by Lora Leigh
He had to find her. He had to get her away from Harold Brockheim, and then he could deal with the other man. Moriah's insanity was obviously a genetic inheritance if that son of a bitch thought Chase was going to allow him to get away with this.
"Chase, I can't find her." Khalid grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to a stop. "Ian and Courtney are looking, and Cameron and Jaci, too. We haven't found her anywhere."
"Brockheim has her."
Khalid stared at him in silent shock.
"Listen to me, Khalid. We have to find her." He jerked his cell phone from inside his jacket.
"Contact Ian. I'll call Cameron. Brockheim has her, and I want her found. Now."
The velvety tune the singer was crooning to the room was one of Kia's favorites. As she danced with her father, she wished she had found Chase, caught his eye, and had him break in. Now she couldn't see him over the heads of the other dancers. Being short had a tendency to suck.
"You did a wonderful job, Kia," her father complimented her. He smiled down at her as his pale blue eyes held that warm little twinkle they always got when he was looking at her or her mother.
"Thank you, Daddy." She grinned back at him. "Not that I had a choice with you breathing over my shoulder for the past three months."
Her father grunted at that. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't need any help." His eyes crinkled. "And you didn't."
"I had a good team," she reminded him.
He nodded at that, then fell silent.
"Your mother says you're in love with the Falladay boy," he said at last with a teasing grin. "I thought you were taking us shopping with you when you went husband hunting."
"Daddy, I haven't gone husband hunting."
He frowned. "It will be coming soon, though."
"Daddy." She kept her voice warning.
"Well, he loves you, you love him."
"Daddy." She narrowed her eyes. "I'm rather enjoying this dance, but I can walk away from it."
He winced. "You're being mean to me. Just like your mother. She walked out on my last dance.
Somehow she thought I should keep my nose out of my daughter's business."
"And she's right," she told him. "At least for the moment."
He was her father. She knew his hurt feelings wouldn't last for long, no matter how angry he thought he might make her.
He grimaced. "Fine. I'll back off. But I'm warning you now, I might be pouting at dinner on Christmas. A son-in-law like Falladay would make a fine Christmas present. Maybe next Christmas…"
"Say it and I'm walking," she warned him, though she was laughing. Her father wanted grandchildren. If he'd had his choice he would have had a house full of children, but he and her mother had never been able to have more children after her.
"Mean to me," he muttered.
"I love you, Daddy." She laughed. "Better than ice cream and chocolate cake."
His lips twitched to answer when a hand tapped his shoulder. He paused.
Kia sobered at the sight of Harold Brockheim. He wasn't seen out in society much anymore. He and his wife had completely retreated after the death of their daughter earlier in the summer.
Moriah had attempted to murder her step-aunt and uncle. The girl had been insane, as only a few people knew. The Brockheims had done everything to keep that knowledge carefully hidden.
"Timothy, could I steal your daughter?" he asked, his voice raspy.
Her father glanced at her questioningly, and Kia nodded.
Harold Brockheim held her stiffly as they began to move.
"How is Margaret doing, Harold?" she asked softly "I haven't seen her in a while."
"She's doing fine," he said, his craggy face flinching for a moment. "She's been staying at home a lot, trying to make sense of things."
His eyes took on a glazed cast. "Our Moriah is gone, you know?"
Kia wanted to cry for him. She ached for him as well as Margaret, but she had always felt they had been part of Moriah's problems. Even as a child the other girl had been violent, destructive.
She had liked to kill smaller things, animals and pets, and her parents had tried to keep it covered. Moriah had paid the price for it, but it didn't stop Kia from aching for her parents.
She knew from talking to her own mother that raising children was never easy. She couldn't imagine the fears and second-guessing that went into it. And when confronted with a child who suffered as Moriah had, it must have been a nightmare.
"I know, Mr. Brockheim," she whispered. "We all miss Moriah."
A social lie. Few people did miss her. Most of those who moved in Moriah's circle had been wary of her.
"Do you?" Harold asked, his face twisting into lines of pain and anger. "You weren't friends with her. She cried sometimes because you stopped being her friend."
His words caused Kia to breathe in roughly, but she answered gently. "We grew apart." Her parents had insisted on keeping her away from Moriah, and Kia had never been comfortable around her.
Harold nodded at that.
"Kia, I'm really not feeling well. Would you mind helping me to the lobby? My chauffeur came with me. He'll be waiting for me there."
"I could find my father." Kia looked around desperately. Chase would pull his hair out if she dared step from the ballroom.
"Just to the door, dear." He gripped her arm with one hand. "My chauffeur is waiting there."
"Of course," she murmured. Good manners dictated that she at least help him to the door. After all, how much danger could there be in that? She wouldn't be leaving the ballroom, and there were plenty of people around. She had no doubt that Chase would be coming right behind her at any moment.
She breathed a sigh of relief as they neared the doors. She paused, then turned her head to Brockheim in terrified shock as she felt the knife that pressed against her flesh, hidden in his hand by the long sleeve of his tuxedo jacket.
"No," she whispered as she stared into his maniacal gaze.
"I can do it here," he whispered. "Or we can go someplace quiet and call your boyfriend. Make your choice."
He pulled her past the doors, the dampness on her flesh telling her he had drawn blood. The grip he had on her, the tense set of his body, and the position of his arm assured her that if he shoved that knife in her side at that position, she might well be dead before anyone even knew she had been stabbed.
"Why?" Her voice was hoarse as he dragged her to the elevators.
The lobby was practically empty. The few guests milling about had their backs to them. There was no way to draw any help, no way to catch anyone's attention, as he led her across the floor.
"We're going up," he ordered her firmly as they stopped at the elevators. She pressed the button with trembling fingers.
There was a chance. She waited, tears trembling on her lashes as terror raced through
her.
Where was Chase? He was always right behind her. He never left her for long.
The doors opened, and the elevator was empty. Brockheim pushed her inside.
"Twenty-seventh floor," he snapped.
She reached out slowly and pushed the button. As the doors closed, she saw Drew step out of the ballroom. His eyes narrowed on the elevator, and she almost cried out in fear.
He would never tell Chase he had seen her. He was so furious with her, and she didn't blame him.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.
"Shut up." Brockheim pressed the knife tighter against her. "If anyone else gets on the elevator at another floor you won't speak. You'll put your head down and stay carefully behind me. Trust me, Kia, I will kill you."
Yes, he would. And the elevator was so small he might well end up trying to kill anyone who attempted to help her.
How was she going to get out of this? She thought frantically. There had to be a way. She had waited too long for her own happiness, for a chance to lie in Chase's arms, to let this happen.
"You should have remained faithful to your husband. It would have kept you alive." Brockheim's voice was heavy with grief. "I didn't want to do this, Kia. I really didn't. If you just hadn't become involved with that bastard Chase, then you would have been safe. Why did you have to be such a little whore. You were nothing but a nasty slut with that murderer."
Kia shook her head, the tears finally slipping from her eyes. Harold was as insane as his daughter had ever been. Perhaps more so.
"What are you talking about?" She gasped as the knife bit into her waist.
"That son of a bitch killed my baby," he snarled. "My little girl. She was my only light, Kia. My sweet little baby—and he killed her. He put a bullet right between her eyes, and everyone covered it up. The police let him get away with it. Everyone did. I won't."
His hazel eyes gleamed with madness as the elevator neared its destination.
"You have once chance," he told her. "If Chase comes for you. That's your only chance. When
he does, keep your mouth shut and do as you're told. Do you hear me?"
The elevator stopped. Kia felt the dampness of blood running into her dress. The knife was pressing into her, reminding her how delicate her position was.
She followed Brockheim, his hand bruising her arm as he led her down the silent hallway.
Everyone had known Moriah was crazy. Once, when Kia was a child, Moriah had become hysterical when a favorite pet of hers had liked Kia during a visit. She had tried to push Kia down the long, winding stairs of the Brockheim mansion because of it. Weeks later, servant gossip had come back to Kia's parents that the puppy had been found, stabbed to death.
It looked like the daughter had learned her love of knives from the father.
"Here's the key." Brockheim stopped in front of a door. "Open the door."
Kia took the key and slid it carefully along the security panel. Once inside, he would have to relax his guard. He was an old man. If she could get the tip of the knife out of her side, then perhaps she could have at least a fighting chance. That was all she needed.
She couldn't let Chase come up here. She couldn't allow Brockheim to force Chase into killing him. And she was terrified that was exactly what would happen.
If Chase had, for whatever reason, been forced to kill Moriah, then it explained so much about his hesitancy in a relationship with Kia.
Everyone knew Chase had been fond of Moriah. He had been close to Moriah, then had been forced to kill her.. There had even been speculation for a while as to whether or not he would become involved with her.
"Get in the room." He pushed her inside as he flipped on the lights, and before she could do more than stumble he flung her away.
Kia turned, ready to fight, and found herself staring into the barrel of the gun he held in his hand.
"I'm smart." He smiled. "So much smarter than your bastard lover. I'm going to kill you and let him watch you die. And then I'm going to kill him. Moriah won't have to be alone anymore. She'll have the two you to keep her company. The friend she lost, and the man she loved. The man who killed her."
Chapter 25
"I was just going to kill you and let him suffer." Harold sighed, his hazel eyes wet with tears as Kia backed up, staring at the gun in terror. "But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how lonely Moriah must be right now. None of her family and she didn't have many friends. She's with people she doesn't know. She never liked that."
God, he was crazy. Kia stared back at him in horror. She couldn't believe this was happening.
Sweet Mr. Brockheim? He was as crazy as his daughter had been, and no one had suspected it.
"And no one will ever suspect it's me," he told her. "I'm very good with security and computers.
A genius, actually. I reserved this room in Chase's name, and the security cameras won't show anything for hours yet. I'm perfectly safe."
"Moriah wouldn't want you to do this," she whispered.
He stared back at her in saddened disbelief. "You know better than that, Kia. Moriah would have wanted you right by her side. That way, you can watch her steal Chase's heart. He should have been with her from the beginning, I see that now. But I can't let him go without hurting him.
Without making him hurt first. Moriah will understand that."
"Killing me won't hurt Chase," Kia whispered.
"Yes, it will." He sat down heavily in one of the chairs, the gun still trained on her. "He thinks he loves you. For the few minutes I allow him to live, long enough to realize you're gone forever, then he'll know how much it hurts."
Kia gripped the skirt of her dress in her fingers, fisting them as she sought to find a way out of this.
"How can you believe Chase would kill Moriah?" she asked. Carefully. "He cared about her, Harold. Chase would never hurt anyone he cared for."
As though there was too much energy inside him, Harold rose to his feet once more.
"The reports were in the newspaper," she continued. "The detective had to shoot her when she tried to kill Congressman Roberts."
His face twisted in pain.
"No, that's not what happened," he yelled back at her. "Chase was there. That son of a bitch shot and killed my baby. He killed her, because she knew things, things he didn't want known."
"Chase wouldn't have cared what she knew, Harold," she argued back. "You have to listen to me. Everyone knows how much Chase cared for Moriah. Everyone. He wouldn't have hurt her."
His gaze flickered, and for the briefest moment Kia thought she might have seen a bit of sanity there. Then his eyes glazed over again and fury flamed from them.
"I know the truth," he spat out. "Even Annalee tried to lie to me. Tried to tell me Moriah wanted to kill them, wanted to kill that whore of Cameron's because she couldn't have her way. That wasn't why."
"Chase wouldn't hurt her," she whispered again, desperate now. The gun never wavered, it followed her, no matter which way she moved
.
"Chase had to kill Moriah," Brockheim cried out. "She knew the truth. I found it, in her journals.
That dirty brother of his was nothing more than a gigolo when he was a boy. A filthy man-whore and Moriah knew. She was trying to protect Annalee and Richard. She wanted to protect them
and Chase killed her. They all betrayed my daughter."
His finger remained on the trigger. Kia felt her heart racing, a sob rising in her throat. She had to find a way to get away from him, a way to get past him and that gun. And the next time she saw Chase, they were going to have to have a little talk. Little things like him killing crazy Moriah Brockheim. She needed to know about that.
"Moriah was sick," she said softly. "You know she was ill, Harold. She needed help. She tried to kill them."
"You fucking whore. Fucking lying whore." It wasn't the gun or a bullet that struck her, but the back of his hand.
Stars exploded in her eyes as she fell to the floor. Pain radiated from the side of her face, along the rest of her body, and into her head.
She lay there, trying to breathe through the pain. She tasted blood in her mouth. Great. Just great .
She opened her eyes and glared up at Harold. So help me . She was getting damned sick of pissed-off men backhanding her. First Drew and now this nutcase .
"Shut up or I'll kill you." The gun was leveled at her head as Harold Brockheim stared down at her with malevolent fury. "Do you hear me, you little tramp? I'll fucking kill you."
He couldn't find her. Chase searched the ballroom, dining room, the lobby, and sent Jaci and Courtney into the ladies' room.
He had the phone to his ear, a three-way call between him, Cameron, and Khalid, with Khalid linking Ian in.
"She's not here!" He stared around the lobby. He'd questioned everyone there. No one had seen her. "She wouldn't have left the hotel."
"I'm going to the reservation desk," Khalid snapped. "Their security cameras are accessible by the manager's office. Perhaps I can find something there."
"Cameron, did you check the other ballroom?" Chase was desperate, frantic.
