Love Kills Read Online Free PDF Page B

bustled by a new security guard without a challenge. So far, so good.
    Ryan rushed from his desk for a hug moments after I stepped off the elevator and into the newsroom. I felt the stares, heard the murmurs, and the voices calling my name from other desks. Fred was in his small glass-front office.
    â€œLook at you, Montero!” he boomed. “Must have been quite a vacation.”
    I was tanner than I’d ever been, my hair longer and sun-streaked. “Yep,” I said jauntily. “But now it’s back to the salt mine. I hope.”
    My stomach did a free fall as he paused to survey me thoughtfully. I had left suddenly, uncertain about my plans, and Fred had warned he couldn’t guarantee me a job if and when I returned.
    â€œWhen do you want to start?”
    I shrugged casually, weak with relief. “This afternoon?”
    He smiled. Fred is a rarity in the business, smart and creative, a tough editor with a heart.
    â€œDo we renegotiate salary?” I asked brightly.
    â€œDon’t push your luck, Montero. I’ll probably catch heat for this as it is. The budget’s tight and we’re in a hiring freeze.”
    â€œSo it’s back to my old beat?”
    He gazed past me, out his picture window toward the cranes punctuating Miami Beach’s pastel skyline. “I’m thinking of moving Santiago off the City Hall beat and sending you in there.”
    My heart hit the floor. I had covered city politics briefly, early in my career. My whole head, including my teeth, would ache as day-long city commission meetings stretched into evening and the early morning hours, as our erratic and volatile city fathers insulted, threatened, and occasionally threw punches at lobbyists, cops, irate taxpayers, city employees, and one another.
    â€œThat a problem?” Fred’s eyes took on an edgy, questioning glint.
    I shrugged. “I liked the police beat. Sort of made it my own. I did a good job.”
    His lips tightened. “There’s no lack of crime at City Hall,” he said tersely. “A helluva lot of One-A stories come out of Dinner Key. Graft, greed, and corruption, malfeasance, misfeasance, and nonfeasance, politicians doing perp walks—everything from low comedy to Greek tragedy wrapped up on one beat. What more could a reporter want?”
    He was right. A city commissioner, a former war hero driven to the brink by personal demons and political and legal problems, had fired a fatal bullet into his own head in the newspaper’s lobby last year.
    How inflexible was Fred, I wondered. I didn’t want to argue myself out of a job, but pushed anyway. “I was really good on the police beat,” I repeated stubbornly. “From what I hear, nobody’s really covering the cops.” I glanced meaningfully at the newspapers stacked on his desk. “Who knows what stories we’ve missed?”
    â€œThe competition did beat us badly on the last few big cop-shop stories.” He leaned back in his chair, cracked his knuckles, and contemplated the ceiling.
    â€œIt’s where I would do you the most good.”
    He remained reluctant. “City Hall is a gold mine for an enterprising reporter who knows how to dig,” he said persuasively. “Change is healthy. Show ’em how it’s done, Montero. I think it’s best, under the circumstances.”
    â€œI’ve had enough change.” Did he detect the quaver in my voice? I hated to sound pathetic. “I need to go back to something familiar for a while.”
    â€œSure you can handle it?” The concern in his eyes looked fatherly.
    â€œAbsolutely. No sweat,” I said, wondering in sudden panic if I could. Was he right?
    Now that I had doubts, his seemed to lessen. “Have it your way, Montero, if you feel that strongly. But at the first sign it isn’t working, come to me. Got that?”
    â€œGot it.” I stood to go, before he, or others, could change