Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [67]
The men looked at the small patient in the bed. Dark curls framed a tiny, exquisite face that was nonetheless wan and pale. The child’s breathing was ragged and harsh. The nurse reached out to soothe her and gently stroked her hair, displacing a dark curl. A tiny gold circlet gleamed on the little girl’s earlobe. They didn’t need to see more.
Eric Summers felt like screaming with frustration. Here it was, Saturday afternoon, and he had so much on his mind. It was at times like this that he hated his profession. He watched the happy shoppers surging through the mall, and fear tugged at him for each and every one of them. Thank God Amy was safe at home. And, while he didn’t actually dislike or like Angela, he was thankful she was staying with his wife. At this stage of the game, the girl was better than no company for Amy.
He believed the young psychic one hundred percent after last night’s tragedy. So did the others. But he felt sorry for her. When he was a child, he had always wished he could see what was going to happen in the future. No more.
He had to hope that her ability wasn’t transferable, because he sensed something himself. There was an air of imminent doom hovering over the mall, invisible, but so strong he could feel it stalking him from spot to spot.
There was nothing he or anyone else could do. Disaster was looming, and it was going to happen. At this point he was numb, almost beyond feeling. But he couldn’t ignore it. How could he? All those thousands of people.
Tomorrow was Sunday and the mall opening was later and the hours would be shorter. He would do everything in his power to make sure every floor, every stairwell, every entrance and exit, was searched from top to bottom one more time. Dogs too, the entire K-9 squad, the head of the bomb squad himself on supervisory patrol. Every security officer called in for overtime. Eric knew in his gut that it wasn’t good enough. It was entirely possible that they could search till hell froze over and never find anything. The bottom line was that the mall was going to blow. Nothing and no one was going to change a thing.
Chapter 11
Charlie Roman needed to get out into the fresh air. His mind was foggy and unfocused. He decided to take a ride past the mall just to see if it was still standing. Something about the most recent threat response had been a little different than usual, and not knowing why was getting to him. Somehow he knew the police would still be there. With dogs. It would be fun to hide a thousand chew biscuits all over Timberwoods and see if the dogs could be distracted. Dolph Richards would only laugh, but Harold Baumgarten might get the message that someone who knew the mall well was playing a vicious little game with the surveillance team.
Nah. Harold was too damn dumb to figure anything out. But Charlie nixed the idea anyway. Someone in the upper offices was likely to spot him on the security monitors and most likely they would be checking the shopping center inch by inch. He looked at his watch and shuffled back into the house, his bedroom slippers making slapping sounds on the concrete floor. Time to take some cough medicine and more aspirin. Maybe he would take a cold tablet, too. A wormlike feeling of self-doubt crept through his mind. If they thought he was sick, they would make him go home. They would be afraid of him breathing germs on the little kids and giving Santa the sniffles. Then he wouldn’t be able to carry out his plan.
Angry and lonely as he was, he still wondered if he had what it took to carry it out. He forced himself to go numb, to think in robot mode. Soon nothing would matter. Not even Angela.
Murray Steinhart paced the large motel room, a look of fury on his handsome features. “You are incredible, Sylvia, absolutely incredible, do you know that? I’ve had just about all I’m going to take from you. This time you’re going too far. I went along with you before because I