Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [39]
“Just what we need right now,” Harold grumbled. “People will be trying to beat the storm and shop early. Sales or not, they’ll be here in droves. You’ll have to alert the maintenance department for the second shift tomorrow. Hell, I can see it now . . .”
The members of the bomb squad, along with officers from the Woodridge Police Department, were waiting patiently in Eric Summers’s office for Dolph Richards to arrive. He stormed into the office ten minutes late, his face a mask of fury.
“What right did you have to call the police, Summers? You didn’t even give me the courtesy of clearing it with me. We do have rules around here!” he shouted angrily.
“You seem to forget, Richards, I am the police. And the department’s been in on this from the beginning because of the bomb threat.” Not precisely true but it would have to do. “The safety of this mall is in my hands, not yours,” Eric said coldly. “My first concern is for the people who work and shop here.”
“Your first concern is the mall corporation and the shop owners. And then me. I’m your superior—you have to check with me before you do anything!” Richards stamped his foot in childish fury. “That bomb threat is nothing more than a prank, and you know it.”
“I don’t know any such thing and neither do you. Just what the hell is your problem, Richards?” Summers demanded.
“I thought . . . that is . . . the kid . . . Ah, forget it. You couldn’t be that stupid.” Richards turned his back on the lot of them. Timberwoods was turning into a constant source of irritation. Seemed like every time he turned around there was a bomb threat or something else equally frightening, but to date they had never come across anything that remotely resembled a bomb. As far as he was concerned, Eric Summers had dug in too damn deep. It always happened that way—give a cop a little power and it went straight to his head. He knew—and so did his security team—that no bomb would be found. All those men he’d had to pull off other assignments! And what the hell was he going to do come Friday morning, what with the predicted heavy snow, when gung-ho Summers would be screaming for more cops? Son of a bitch, why did it always have to happen to him? “Who the hell needs it?” he muttered under his breath.
Summers turned to the bomb squad. “Plain clothes and a full crew tomorrow,” he said firmly. Their captain nodded and the squad wearily took their leave.
As soon as he had closed the door behind them, Richards spoke very softly. “One word about that Angela Steinhart and I’ll personally kill you, Summers. She can be tied to us—we hired her. This mall isn’t going to blow and you know it!”
“Put it in writing, Richards,” Eric snarled as he pushed back his chair. “Why don’t you go exercise your libido? I have other people’s lives to think about.”
“Do whatever you want, smart-ass. But you’ll see. Timberwoods will still be standing by New Year’s.”
Eric moved around his desk. “On second thought, maybe I should do some damage first,” he said menacingly. “Starting with your perfect teeth.”
Richards stepped back. He had no desire to have $6,200 worth of porcelain caps destroyed. “The mall stays open!” he spat as he quickly slammed the door behind him.
“Bastard,” Eric muttered, kicking the wastebasket across the room.
The two-way radio on his desk beeped. He pressed the button. “Summers.” He listened quietly, a frown on his face. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” the disembodied voice shouted. “They’re gathered in groups in the mall. A couple of the owners of smaller shops are on their way to see Baumgarten right now. The word is spreading and people are leaving in droves. I don’t know what the hell it is, but . . . Christ, here comes Skyer himself! Over and out.”
Eric stuffed the radio into his pocket and took off on the run for Baumgarten’s office. “Well, the shit’s hit the fan now,” he muttered as he narrowly avoided one of the assistants from the chief’s office.
Chapter 7
Charlie Roman hoisted a bulging sack over his shoulder and clutched a bunch of candy canes in his