Stephanie knew there was no point in denying it but she had to try. "What makes you think…?"

Jane picked up her right hand, and showed it to her. "I saw your class ring – Sigma Tau Delta, the International English Honor Society."

Stephanie snatched her hand back. "That doesn't mean I'm a writer."

"You did Bowman's interviews."

"That's what a personal assistant does."

Jane continued, "You didn't mind at all when I insulted Bowman's intelligence and lifestyle but you didn't like it when I criticized his writing. Because it's your writing." Jane crossed his arms and smiled.

His self satisfied smirk was too much for her and Stephanie turned away. All these years and this jerk figures it out in a little over an hour?

"But why even bother with a front?" Jane asked. "The "Old Boy Network" is a cliché. There are plenty of woman writers out there now."

Stephanie turned back around. "I don't want my name associated with the kind of crap printed in 'The Truthfinder'. It was supposed to just pay the bills until I publish something I can be proud of. Trust me - becoming the star reporter for a tabloid wasn't part of my career plan." She sat on one of the folding chairs and began to put away the first aid supplies.

Jane took the other chair and sat opposite her. "I'd discourage you away from nursing as well. You don't have a gentle touch," He said. No response. That meant he'd annoyed her. Jane smiled again and leaned forward on the table. "So who is the man currently known as Benson Bowman really?"

"Why should I tell you?" she asked.

"So I can be more convincing when Gary the Gunman and Steve get here," Jane reminded her.

Stephanie snapped the lid back on to the first aid kit. "Benson is his real name. He's not a much of a writer but he is William Hurst's nephew. I dated him to get a connection to get my foot in the door with a publisher." She noticed Jane's grimace at calling Hurst a publisher. "Any publisher," she said defensively. "That's how you break in to writing. Anyway, Benson and I met while we both worked at a restaurant. I had already graduated." She smiled ruefully. "You see my career was off to a brilliant start. Benson was barely squeaking by on his "interdisciplinary studies" degree. Benson is a sweet guy. But he isn't the brightest in his family. His parents are both doctors, his sister is an attorney, his brother designs million dollar buildings. He was under a lot of pressure. As a favor, I wrote an essay for Benson for his journalism class. It was a good one – made it into the college paper. His family jumped all over it because it was the first thing he had ever done well. He got a lot of attention, especially from his uncle William. He printed it in the Truthfinder, and it got a lot of letters. He offered Benson a job. Benson had to keep face…"

"So you've been ghostwriting for him for how long?"

Stephanie hesitated to think. "Nine years," she said. She was horrified it had been that long.

Jane read that in her face. "That's a long time to spend in the shadows," he said.

"I guess I just kind of got used to it," she replied softly. "I have serious projects that I'm working on, but the tabloid stuff keeps me pretty busy. I'm supporting two people with it."

"And two homes. You don't live here. You and Benson are no longer romantically involved."

"That didn't last long," Stephanie agreed. "We work better together as a business arrangement."

"What does Benson actually contribute?"

"He's the connection. He's the face. I do the most of the research and the writing; he goes into the office a couple of times a week and plays the part."

Jane nodded. "It's Benson then that goes to the parties and comes up with the gossip column stuff…"

"Yeah," said Stephanie. "And I do all the serious work."

"Serious," laughed Jane. "You call UFO's, Bigfoot, that kind of nonsense serious?"

"Compared to celebrity gossip, yes." Stephanie said, righteously meeting his eyes. "You know, you're starting to look familiar…"

Jane turned his chair slightly. "I get that all of the time."

"What did you say your name was?" she asked.

Jane hesitated as long as he felt he could get away with it. "Patrick Jane," he finally answered.

"I remember," Stephanie said, growing solemn. "I'm sorry about what happened."

"Thanks," he said simply.

"We were supposed to do a story about you…"

Patrick stared silently across the room, stone-faced.

"I even started the research." She waited for a reaction but got none. "But the day your story broke was also the day the Shuttle Columbia crashed - we were redirected to write about the conspiracy theory angle…Your tragedy got lost in a bigger one," she said quietly.

Patrick didn't reply. He didn't even blink.

"Thank goodness for that," Stephanie said.

"There was no goodness involved," Patrick said.

The two of them sat in a cold silence. It was finally broken by the sound of a car in the driveway.

* * * *