Consent (The Loan Shark Duet 2)

“Val.” Quincy’s breathless voice reaches me through my sobs. “Good God. What’s happening? What can I do?”

Through my tears I see him crouch down in front of me.

“He’s at work, sweetheart. He’ll get your message and call you back when––”

The ringtone of his phone cuts him short. The sound is loud and obtrusive, like bad news.

His face freezes when he glances at the screen. His voice is ominous. “It’s Rhett.” He forces a smile on his face, but his heart isn’t in his words. “See? He’ll tell you everything’s fine.” He straightens and walks to the corner, keeping his back turned to me. “What’s up, Rhett?”

For a while he doesn’t speak. He only listens. The set of his shoulders grows tighter and tighter. They pull inward, and his head lowers between them until it hangs from his neck like a wilted leaf. He turns an inch, as if he wants to look at me, but he doesn’t. He cuts the call and drops his hand without saying a word. He doesn’t have to. It’s written in his body language. When he finally faces me, the sorrow I see on his face weakens my knees.

“Val.” He swallows and looks away, then returns his eyes to mine. “You have to be strong.”

18

Valentina

My head moves from side to side automatically, already denying the words Quincy hasn’t spoken yet. “No.”

He walks back to me, drops the phone on the table, and takes my hands. “There was an explosion.”

Heat boils through my veins and freezes over. I stare at Quincy in a silent stupor.

“I…” His Adam’s apple bobs, and his eyes blur behind a veil of moisture. “I’m sorry.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “Gabriel was in the building.”

I can’t think. I can’t process what he said. Only my body is reacting to the vicious words, starting to shake uncontrollably.

“Rhett is on his way with a police officer.” He blinks several times, but his tears overflow. “You’ve got to be strong, now, stronger than you’ve ever been.”

I don’t feel strong. I’m not strong enough for this. This can’t be happening. From afar, someone calls my name.

“Val.” Quincy gives my shoulders a gentle shake. “I’m going to help you upstairs. You’re going to get dressed.”

I move on autopilot. It’s all I can do to keep myself together, but like a mended vase full of glued cracks, my foundation is already weak. Nothing is coherent, and nothing is powerful enough to protect me from this onslaught. It’s Quincy’s steady hand that gives me guidance, leaving me in the dressing room to finish a mundane routine so I can face the world.

Randomly, I take clothes from hangers, not giving thought to color or style. I don’t remember dressing or brushing my teeth, but my breath tastes like mint, and my hair is untangled when there’s a soft knock on the bedroom door. I open it to find Rhett standing on the doorstep, looking forlorn and haggard. His shoulders shake as he takes me into a brief hug, taking care not to press on my wound.

“There’s a sergeant downstairs,” he says when he manages to regain his composure.

“I know.”

Taking my arm, he helps me to the lounge where a woman in a blue uniform waits. Looking at her young face, I feel sorry for her. What a terrible task.

“Mrs. Louw,” her voice is steady, respectful, and filled with sympathy, “I’m terribly sorry to inform you that your husband perished in an explosion this morning.”

Perished. What a strange choice of words. Like food or a lifeless commodity. “Won’t you please sit?” I take a chair because my legs won’t carry me.

She perches on the edge of the sofa and glances at Quincy and Rhett who hover at my side. “Do you prefer we speak in private?”

I follow her gaze. Like a watch losing time, I’m a second late in making intellectual connections. “Oh,” I say as I catch her drift. “They’re employees and friends. You can speak in front of them.”

“Very well.” She shifts her attention back to me. “An investigation will have to be conducted, but we suspect foul play.”

Something inside my chest pinches. “You mean it wasn’t an accident?”

“We found evidence that says otherwise.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“Plastic explosives.”

I clamp a hand over my mouth. “Oh, my God.”

“Your husband had many enemies.” She says it like a statement. “Did he have any threats, of late?”

I can think of a hundred people off the top of my head who would’ve threatened Gabriel, especially with Magda gone, but that’s not where my thoughts are dwelling. “The body.” I sink my nails into the fabric of the seat when I think of him blown to pieces. “Did you find a body?”

“Not yet, but the debris hasn’t been combed through.”

I look at Rhett. “He could’ve gotten out.”

Rhett’s look is haunted. “I saw him go inside, Val. There’s no other way out. No backdoor or windows.”