Silent sobs shake my shoulders as I lift my eyes to heaven and pray for a miracle.
Something.
Anything.
Gabriel
It’s been three months and a week since Valentina ran. I thought I knew agony when Sylvia left, but nothing compares to this torture. Not knowing is the worst. Is Valentina alive? Is she well? When I’m not looking for her, I get through the days by focusing on business and through the weekends by spending time with Carly.
The first breakthrough comes from Magda. I’m pouring over our financial statements when she walks into my study and throws a photo of a vehicle number plate on my desk.
“This is how she left.”
I drop everything to look at the picture. For the first time in months, my frozen heart starts to thaw. My fingers tighten on the glossy paper. “How did you find this?”
“I found Jerry.”
This reminds me how powerful my mother’s network is. I’ve been trying for months to locate that orange-haired mongrel with no success.
“Where did you find him? How?”
“Does it matter?” She perches on the edge of my desk. “Connections.”
Valentina hasn’t touched her money, which leaves only one explanation. “He gave Valentina a stolen car. False number plate?”
“Exactly.”
“And?” I hold my breath.
“Nothing so far, but I’ve put out word that we’re looking for a car of this description. I have a few friends in the traffic department.”
Since our initial argument, Magda’s become a lot more cooperative. As she came to acknowledge that Valentina could potentially bear me a child, she’s been putting her full weight behind the effort of tracking Valentina. For the first time ever, I have the sense that our family––at least my mother and I––are standing together. It doesn’t make us like each other, but our tolerance levels are higher.
Despite my concern and anger, I admire Valentina for staying hidden for so long. The odds have never been in her favor. It was only a matter of time, and that time is now.
A day later, we have information from the Kwazulu Natal Traffic Department. The good news is they found the vehicle. The bad news is it’s a burnt-out wreck. Today’s flights to all airports in Natal are fully booked, and I can’t wait until tomorrow.
An hour later, Rhett, Quincy, and I are on our way to Durban. I take the Jaguar while they follow with the Merc so we can split up if needed. I instruct my bodyguards to talk to the people residing in the area where the car has been found, and I visit the site. What I see raises the hair on my arms. The car has been hidden behind some bushes under trees, something clever that Valentina would do, but the state of it makes my skin crawl. There’s dissolution in the vandalised carcass. The tires are missing, the seats have been ripped out, the dash torn to pieces, and the windows shattered. In the midst of the chaos, in a circle of black, burnt grass stands the broken framework of the car. There’s no telling how long ago the destruction took place, but the pungent odor of soot still coats the soil. Is her body somewhere in the bushes, vandalized, too? Even if Magda’s contact at the police department ensured me the area has been thoroughly searched, I can’t get the ghost of that thought out of my head.
Quincy and Rhett join me an hour later. An old man living in a beachfront house saw a young woman and man matching Valentina and Charlie’s descriptions hanging around the beach, but it’s been days since he last saw them. I’m about to search the dunes when a text message comes in from my hacker.
Bingo.
Valentina Haynes visited a private clinic. Today. I stare at her address and phone number that appear on my screen, waiting for the next line to say it’s a hoax, but no other information follows.
“What is it?” Quincy asks.
“Rhett, Quincy, bring the car. Follow me.”
Rhett’s voice is both hopeful and frightened. “You found her?”
I’m not going to jinx my luck by saying yes. I make my way with long strides to my car. Rhett catches up with me as I open the door.
He places a hand on my arm. “Gabriel?”
There are a thousand questions in the way he speaks my name, and I understand each of them. I know what he’s asking. “I’m not going to hurt her. If they’re both there, take Charlie for a drink until I give you further instructions.”
He drops his hand, letting me get into the car.
I send the address to Anton, my PI, with instructions to get information on the dwelling. I want to know what kind of building it is, who owns it, and if tenants are registered.
The few kilometers I drive to the address on my GPS are the longest of my life. Every single traffic light is red and seems to take forever to change. It’s early evening when we pull up in front of a dry-cleaning store. The store is already closed. My spirits sink. I pull up the information Anton sent to my phone. The business is owned by a Chinese immigrant. If he gave Valentina a job, she’s not registered as an employee in his records. I get out and motion for Quincy and Rhett to follow, weapons pulled in case. The area isn’t as bad as the city center, but you never know. If need be, I’ll wait out here all night until the shop opens in the morning. It won’t hurt to look around in the meantime.