Final Vendetta (Saint Trilogy #3)

Prologue

End of Tempting Devil

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.

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.

“Oh god…” Henry quivered, the color draining from his face as he shifted his gaze toward me.

“What is it?”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at me with parted lips, his normally easy-going demeanor nowhere to be found.

“Whose car is it, Henry?” I demanded, panic overtaking me the longer I looked at the pity in his eyes.

The room grew thick with tension, the sound of my racing heart echoing in my ears.

In my life, there had been several moments that stood out. That I’d always remember. Seeing Liam point a gun at me. Killing a man for the first time. Finally escaping the prison I’d been in for years.

But this moment would always shine brighter than all the rest.

Because this was the moment I realized the true cost of my need for revenge.

Henry swallowed hard, his voice barely audible as he uttered the one name I didn’t want to hear.

“Imogene Prescott.”