“Yes, and you’re right. I also have a doctorate in bullshit, and I saw you coming a mile away.”

“Where is Eastern State University from the town of Eakins?” I asked.

Taylor grimaced, unsure about where I was going with my line of questioning. “ESU is in Eakins. Why do you ask?”

My heart sped up, booming so hard against my chest that my head began to throb. Breathing was no longer on autopilot. I sucked in air and then blew it out, trying to remain calm. “So, do you go back there very often? Reunions maybe?”

“I’m from there, so I go back all the time. You didn’t answer my question.”

By his expression, I could tell that he knew something was up. The entire tone of our conversation—along with my attitude—had changed.

I watched him watching me. I tried to keep my face smooth and the truth from reflecting in my eyes.

All the cash in my shoebox upstairs was to pay for a plane ticket to Chicago, a rental car, and a hotel room in Eakins, Illinois. It couldn’t just be a coincidence that this guy had breezed into my café and taken an interest in me.

“Just curious.”

His shoulders relaxed, but a spark still smoldered in his eyes. “I’ll tell you all about it. Let’s go.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you tonight,” I said. “You’re trying too hard. You could be a serial killer for all I know.”

“The Forest Service doesn’t employ serial killers.”

“How do I know you really even work for them?”

Taylor sighed, reached into his back pocket, and produced his wallet. He picked out his driver’s license and Alpine Hotshot Crew ID. “Is that good enough?” he asked.

I tried not to take the cards too quickly or look too interested before glancing over his ID card and then his license. His driver’s license was Illinois issued. He really was from Eakins.

“You never changed your license over?”

“It expires next month. I’ll get a Colorado one then. My boss has been on me about it, too.”

I held my breath as I poured over his address. He was telling the truth.

“Holy shit,” I whispered.

His address was on North Birch. I held out the cards, slowly returning them.

“What?” he asked, taking them from my fingers.

“Your driver’s license picture is atrocious. You look as bad as a hatful of assholes.”

Taylor laughed. “Whatever. I’m a fucking ace.”

I clicked my tongue. “Whoever told you that needs to get out more.”

His eyebrows pulled together, and he tucked his chin. “You’re either a liar or a lesbian. Which is it?”

Taylor was my way to Eakins. Quelling the urge to scream, laugh, cry, or jump up and down felt like holding on to a wild animal covered in grease.

I cleared my throat. “I need to lock up.”