Blurring the Line

by Kierney Scott

  Beth shook her head. She still couldn’t believe she told him about that. “Nope. My all-time favourite food is meatloaf with mushroom gravy from the diner my mom works at. Worked at,” she corrected herself.

  “Neil knows that?” Torres asked dubiously. From his facial expression it was clear he didn’t believe her.

  “Yes,” she lied.

  “He knows your mom is a waitress?” he pressed.

  “Yep.” Beth forced herself to make eye contact but then she shook her head. She didn’t want to lie to him. Why? She had no idea. “No, Torres he doesn’t. It never came up. You’re the only one I spill my guts with. I’m still on my best behaviour with Neil.”

  The corner of his mouth rose. “And best behaviour means not having sex? I don’t think you’re doing it right.”

  “Why does it always come back to sex with you?”

  “Because I’m a man.”

  There was no doubt about that. She had never seen a more masculine specimen in her life. She turned the tables on him. “Yes, a man who hasn’t had sex in two years,” she said triumphantly.

  But her moment of smugness was soon gone. “This morning you looked more than happy to help me rectify that.” Torres’ dark gaze pinned her to her seat. In an instant the switch was tripped and he went from teasing to flirting. But it wasn’t like any flirting she knew. It was more sinister than anything she had ever experienced and much more of a challenge than an invitation.

  Beth took a deep breath. She had put all her cards on the table until this point, she might as well go all in. “There was a brief moment of insanity this morning when I considered what it would be like to have sex with you.” She didn’t mention the other times it had happened; she was honest, not stupid. “It was curiosity more than anything else. I’ve never been with anyone like you.”

  “What? What does that mean? You’ve never been with a Mexican?”

  Beth shook her head. “Of course I have dated Mexicans. Statistically it would seem unlikely given my age and my home state. California has a large Latino population.”

  Torres cut her off before she could give percentages. “Then what do you mean you have never been with someone like me before? Someone you work with?”

  “Well that too.” The thought of dating Patterson nearly made her choke on her coffee. He wasn’t unattractive, but he was an ass. “But I meant I had never been with someone who scares me.”

  Torres smiled. “I see.”

  Beth held up her hand. “No. Don’t start that again. What do you see?”

  “You wanted to be scared a little, have someone take you to the edge. Why did you change your mind?”

  “I remembered that I would have to be certifiably insane to ever actually consider it.”

  Instead of looking insulted, he looked amused. “Smart girl.” Torres took another long swig of his coffee. “But I would take you to the edge, Gatita. And you’d like it.” His voice was so low she had to strain to hear him.

  A bolt of desire ran through her body, his words as potent as any touch. Her skin burned this time not with embarrassment but with desire. Beth shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She could only pray her face wasn’t showing her current emotions. Beth’s gaze was drawn to his lips, and then lower to the white fabric of his T-shirt, stretched tautly over his arms. Each muscle group stood out defined from the others by deep ridges. Even through his shirt she could trace the lines. She tried thinking about his scar and the hideous tattoo that covered it, in an attempt to remind herself who he was, and why entertaining any sort of feelings for him, even desire that she would never act on, was pure insanity. But the image her mind conjured was far from repulsive; it only served to intensify the invisible pull that drew her in. As she first feared, Torres was dangerous, but not for the reasons she had thought. He was dangerous because he made her feel things she shouldn’t.

  Get it together, girl. She forced herself to look him in the eye, really stare hard and see the whole picture, remember every reason he could never be a viable option.

  Torres returned her stare, neither saying a word, in a sexual stalemate.

  Suddenly Torres’ head whipped round.

  In the street, shots rang out in a rapid succession. At first Beth thought there were fireworks but then Torres was on top of her. In an instant he had thrown the table out from between them and dived on top of her. His hands were rough on her, pinning her to the ground. “Stay down,” he said.

  Beth couldn’t move, she could barely breathe. More shots rang out. Then there were screams from the road and then the screeching of tyres.

  Finally there was silence. For several long moments, neither of them moved.

  “Stay down,” Torres commanded again as he stood up. Beth tried to sit up but her muscles rebelled, forgetting how to contract. She could hear screaming but it seemed miles away, in a fog, or a dream she couldn’t completely remember.

  Finally she was able to turn her head to the street. Her eyes struggled to focus. “Oh God,” she whispered. “Oh God, no!” Beth stood up and started running towards the car. A black Mercedes S Class straddled the two lanes, riddled with holes, the windshield shattered. The driver’s door was open, a man’s bloody body hung from the seat, suspended by the seatbelt he had not been able to undo before he died.

  “Get back,” Torres screamed but Beth kept running.

  “No! No! No!” Beth screeched. She ran to the passenger side and opened the door. “No!” she screamed again. Pablo Sanchez’s head was slumped against the seat. Her informant. His eyes were still open in a vacant stare. Blood pooled at his mouth. Beth reached for his left hand, finding the scorpion tattoo that identified him as a member of Los Treintas. She dropped his hand.

  “Call the police!” Beth screamed but no one was listening. Where were the Federales? Martinez and Sanchez both had a detail assigned to them, to follow them to the courthouse. Where were they? No one was even looking at the car other than Torres, who had wrapped his arms around Beth’s waist and was pulling her from the car. She thrashed her body, pulling against him with all her force.

  “Let me go!” she screeched. She had to look in the back seat. “Let me go!”

  “Stop, Beth. It’s over. He’s dead. They’re all dead. We need to get out of here.”

  Beth shoved her elbow into the unyielding wall of his stomach. “Let me go. He has a baby. He has a daughter.”

  Torres’ grip loosened and Beth was able to pull away. She flung open the back door. She climbed over the dead body of a pregnant woman, Sanchez’s wife, and reached for the baby strapped in a pink and black car seat. Beth’s heart stopped when she saw the bullet hole in the side of the seat. “No!” Her body was shaking now, giant spasms wracking her body. “No!” Her legs buckled. Torres pulled her into him again for support. This time she did not pull away.

  Beth gently laid her hand on the baby’s head of soft brown curls. “Oh baby girl,” she cried.

  Suddenly the baby screamed. Her chocolate-brown eyes, wide as saucers, brimmed with tears. Beth pulled her hand away like it was about to be mauled by a rabid dog.

  She was alive.

  Beth’s hand fumbled as she pulled at the straps of the car seat. Why wouldn’t the damn straps give? Beth started shouting and swearing. She didn’t even realise she was doing it until the baby gave out another frightened scream. Beth stopped pulling on the straps and gently brushed a curl out of the baby’s eye. “Lo siento, mija. Esta bien. Todo va estar bien.” Finally Beth found the buckle and released the baby from her seat. “Que esta a salvo.” She pulled her to her chest and held her tight, telling her over and over again that she was going to be OK.

  Torres pulled on Beth’s arm. “We need to get out of here.”

  Beth nodded. It wasn’t safe. Sanchez was dead. So were his bodyguard and his wife. Where was Martinez? Beth shook her head to clear it. They didn’t have time to stand on the street and think about it. Someone would make them.

  “Put the baby down,” Torres se
ethed between gritted teeth. His fingers bit into her arm. His stare was murderous. There was no doubt in her mind that it took more than a bit of willpower for him not to throttle her.

  Beth pulled her in tighter. The baby screamed in protest as Beth crushed her against her chest. “Lo siento, mija.” On reflex Beth kissed the top of her head and apologised.

  “We need to get out of here before we are seen.” Torres’ anger had turned to a controlled rage. Fear grabbed her by the throat. But she couldn’t leave the baby.

  Beth shook her head. “We’re taking her with us. She needs to be in protective custody. Someone just murdered her family. I’m not leaving her here with their bodies.”

  Torres stared at her coldly. His jaw clenched, the muscles below the surface twitched. There was a moment when Beth thought Torres would walk away and leave them both. But then his fingers tightened around her wrist. She cried out from the biting pain. “Fine. Let’s just go. We’ll sort this out once we’re off the street.”

  Beth nodded and told the baby again that everything was going to be OK. They started running for their car, which they had parked around the corner.

  Beth opened the door and slid across the bench seat in the back. She put the toddler beside her and buckled her in. They didn’t have a car seat for her but it couldn’t be any more dangerous than being shot at. She told her again everything was going to be OK.

  Torres glared at her, resentment burning in his eyes. “Your Spanish is perfect,” he said as he slammed the door behind her.

  Chapter Eight

  Beth didn’t speak for the first hour of the drive other than to reassure the baby that everything was going to be OK. She had no way to know that but that seemed like the right thing to be saying. She repeated the words like a mantra, willing them to be true.

  Torres was silent. His eyes focused on the road. The steering wheel looked small clenched in his hands.

  Beth cleared her throat. He was angry at the situation and probably at her. “Her named is Alejandra. She is sixteen months old.”

  The baby turned to look up at Beth when she heard her name.

  “I knew he had a family. But they weren’t supposed to be in Mexico. Her mom is from El Salvador. That is where they were supposed to be.” Beth shook her head. She had gotten it wrong. All her planning, and she had gotten it wrong. She closed her eyes and let the information wash over her.

  Torres didn’t say anything.

  “We couldn’t leave her there.” She was saying it as much to convince herself as him. Essentially they had just kidnapped a child. Beth had drawn attention to them by creating a scene in the road. It was quite possibly the stupidest thing she had ever done. She had very possibly blown Torres’ cover and ruined any chance of finding Martinez or El Escorpion. Cognitively she knew what she should have done. They should have left her there for someone else to deal with. Someone would have called the police eventually. There was a reason no one else reacted when the car was ambushed; the people of Sinaloa were smart enough to know not to get involved and they were callous enough to be used to brutality.

  But Beth wasn’t.

  As much as she liked to pretend she could keep her distance emotionally, she saw Alejandra and all her training went out the window. Turns out she wasn’t as good at faking the part of an agent as she thought.

  Still Torres didn’t say anything and Beth gave up trying.

  They drove in silence until the Alejandra started to fuss. She wasn’t as happy as Beth to stare at the landscape of cactuses and scorched earth. “It’s OK, baby girl.” Beth held out her hand and Alejandra wrapped her chubby fingers around Beth’s index finger. She smiled, exposing tiny teeth; six at the top, four at the bottom. “Yes, it’s going to be OK, Pretty Girl.” Alejandra pulled on her hand, rocking it back and forth. “You’re a sweet girl, aren’t you?” Beth couldn’t help but smile when she looked into her sweet face. She had chubby cheeks and large brown eyes and a headful of thick dark brown curls. Like a lot of Latina babies, her ears had already been pierced, probably when she was a new born. In her ears were tiny diamond studs, which were no doubt real. Sadly all the money in the world couldn’t protect her family from a semi-automatic.

  Beth sighed. Her heart constricted painfully as she realised this poor baby’s life would never be the same again. “You’re going be OK, baby girl.”

  “Speak Spanish. She can’t understand you.” His voice was like acid.

  Beth’s back stiffened. He was angry that she had lied. “Yes I speak Spanish. Of course I do. I told you I was recruited by the DEA. They wanted me because I speak fluent Spanish and Arabic. Why do you think I was put in charge of the Treinta task force? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I needed for you to speak freely in front of me.”

  Torres shook his head. “Because you don’t trust me.”

  “Yes. No. Look, I don’t know you well enough to trust you. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Really? Don’t take it personally. You expect me to trust you with my life and you don’t even trust me enough to tell me you speak Spanish.” Torres shook his head again.

  “Look, it’s not personal. I wouldn’t have told anyone. It’s not you. I don’t trust anyone.” Beth’s eyes narrowed as realiation washed over her. She really didn’t trust anyone.

  “Fine.”

  “Torres, don’t be like that.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  Beth sat back and laid her head against the velour headrest. Of course he was pissed at her. She would be too. She turned and looked out on the arid land, across the wide expanse of the horizon. “I’m sorry, Torres. I know you don’t know this, because I hide it so well, but I have a hard time trusting people. All people, not just you.” She tried to lighten the mood by joking but it fell on deaf ears.

  Torres still did not respond. He continued to look straight ahead, both hands wrapped around the steering wheel in a death grip. She could see his eyes in the rear-view mirror. She didn’t recognise him. The anger had darkened his face. She wondered if this was what he looked like when he killed. She pushed the thought as far back in her mind as she could.

  “Look, it has always just been my mom, my sister and I, that’s it. They’re my world. They’re the only people I trust. I don’t let anyone know anything about me.” Beth turned her head and looked out the window again. “I just don’t trust people, OK?. Nothing to do with you.”

  Silence reigned for a long time. Several minutes passed, the only sound was Alejandra babbling a string of consonants over and over. Beth absently stroked her small head. The movement calmed her down as much as the baby. Torres was angry but he wouldn’t hurt her. Would he? Her mouth was suddenly dry.

  “What about your father?” Torres asked.

  Beth went rigid. She didn’t talk about her dad to anyone, not even Paige or her mom. As far as she was concerned he was dead. “No I don’t trust him either.”

  “Why not?”

  Beth shook her head. “Because he’s a liar.”

  Torres didn’t say anything, apparently happy to let it go.

  But she wasn’t. She never spoke about her dad; she even went as far as taking her mom’s maiden name so she could completely distance herself from him. If anyone asked her about him outright, she said he was dead. “Remember when I told you I needed to go home to Sacramento to take care of my mom?”

  Torres nodded.

  “It’s because my mom refuses to leave Sacramento because she still visits him once a week in Folsom prison.” Beth realised for the first time the bitterness she carried towards her mom because of that. They could have moved far away when she was a kid, gone someplace where nobody knew them. But they didn’t because Ruth Thomson didn’t give up on love even when it had clearly given up on her.

  Torres didn’t say anything.

  Clearly he was doing the silent thing to keep her talking. “Aren’t you going to ask me what he did?”

  “Nope. If you wanted to tell me, you would.”

&nb
sp; A faint smile tugged at her lips. That is why she liked Torres, for all his faults, he didn’t push. She may as well admit it; she did like Torres, when she didn’t fear for her safety. Suddenly she realised she wanted to tell Torres. Hiding things and omitting the unflattering details of her life were second nature to her. She didn’t even have to think about it, she just did it on reflex. But she wanted Torres to know. She wanted one person she didn’t have to pretend with. “When I was a baby he was arrested for credit card fraud, he got out when I was five. My mom and I were thrilled. Dad was home. He had turned his life around. Everything was going to be great. Ten months after he got home Paige was born. Life was good. Happy family…all that crap.”

  Torres didn’t say anything. If she wanted she could stop there. Torres wouldn’t push. And that is why she continued. “Things were going great. I had my dad back and my new baby sister. He and my mom made all sorts of plans. It was promise after promise. We were going to move to the country. Mom was going to grow her own vegetables and raise chickens. That was her dream. Can you believe it? That is all she wanted and he couldn’t even manage to give her that.” Beth had to stop for a moment. Resentment that she had buried years ago was threatening to resurface and she didn’t know if she had the strength to push it back down again. “Anyway. He could have gotten a proper job but everything was beneath him. Long story short, he decided robbing a bank was a better option than an honest day’s work. He was no master criminal; he couldn’t even rob a bank right.” Beth rolled her eyes. There was no right way to rob a bank. It wasn’t like the story would have turned out better if he had been successful. “There was an off-duty police officer at the bank. My dad obviously wasn’t great at recon. The guy got shot in the leg and my dad got another felony added to his felony.”

  Torres was quiet as he processed the information. “Do you ever see him?”

  “The last time saw him I was nine. My mom still goes to see him.” She tried to sound casual about it but she hated that her mom was so weak. She should have cut him out like a cancer but she couldn’t or wouldn’t. Her mom was strong and independent in every other way but Joe Cummings was her kryptonite. Geez, why was she mad at her mom? Her mom hadn’t robbed the bank. Her mom was loving and gentle and kind, and too forgiving for her own good.