Edited for Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

I know,” Clarice nods her agreement. “Already the cops think sometimes I’m too aggressive, and I don’t want them to shut off the information.”
    “That’s part of it, but have you considered that you may end up being called as a witness?” I take a swig of wine. “Or that some of your stuff, maybe your cell phone or your shoes, could get tagged as evidence? And what about your notes? What happens if the DA’s office wants all your notes or subpoenas you? Should the Press go to bat for you, pay attorney’s fees?” I set my glass down on the bar a little too hard and the wine sloshes.
    Clarice’s blond hair hasn’t gotten any more attractive during the chase, and a half hour of running her hands through it as she writes doesn’t help. What began as a short, spiky do is now a series of clumps and wisps falling in her eyes. She blows a few strands away and says, “You’re right. I know you’re right. In another life I maybe should have been a cop. But I really don’t want to. I love what I do and I want to do it well.”
    I touch her shoulder as we walk out of the bar. “Good work today, Clar, I really mean it. I don’t want you to go off and be a cop, I want you to stay with journalism. You’re too good to lose. I plan to be reading you in the New York Times some day.”
    She looks at me with a wicked grin.
    “You will, Amy, you will,” she says and opens her car door.

 
     
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    My favorite part of the job has always been the adrenaline.
    I began in journalism on the cops beat. It’s a place where there’s always news and I loved it. It’s how I met my first husband, Vinnie-the-cop. His family called him that; I took it up through osmosis.
    I was learning the ropes, getting more and more story assignments when I got pregnant with Heather, our daughter. When I went back to work, Vinnie insisted that I take a different, less dangerous assignment, so I starting covering local politics. Safe as milk until a disgruntled city sanitation worker holed up in the mayor’s office as I was interviewing His Honor.
    SWAT was called, no shots were fired, everybody walked away, but Vinnie was upset.
    “Goddamn it Amy, you’re supposed to be safe!” he roared at me. “I’m the one with the dangerous job.”
    “Hey, my job isn’t supposed to be dangerous,” I yelled back. “That was only a fluke. You know that. Jeez, nowadays you can be doing the most innocent thing and get shot by some jerk-off going postal. What about all those people who are just waiting in line to buy stamps when an idiot comes in! What about the school shootings? Those crazies use AK-47s to mow down kids on a school playground.”
    “I know, I know. I just want to keep you and Heather safe,” he yelled back.
    “Well, we can’t stay locked up in the house forever. I’m a big girl. I have a career that I love. I take precautions. You can’t just wrap us up in cotton wool. And you can’t just dictate to me!”
    We fought for a couple of months until I finally caved in and said I’d ask for a features beat. I loved Vinnie, Heather was my soul, but reporting and writing were my breath.
    Less than a year later, I was back at the San Fernando Valley Globe, covering local government again. Vinnie was a good cop, a careful cop, but he let the hysteria of a high-speed chase get him involved in a gun battle. The bad guy—who’d killed two innocent kids in a drug deal gone bad, then taken off in a stolen car—was dead. But so was Vinnie.
    My widow’s pension wasn’t enough to support us and I couldn’t just stay home and be a mom. Too many ghosts were in my head. I needed something big, something challenging, to keep them buried.
    The San Fernando Valley Globe helped with this. I was back into politics and one assignment was a local rally for a councilman looking to make a state-wide run. I was chatting with a campaign staffer when a good-looking man came up and joined us. The staffer’s eyebrows rose, but he