 Harper Collins presents The Echo-Killing by Christie Daherty, read by Jane Perry. Chapter 1. It was one of those nights. Early on there was a flicker of hope, a couple of stabbings, a car wreck with potential, but the wounds weren't serious and the accident was routine. After that it fell quiet. A quiet night is the worst thing that can happen to a crime reporter. With an hour to go until her midnight deadline, Harper McClain sat alone in the empty newsroom with no story to write, doing the one thing she despised most in the world. A crossword puzzle. On the far wall, tall windows reflected back a dark image of the huge open room with its white columns and rows of empty desks, but Harper didn't notice it. She was glaring at the paper on her desk. Smudged and scratched out letters glared back like an accusation of failure. "'Why would anyone know an eight-letter word for reckless bravery?' she grumbled. "'I've got a seven-letter word for bravery. It's called...bravery. I don't need a longer word.'" "'Adacity!' the voice soared across the room from the editor's desk at the front. Harper looked up. City editor Emma Baxter appeared to be focused on her computer screen, a silver cross-pen glittering in one hand like a small sword. "'Excuse me?' An eight-letter word for reckless bravery, Baxter spoke without shifting her eyes from the monitor. "'Adacity!' Baxter was pushing fifty at varying rates of speed. She was small and wiry, and that only made her look better in a navy blazer. Her angular face had a permanent look of vague dissatisfaction, but somehow that suited her too. Everything about her was precise, her perfectly even short nails, her stiff posture, and you could cut your hand on the razor-sharp edge of her straight, dark bob. "'How the hell do you know that?' There was no gratitude in Harper's voice. "'In fact, why the hell do you know that?' "'There is something fundamentally wrong with anyone who can answer a question like, "'What's an eight-letter word for bravery without first wanting to off themselves with a...' At her elbow, her police scanner crackled to life. "'This is unit 397. We got a signal nine with possible signal sixes.' Harper's voice trailed off. She cocked her head to listen. "'I'm willing to forgive your insubordination on this one occasion,' Baxter said magnanimously. But Harper had already forgotten all about audacity. On her desk, her phone buzzed. She picked it up. "'Miles,' she said, "'You heard the shooting?' "'Yep. Slow night just got busier.' Sample complete. Ready to continue?'