“You spoke in the past tense. Why are you here now?” “Because you’re in danger. The deeper you look into Tim Jessup’s death, the more likely it is you’ll be hurt.” I see disbelief in her eyes, but not because she doubts the danger. “You know I’ve worked stories like that before.” “This is different. I’ve worked dangerous cases. But these people will kill without hesitation.” “What people?” “We may get to that. But you need to know that you can’t trust your phones—not your cell or the landlines at home. I’m not sure about the newspaper phones.” Now she doubts me. “Who are you talking about? Who can tap landlines? Bad cops? The FBI again? Who?” “It’s complicated. You also have to realize that people like Julia Jessup tell other people you’ve questioned them. They say that on open phone lines. And the wrong thing in the wrong ear will get you dead.” “Where’s Annie?” Caitlin asks, ignoring my warnings. I shake my head. “Is she even in town? Your house never looked so empty.” Caitlin thinks for a moment. “You sent her away, didn’t you? Penn, what’s going on?” “Just wait a second. Do you remember the agreement we used to have about cases like this?” “Of course.” “What was it?” She rolls her eyes. “We tell each other all we can, but we don’t use anything the other says has to stay secret.” Right, so far. “And…?” She sighs in exasperation. “I don’t publish anything until you clear it. And you don’t put anything in your novels that I want to save for myself.” “Okay. Can we go forward with that understanding?” She purses her lips as though trying to judge whether I might be trapping her in some way, but at length she relents. “All right. Deal.” “I need your help, Caitlin. That must be obvious, since I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” This seems to wound her. “What kind of help? I’m here, okay?” “For how long?” “You mean how long will I be in Natchez? You know me. That’s open-ended. What exactly do you need? You don’t want to manipulate the newspaper, do you?” “No. I need physical cover.” “Translate that.” “I need a girlfriend.” “A girlfriend?” Wry amusement touches her mouth. “Didn’t you just get rid of one?” “I’m not kidding. The people I’m dealing with have very sophisticated surveillance equipment and enough time to watch me around the clock, if they want to. I need an excuse to disappear sometimes. Like into your house. Or to go on a drive. They already know who you are, and they know we have a past. It’s a credible cover.” “I see. And what do I get out of this arrangement? Are you proposing a friends-with-benefits kind of deal?” The look in my eyes must be all the answer she needs, because she immediately holds up both hands in apology. “What did you always get out of this arrangement?” I ask. “Stories.” “Big stories.” “Okay, okay. I’m in. I just wanted to be sure. So what’s the story? Crystal meth in the Deep South? I really hope not.” “What do you know about dogfighting?” “Dogfighting?” “Yes.” Her face goes blank. “Nothing. Less than nothing.” “Time to learn.”