I look up even as Peter opens his mouth to speak but hesitates, taken aback. “Ah, yeah. Well. That—that would be a negative,” he says, and frowns.
“Yeah?” Sunny just smiles. “How sure are you about that?”
Uh-oh.
“One-hundred percent,” he says. “Besides, ‘No live reporting from the ground’—remember? You heard it as well as I did. And you oughta know, when Spellman speaks, he means it.”
“Ah,” she says, and seems to let it go. But I know better.
“I mean, that’s your prerogative, of course. You’re the pilot after all. And I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to do your job. I mean, who am I? Just some girl who can’t hold her liquor.” She laughs. “Some white girl who might just black out in the middle of the dancefloor—after swigging from a certain person’s flask, that is—and wake up on a co
