Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [99]
“Good idea. Yes.” She tapped a few more keys and the security feed from two minutes previously popped up in the lower part of the screen.
“Okay. There’s the tire . . . rolling . . . rolling . . . now it’s stopped,” Lex said slowly. “Whoa. There’s a hand. And a knife. Zoom back out. Go wide—not that wide—there it is. No. That can’t be. I don’t want to believe what I’m seeing. That looks like Angela.”
Heather froze the frame on the girl’s furtive expression.
“That’s definitely Angela,” Heather said, dumbfounded. “She slashed the tire. Why?”
“Have her arrested. Now. And don’t ask Eric Summers to do it. He’s on her side.”
“So was I,” Heather reminded him.
“And now?”
There wasn’t time to hem and haw. “We have to,” she said grimly. “For her own safety.”
“Whatever. Just do it, Heather! Or I will.”
Heather nodded and picked up a phone to get an inside line but replaced the receiver when Lex spoke again.
“It’s not just Angela. There’s that guy—” He broke off.
“What guy?”
“Charlie Roman. Your secret admirer.”
Heather swore at him. “Shut up, Lex!” She shouldered him aside to stare at the unfolding action on the screen. There were still plenty of people clustered around the stopped float, but Angela was several feet away from it. Heather caught a glimpse of Murray Steinhart swiveling his head around as his daughter pushed past him, and followed his line of sight.
Heather could see the back of Charlie’s head. He was taller than nearly everyone around him. Determined, rough, he was forcing his way through the crowd. People complained, but once he’d gone by they returned their attention to the dazzling float and the queen on her throne.
“If only there was a camera mount above Tina,” Heather said desperately. She clicked on key after key, trying to get a better view. “The ceiling cameras are too far up to track two people in a crowd like that—damn it!”
Frustrated, Lex reached for the phone and started punching in a short number. Heather grabbed the receiver from him.
“I said I’ll do it! But the officers on the floor are going to have a hell of a time seeing anything. You know that, Lex.”
“Then stay here. I’m going down there myself.” He turned and left her to make the call that would get Angela arrested.
Angela followed Charlie to an unmarked door of thick steel. She was only a few paces behind him when he used a key, one of several on a heavy ring he must have had in a hidden pocket, and unlocked the door.
He swung it open and stepped inside. Angela hesitated. She could just glimpse a stair well, but it was too dark to see anything more. Charlie paused on the other side of the threshold. Watching to see what he would do next, her whole body tensed.
Suddenly he turned around and stared her right in the face. His dull gaze made her recoil. But she didn’t dare to scream. She knew that unwanted attention made him angry, and any noise or gesture on her part that would attract notice could trigger the worst.
“Hiya,” he said in a flat voice. “Want a tour of the roof?”
Angela didn’t know whether to shake her head no or nod yes. She stood rooted to the spot.
Until he reached out one long arm and jerked her to the other side of the door. He tried to slam it, then looked down when it didn’t close. A foot was in the way. Angela looked down. It was a man’s foot, shod in an expensive English wingtip.
Charlie cursed and opened the door just enough to let Murray through.
“Let go of her, you bas—” The last syllable choked in his throat.
“Daddy!” Angela looked on in horror as Charlie wrapped a black-gloved hand around the older man’s neck, letting go when he slumped against the wall, watching with satisfaction as he slid down to the floor. She struggled to free herself. Charlie hadn’t let go of her when he’d done that. His strength was intensified by his strange mental state. She could sense the whirling rage within his mind, an exact mirror of her visions.
But this was no vision. This was real. This was happening