People don’t change that much.” Sam addressed the projected screen on the wall in the Hilton banquet hall. “Not even over the thousands of years that have passed between the era of the Emishi and today. The study of ancient peoples is the study of ourselves.”

Sam cleared his throat and advanced the last slide to the blank screen at the end of his presentation and faced the darkened room full of faces with a smile.

“Once we understand the people of the past, we’ll be one step closer to understanding the people we face in the mirror every day.” He set down the presentation remote. “Thank you.”

He wrapped his fingers around the edges of the podium as the room erupted in applause and the flash of cameras from the back of the room. He ducked his head against the sound and the light and stepped off the platform to where Mia and the Doc waited for him at their table.

“Well done, boy,” Dr. Davalos mumbled as Sam found his seat.

Sam nodded brusquely and glanced at Mia. Her radiant smile was more blinding than the camera flashes.

After all his research, his careful planning, his complex slides, Mia had nearly ruined everything for him when she walked into the banquet hall in a midnight blue cocktail dress with her hair pulled up in a bun, showing off the porcelain nape of her neck. It was a miracle he’d survived the speech. His tongue was still glued to the roof of his mouth.

She’s trying to kill me.

He took a giant swig of his water glass and swallowed forcefully.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.” Provost Morrow spoke from the podium, bobbing his head with an ingratiating smile. “Thank you, Dr. Logan, for your thoroughness and accuracy.”

A smattering of applause sounded around the room.

“Now, before we adjourn for the evening, we have one final presentation to make.” Morrow adjusted his glasses and checked his notes. “As you all know, the Harry S. Parker Award for Excellence in Research and Community Outreach is a special honor reserved for only the most careful historians, who employ only the most highly trustworthy and time-tested methods of analysis and criticism.”

Sam tuned most of the rest of it out. Morrow was the type who liked to listen to his own voice. Now that the speech was over, Sam’s part in the evening was finished. All that remained was gathering business cards, hobnobbing with the smarmy politicians, as the Doc liked to call them. Then, it would be over.

“Recipients of this award are also commended on their work within their local communities.” Morrow droned from the stage like a cicada.

Sam took another sip of water and fixed his eyes on Mia.

The candlelight sparkled in the beads woven into the bodice of her dress. The lacy three-quarter sleeves showed off the shape of her arms, and the neckline swooped just low enough to reveal her graceful collar bone.

Did she even realize how beautiful she was?

Granted, it was fortunate that she looked extraordinary tonight. After all, his speech had been extraordinary, so in all the conversations that were yet to come, it would be nice to be able to indicate that they worked together. It could only help his reputation being associated with someone like Mia Davalos who had an impeccable family, high marks for intellect, and beauty to spare.

And besides, he would have photos from this night forever, with Mia looking like that, hanging on his arm and not Ryan’s. Like right now. Ryan didn’t get to spend the evening with her. Ryan didn’t get to see her dressed like this. Ryan wasn’t here to distract her.

“The winner of this year’s Harry S. Parker Award for Excellence in Research and Community Outreach is Dr. Samuel Logan.”

Mia’s eyes went wide, and she gawked at him. The room rang and rumbled with applause.

For a moment, Sam didn’t understand why she looked at him that way. Slowly, what Morrow had said sank in, and Sam turned to stare at the podium.

Was he joking?

They had awarded him the Harry S. Parker Award?

Sam looked back at Dr. Davalos, who was smirking like a fiend. The rat. He’d known the whole time.

“To award this prestigious honor,” Morrow flashed a bright grin at Sam, “I’d like to invite someone very special to the platform. Please welcome, Mr. Gideon Montgomery.”

Sam’s stomach turned over.

The room began to spin, panic crawling up his arms.

No. They didn’t.

From the side of the banquet hall, a stooped-over old man in a brown-and-white checkered button-down shirt shuffled toward the stage on the arm of one of the waiters. The applause started again, but Sam barely heard it, all his attention focused on Gideon.

He’s alive.

His heart hammered in his chest. Surely the old man had to be eighty by now. Maybe older.

What is he going to say? Sam’s heart stopped throbbing and fell into his stomach. Oh crap.

Gideon stepped onto the platform, and Dr. Morrow guided him to the podium.

“Why thank you, sir.” Gideon beamed in Dr. Morrow’s general direction, his pale eyes milky and unseeing like they’d been for years. “Hello, everyone.” His grin showed his white teeth, the expression wrinkling his old dark skin and the silver scruff he hadn’t shaved. “You’ll have to forgive this old man. I’m not a fancy talker.”

Sam drew a shaking breath.

Calm. He had to stay calm. If Gideon had any sense left in his dumb head, he wouldn’t get too personal.

“You all are probably wondering how somebody like me knows somebody like Dr. Sam Logan.” Gideon’s soft voice carried the same gruffness it always had. “Well, I’ve known Sam since he was a little boy, so I can tell you honestly that he hasn’t changed much. He talked back then the same way he talked tonight, with all those big fancy words.”

Sam scrubbed his hand across his face as soft laughter rippled across the room.

This isn’t happening.

“He always wanted answers,” Gideon nodded, holding on to the podium for balance, “and he was sure good at finding them. No library anywhere could hide anything from him, so you better believe I couldn’t either.”

More laughter.

Don’t do it, Gideon.

“I remember when he was eight years old—”

Crap.

“His mama and I planned the perfect birthday party for him.” Gideon grinned, his eyes crinkling with a thousand laugh lines. “Cake and streamers, games, all his little friends. But no clowns. He didn’t like those fellas at all.”

The laughter was louder this time.

Sam shut his eyes.

“My job was to keep all the decorations hid until his mama got home so she could do the house up for him.” Gideon chuckled. “You can put the pieces together I’m sure. Sam found all the streamers and the games and the party hats before he’d been in my house ten minutes. He was just that good at finding stuff.”

Sam clenched his fists and unclenched them, breathing in, breathing out. Calmness was the key. Keep the temper in check. It didn’t matter that Gideon was getting personal in front of a room full of people he needed to impress. It didn’t matter that no one had told him this was coming so he could mentally prepare for it. He could prepare for it now because he was good enough to do it.

“But that’s not what I remember about that day most,” Gideon kept talking, his voice rough. “When Sam found all his party decorations, he wanted to know who was coming. So I told him. I wasn’t real good at not telling him things. But see, Sam didn’t just want his little friends from school to come to his party. He wanted everybody to come. The next door neighbors. The cross-the-street neighbors. The homeless folks on the corner. Everyone.”

This is a disaster.

“When Dr. Morrow asked me to come give out this award, I wasn’t surprised. Not at all.” Gideon shook his head. “An award for researching? Absolutely. Sam Logan can do that. But he don’t stop there. Because Sam was always good at finding stuff, but he was better at sharing it. Congratulations, Sam. Now come up here and get this plaque, because my blind be-hind ain’t got a snowball’s chance of finding you in here.”

Gideon took a step back from the podium, and the room erupted in laughter and applause. Sam rolled his eyes and stood, adjusting his tie and returning to the stage when Morrow beckoned him. Morrow pulled him on to the stage, handed him the award plaque, and they posed for a photograph that swam in his vision.

And then—Gideon was embracing him.

Those big, strong arms. He was only a bit shorter, but back in the day, he’d been taller. And he was probably still stronger.

“How you been, boy?” Gideon rumbled in his ear.

“Gideon.”

Sam flushed at the sound of his own voice. Rough with emotion, shaking. Dear God, what was wrong with him? Had Ryan infected him with some kind of mushy-gushy feeler virus?

Morrow dismissed everyone, and the room filled with the chatter and buzz of conversation.

He peeled himself away from Gideon and cleared his throat. Gideon held on to his arm, weathered face beaming with happiness and eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Your mama’d be so proud of you, boy.” Gideon squeezed his arm. “I know she would. And I surely am.”

Sam gulped until his throat felt raw. “What are you doing here, Gid?”

“They called me.” Gideon tucked his arm into Sam’s. “Must have found something about me in one of those entrance essays I had to write for you all those years ago. Or maybe your mama’s will.”

Sam guided him to the edge, and Gideon paused before he stepped down.

“Dr. Logan, Mr. Montgomery.” Morrow came up behind them. “Let’s get one more photo.”

“Oh, a photo. Yeah, let’s do a photo.” Gideon patted Sam’s arm. “I can put it on my wall and look at it every morning.”

Sam scoffed. “Your sense of humor hasn’t changed.”

Gideon straightened, shoulders back in the old military style he’d never abandon. “I’m funny. Why should it?”

Provost Morrow joined them on Sam’s side, and he and Morrow faced the camera.

“Down and to the left a bit,” Sam muttered to Gideon.

“Oh.” Gideon repositioned and fired his most charming smile at a nearby table.

“More left.”

“How much?”

“Keep going.”

“Now?”

“Keep going.”

“Boy, if you’re spinning me in circles—”

“Stop.”

Gideon beamed, and Sam forced a smile he hoped looked natural. The camera flash popped, and a wave of blinding light washed over him.

Flames burned in his vision. The room spun and whirled, and he was falling. Falling—falling—falling, but he was standing still. He couldn’t move. Chained in place. Agony lanced through his mind like a javelin, tore him open from the inside out. Blood dripped from his eyes.

He blinked, and the vision vanished.

He stood between Gideon and Morrow. The photographer was lowering the camera. The room buzzed with activity.

Gideon patted Sam’s back. “Still with me, boy?”

“Yeah.” Sam licked his lips.

“Good. Take me someplace I can get a drink. This old man is parched.”

“Right.” Sam took his arm and led him toward the table.

What was that?

He shook himself and blinked his eyes until the room looked like an old movie reel. The vision didn’t return. The pain didn’t either.

Weird.

Whatever it was, hopefully it wouldn’t happen again. He had enough to focus on without random visions interrupting him. The worst part of the night was yet to come.

He’d have to introduce Gideon to Mia.