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She slowly raised the bottle again.
Lyle snorted. “Told me it was my own fault. Can you believe that?”
She coughed. “Why did you need help? Bad investment?” Her gag reflex was kicking in, and she knew she was going to throw up if she had to drink any more of the drugged water.
“His investment, and then he changed his mind. Brian may be an idiot, but he was right about one thing—Dennis changed his mind out of spite.” Then he smiled. “See how well that worked out for him?”
He grabbed the bottle from her and held it up to her mouth. She shook her head, but he pressed the knife into her neck again. She opened her mouth, and he upended the bottle into it.
She choked on the water and then had a coughing fit, spitting a lot of it out. She started to get woozy. Whatever was in the water was fast-acting because she was struggling to stay awake. She coughed some more as she fought to stay conscious, which led to her throwing up onto the floor. She didn’t want to go into the racing bag. No. No. No…
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“He had a partner,” Dalton said as soon as he reached the top of the embankment.
Detective Haas nodded. “Yes, that makes sense.”
“Do you know who it is?” Dalton demanded.
“No, but I suspected as much. Moore only drank water at the track as far as anyone knows. The pills would have been too bitter to put in the water. He went out for the first session only about an hour after breakfast. The pills would have been metabolized by then, making his heart rate accelerate.”
Dalton wiped his hands on his jeans. “You think it was his family or one of his friends?”
“That seems most likely,” Detective Haas agreed.
“Do you know which one?”
Detective Haas merely stared at him. “Mr. Hughes, you need to go back to the hotel and recover. I will be by later to get your statement. Fortunately for you, we were not that far behind and witnessed what happened. Mr. Roundtree tried to kill you… once again.” He glanced over the embankment. “Nice driving by the way.”
“Thanks,” Dalton said in a flat voice. He wanted to pummel the man in front of him for answers, but that wouldn’t help any. Maybe he was right. Going back to the hotel might be good. God knew his body needed a break.
“Jack said he didn’t kill James.”
Detective Haas nodded, unsurprised. “I believe Mr. Roundtree was at the hotel when James was killed and then at the track when his body was discovered.”
“How do you know that?” Dalton demanded.
“Security cameras at the hotel. He followed you out of the parking lot when you left. Cameras at the track show him arriving just after you.”
“Shit,” Dalton mumbled.
“Go back to the hotel, Mr. Hughes. We’ll be along shortly to get your statement.”
Dalton turned and then stopped. “Not sure my vehicle is driveable.” Another one. Dalton’s luck with cars this week was all bad.
Detective Haas looked over Dalton’s shoulder at the SUV on its side on the hill. “One of my men will drive you.” He gestured, and a uniformed officer started walking toward them. “Take Mr. Hughes to the hotel please.”
The officer nodded and escorted Dalton toward the police cars. Twenty minutes later, he pulled up in front of the hotel. Dalton peeled himself out of the car and headed through the parking lot into the main building. Everything hurt, including his brain. So many thoughts swirling he couldn’t seem to focus on any particular one.
He checked out the vehicles in the lot. Greer’s car was still here. Odd. She should’ve been long gone. Unless, of course, she didn’t listen to him and figured she’d stick around to the bitter end.
Women. Always such pains in the ass, and in the heart. What a mess.
He strode into the hotel and went into the dining room. The bartender shook his head. “You need food, yes?” He sighed. “We have specific hours. You need to eat during those hours. I will see what I can do.”
Dalton just nodded and sat down. He didn’t have the strength to argue with the guy. His stomach was empty, and his body was on overload. He needed to fuel it before he ran out of gas. He turned over today’s events in his mind until he gave himself a headache. Who the hell could the murderer be?
His cell rang, and he answered it. “Rory.”
