Private Scandals

the standoff between police and Elmer Johnson, a former mechanic who chose this spot to take his stand. Johnson’s only demand is contact with his estranged wife, Arlene.”
    Though he sensed activity behind him, Finn’s eyes stayed fixed on the camera’s light.
    “Johnson, well armed, is holding five hostages. In his appeal to—”
    There was a scream from behind him. Finn shifted instantly to give Curt room to tape.
    It happened quickly, as if all the waiting hours had been focused on this one moment. The child, trembling and weeping, stepped outside. Even as the shadow of the awning fell over her face, a wild-eyed man sprinted out, screaming as he hurtled toward escape. The rash of gunfire from the restaurant propelled the man forward, off his feet. It was Jenner, Finn saw, who scooped the child aside even as Johnson stumbled to the door.
    The sniper’s bullet plowed through Johnson’s forehead.
    “Oh man.” Curt kept repeating the words over and over under his breath as he held the camera steady. “Man, oh man, oh man.”
    Finn only shook his head. The burning in his left arm made him glance down curiously. Brows knit, he touched the hole in his sleeve. His fingers came away sticky with blood.
    “Well, hell,” he murmured. “I got this coat in Milan.”
    “Shit, Riley.” Curt’s eyes bulged. “Shit. You’re hit.”
    “Yeah.” He didn’t feel any pain yet, only dull annoyance. “You just can’t patch leather, either.”
     
    On Monday, as soon as the morning show was taped, Deanna stood in the center of her office, her eyes glued to the TV screen. It seemed unbelievable that she could hear Finn’s voice supplying the details over the special report.
    She saw the scene as he had, the shattered glass, the bloodied body. The camera bobbled and swung as the sniper fired. Her heart jerked as she heard the pop and ping of bullets.
    Through it all, Finn’s voice remained calm, cool, with an underpinning of fury she doubted any of his viewers were aware of. She stood, a fist pressed to her heart as the camera zoomed in on the child, weeping in the arms of a rumpled man with graying hair.
    “Deanna.” Jeff hesitated in the doorway, then crossed the room to stand beside her.
    “It’s horrible,” she murmured. “Unbelievable. If that man hadn’t panicked and run out that way, if he hadn’t done that, it might have turned out differently. That little girl, she could have been caught in the cross fire. And Finn . . .”
    “He’s okay. Hey, he’s right downstairs. Back on the job.”
    “Back on the job.”
    “Deanna,” he said again, and laid a hand on her shoulder.
    “I know it must be tough for you. Not only knowing it happened, but actually watching it.” He walked over and switched off the set. “But he’s okay.”
    “He was shot.” She whirled away from the blank screen and struggled for composure. “And I was in Indiana. You can’t imagine how horrible it was to have Tim come into the ballroom and tell me he’d seen it on the limo’s set. And to be helpless. Not to be there when they took him to the hospital.”
    “If it upsets you this much, and you asked him, he could get a desk job.”
    For the first time all morning she gave him a genuine smile. “Things don’t work that way. I wouldn’t want them to. We’d better get back to work.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze before rounding her desk. “Thanks for listening.”
    “Hey. That’s what I’m here for.”
     
    “Everybody stays late tonight,” Angela announced at an emergency staff meeting. “Nobody leaves until we lock in this show. I want a panel, and I want it hard-line. Three from this white supremacist group, three from the NAACP. I want radicals.” She sat behind her desk, her fingers drumming on the surface. “Make sure each side gets at least a dozen tickets, so they can seed the audience. I want to blow the roof off.”
    She stabbed a finger at her head researcher. “We’ve got some statistics here in New York. Get me some of the relatives.”
    “Some of them might not be easy to persuade.”
    “Then pay them,” she snapped. “Money always turns the tide. And I want some tape, as graphic as possible, from rallies. Some witnesses to racially motivated crimes, perpetrators would be better. Promise that we’ll protect their identities. Promise them anything, just get them.”
    When she fell into silence, Dan gave a nod that signaled the end of the meeting. He waited until the door was