“I don’t know what that means,” she said frostily. “Someone like you.”

Damn it. Everything he said seemed to be hitting a nerve. “I just meant it must be a little slow after the life you’re used to.”

She eyed him coldly. “You don’t know anything about the life I’m used to. And Sweetwater isn’t just a speck on the map. Stephen and I actually spent a few days here on our honeymoon. He said the two of you used to come here to fish.”

“We did. A long time ago. My grandfather had a cabin up on Silver Lake. It’s mine now. I guess we all run back to what we know. Nostalgia’s a pretty strong motivator.”

She straightened her shoulders, meeting his gaze squarely. “Coming here wasn’t about nostalgia. It was about necessity.”

“Too many memories?”

“Too many reporters. They were camped out in my driveway, waiting to pounce the minute I set foot out my door. I wound up having to sneak out of my own house in the middle of the night.”

“And you ended up here. I can see that, I guess. Wanting to be in a place where you and Stephen spent time.”

“Oh, that’s good,” she shot back drily. “Brokenhearted widow returns to honeymoon haven. Tug at the public’s heartstrings, and you can sell it as a human-interest story instead of what it really is—none of anyone’s damned business. Either way, I’m sure it’ll make a great story. Maybe you’ll win another award.”

“I’m not a reporter anymore.”

She blinked at him. “You expect me to believe that?”

Wade felt the familiar pulse flare to life at his temple. “I do, actually. And it’s not polite to assume someone’s a liar when you barely know them.”

She shrugged, a casual blend of hostility and skepticism. “Forgive me, but I’ve had experience with your type.”

“And what type is that?”

“The parasitic type, the kind who’d step over anyone or anything to get a scoop. But don’t take it personally. It’s how I feel about all reporters.”

Her words rankled more than he liked to admit; perhaps because they were hard to deny. Yes, he’d walked away from Week in Review. But it would be lying to say he hadn’t done things that went against his conscience. Still, he wasn’t about to let her know she had landed a blow.

“For starters,” he said, not bothering to keep the edge from his voice, “the word scoop went out with Perry White and the Daily Planet, so if you plan to continue bashing me, you might want to bone up on the lingo. And is it impossible to believe some of us went into journalism because we wanted to do some good?”

“Oh yes, tell me all about journalistic integrity. I’m sure doing good was exactly what the guy outside my bedroom window had in mind when he snapped a picture of me in my underwear.”

Wade felt his blood begin to simmer. She had every right to be angry—but not at him. “Guys who do what you just described aren’t journalists; they’re vultures. And I’ll thank you not to lump me in with them. I can show you—”

But she held up a hand before he could finish. “I don’t want to hear about your awards or sit through a recitation of your portfolio. I’m sure that’s what you all tell yourselves on the first day of reporter school—that you’re in it for truth, justice, and the American way, but I know what it’s like to be on the other side of the camera, to be mobbed by a pack of jackals who don’t care who they crush as long as they get the chance to shove a picture of your husband’s half-naked girlfriend in your face while the cameras are rolling, so please . . . spare me your indignation.”

Wade tried to blink away the images that had just burned themselves into his brain or to at least prioritize them. It was hard to know what to focus on first; the indefensible—not to mention illegal—invasion of her privacy or her casual mention of a half-naked girlfriend. Either way, he found himself seething, disgusted that she’d had to endure that kind of humiliation at the hands of the media—or her husband for that matter. For all he knew, someone from Week in Review had been part of the mob in her driveway. Someone like Simone.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he told her quietly. “In fact, I’m sorry anyone ever has to go through it, which is why I left Review—and New York. I needed to get the taste of it out of my mouth.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Just like that, you up and quit?”

“Just like that. I don’t own a television, and there’s no Wi-Fi at the cabin, which is why I had no idea Stephen was dead, no idea about the girlfriend, no idea about any of it. That’s the truth, Christine.”

“Please don’t call me that.” She sounded tired all of a sudden. And looked it too. “I’m Christy-Lynn Parker here, though I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

“You changed your name?”

“It’s my maiden name. I was trying to fly under the radar, and until you arrived, I was doing fine.”

“There was no way I could have known that.”

“You weren’t lying,” she said finally. “You really didn’t know.”

“I really didn’t. The picture of the woman—that really happened the way you said?”

“Yes.”