"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.