Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [87]
She cut the engine and sat in her car for a few minutes, staring at the massive complex. Her mind went back to the day she and Lex had gone to Angela’s home and questioned her. She could still hear the girl’s voice in her head.
Fire . . . buildings collapsing, first one and then another . . . thick, black smoke . . . flying glass . . . people screaming . . . rivers of blood . . .
Heather shut her eyes and leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. God, what she would give to just be able to start up the car and pull out of the parking lot. But she couldn’t. That would be cowardly, and she wasn’t a coward.
Reaching Harold’s office, she removed her coat, threw it down on a spare chair, and poured herself a cup of coffee. The warm fuzzies had given way to feelings of fear and wariness. She looked at her boss and sipped the scalding brew. “Sorry I’m late, but there was so much traffic I could only inch my way here. It’s snowing again.”
“Not again!” Harold exclaimed.
She approached his desk. “Chief,” she said in a low voice, “do you feel it?”
Harold nodded, his expression grave. “As soon as I got into this damn building, I felt it. I actually stood there like a statue for a few minutes and just looked around. Everything is the same and yet . . .”
“I know. I have the same feeling,” Heather said, going back to the wet bar to add more coffee to her cup. When she turned around, she saw Angela Steinhart and her father standing in the doorway. Her heart fluttered at the look on the girl’s face. “What is it, Angela?”
Angela licked dry lips and took a deep breath. “I don’t know how I know . . . but today is the day.”
There was a long pause.
Heather and Harold exchanged I-told-you-so glances.
Tears blurring her eyes, Angela continued. “Don’t ask me to try to explain it; I can’t. When I got up this morning, I saw all that red, all that blood again. It stayed with me till I screamed for my father. I felt all tingly, and there’s something wrong with my hair. It feels like it’s full of electricity.” She looked at Heather. “It’s going to happen today. You have to believe me.”
With shaking hands Heather poured Murray Steinhart a cup of coffee and made a soothing herb tea for his daughter. “Drink this. Sit down and we’ll talk.”
Angela took the closest chair. “There isn’t anything to say. I just said all I know.” She started fidgeting. “You see, I can’t sit still. Something is forcing me to move and . . . I don’t know. It’s like I’m supposed to do something, but I don’t know what it is!”
“Drink that tea, Angela,” Heather said firmly. “Try to be calm.” Over her shoulder she said to Harold, “Call for Eric. Now!”
Harold needed no second urging. He pressed the button on the intercom. “Margaret, page Eric Summers. Tell him to come here to my office. Immediately!”
Eric was at the office door in minutes. He only needed one look at Angela’s face to confirm his worst thoughts. She nodded and jumped up from the chair, pacing the room while Heather repeated her story.
Eric turned to Angela and studied her for a moment. The poor kid—she was showing the effects of the past week, yet somehow she looked more alive than he had ever seen her. Her eyes were bright and her color was good. He was actually finding himself liking Angela.
“You’re sure today is the day?” he asked as Heather handed him a cup of coffee.
“I’m as sure as I can be. I have to do something; I can’t just sit here.” She screamed suddenly, “Close this mall!”
“Angel, take it easy,” Murray comforted, laying a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Remember, slow and easy. Just take it one step at a time.”
“When?” Eric didn’t want to turn this into an interrogation. He was forcing himself to remain calm. If only Angela could tell him when it would happen, he could get on the loudspeaker and clear the mall.
Angela ignored him. “Daddy, I have to get out of here. I have to do something to help!”
It was 1:05 before Charlie was