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“An accident. Tell me, do you hop into bed with every man you meet?”

“Listen—”

“Didn’t your daddy love you?”

She dropped her gaze to the tabletop, then almost immediately brought it back up to him. “I guess I can’t blame you for forming such a low opinion of me.”

“Ah, now we move from pal to penitent.”

“Damn you,” she shouted, smacking the tabletop hard as she came to her feet. “I’m being honest.”

He too stood up. “No, Miss Travis, you’re either being brave or stupid. I can’t figure out which. But either way, I’m not going to talk to you about myself or the Merritts. And I’m not interested in anything you have to say about them, either.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said earlier about the death of their baby?”

“I heard it. I ignored it. I’ll continue to.” He stacked her plate on top of his, then carried both to the sink and ran water over them.

“Why are you ignoring it?”

“Because it’s the kind of comment you reporters throw out, hoping that some sucker will bite.”

“Do you think I’d make such a serious statement just for the hell of it?”

He turned off the water and faced her. “Yeah. In the short time that we’ve known each other, I have reason to think that you’d do just about anything to get a gig on 20/20. Instead of messing with me, why don’t you sleep with a network producer?”

“Because none of the network producers I know were Vanessa Merritt’s lover.”

His surge of rage frightened him. Before he could act on it, he sidestepped her and headed to the back of the house. He could hear her coming after him. She moved so fast that suddenly she was in front of him, her hands on the center of his chest.

She was breathing hard. “You think I came here to swap sex for a juicy story. I didn’t. In fact, I’m mortified for the way I compromised myself and my profession. You don’t know me, so you’ll have to take my word for it when I tell you how badly I wanted to skulk out that front door, and how hard it is for me even to look you in the face.”

Something in her voice caused him to wait and listen.

She removed her hands from his sternum and smoothed them down the sides of her skirt. “That I’m still here should give you some indication of how important this story is, Mr. Bondurant. Not just to me and my career. To everyone. Please hear me out. Then, if you order me to leave, I will. No argument. Five minutes, okay?”

It was a very good act, he thought, but not good enough. His innate caution had been heightened by his recon training, which had taught him never to accept the surface appearance of anything or anyone. Experience had taught him that journalists were vicious scavengers. They would pick your bones clean without the least bit of remorse, then leave you exposed and vulnerable as they moved on to the next victim.

However, despite his statements to the contrary, he was growing interested in what Barrie Travis knew, or had surmised, about the SIDS death of Vanessa’s child. Knowing it was a bad idea, and hoping that he wouldn’t later regret it too much, he agreed to five minutes. “Outside.”

He took the rocking chair. She sat on the top step, her arms wrapped around her shins. She was probably cold, but he didn’t offer her anything to ward off the morning chill.

Now that he had granted her an ear, she seemed reluctant to begin, although she had her notepad ready. “It’s so beautiful here.”

This morning, the valley was shrouded in fog. The mountains were obscured by it, but the imminent sunrise had made the mist as pink as cotton candy. The air was cool and crisp.

“The barn looks older than the house and garage.”

Pretty observant. “It was here when I bought the place. It had been built over the original homesite. I just did some refurbishing.”

The horses were playing a frisky game of chase in the corral. “What are their names?” she asked.

“They don’t have names.”

He saw her surprise. “Your horses don’t have names? How sad. Why not?”

“Is this the interview, Miss Travis?”

She gave a puzzled shake of her head. “I’ve never met anyone who didn’t name his pets. Part of Cronkite’s personality is his name.” As she told him about her dog, her face turned soft and animated. “He’s a big, floppy, affectionate, spoiled baby. You should have a dog,” she said. “It would be good company for you.”