Lora Leigh - Only Pleasure

He had to find her. Brockheim couldn’t have had time to take her from the ballroom. He wouldn’t be able to force her out of the room, and Kia wouldn’t leave willingly with him.

Brockheim couldn’t be armed. There were too many sensors at the entrances to the ballroom. He would have to force her out by brute strength, and Kia would never allow that.

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.