon felt his mouth drop open. “You know Felicia?”


“Sure. She comes to my store all the time. She likes to read paper books rather than electronic books. I like that in a woman.” Morgan’s smile returned. “She has eclectic tastes.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Justice murmured.

Morgan rolled up his sleeve, exposing a tattoo of a girl in a bikini. “Got that in the Philippines. They do good work. That was after my time in Vietnam. Tough place to be for a farm kid from Georgia. Hell, before Uncle Sam drafted me, I’d never been past the county line.”

“My brother went over there, too,” one of the old guys said. “My number never got called.” He gave a grin and picked up his beer.

Whatever was going on, Gideon wasn’t interested. He started to get up. Justice clamped his hand around Gideon’s forearm, holding him in place.

Breaking free would have been easy enough. Gideon knew all the moves. He could have had them all gasping for breath in ten seconds. He eyed Justice. Okay, maybe that would be a more difficult fight, but he figured he had a fifty-fifty chance. But was that what he wanted?

Gideon relaxed on the stool, and Justice released his arm.

“Civilian life was tough,” Morgan continued. “My old girlfriend had married someone else. I hated the farm. I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I took off. Hitchhiked around the country, did drugs, became a drunk. Somebody pulled me out of the gutter, and I started to get better. Then I met Audrey.”

Morgan smiled, his gaze looking past them to something only he could see. “Beautiful girl. Too good for me, which is who every man should marry. She was patient with my failings and loved me more than I deserved. But I couldn’t love her back. I couldn’t go there. The scars went too deep.”

He looked at Gideon. “I was a fool, and I nearly lost her. Came to my senses facedown in a gutter, barely remembering my name. I nearly died from alcohol poisoning.” He smiled. “That was thirty-five years ago. I have loved her every day since. We only had seventeen years together, then cancer took her. On her deathbed she made me promise I wouldn’t give in to my demons again. I’ve kept that promise.”

“I know what love does,” Gideon said, figuring the truth was all he had left.

“No, you don’t,” Morgan told him. “If you did, you’d be with that pretty girl of yours and not here drinking with us. Love makes you strong. If you’re brave enough to hand over everything you have and take that leap of faith. For me it was either love Audrey or stay in the gutter and die. You’re in the gutter, my friend. The difference is, you can’t see it.”

He could see it all right, Gideon thought. What they didn’t get was he didn’t care. He belonged here.

Justice tossed a couple of bills on the bar and stood.

“Patience told you?” Gideon asked as the other man turned to leave.

Justice nodded. “Felicia told her yesterday. The women had one of their get-togethers last night. From what I heard, it was lots of margaritas and ice cream and calling you a bastard. They’re all hungover this morning, so I’d stay clear if I were you.” He started to leave.

“Wait.” Gideon rose. “Aren’t you going to hit me or something?”

“No need to hit a man when he’s already down.”

* * *

GIDEON PUSHED THE button and started the CD track. The Beach Boys’ “God Only Knows” played in the studio. The same song went out on the airwaves, but he cared less about that. Tonight was about searching and hopefully finding.

He’d spent the day walking around town and his evening working out. He was exhausted but not tired, spent but not at peace. The ache inside him refused to go away, and sleep was impossible. He needed the one thing he could never have. Morgan had been right—he was in a gutter and he had no way to crawl out.

Without any conscious plan, he flipped the switch that activated his microphone. “Today, I want to talk a little bit about the past, about my past.”

He paused, not sure what to say next. “Some of you know that I served in our armed forces. There are things that happened, things I saw, that challenged everything I believed in. I was taken prisoner with other men. Good men who served with honor. They loved their country and their families. For a long time, I knew the reason I’d made it and they hadn’t was that they couldn’t forget those they’d left behind. They missed them, longed for them, called out to them. Racked with fever from open wounds and burns, they thought they were back home and reading stories to their children. But they weren’t. They were in a cell, and I watched each of them die until I was the last man standing. Because I was alone and I thought that made me strong.”