Hot off the Presses
"Who does that jerk Daniel Brady think he is?" M. J. Carter muttered under her breath, then raised her head to glance quickly around the newsroom of the
Nobody was paying attention to her,and she breathed a small sigh of relief.Swiping a hand through her short brown hair, she made an effort to get a grip on her frustration. Amessage had just come to her in-house computer mailbox, turning down her latest proposal—to do astory on evidence planting by the Denver P.D.The email was from her immediate boss, news editor Hank Mooney, but she was pretty sure DanielBrady was the one who had nixed the piece. Brady was the new editor of the
—which meant hisword was law around here.She sighed. Four months ago she'd been so pleased about coming back home. Aunt Martha had toldher about an opening at the
And after her success of getting half a dozen Chicago mobstersarrested, she'd been a hot property. Of course, it hadn't hurt that her aunt was friends with the
'snews editor. She'd submitted her résumé, interviewed for the job, and won out over several candidates.And she'd produced some blockbuster stories—until Daniel Brady had come on board.When she'd started working for the
he had still been in Afghanistan filing reports from various hotspots. Then his father, the paper's owner and editor-in-chief, had died of a heart attack. And the heir apparent had been called back to take over the reins. She'd heard he thought women should stay out of the war correspondent business. She hadn't realized he had the same prejudices about investigativereporting. She'd been working on a juicy story about a murder-for-hire gang. Brady had forced her toshare the assignment with another reporter, Arnold Findlay. And somehow Findlay had made it look as if he'd done most of the digging when the series of stories was published.M.J. had gnashed her teeth and vowed to get her fair share of the recognition next time. And as far asher friends and Aunt Martha were concerned, she was doing great at work. With the crowd down atSunny Jones's elegant beauty salon, it was a matter of pride. With Aunt Martha, it was a matter of expediency. Her aunt's health was fragile, and she wasn't going to burden her with any work-relatedcomplaints.The phone on her desk rang, and she picked up the receiver. "M.J. Carter.""Thank God I reached you," a low, urgent voice responded.She knew at once who it was. Anita Mangani, the daughter of Gianni Mangani, head of the Chicagocrime family who had been gunned down over a plate of veal parmigiana in an Italian restaurant. Hisdaughter had vowed to get even with the rival family, the Detellos, who had killed him, and she'd secretlycontacted M.J. For months, she'd fed M.J. leads—and the information had led to a number of arrestsand convictions."Anita? What's wrong?""I'm taking a big chance calling you. But I have to. Your boss is in danger.""Hank Mooney? The news editor.""No. I'm talking about Mr. Brady. They're going to kill him."