Soldier of Fortune: A Gideon Quinn Adventure (Fortune Chronicles Book 1) by Kathleen McClure

told him that, young or not, this Jinna was a formidable person.
    Their eyes held one another’s, each acknowledging a mutual summing up before Jinna broke off relations by looking away and gesturing to the tables. “You’re welcome to take a seat anywhere,” she said. “I’m not sure Mia told you but this near to closing we’re down to whatever’s leftover from the day, and today what’s leftover is griddle cakes and bacon.”
    “If those cakes taste half as good as they smell, I’ll die happy,” Gideon assured her.
    “Please, don’t die on my account,” Jinna said dryly. “Take a table and I’ll get your tea going.” Already, she was turning back to pour water from the kettle into a waiting teapot.
    Feeling very much dismissed, Gideon followed Mia to a booth at the rear of the diner, past the airman who nodded and greeted Mia by name, indicating both were regulars at Kit’s. Also, if Gideon were to judge from the glances the young man occasionally sent Jinna’s way, he wasn’t just there for the food.
    Jinna, on the other hand, appeared to be completely unaware of the airman’s feelings, which further told Gideon that neither she nor the baby were his.
    There was no doubt a story there, but Gideon was too far stuck in his own tangled narrative to put much effort into sussing it out. Nor was it a story likely to play out tonight because, just as Jinna came by with the teapot, the young man rose from the booth, leaving a small pile of bills on the table.
    “No more tea, then?” she asked as he passed her on the way out.
    “Thanks, but no,” he declined with the distinct brogue of the Campbell Isles.
    “Hold up, Rory,” Jinna said.
    The airman turned to face her. “Is there a problem?”
    “You left too much money. Again. ”
    “That I didn’t.” And now Rory was stuffing his hands in his pockets so he couldn’t accept the cash Jinna was trying to foist back on him. It made an absurd picture, the tall skinny airman dancing back from the petite, fire-haired mother-to-be.
    Despite his preoccupations, Gideon wanted to cheer Rory on.
    “It’s twice what you owe,” she waved the bills at him.
    “Consider it a donation to that wee one’s nappy fund,” he said, grinning.
    “Rory—“
    “Ach, will you look at the time! Best be off, Captain Pitte will be pacing at the gangplank, he will.”
    Pitte? At the name, one of the two carved on the wall of the cell he carried in his soul, and one he’d not heard spoken aloud in over six years, Gideon felt himself go cold.
    Couldn’t be , he told himself. There had to be more than one Pitte in the Colonies.
    “You’re using John as your excuse?” Jinna was trying not to laugh, by now.
    Okay, more than one John Pitte , he thought with desperation.  Because what sick twist of fate would put John Pitte, Jessup Rand and Gideon Quinn in the same city at the same time?
    “Oy, what’s wrong?” Mia hissed, reminding Gideon he wasn’t alone here.
    He shook his head, not important. But it was, of course it was.
    “It’s still your money,” Jinna was insisting.
    But Rory was still backing up, brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “Best keep it for me, then,” he told her, “until I’ve need of it.” Then, before Jinna could protest further, Rory spun around to make a dashing exit.
    Or what would have been a dashing exit if he hadn’t misjudged the distance and pulled the door straight into his face.
    “That’ll leave a mark,” Mia muttered.
    “I’m all right!” Rory called out before stumbling outside.
    “Nutter,” Jinna said with a fond sigh as she turned to her two remaining customers, one of whom felt as if he, too, had been smacked by a door.
    “Sorry about that,” Jinna said, joining them to pour the tea. “Rory’s something of a regular and — oh! ” she stepped back as Gideon popped from the booth like a child’s bounce ball. “What—“
    “What’s his story?” Gideon asked, looming over her.
    “Who? Rory?” She