“Pancakes would be really good,” Chase told her, then ducked, dodging the dish towel she threw his way.
Chase moved to the counter, poured a cup of the fresh coffee, and smothered a yawn before moving to the couch to join his brother.
It was barely nine, and sleep had been a long time coming after Khalid dropped him off that morning.
“We didn’t hear you come in last night, Chase.” Jaci was pulling ingredients out of the fridge and cabinet as she spoke. “Did Khalid keep you out at the bars all night long?”
“Not too late.” He shrugged, sitting back to drink his coffee. “The sheik threw a fit over the new limo languishing in the garage, so Khalid took it out to see how long it would take to run out two tanks of gasoline.”
“All of an hour?” Cameron snorted.
Chase almost laughed. “It took him a while.”
“I thought you would show up at the party last night,” Jaci announced, still putting together the pancake batter. “The charity auction made quite a bit for the women’s and children’s shelter.”
The same party Kia had been at, Chase knew. Khalid had mentioned seeing her when he picked Chase up at the apartment.
“Not me.” Chase shook his head. “I donated to the cause, though.”
“The Brockheims were there.” Cameron kept his voice low as he stared back at Chase. “They stayed with a very small group of friends and left the group as Jaci and I came through. They didn’t stay long.”
Everyone was watching Harold and Margaret Brockheim at the moment. Especially the members of the club. Harold Brockheim was the president of a major bank in the city, and he had taken his daughter’s death hard. He was accusing the Roberts of corrupting her, but so far there had been no mention of Cameron or Chase.
Chase didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. He had killed Moriah. It had come down to killing her or allowing her to murder Cameron as he watched.
“Carl will deal with it,” he finally said. “The detective has filed his official report, as has the coroner. The detective’s bullet was ruled the cause of death.”
“Annalee and Richard Roberts have attempted to smooth it over as well.” Cameron nodded. “But Margaret Brockheim, it seems, has disowned her stepsister, Annalee. The notices were in the papers the other night.”
Chase’s jaw tensed. For all the trouble Richard and Annalee had caused them personally, he still felt sorry as hell for the woman. She had loved her niece Moriah.
Chase glanced back at Jaci. She was quiet, her head bent to the preparation of the pancakes, her expression somber. Chase’s lips thinned at the look on her face. She hadn’t deserved the working over Moriah had given her over the years or the deceptions used in the attempt to destroy her.
He stared back at his brother, his expression hard. He would talk to a few members of the club when he went to the mansion this weekend. He needed to speak to them about Kia anyway. Protecting Jaci and Kia was paramount.
“I also had a call last night after the party.” Cameron suddenly grinned.
Chase’s brow lifted.
“You were seen leaving that little corner bar. Someone says you carried Ms. Kia Rutherford right into Khalid’s limo. I thought you had better sense than that, Chase. She nearly brought the club down single-handedly when she threw Drew out.”
Chase finished his coffee before leveling a silencing look at his brother.
“Someone was misinformed, I’m sure,” he finally growled.
Cameron grinned as Chase rose and moved back to the coffeepot.
“I’m going to kick your boyfriend’s ass again,” he warned Jaci.
She gave her boyfriend a hooded, sexy look. “Don’t hurt him too bad, huh? I’m still enjoying that tough body of his.”
He grunted at that, took his coffee, and moved to the sliding doors that opened onto the deck. It was still snowing. The white fluff had piled on the ground, snowplows were reported to be already working overtime, and still it fell.
It had been six months since Chase had learned how easily a woman could fool him, and still he wondered if he had learned that lesson clear to his soul. Because the more he stood there, staring into the cold, the more he wished he had stayed with Kia and kept them both warm.
He turned and stared at the brightly lit, decorated tree, sipped his coffee and called himself a thousand kinds of fool. He should have stayed. He should have wrapped himself around her, and maybe then he wouldn’t be staring into the swirling snow this morning and wondering if she was warm. And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have been cold himself.
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.
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.