“I’ll see myself out.”
“Be careful out there,” she said, reaching for the cell phone in her pocket.
The generator is Richard Squires’s baby. He’ll know what to do.
TWO
Sean studied the pewter-colored but rainless sky. The break between rain bands gave him a small window of time to deploy the lights and camera. Everything should be fine unless there was an unexpected problem with the camera’s focus and color balance.
I could encourage the unlikely to happen and Carlo would never know.
Sean pushed the delightfully evil thought out of his mind. He would do his job properly, even though he ached to make Carlo look like a fuzzy, multicolored blob. Sean finished setting up with four minutes to spare. He found Carlo in the back of the van memorizing a script he’d written on a yellow notepad.
“Everything’s ready for you,” Sean said.
Carlo looked up and smirked. “Kind of like blond little-miss-what’s-her-name.”
“If you’re talking about the woman in the church, her name is Ann Trask.”
“So it is.” He chortled. “She’s not up to my usual standards, of course, but one can’t be choosy during a hurricane.”
“This isn’t spring break, Carlo. You’re in Glory on assignment, remember?”
“An assignment in a hick city is a perfect opportunity for a quick encounter with a local lass.”
“Ann Trask doesn’t seem a ‘quick encounter’ type of woman.”
“Says who? She checked out my ring finger, I checked out hers. Didn’t you spot her come-hither look when she saw me?”
“That’s nonsense!”
“There’s nothing like stormy weather to relax a woman’s inhibitions, if you know what I mean.”
“I do know what you mean—and you’re making me angry.”
Carlo snorted. “You sound as if you like her.”
“What if I do?”
“Great! We’ll both court her. Competition increases the joy of victory,” said Carlo.
Sean flinched as a bolt of lightning illuminated the interior of the van. The thunderclap came less than a second later.
“That was close,” Carlo said. “Since when do hurricanes have lightning?”
“Most don’t. Gilda is a special storm.”
“Which means?”
“Her vertical wind flows are creating an electrical field. That’s unusual.”
“Unusual bad? Or unusual good?” Carlo’s normally melodious voice had become a little shrill.
“I don’t know.”
“You have to know. You’re the expert. You actually have a degree in meteorology.”
“Don’t get your rain pants in a twist. Lightning doesn’t make a hurricane more powerful.”
“But it definitely increases the danger to reporters broadcasting from parking lots. I’m not in the mood to get struck by lightning this afternoon.”
“We’re parked next to a tall aluminum light pole. If lightning hits anything around here, it will be that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely.” He pointed toward the door. “Now get out there. We go live in two minutes.”
Sean sat down at his workstation and manipulated the joysticks that controlled the TV camera and the lights. He slipped his headset over his ears, pushed the attached microphone close to his mouth, and spoke to Cathy McCabe at the Storm Channel’s broadcast headquarters on Long Island.
“Hi, Cathy. We’re ready in Glory.”
“Glad to hear it,” she replied. “How’s Gilda so far?”
“Wet, windy and electric. Mr. Magnificent is worried about being zapped by lightning.”
“Get a picture if it happens. I know a dozen women who’d want copies.” Cathy’s voice became cool and businesslike. “Switching to Carlo in twenty seconds.”
Sean pushed the button that connected his microphone to Carlo’s earpiece. “Cue in fifteen seconds.”
Sean heard Carlo clear his throat. “Four…three…two…” Sean counted softly.
A red light lit on his console, confirming that an identical light on the camera had signaled Carlo to begin. Sean studied the monitor screen as Carlo spoke into his handheld microphone. As usual, the camera loved Carlo. He looked artlessly elegant even though his jacket’s tunnel-like hood was fully extended to keep his face dry.
“This is Carlo Vaughn reporting from Glory, North Carolina. It is only four in the afternoon, but the sky is dark in this pretty waterfront town on the Albemarle Sound, an ominous sign of things to come. Another of Gilda’s outer rain bands is dumping precipitation on Glory.”
A gust of wind suddenly tugged at Carlo’s hood and he grabbed at it with his free hand.
“Most of Glory’s six thousand residents have moved to higher ground, leaving a handful of emergency personnel to deal with the approaching hurricane. They’ve been told to prepare for major damage.
“Gilda is the most powerful hurricane to threaten the Albemarle region in more than a decade. The current forecast predicts steady winds exceeding one hundred miles per hour when Gilda arrives in Glory less than an hour from now.”
Sean adjusted the image when a lightning flash illuminated the sky behind Carlo’s head. A moment later, the rumble of thunder shook the van. Carlo took the interruption in stride. “As you’ve just seen and heard, Gilda is also an electrical storm, which is unusual for a hurricane.”
“Off in thirty seconds,” Sean informed Carlo softly.
Carlo unexpectedly took a sideways step. He gazed at the sky to his left and his right, as if he were an expert meteorologist studying the storm. Sean worked the joystick to move the lens to keep Carlo’s face framed in the image. But then, without warning, Carlo stepped closer to the camera, his expression full of compassion and concern. Sean suddenly realized that Carlo was trying to impress Ann Trask.
Cathy’s voice filled Sean’s headphone. “What’s your boy doing? It looks like he’s trying to climb into the viewers’ laps.”
“You don’t want to know,” Sean said grimly.
Carlo began to speak. “The small cadre of people who chose to remain in Glory will soon be tested by Gilda’s fury. I call them the courageous few.
“We’re broadcasting from the parking lot of a church that may provide emergency shelter when the storm hits. The person on duty inside—a young woman named Ann Trask—is willing to brave the danger, not for personal gain, but in the spirit of public service. Stay tuned—we’ll hear Ms. Trask’s observations about Gilda during our next broadcast.
“Glory—we’re with you. This is Carlo Vaughn signing off for now.”
Sean killed the connection to the TV camera.
Blast the man! He put a phony quiver in his voice and his eyes looked weepy.
Sean poked angrily at more buttons on his control console. It wouldn’t matter to Ann that Carlo knew next to nothing about the weather. She wouldn’t care that he was merely imitating a knowledgeable meteorologist. Nope! Like every other female with a pulse, she’d be dazzled by his smarmy good looks.