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Greer opened her eyes slowly. It was dark. Her heart pounded in her ears. She was hyperventilating thanks to the gag in her mouth. How long had she been out? It couldn’t be that long. No more than a couple of minutes if she had to guess, so where the hell was she? She flexed her hands. Tied with some kind of cloth. Her feet, too. Jesus. How long had she been out that Lyle had managed to take her somewhere and truss her up like a Christmas turkey?
She closed her eyes and willed her body to relax. A fine sheen of sweat broke out across her entire body. Breathing deeply to calm herself was difficult with the gage, but eventually, the roaring in her ears subsided a bit. She inhaled deeply through her nose. The smell. She knew it. It was cleaning products scented with lavender.
Squinting into the darkness, she made out shelves with bottles on them, and there were what looked like sticks in the corner. Mops. Brooms. Lyle had stashed her in the cleaning supply cupboard. She thought back to the hotel and tried to visualize where the cupboard was. Directly across from the elevator. Shit. Lyle hadn’t taken her far at all. That’s why he’d had time to tie her up before she came to. Probably only took him a couple of minutes.
She started rubbing her hands back and forth, trying to create some space with the ties, but it was hard going, and her arms were burning, especially the one she was lying on. The big question was, how long did she have until Lyle moved her? He wouldn’t keep her here long because who knew when someone might open the closet.
Her heart rate ticked up again as the thought of Lyle had done sank in. He had killed his best friend. She wasn’t sure how he’d loosened the wing, but he sure as hell had dosed Moore’s coffee with Adderall. Moore was hyper to begin with. Add a bunch of Adderall, a drug only one peptide away from methamphetamine, and then make him have a bad accident—no wonder he had a heart attack.
Greer’s stomach roiled. The smell was making her feel ill. The idea of vomiting with the rag in her mouth shot adrenaline through her system. She closed her eyes and willed herself to calm down again. Panicking would only get her killed.
She took stock of where she was situated in the room. On the floor on her right side curled up with her hands behind her. She straightened her legs. Could she touch anything with her boots? She moved them around but nothing was close. He’d put her in the middle of the floor so she couldn’t quite reach any of the shelving. Damn.
She tried yelling next, but the rag muffled the sound too much, and the door to the closet was solid wood, like all the doors in this posh hotel. So that wasn’t going to work either. There had to be something she could do. If only she hadn’t fought with Dalton. Then he might actually come looking for her.
What if she never saw him again? That thought twisted her insides. She’d been an idiot seven years ago and an even bigger idiot now. Instead of begging his forgiveness, she’d fought with him. He’d been right, and she’d denied it. She had been a coward, and not just about her father, but about him as well. She was so worried she was like her father and their relationship wouldn’t survive because of her need to constantly win and be racing that she’d sabotaged their affair in anticipation of it collapsing. Hurt him before he hurt her. She closed her eyes. What a stupid move she’d made. And now she might not get a chance to go back and fix it.
She needed someone to find her. Rory? Jordana? They were both at the track. As it was, no one would expect her anywhere for hours. Really, until tomorrow morning when Louisa called her place. That would be the next time anyone wondered where she was. Well, fuck.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Dalton continued to follow the road he’d been on. Jack couldn’t have gotten that far ahead of him, could he? It seemed impossible that he disappeared. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the wheel. How could Jack do it? How could he kill Moore? Was he really that desperate?
Dalton was coming up to the embankment where the bastard had tried to push him off the road the other night. That had to have been Jack as well. He must have thought Dalton was getting too close. Damn. If only. Then James would still be alive. That thought hit him hard. And in the next instant, he was hit from behind.
Dalton swerved and managed to keep the SUV on the road, but just barely. The hit had come completely out of the blue. He glanced in his rearview mirror. Jack was behind him and gaining on him again. Dalton risked a peek at the speedometer. They were going too fast to play bumper cars. One of them was going to get seriously injured.
Just as Jack accelerated toward him, Dalton hit the brakes, but Jack was expecting it after last time. He hit Dalton’s rear bumper, but not hard enough to damage his car. What the fuck was he going to do? The curve was coming, and there was no way Dalton wouldn’t get pushed off the edge. Jack wasn’t the best driver in the world, but he was more than competent enough to make it happen.
Sweat broke out on Dalton’s back. The extra rush of adrenaline shivered across his nerves. There was only one thing he could do. He slammed on the gas, and the SUV lurched forward. He needed to outrun Jack on the bend in the road. He flew down the road toward the dangerous hard left curve. Jack stayed hot on his bumper and getting larger in the rearview mirror.
As they started into the curve, Dalton knew he was going too fast. All Jack had to do was tap him, and he’d be gone. Jack was coming hard. Dalton hit the apex of the curve and immediately slammed on the brakes as he turned the wheel slightly. There was only one way this was going to work, and it was a long shot. The car went into a spin. Jack’s eyes were huge and his mouth open as he hit Dalton’s SUV, sending it across the road and half up the hill.
Dalton took a moment to make sure he was okay and then hauled himself out of the vehicle. Where the hell had Jack gone? Did he make it through the curve? He looked in both directions, but there was only a cop car approaching, lights and sirens wailing. He looked at the pavement, and the skid marks told the story.
Dalton ran to the other side of the road and looked down over the embankment. Jack’s car was at the bottom on its left side. It had rolled a few times by the looks of things. “Jack?” he yelled. “Jack?” No response.
He started down the embankment. Detective Haas was yelling at him. Dalton turned, but he wasn’t stopping.
He slid down the hillside as cautiously as he could without breaking his forward momentum. He reached the bottom and went over to the car. “Jack?” he yelled.
There was a groan.
“Jack?” Dalton ran around to the front of the car and looked in through what used to be the windshield. It was a spiderweb in a million pieces. There was a blood stain on the glass where a fence post had gone through the windshield.
He kicked the passenger-side window out and stuck his head into the car. “Jack?”
“Dalton.” The other man moaned.
Jack was slumped over the airbag. Blood flowed profusely from a large gash on his forehead. Bile rose in Dalton’s throat when he caught sight of a fence post sticking out of Jack’s chest. It had gone through the steering wheel and hit Jack dead center. As much as he hated Jack Roundtree for what he’d done, he knew in that instant he didn’t want the other man dead. He wanted him to pay for what he did. He couldn’t pay if he was dead. “Jack, hang tight. The cops are here, and I’m sure they’re organizing something to get you out of here.”
Jack gave a half laugh. “I’m not …getting out of …this one, mate,” he wheezed.
There was some yelling from above, and Dalton looked up. Detective Haas was directing a group of men down the hillside. They had a stretcher on a rope. He looked back at Jack. “They’re coming for you. Hold on.”
While he waited anxiously, he asked, “Why’d you do it, Jack? Why kill Moore? Why kill James?” His voice broke.
Jack made a wheezing sound and then was silent. Dalton thought he’d died, but then he said, “Didn’t mean to kill…Moore. Just…told…make…accident. Had to…pay…debts.”
