Could the girl, Kia Rutherford, be the tool?
He watched through the binoculars from the window of a nearby apartment with a view at Chase Falladay's living room. There Chase stood, staring pensively at the snow that fell outside, snow that thickened and had once filled his own world with magic.
There was no magic left in his world, though. All the pleasure had slowly been sucked out of it, and Chase was to blame.
His gaze narrowed as he watched Chase and he knew it was Chase. Cameron was slightly broader, his walk slightly different. He could understand why the Rutherford girl was so fascinated with him. Or was it him? He would have to watch, wait, just a little longer. He had to be certain before he made his move. As much as he hated Khalid, still Khalid had done nothing to invoke his wrath. He was a despicable creature, but still, beneath notice. If the woman belonged to Khalid, then she wasn't a tool.
But it had been Chase who had carried her to the limo. Chase had walked up to her apartment with her. It was Chase now staring into the snow as though some problem weighed on his shoulders. A man only had such a look when a woman was involved.
No, the Rutherford bitch had to belong to Chase.
Watch. Wait. He cautioned himself to do this properly. There was no room for error. One mistake would tip off Falladay, and he couldn't afford that. Just a little warning, he cautioned himself. Just a little longer, and vengeance would be his.
Chapter 4
A week later, Kia stood with her parents, Timothy and Celia Rutherford.
Her father's company was one of the major benefactors of the charity function. Rutherford Logistic Solutions had joined Delacourte-Conovers, an electronics research and development firm, to throw a benefit party for several of the organizations they contributed heavily to.
Kia stood by the huge fireplace in the hotel ballroom, a smile on her face as she chatted with one of the organizers of the event. Her gaze swept the room and she wondered exactly how many of the men present were part of Chase's club.
Ian Sinclair, the owner of several properties in the greater Alexandria area, also owned the Sinclair Men's Club, but that club's reputation was above suspicion. There were several other smaller, less distinguished men's clubs in the area. She knew many men within Sinclair's club were also members of several other clubs, both business and private.
Figuring out which was a ménage club would be impossible. And parts of her didn't truly want to know.
Ian Sinclair and his wife, Courtney, were also friends with Lucian and Devril Conover. Lucian and Devril made no secret of the fact that they both claimed their former secretary as a lover-wife. Together.
There were other guests at this party, as well as every other party she attended through the year, who were rumored to play such games. The world Kia had been raised within was one of rumor, speculation, and schadenfreude, a deep sense of pleasure from the pain of others. It was a world she had never enjoyed.
Cole Andrews, vice president of Delacourte-Conovers, was in attendance with his young wife, Tessa, an elementary schoolteacher and daughter of the owner and founder of Delacourte.
Petite and stylish, Tessa stood at her husband's side, a smile much like Kia's tugging at her lips.
Yes, these functions were such an obvious display of wealth and complete boredom that there were times Kia wanted to hide in her apartment and never attend another.
"I could always slip away to the ladies' room and then out the back," she heard Kimberly Raddington, a red-haired security expert, mumble to her husband, Jared, as they moved behind her. "The limo would be close. You know it would be."
She almost smirked at the desperation in the other woman's voice. She knew Kimberly only in a distant fashion. She was more familiar with Jared Raddington because he had done some business with her father.
"Someone should warn Kimberly she could get scalped for deserting us," a voice behind her stated. If Kia wasn't mistaken, it was Ella Wyman, James Wyman's wife.
Now there was a pair. James Wyman was one of the names Drew had given her as a member of the club of "Trojans," as they called themselves. Ella was several years older than her husband, but James was besotted with her.
"I would have to murder her," Courtney Sinclair declared in a quiet hiss.
The group stood behind Kia now, and it was with a sense of sadness that she listened to their byplay. It was obvious there was true friendship among them. Women who knew each other well, who laughed and moaned together.
Or did they?
Kia smiled and returned greetings even as she wondered at that.
Once she had thought she had close friends. Other women she could exchange confidences with, who she could trust. And she had learned differently.
As she stood there, one of those friends moved by. Rebecca Harding, with her cool gray-blue eyes and short black hair. The daughter of a successful lobbyist. They had grown up together, gone to all the right schools together; they had been bridesmaids at each other's weddings.