Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [93]
“I don’t know, I don’t run the mall! He’s filling in as a walk-around, I guess—the real Santa is over there on that snow-covered throne.” She put a hand to her mouth in horror. “Oh my God, look at all those kids in line! We have to tell Mr. Summers right away.”
“Okay, Angel, whatever you say.”
Charlie’s first reaction when he saw Angela pointing him out to the man she was with was to run. She knew what he was up to. He wasn’t sure how she knew, but she did. He could see it in her horrified expression, in her tear-filled eyes. He ran into the closest store—a health food shop—and ducked behind a vitamin display. Who was that man with her? he wondered. Probably one of the plainclothes police officers Eric Summers had brought in to investigate the bomb threat. Only it wasn’t just a threat. Not anymore. He pulled back his red velvet coat sleeve and looked at his watch. When he was ready, he would use his cell phone for a remote detonator, just in case the mechanical timer failed. The way things were going, it would.
“He shouldn’t be too hard to find, Angel,” Charlie heard a man say outside the store.
“I have to find him, Daddy. I have to. If I can find him I may be able to stop him.”
Recognizing Angela’s voice, Charlie peeked through the tall display of vitamins.
“I hope so, Angel. But what makes you think he’ll talk to you?”
“I—I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not?”
“Because he and I are alike in some ways. I guess you could say we understand each other.”
“What?” Her father’s reply was pure bafflement.
Charlie breathed in relief. She hadn’t given him away. For what it was worth.
“Come on,” she said exasperatedly. “Maybe he went that way.”
Charlie turned around and leaned his back against the display. “Angela,” he whispered, then let out a long sigh. She still showed consideration for him, even after the rough way he’d spoken to her at their chance meeting, even knowing that he was the one who was going to blow up the mall.
But her father would turn him over to the authorities in a heartbeat. Angela hadn’t succeeded in pulling him away from the outside of the store.
“This is too risky. Who is this Charlie guy, anyway? How do you know him?”
“I met him outside the mall. He tripped and people were laughing at him. I tried to help. He’s lonely. Like me.”
Her father coughed. “Lonely? He’s a psycho. Anyone could see that.”
“Don’t start! You sound just like . . .”
Their argument faded out of his hearing as they moved away.
Charlie was touched by what Angela remembered. Had he jumped to the wrong conclusion about why she’d left him? Maybe he should have given her a chance to explain. She might have had a good reason. Christ, he’d never thought about that. There could have been any number of reasons why she’d left. She’d told him that she’d tried to call several times. Damn, if only he’d gotten her message. He told himself not to get sentimental. It was too late for that. But he ought to get Angela and her father out. And tell her to get as many kids as she could to follow her, no questions asked. He owed her that much.
Then again, an ugly-sounding voice in his head told him, you don’t owe her a thing. A growing darkness crept over him. She and everyone else would have to take their chances. It would be fun to watch. Unless the device he’d rigged up failed at the last second. The problem was how to test the detonator without setting off the bomb. Consider it a challenge, he thought irrationally. The kind of thing that got a man nominated as Employee of the Week. Yeah.
Carol Andretti, her husband at her side, pushed the wheelchair down the hall toward the shopping center’s lower level. Maria was propped up with pillows, and a safety belt was fastened about her waist. Her eyes were feverishly bright as she tried to look in all directions at once. She wanted to tell someone how beautiful it was, but she felt too weak to talk.
“Mr. Richards said he would meet us over here by the angel display,” Carol