The only problem was that after leaving the Jericho Hole, she’d promised Penn not to publish anything about Brody Royal until midnight tonight. She regretted that promise now, but Penn had told her that he and John Kaiser were working together to obtain proof of Royal’s involvement in Viola Turner’s death. She couldn’t very well argue against a strategy that might gain Tom his freedom.

As her mind shifted to thoughts of Tom on the run, someone cleared their throat in her doorway. She looked up and saw Jenna Cross, her personal assistant, looking harried.

“What is it, Jen?”

“Your father’s on line two, returning your call.”

Caitlin nodded and lifted the landline next to her computer. She often called her father to authorize extra funds for specific stories, and their pattern of negotiation was invariable. John Masters would complain for a while, but in the end he would give his daughter what she wanted. But this time Caitlin’s request had been unusual. She’d asked her father to publish tomorrow’s Double Eagle stories not only in the Natchez Examiner, but in all twenty-six other papers of his chain. Since most Masters papers were based in the Southeast, the public reaction would come like a storm. But Penn’s goal of making the story so big that attacking Caitlin or Annie or Peggy would seem pointless would be well and truly accomplished.

“Hello, Daddy. What did you decide?”

Her father’s deep chuckle filled the earpiece. “I’ll run your story in ten papers.”

Caitlin started to argue out of reflex, then reconsidered. “Which ten?”

“The urban markets. Charleston, Wilmington, Savannah, Birmingham, et cetera, down the line.”

She closed her eyes and suppressed the impulse to ask for more. Agreeing to run her story in ten papers was an unprecedented concession from her father, whose strategy of expansion had always been based on giving small cities what they wanted: good news rather than strong medicine.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“How much space are these stories going to take up?”

“Pretty much the whole edition here, excepting the sports page.”

“You know I can’t give you that in the other papers.”

“What can you give me? This story’s going to go international sixty seconds after we go out with it.”

“Three related stories, a total of … three thousand words.”

This was like a gift from the gods, but still she clenched her jaw and said, “Four.”

“Thirty-five hundred, Cait, and that’s pushing it.”

Caitlin wanted to press him, but she stifled herself. She’d have to be content with adding links to the full suite of stories on the Examiner’s Web edition. “Done,” she said.

“When will you be finished with these stories?”

She was going to have to lie now and beg forgiveness later. “What’s the absolute latest I can get them out?”