Page 89 of Tempting Devil

A voice over the radio feed mentioned trying to shut down the 405 at the Sepulveda Pass and deploying spike strips at strategic points, but it would take a little longer to put these measures into action. In the meantime, one of the pursuing cars would try to get close enough to shoot out a tire.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I retrieved it, expecting it to be a news alert about the police chase. To my surprise, it was a text from Imogene.

After our last conversation, I didn’t think I’d hear from her again. I clicked on the message, worried she was in trouble, especially now that I hadn’t been keeping a constant eye on her, leaving that responsibility to Henry’s team.

Thankfully, it had nothing to do with her safety. Instead, it had everything to do with us.

Imogene:

Is two apology texts in so many weeks bad form? Is it too late for us? Please tell me it isn’t.

I stared at her words, unsure how to feel about them. On one hand, I didn’t want to cause her any more pain than I already had. On the other, I couldn’t deny it felt like something was missing this week. But did that change anything? I wasn’t sure if it could.

Not anymore.

Still, Imogene deserved to know how I felt about her. How I’d always feel about her, no matter the path I chose.

Me:

My love for you is and always will be unconditional.

I hit send, then returned my attention to the TV as James’ vehicle approached Wilshire Boulevard at a high rate of speed without a single care for the fact that he had a red light.

“Fuck,” I exhaled when I noticed another dark SUV sitting at the light that just turned green. I could only pray the driver heard the helicopter or sirens and stayed put.

But they didn’t.

The scene played out in slow motion as James’ SUV sped ahead at the same time as the other car moved forward.

“Faster, faster,” I hissed, unsure which car I was talking to.

I couldn’t stomach the idea of an innocent person getting hurt. It was only supposed to be James. No one else.

But as my eyes remained glued to the television, a sinking feeling formed in my gut that I wouldn’t get my wish, which was confirmed when James’ car slammed into the passenger side of the SUV, the speed at which he hit it causing it to spin out of control until coming to a stop several yards away.

Heaviness weighed on my chest as the news continued to broadcast a live feed of the aftermath, but I barely heard a word they said, my guilt drowning out everything else.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. James was supposed to feel helpless as he lost everything. A cop was supposed to go to his house and arrest him. The media was supposed to repeatedly show footage of him being led into the police station in handcuffs.

He wasn’t supposed to make a run for it.

And he certainly wasn’t supposed to go on a high-speed chase through Santa Monica in his intoxicated state before slamming into another car, turning it into nothing but a pile of metal and broken glass.

I tried to convince myself I wasn’t to blame. That James made the choice to run from the police. Still, I couldn’t ignore the nagging voice telling me I was the one who set these wheels in motion. That my obsession with revenge now caused an innocent person to get hurt. Or worse.

It was one thing to take the lives of the men who plotted my demise.

But this?

I wasn’t sure if I’d ever forgive myself for this.

“Can you… Can you find out who owns that car?” I asked Henry, pushing down the bile rising in my throat.

“It might take a bit. I don’t have anything to go on. Let me see if I can get a closeup of the plate.”

“Thanks.” I looked back at the screen, police and firefighters swarming the scene to deliver aid.

I feared it would be too late.