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."