“Gus, head to the fucking airport. Fast,” I said in a strained voice.
“Going somewhere?” Gus glanced at me in the rearview mirror, then I filled him in on the speech and Karlos’s hasty departure.
“Yeah, I saw him leave. He was in quite the hurry… I guess he didn’t want to stay for dessert,” Gus said drily as he pulled away.
I flopped back against the seat, my muscles weak. “He’ll want to flee the country to avoid prosecution.”
“Are you sure you should go after him?” Gus asked in alarm.
“He’s a monster and I fucking hate him. But I need to look him in the eye and ask himwhy.”
“Hold tight,” he said with a quick nod.
Gus hit the accelerator. As we sped off through traffic, I imagined what I’d say to the bastard.
But halfway there, three lanes of traffic merged into one, slowing the car to a crawl in the tunnel as flashing lights glowed up ahead.
“No!” I groaned, putting my head in my hands. “Not now!”
“Sorry, mate, that’s bad luck,” Gus said with a frown. “Don’t give up yet. There’s still hope.”
A symphony of horns blasted as one guy got out of his car. He started yelling at the young woman directing traffic, demanding to know how long the delay would be.
When he poked her on the shoulder, Gus let out a gasp.
My hand shot toward the door handle.
Fucking moron!
“Gus, pass me your cap,” I instructed, before he handed it to me without a word. I pulled it down over my brow, flung open the door, then got out.
“Can I help at all?” I asked, stopping in front of the traffic controller.
“Look, I was just explaining that we’re trying to get the traffic moving as fast as possible,” she said shakily. “I’ve asked this man to get back into his vehicle.”
I tilted my head, signaling for him to go back to his car. “C’mon, just do what she asked. Don’t make her job harder than it needs to be.”
“Fuck off, mate, this is not your business,” he replied, his mouth turning up at one corner into a sneer.
The traffic controller took a step back, then flicked me a quick, grateful glance.
I strode toward the man, grabbed his arm, pinned it behind his back, and marched him to his car, ignoring his shouts, then closing his door after him. Despite his protests through the window, he stayed where he was.
I was glad I’d pulled my cap low when I spotted someone filming through their open window. More media attention was not something I wanted.
After a twenty-minute hold-up, we crept past the cause of the delay—a truck and two cars locked together.
The tow truck drivers worked to separate them. Thankfully, it seemed no one was injured. Finally, the blocked lanes cleared, and we raced ahead.
I was sure the chance to confront my father had slipped through my fingers.
But I had to try.
***
Gus pulled into the airport departures zone just as the silver Porsche drove away. I shoved open the car door and lunged onto the sidewalk, searching frantically as I made my way inside.
Have I missed him?
