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rambling shack, but it was on a spectacular lake about two hours north of Portland. In his heart, it was home. Andi hadn’t tried to gain any possession of it during the divorce and he had given her a lifelong promise to let her use it. Now he supposed that meant Kurt would be resting up in the Harris family cabin.  
    Suggesting improvements, no doubt.  
    Ben said, “Do you know about Kurt and Andi?”  
    “Yeah, he called me this morning. Romantic bastard, keeping up with his workload on his wedding day. The way I read it, he jumped so fast when Andi said yes that he forgot he’s got an issue to get out this week. He said you might be in the market for some work yourself right now, join me on a little surveillance.”
    Ben slung his duffel bag into the Jeep. “I told him last night when I dropped the kids off that I’d be taking a week. Who the hell does he think he is?”
    Peter looked at Ben like he was an idiot. “He’s your editor. Besides, what makes you think you’re so special? With three out of five marriages ending in divorce, and a lot of them remarrying with kids in between, plenty of guys are locked in with some bastard.”
    Ben closed the tailgate. “Well, I’m going to try to forget that for a few days.”
    “You’re going to leave me to chase these nuts by myself?”
    “God knows there are enough hungry kids out there who would be thrilled to work with the famous Peter Gallagher.”
    Ben started to get into the Jeep when Peter grabbed his arm. “None of them are my old drinking buddies. Look, the work is what keeps you going. And the work you and I’ve done together is the best of our careers, and you know it. You going to let this new situation ruineverything?”
    “I’m coming back. Just need some time away.”
    Peter shook his head. “These stories won’t wait.”
    Ben laughed. “Nothing I hate more than a goddamn pushy reporter. Listen, ask Kurt for another photographer. He’ll assign one.”
    Peter shook his head. “You know I wouldn’t trust anyone else this early in the story. Give me a camera, I’ll do it myself.”
    “You’d put your thumb in front of the lens.”
    “C’mon,” Peter said. “Stay and shoot. Keep your mind on your work, the rest of this shit will fade away.”
    Ben just looked at Peter, who kept his face sincere for a couple of beats before giving up and smiling sheepishly. “Hell, that’s what I tell myself, anyhow. Sometimes I’ll go a whole hour or two without thinking about Sarah or Cindy.”
    Ben smiled slowly and got out of the truck. “Come here.” He opened the tailgate and pulled out a camera bag. He mounted a four-hundred millimeter lens onto an autofocus camera body, switched on the camera, and made sure it was set to the simplest programmed exposure mode. “This is where you turn it on. You press this button, and the lens will focus. You press it a little harder and it’ll take the picture. There are thirty-six shots of fast film in there and there’s plenty more in the bag. You know where I keep the key to the van.” He pointed to his old Ford, painted a nondescript gray. “That’ll give you room to shoot, a tripod, and a little urban camouflage. But stick to the horny senator, if you think you’ve got to do that story. Don’t go after that gangland boy on your own. Some of them are pretty camera shy.”
    Ben switched the camera off and put it back into the bag. He draped the strap over Peter’s shoulder.
    “I think you’re missing the point,” Peter said.
    “So are you. Whether or not I quit Insider, and how I’ll learn to live with Kurt playing daddy to my kids are things that I need to think about long and hard—and on my own. I’d also like to do it without spying on someone through that hunk of metal, plastic, and glass. All right?”
    Peter smiled ruefully. “Just took me so long to break you in, I don’t want to have to start from scratch with some Jimmy Olson.”
    Ben shook Peter’s hand. “I appreciate the