Page 88 of Tempting Devil
Reaching a stoplight, I pulled my cell out of my purse and fired off a quick text.
Me:
Is two apology texts in so many weeks bad form? Is it too late for us? Please tell me it isn’t.
Placing my phone on the center console, I held my breath, hoping for a response. Just as the light turned green, three little dots appeared below my sent message, sparking a glimmer of hope inside me.
I stepped on the gas, checking my cell every few seconds, waiting for his reply. The wail of approaching sirens grew closer, and I glanced in my rearview mirror. When I didn’t see any flashing lights, I continued through the intersection, stealing a final look at my cell.
But before I could merge onto the freeway, a black SUV came speeding out of nowhere, slamming into the passenger side door, my car spinning out of control.
Tires squealed. Glass shattered. Metal crunched.
Then everything went dark.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Gideon
“What did I miss?” I asked as I entered the suite after sitting through a gourmet five-course meal with the who’s who of politics delivering grandiose speeches about their supposed accomplishments.
In reality, all they were good at was spending money that wasn’t theirs.
Despite my itching desire to leave, I stayed for dinner, not wanting to raise anyone’s suspicions. After all, I’d paid a half-million dollars for the privilege of being in that room.
That didn’t stop James from leaving immediately following our conversation, though. While I would have loved for him to stick around for the real fireworks, I knew it was a strong possibility he’d slip out once I confronted him.
“He’s panicking,” Henry replied with a grin. “Especially now that the audio recording is making headlines.”
That was another reason I wanted to stay at the fundraiser — to see everyone’s reactions as the headlines starting coming in.
As I expected, the president ended up canceling his appearance in order to do damage control. After all, James Turner was a high-ranking member of his party. This sort of thing could have a disastrous impact on everyone connected to him, especially in an election year.
“But it looks like bad publicity is about to be the least of his worries.” Henry nodded at a monitor placed on the mahogany desk, its screen displaying footage from a security feed of James’ Brentwood home that Henry had hacked into.
A dark sedan crept along the driveway and parked in front of the lavish house, unmarked but clearly law enforcement, a fact I confirmed when a pair of men stepped out, their ill-fitting suits and no-nonsense posture screaming cop.
It didn’t escape James’ notice, either. He paused for a few seconds, his eyes fixated on a monitor on his desk containing what I assumed to be the security feed. When the two men approached the front door, he rushed to a safe on the opposite wall and hurriedly opened it, shoving wads of cash into a duffel bag.
“This is such a cliché,” I said with a chuckle, shaking my head. “How far does he think he’ll get with the cops knocking on his door? You don’t think he’s stupid enough to make a run for it with the police right there. Do you?”
“At this point, nothing would surprise me,” Henry replied.
Sure enough, just as one of the cops knocked, James darted through the house and into the attached garage, climbing into a dark SUV. Seconds later, the garage door opened and James peeled out, driving over flowerbeds and his perfectly manicured lawn in order to make a hasty escape.
My stomach twisted in discomfort as I watched the cops rush back to their car and speed after James. This was not how I envisioned things playing out. I’d wanted him to endure a public scandal. Wanted him to feel helpless as his world fell apart around him. Wanted every news station to show footage of him being led away in handcuffs for the world to see.
I’d considered every angle and had decided on this plan of action. After all, for a man like James, character assassination and prison were worse than death.
I hadn’t expected him to flee.
What made matters worse was that I’d seen him consume enough scotch to make him even more reckless than he already was.
“Didn’t OJ teach these assholes anything?” Henry mused, hitting a few buttons on his keyboard. The speakers crackled to life with the sound of police chatter, broadcasting their pursuit of James.
I grabbed the remote and navigated to a local station. Within moments, they interrupted their regularly scheduled program with a breaking news report about a high-speed chase. Only in LA did they turn a police pursuit into a spectacle worthy of prime-time television. Then again, it wasn’t every day a U.S. Senator ran from the cops after a recording implicating him in serious criminal activity was released.
I held my breath as James weaved in and out of traffic for several miles, his massive SUV slicing through the sea of cars with reckless abandon. The police pursued him to the best of their ability, but they also had to keep public safety in mind, driving cautiously compared to James’ wild maneuvers.