The muscles in Torres’ jaw tightened at the mention of his best friend’s name. He did not bother denying what they both knew: his tenure with the DEA would be over as soon as he hunted down Archila’s killer. She just hoped she was able to get what she needed from him before then.
“Any word on El Escorpion?” Beth asked hopefully, remembering why she was there.
A terse shake of his head was his response.
Beth let out a stream of air. She didn’t expect him to have anything but she always hoped. The entire Administration was hunting for the head of Los Treintas and so far there were more verified sighting of the Loch Ness Monster than their elusive leader. “Eye witness” reports had him ranging in height between five feet and six foot six. Some people said he had straight black hair, others reported curly brown. Some said he was covered in tattoos, other people reported a single scorpion tattooed between the thumb and index finger of his left hand. One report said he was a married father of eight, though she took that one with a pinch of salt because it came from a prison informant desperate to cut a deal. It was like chasing a ghost, and the fact that no one could say for certain what he looked like, let alone knew his real name, only complicated things further. What the DEA knew about the man called El Escorpion fitted comfortably on a single page of paper: he was the leader of one of the most dangerous and heavily armed narco-terrorist groups to come out of Latin America. All details beyond that were speculation.
“Last I heard he was in Sinaloa.”
Beth nodded. She had heard the same thing, but again it had come from a prison informant, and it needed verifying. Not that knowing El Escorpion was or may be in Sinaloa narrowed it down enough to be of any use. Sinaloa was a large state. She could not exactly fly down to Mexico and start knocking on doors.
A sudden thought crossed her mind. Her pulse picked up again. “We need him alive,” Beth blurted out. “We both know he ordered the hit on Archila but you can’t kill him. Do you understand?” She had worked too long and too hard to not get El Escorpion. She could not deny that Torres would get a pass on almost anything he did undercover. There was no doubt in her mind that if Torres found Archila’s killer before she did, the man would be dead. And the case would be forgotten before the body was cold. She would make sure of it. But she needed El Escorpion alive.
Torres’ eyes narrowed, staring through her. There was no emotion on his face save for the simmering cold anger that he always wore.
“Tell me that you know that. Tell me if you find him, you’ll bring him in safe.”
His lip curled again into a facsimile of a smile. “You assume I’ll kill him. But you also assume I’ll tell you the truth about it.” She had forgotten how deep his voice was, like the slow plucked strings of a bass. Had there ever been any warmth in his tone, it would not have been a stretch to call it melodic. His eyes were dark now, the irises consuming any illusion of colour. She had never met anyone else whose physical presence made the hairs on the back of hair stand taut, and that was saying a lot. Beth was often in the company of felons. She could walk into any prison in Texas and not feel as unsettled as she did when she was with Torres.
“That’s not an answer. I know this is all about avenging Archila but you need to see the big picture. This isn’t just a squabble between warring cartels. This is national security. El Escorpion is wanted for arms dealing. You get that, right? He is supplying terrorists. If we don’t get him there will be thousands of other Archilas.” She tried to appeal to him in a language he understood; as an ex-Marine, Torres knew better than most the exact price of the war on terror.
She had been so proud of herself when she recruited Torres, and not just because he was such a valuable asset: she was proud of herself for facing him.
Torres shrugged his shoulders. “Well you’d better catch him.” He left the words “before I do” unsaid, but they were there, hanging between then, palpable.
Beth shook her head. She would find him. She quickly changed the subject. “How are you for money?”
“Good. I—”
Beth cut him off with a raised hand. “Don’t tell me. I just need to know you have enough. I don’t need to be an accessory after the fact.” The Administration had not given Torres money in months. They both knew that any money he had now had not been obtained by legal means and Beth liked to ignore the many less than savoury aspects of her job. Most the time she could if she focused on the big picture and did not let herself think too long about things.
Again Torres shrugged. “Your rules, Gatita.”
Beth flinched again at the cat reference. She really wasn’t the pathetic lovelorn shrew people thought she was, or maybe she was, either way she did not appreciate having it thrown in her face. Not that she cared what Torres thought.
But her pride niggled away at her like a feral cat clawing at her stomach. Was it so unbelievable to imagine Beth Thomson in a relationship? She wasn’t hideously deformed or unhygienic. And when she tried she could almost pass as charming.
Beth tapped her foot against the terracotta tiles of the bathroom floor. “Are we done here, because I really need to get back to my…boyfriend.” The word caught in her throat, barely making it past her dry lips. It wasn’t a lie; she was dating someone…she just would not characterise him as a boyfriend yet. Maybe at some point she would but it was too soon to tell…and she was not going to share that with Torres. God she just wanted to get home to her house. And, yes, her cat.
“Sorry to interrupt your quality time with your…boyfriend. Is that why you came? To tell me about your sex life? Must be pretty fantastic if you’re willing to get us both killed.” His tone changed when he said “boyfriend” but it was hard to tell if he was mocking her because his face remained blank. If there was any emotion behind his dark eyes, he hid it well. She wondered if he learned that in the military or if it had been a gift from Los Zetas. She did not let herself think about the things he must have seen undercover. And the things he must have done…
“No I didn’t come here to talk about my boyfriend – about Neil.” Beth stopped and cleared her throat. She had come to tell him about Archila’s murderer. She glanced to the door, fully aware that Flores and his three associates were still there. Once Beth gave up her information, there was no need for Torres to protect her. Trust did not come easily to her, and he had done nothing yet to earn it. “I came to see if you had any more information on El Escorpion, but you don’t so I will go. We need to change our meeting place. I’ll pick somewhere along I35—”
Beth reached for the door handle but Torres stopped her by placing his large frame between her and the door. His eyes were darker than before. There was emotion there now, but not a welcome one. His demeanour had changed in an instant going from indifferent to alert, like a cheetah ready to pounce.
“You’re leaving after five minutes? Didn’t think that one through did ya, Gatita? I just told four gang members that you are my woman and you expect them to think five minutes would be enough time to get…reacquainted? I’ve been with them two years and they have never seen me with a woman. You’re gonna need to fake it a bit longer than that.”
A hot flush crept up Beth’s neck, settling high on her cheeks, burning as the blood rose to the surface of her skin. The way his lips curled around each syllable made her stomach do a flip, especially when he said “my woman”. Beth had no doubt that a plethora of woman had filled that role over the years. Some women probably got off on the fear. What was it about women and bad boys? She had a name for those women: stupid. Bad boys were just that, bad. People don’t change. If you date a bad boy, you end up with a bad boyfriend, and then a bad husband, and then a bad father for your children, simple as that.
Though she could see how women could forget themselves with him. Her gaze drifted to the white cotton fabric that strained to cover the expanse of his biceps. Beth was fairly certain she could smell testosterone under the clean scent of aftershave. Once she got past the fact that his physical presence w
as completely terrifying, she could see in an objective way why women found him attractive, there was something primal about him. And the taut muscles that sculpted his body didn’t hurt either.
Beth cleared her throat, remembering where she was. “Right…of course. We should give it some time…” Beth looked down lamely at her watch but her eyes did not register the numbers. She cleared her throat again. It had been a long day. “Um…how long exactly were you thinking?”
If she wasn’t mistaken, Beth saw a flash of a smile crack over his full lips. It was hard to tell because it was gone so quickly, and the curve of his lips made it look as much like a snarl as a grin.
“I don’t know, Gatita. How long does it take with Neil?”
Beth let out a sharp breath. The mention of Neil in the context of sex temporarily put her on the back foot. She had not had sex with Neil yet but she was not about to tell Torres that. It would mean explaining that she hadn’t gotten around to sleeping with Neil because she fully expected it to be another lacklustre sexual experience. She was putting it off so she could pretend a little bit longer this would be the guy who made her see stars. “Um…you know, I don’t know, the normal amount of time. Now let’s go. I need a drink from the minibar.” Beth tried to push past him, but the wall of muscle that was Torres’ body did not budge.
“No, I don’t know. It’s been a while. Remind me how long sex should take.”
Beth dropped her hands to her sides and forced herself to look Torres directly in the eye. His mouth was not smiling but his dark eyes certainly were. The sides crinkled in amusement. He found her amusing. Her sex life amused him. She forced a confidence into her tone she did not feel. “Thirty minutes should be adequate if everyone knows what they are doing.” Yep, thirty minutes was usually enough time for her to realise it wasn’t working for her. Half an hour was how long it took for the guy to stop trying.
Torres nodded his dark head. “OK then. Showtime,” Torres said and then turned off the water. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”
Beth’s eyes narrowed in question, but the only answer she got was a quick flash of a smile. Like before, his lips curled up so it looked more like an act of aggression than a smile, but this time she could see his teeth, two perfectly straight rows of white. Clearly any initiation he endured had not involved having his teeth pulled, which must have been a relief for him because he really did have nice teeth. She wondered if he had had braces and then she wondered why she cared.
“Ready?” Torres asked but he did not wait for an answer. He opened the bathroom door, kicked off his shoes and pulled back the duvet on the bed. “We’d better make this believable.” He gave her a warning glance so menacing that it shot a bolt of fear down her spine. Her hands were suddenly wet and her mouth dry. What was he doing?
“Right side or left?” Torres asked but he was already making his way toward the far side of the room.
Beth glanced at the chair in the corner. She expected to spend the next thirty minutes drinking cocktails made from minuscule bottles of overpriced alcohol. Clearly Torres had other plans.
Beth raised her hand in protest but before she could say anything Torres smiled. He was teasing her. Her brain could not make room for the new information. In the long list of characteristics she attributed to Torres, playful was not one of them. He was cold and calculating and lethal when he needed to be. He wasn’t…whatever this was.
“Just play along. You know what they’re expecting. Make them think that you are in here having the time of your life.” The crinkles around his eyes deepened, it was almost like he was smiling but his mouth had forgotten to play its part.
Beth cleared her throat again. “Can’t we just go out in half an hour…maybe high five Flores and then let me go?”
Torres shook his head. “They have not seen me with a woman. It’s going to take more than half an hour to make up for two years of celibacy.”
Beth bit her cheek to stop from asking if it had really been that long since he had been with a woman. It was none of her business. And she didn’t care. “How much time would it take to make up for two years?” she asked instead when her curiosity would not be abated.
A slight smile tugged at his lips. “Why, is there somewhere you need to be?”
Again she forced herself to look him in the eyes. Lucky for her she was a good liar. “As a matter of fact I do. So the thirty minutes starts now.”
This time he rewarded her with a genuine smile. “Well if we only have thirty minutes, we’d better make it one hell of a half hour.” Torres folded the floral cover and laid it across a stool at the foot of the bed before he stretched out. He looked completely relaxed like a lion lying down for his afternoon nap, or like a crocodile ready to snap the bones of a small bird and devour its tattered carcass.
Beth suddenly thought of Torres having sex, no doubt he could accomplish a lot in a half an hour. She sat down on the bed. “Has it really been two years?” She could not stop herself from asking. The question was rude and entirely unprofessional but she was curious.
Torres nodded but did not elaborate.
Beth’s eyes narrowed as her gaze moved over his solid form. Their contact had been limited since Beth had recruited him just shy of two years ago. They met up every eight weeks or so to touch base, but other than their initial meeting and the time she had trained him, their conversations had been brief and to the point. They did not have much to say to one another beyond work, but thirty minutes would pass more quickly if they weren’t just staring at one another. She tried to think of another question to ask him, anything to pass the time, but her mind was mercilessly blank. Well that wasn’t true exactly, she could think of several follow-up questions about his sex life but she wasn’t about to ask those.
Beth tapped her fingers against the scratchy cotton sheet. “So,” she began lamely. “How have you been?” She whispered so as not to be heard through the thin walls. She could tell by the coarse laughter that Flores and his partners in crime were still in the other room. She remembered she needed to ask Torres the names of his associates, though she doubted they would get her any closer to El Escorpion, and the elusive leader was all she cared about. Everything else was detail, and Beth didn’t do details unless they served her.
Torres opened his eyes but did not look at her. “How have I been?” He shook his dark head. “I thought you wanted credible deniability.”
“Yes – I mean no – I mean how are you other than anything that pertains to criminality?” The question sounded stupid even to her. Apparently she had forgotten how to make small talk.
“Other than being the head of a Sicario and being personally responsible for bringing 100 kilos a month of cocaine and marijuana into Laredo every month, I’m great. How are you, Beth?” Torres turned and looked at her, pinning her in place with his dark eyes.
A bolt of ice ran the length of her spine. There was a caustic sadness in his deep voice, it was tinged with a deep regret. She never really stopped to think how Torres was handling things his end; her focus was always on dismantling Los Treintas. Everything beyond that was filed with the other minutiae of her life, somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind. Beth liked to think of her work in abstract nebulous terms, because the reality of it was quite ugly. Sometimes what they had to do was amoral and illegal but it was also necessary, it served a greater good.
But sometimes she remembered that the names in reports were people. Those were the moments she hated her job, but they were also the moments that reminded her why someone needed to do it.
Torres did not have the luxury of distancing himself; he was part of a Sicario, a hit-man squad. She would never ask for details because she did not need to know and selfishly she did not want to know, those were details that she didn’t let exist.
“You know I…I mean all of us appreciate your sacrifices. We couldn’t do it without you.” It wasn’t a platitude; it was the truth. If she never had contact with Torres again after tonight, which is what sh
e suspected, he still would have been one of the best assets the Administration had ever had. They now knew the exact route drugs were entering the US in Texas and California and they had identified six border patrol agents on the Zetas’ payroll. Once Torres was out of the field they could act on the information and in the long run the country would be safer because of his service. “You have done Archila proud.”
Torres sat up. “Don’t. I’m already whoring myself for the cause. Don’t make it worse. It must be so nice for you, not needing to bother yourself with details.” He ran a hand over his smooth head. She could tell there was more he wanted to say but something stopped him. A stab of guilt pierced her gut. Not for the first time she felt the twinge of a conscience asking if she was taking advantage of him. It would be incredible for anyone to think that of the powerful man in front of her, but she had read his file. She knew every gruesome detail that led him to this point, and she had used it all against him, manipulated him into joining the DEA. She appealed to his honour and his need for revenge. She had been calculating and mercenary, and she would do it again in a minute but it still didn’t make it any less of a dick move.
“I’m sorry,” Beth whispered.
Torres was quiet for a long time. “Me too.” His voice was so low she would have not known what he had said had she not been looking at him.
He glanced down at his watch and sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger before he said, “Time to make it convincing. Show me your acting skills, Gatita.”
Beth raised a brow in question.
“We’re having sex not studying in a library. Make some noise, Beth.”
Beth shook her head.
Torres smiled and then rocked the bed back and forth in a slow cadence, the headboard hitting the wall at a steady pace. “Now,” he said in a tone that warned her not to argue with him. She doubted anyone argued with him…about anything…but no, she was not going to make any noises. “No,” she mouthed.
Blurring the Line Page 2
