Private Scandals

inside as the pilot fought to keep the nose up and level. The sound must have been deafening.
    “Almost,” she whispered, forgetting the camera, the mike, the viewers as she kept her gaze riveted on the plane. She saw the landing gear, then the bright red, white and blue logo of the airline slashed on the side of the plane. There was only static in her earpiece.
    “I can’t hear you, Martin. Stand by.”
    She held her breath as the wheels hit, skidded, bounced off the tarmac. Held it still as the plane slid and swayed, chased down the runway by the flashing lights of emergency vehicles.
    “It’s skidding,” she called out. “There’s smoke. I can see what looks like smoke under the left wing. I can hear the brakes screaming, and it’s slowing. It’s definitely slowing, but there’s a problem with control.”
    The wing dipped, skimming the tarmac and shooting up a shower of sparks. Deanna watched them sizzle and die in the wet as the plane swerved. Then, with a shuddering bump, it stopped, diagonally across the runway.
    “It’s down. Flight 1129 is on the ground.”
    “Deanna, is it possible for you to assess the damage?”
    “Not from here. Just the smoke I spotted at the left wing, which corroborates our unofficial reports of left-engine failure. Emergency crews are soaking down the area with foam. Ambulances are standing by. The door’s opening, Martin. The chute’s coming out. I can see—yes, the first passengers being evacuated.”
    “Get closer,” the producer ordered. “We’re cutting back to Martin to give you time to get closer.”
    “We’ll move closer to the scene, and bring you more on flight 1129, which has just landed at O’Hare. This is Deanna Reynolds for CBC.”
    “You’re clear,” her producer shouted. “Go.”
    “Goddamn!” Excitement pitched Joe’s voice up an octave. “What pictures. What pictures. It’s fucking Emmy time.”
    She shot him a look, but was too used to the cameraman’s style to comment. “Come on, Joe. Let’s see if we can get some interviews.”
    They dashed toward the runway as more passengers slid down the emergency chute into the arms of waiting rescue workers. By the time they reached the huddle of vehicles, and reset for broadcast, there were half a dozen people safely out. One woman sat on the ground, weeping into her folded arms. With the singlemindedness of a newsman, Joe rolled tape.
    “Benny, we’re at the scene. Are you getting this?”
    “Absolutely. It’s good film. We’ll be putting you back live. Get me one of the passengers. Get me—”
    “Riley,” Joe shouted. “Hey, Finn Riley.”
    Deanna glanced back toward the chute in time to see Finn make his slide to earth. On hearing his name called, he turned his head. Eyes narrowed against the driving rain, he focused on the camera. And grinned.
    He landed easily, despite the metal case he clutched. Rain dripped from his hair, skimmed down his leather jacket and soaked his boots.
    In an easy lope he covered the ground from chute to camera.
    “You lucky son of a bitch.” Joe beamed and punched Finn on the shoulder.
    “Good to see you, Joe. Excuse me a minute.” Without warning, he grabbed Deanna and planted a hard kiss on her mouth. She had time to feel the heat radiating from his body, to register the shock of electricity from his mouth to hers, a quick burst of power, before he released her.
    “Hope you don’t mind.” He gave her a charming smile. “I thought about kissing the ground, but you look a hell of a lot better. Can I borrow these a minute?”
    He was already tugging her earpiece free. “Hey.”
    “Who’s producing?”
    “Benny. And I—”
    “Benny?” He snagged her mike. “Yeah, it’s me. So, you got my call.” He chuckled. “My pleasure. Anything I can do for the news department.” He listened a moment, nodded. “No problem. We’re going live in ten,” he told Joe. “Keep an eye on that for me,” he asked Deanna, and set his case down at her feet. He dragged the hair out of his face and looked into the camera.
    “This is Finn Riley, reporting live from O’Hare. At six thirty-two this evening, flight 1129 from London was struck by lightning.”
    Deanna wondered why the rain running off her clothes didn’t sizzle as she watched Finn make his report. Her report,she corrected. Two minutes after hitting the ground and the sneaky bastard had usurped her, stolen her piece and delegated her to gofer.
    So he was good, Deanna fumed as she watched