Nuts! I twisted both hands into my hair and pulled until my eyes watered. I’d lost my train of thought before, but never like this: vanished out of my mind, tracks and all.
    
I took a furtive peek around. If the handful of people getting their caffeine fix had noticed, they were ignoring me. The regulars were probably used to me by now: the weird guy at the corner table, typing a marathon on his laptop.

Except my fingers weren’t even crawling now. I pushed my glasses up into my hair and pressed my palms against my eyes. There was a reason for the word “dead” in “deadlines.” If this one didn’t kill me, the next one might.

The chair across from me scraped the ceramic tile floor. “Robert J. Hawke?”

I didn’t move. Deep voice, authoritative. He said “J” not “Jules” so it wasn’t a court summons. Always a good thing.

He’d used my professional name. I pressed harder on my eyes and little lights flickered. This wasn’t a good moment to impress a stranger. Then again, he wasn’t interrupting anything.

I raised my head, slid my glasses back into place, and put on a smile. Eyes blurry from their massage, all I could make out at first was a lean silhouette in the opposite chair. I blinked a few times and his features sharpened.

Then I stared. At the darkest eyes I’d ever seen, in a battle-seasoned, handsome face topped with thick black hair in an all-American crew cut.

Another blink. Harder. I knew this face better than my own, but….

“Robert J. Hawke?”

I clasped his outstretched hand. “Call me Bobby. You have the most uncanny resemblance—”

“I am Travers. We need to talk.”

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