Holding The Line: A romantic suspense that will get your pulse racing

Holding The Line: A romantic suspense that will get your pulse racing Kierney Scott ‘an intense story of betrayal, danger and reconnection.’ – Obsessed with MyshelfA heartracing romantic suspense thriller that will have you on the edge of your seat.It’s been four years since Armando Torres disappeared. He was DEA agent Beth Thomson’s best undercover recruit – and the best lover she ever had.In the time since he left, she has forced herself to move on. So when news reaches her that Torres is dead, she isn’t expecting the wave of emotions that overwhelm her. It’s a gang hit, and there isn’t much of a body left to identify. But when she visits the morgue, her horror soon turns to disbelief at what she finds.With notorious gang leader ‘El Escorpion’ still evading capture, her mother’s health deteriorating, and her daughter starting school – can Beth recreate the passion from her past, even when her whole world is changing?Perfect for fans of Kendra Elliot, Marie Force and Melinda LeighDon't miss the next book in the fast-paced romantic suspense series: The Firing Line1 – Blurring the Line2 – Holding the Line3 – Crossing the LineWhat readers are saying about Holding the Line‘Kierney Scott hit a home run’ – BrizzleLass‘This story has plenty of pace, twists, depth and lots and lots of heat!’ – Tracey (Goodreads)‘this series is by far one of the best I have read this year.’ – Fifty Shades of Books It’s been four years since Armando Torres disappeared. He was DEA agent Beth Thomson’s best undercover recruit – and the best lover she ever had. In the time since he left, she has forced herself to move on. So when news reaches her that Torres is dead, she isn’t expecting the wave of emotions that overwhelm her. It’s a gang hit, and there isn’t much of a body left to identify. But when she visits the morgue, her horror soon turns to disbelief at what she finds. With notorious gang leader El Escorpion still evading capture, her mother’s health deteriorating, and her daughter starting school – can Beth recreate the passion from her past, even when her whole world is changing? Also by Kierney Scott (#u8ad3f949-ac25-53cc-aa3b-67d4b8626fe3) The Firing Line trilogy: Blurring the Line Coming soon: Crossing the Line Twice in a Lifetime Dirty Little Secrets Holding the Line Kierney Scott Copyright (#ulink_f5ed1caf-bf94-50d1-987b-ed165b30c27b) HQ An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2015 Copyright © Kierney Scott 2015 Kierney Scott asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. E-book Edition © June 2015 ISBN: 9781474032773 Version date: 2018-07-23 KIERNEY SCOTT is originally from California, but moved to Scotland to enrol in the PhD programme in Educational Research at the University of Edinburgh. Four days after she arrived, she met her husband, who persuaded her it would be more fun to get married than to write a thesis. After the birth of her daughter she decided it was time to go back to school, but soon she discovered all she wanted to write was romance novels. She admitted her literary proclivities to her husband, who promptly bought her a laptop and told her to start writing her book. When she is not writing, you will probably find her at a spinning class or baking (read eating) cupcakes. Her butter-cream icing is legendary, if only in her mind. If you want her recipe, or you just want to chat, you can contact her at [email protected] (http://[email protected]) or follow her on Twitter at Kierney Scott @Kierney_S (http://twitter.com/Kierney_S) This one is for all my lovely girlfriends who sat and listened to me jabber on about Torres like he is a real man…that I am having a very steamy affair with. Silvia Stevenson – All I need to do is mention I am having an off day and you bake me a cake. You really are the best friend a girl could ask for. Ruth Colley – You are hands down the best neighbour ever. You are also the naughtiest English Rose ever, but I am saving that for another story. Fiona Wilson – Everyone should read and laugh as much as you. Yvonne McDougall – You make me LOL for real. And thanks to you I now know how to launder drug money to fund arms deals and other nefarious things. My CV thanks you. Elizabeth Barbour – If Torres ever comes to life, he is all yours. I think you’re one of the few women I know who could handle AND appreciate him. And last but never least, this book is for my mom, there are too many reasons why, so just because… Contents Cover (#uea48e9d2-b331-540f-aa2a-c19798d97ce6) Blurb (#u2ccfae30-b1cf-5085-85cd-2d7e87e77346) Book List Title Page (#u05039ae8-2c79-58dd-9911-e13ee2120cc7) Copyright (#ulink_9a917e36-d886-5253-afc6-97a8a6943909) Author Bio (#u2a2bfe79-13d7-544a-9411-0aed6cd0cef3) Dedication (#u54d1a43f-6f05-5c09-962e-b9dee27514bf) Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Extract (#litres_trial_promo) Endpages (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) Prologue (#u8ad3f949-ac25-53cc-aa3b-67d4b8626fe3) 4 Years ago He had missed something and Beth was in danger because of it. His gut twisted at the thought. Martinez’ computer had been seized: Torres had taken it himself last time he was in Bogot?. There was nothing on it other than the pictures Martinez had taken of Beth at the diner. There had to be something else, something he had missed: something that would tell them why Los Treintas had killed one of their own. Martinez had been gutted like a fish, his tongue and eyes cut out. Beth had thought Torres had done it and the truth was he would have if he had found Martinez first. Torres pulled out the drawer of the bedside table and emptied the contents on the floor: socks, underwear, condoms, lube and a bible. He shook his head at the ironic combination. He emptied the next drawer. Nothing that could help him. Fuck. He turned and looked out the sashed window at the iconic stripes of El Carmen church. The red and white striped building looked like a piece on a Candyland board. He had to admit the city center was beautiful. The drug cartel it housed wasn’t. What was he missing? Martinez was the key to finding El Escorpion. He had to find the leader of Los Treintas. Beth wouldn’t be safe until he did. Suddenly there was a sharp blow to Torres’ head. There was a bright flash of color and then darkness. He fell to his knees. He reached his hands to his head but they never made it. Another blow and then there was nothing. Chapter One (#u8ad3f949-ac25-53cc-aa3b-67d4b8626fe3) “Pretty Girl, can you please put on your shoes. We’re going to be late.” Again. She left the last part unsaid but that is what Beth meant. They were going to be late again, this time to school. The destination had changed but their MO hadn’t. It was kind of her thing now. She had not been on time to work since Alejandra had entered her life, and by that she meant, since Beth had taken the then baby from a bullet-ridden car in Mazatlan and never given her back. Families were formed in lots of different ways. Beth’s small family was formed when she rescued Alejandra from the hit that had annihilated the little girl’s entire family. Sadly no bookshop in the world carried a book to explain that nuclear family. If Alejandra had two dads or was being raised by mom and her lesbian life partner, they would be golden. But as it were, there were no books about families forged through the violence of warring drug cartels. Beth leaned down and kissed the top of her head. She had arranged her long dark curls into two braids. “I mean it. Shoes on now or no books tonight at bedtime. I’m serious.” Alejandra shook her head. “No, Mama, you’re not. I always get a book even when I’m bad.” The little girl smiled sweetly before skipping off in the opposite direction. “When did my sweet baby girl get so sassy?” Beth asked in exasperation. But Alejandra was right, she always got at least two books at bedtime no matter what. Beth was soft, too soft. She had never imagined she would be such a pushover as a parent. Part of the problem is that parenthood had not been a conscious decision. Beth never considered the consequences of being a mother when she pulled Alejandra from the car in Mexico. She hadn’t been thinking at all. Something primal took over when she saw Alejandra’s brown eyes brimming with tears. Taking Alejandra was the biggest mistake of her career and the best decision of her life. Beth heard her front door open. “I have the camera. Let’s get a picture of Ally before she goes to school. I can’t believe Baby Girl is in kindergarten now. I have a surprise for you!” Beth turned to see her sister Paige at the front door, camera in one hand and a cake in the other. Beth shook her head. “Paige, I am not giving her cake before her first day of school. I want them to think I am a good parent.” Paige smiled. “You really need to stop caring what people think. And of course I am going to give her cake. It is her first day of formal education. This is to be celebrated. Next thing we know she will be in high school and then she will be off to Yale and then doing her doctorate at Oxford. Life is short, Beth, eat cake.” Alejandra came running towards her sister. Paige barely had time to set the pink pastry box down before Alejandra jumped into her arms. “Happy first day of school, Baby Girl.” “I’m not a baby girl any more. I’m a big girl,” Alejandra informed her. “Of course you’re a big girl. You’re a big kindergarten girl. Who loves you, Big Girl?” Paige asked. “Mommy and Auntie Paige, and Grandma.” Alejandra answered. Beth’s heart constricted at the mention of her mom. She tried to shake off the sadness that clung to her every time her mom was mentioned but she couldn’t, it never fully left her. She always put on a smile for Alejandra, but she never felt it. Paige handed Beth the camera. “Bethy, get a picture of us.” Beth shook her head. “One picture and then school. Just once I would like you to be on time.” Who was she kidding? It wasn’t going to happen. “Better to be late the first day. Don’t let them get their expectations too high. Let them know from the start that you’re that mom. You are always going to be late and anything you provide for bake sales will be out of a box. They just need to accept it. So do you for that matter.” Paige’s nose scrunched up when she smiled. Beth sighed. “I don’t want them thinking I am that mom… Well not until after Christmas. I want to make it a full semester before they realize I have no idea what I am doing. How long did it take you to figure out I’m a hot mess?” Beth asked Alejandra. She used her sister holding Alejandra as an opportunity to put her shoes on her. “You’re funny, Mommy.” Alejandra laughed. “Yep I am hilarious. And I am late. So are you. You’re killing me, kid. I just wanted to make it until Christmas.” “But what about the cake?” Paige asked. Beth shook her head. Cake for breakfast was too much even for Beth. “She can have cake after dinner tonight.” “Can we take some to Grandma?” Alejandra asked. Beth and Paige looked at each other waiting for the other to speak. Beth cleared her throat. “Sure, Pretty Girl. We can take cake to Grandma.” The look on Paige’s face told her, her sister was surprised by her answer. Why should she be surprised, she was still their mom. Ninety minutes later Beth was finally at her desk. She had anticipated tears at the school gate, but from Alejandra, not from her and certainly not from Paige, but the pair of them blubbered away until Mrs. Emerson very politely assured them that it was always harder on the parents than the children. Beth finally left, assured the Alejandra was happy in her new classroom. She had always been just an elevator ride away. One of the perks of her job was the onsite daycare. Beth and Alejandra had had lunch together at least twice a week for the last four years. It was their special time; no matter how hectic her day got, if Beth was in the office, she did her best to carve out forty-five minutes where she could sit with her daughter and chat and eat peanut butter sandwiches and drink juice out of a box. God she was going to miss that. “Man up, Thomson,” Beth said out loud. There was just enough time for a pep talk before she fired up her computer and got stuck into the exciting world of narco terrorism. There were bank accounts to be analyzed and she was just the girl to do it. There was a knock on her door. Beth looked up. “I’m not that late, so save it, Patterson.” Beth only looked up briefly. She had already lost the best part of the morning. She was going to have to put off her daily pissing contest with her partner until this afternoon. Patterson stood in her doorway. “Beth, can I have a quick word?” Her back straightened. He never called her Beth. No, that wasn’t precisely true, he called her by her first name twice. But that was years ago, and she didn’t want to go back to that place ever again. It was a dark time, one that nearly destroyed her both personally and professionally. “What’s up?” Beth pushed away from her desk. Patterson looked at the floor, his hands clenched and unclenched several times. He didn’t move. He filled the doorway. He was just over six feet. He had the heavily muscled body of a football player, which made sense because he had played for Texas A&M. His hair was not far off Beth’s dirty blond, but his was streaked from the sun. He looked like he belonged on the back of a horse with a gun in one hand and a beer in the other. The look obviously worked for him because he had slept with half the women in South Texas. The other half were still waiting for the spot on his rotation, Beth had no doubt he would get through all of them if given enough time. “Sit down already. You’re making me nervous,” Beth said. Patterson swallowed. His larynx bobbed, evidence of his discomfort. The small hairs on Beth’s neck stood taut. He had been her partner for a long time, over a decade. Their years together had taught her how to read him. He clenched his hands when he was angry. He swallowed when he was nervous. He couldn’t look at her when he had something to say that he knew would upset her. “What’s up?” “Beth… Um,” Patterson let out a long stream of air. “Just say it. We both know I can take it. Whatever it is, just say it. Unless it’s my kid.” Beth jumped out of her seat. “Is it Alejandra? Is she OK?” Patterson put his hand out. “Yeah, yeah, yeah she is fine.” Beth let out the breath she had been holding. As long as her sister and Alejandra were OK she could handle anything. If someone told her that four years ago, she would have laughed. She wasn’t strong, that is what she would have told you. She was scared but she had grown up a lot since then. She didn’t have the luxury of being scared or weak any more. She was somebody’s mom now. She had a little person who needed her to be brave. And she was, for Alejandra she was brave. “Then just spit it out. I got my big girl panties on. Want to see them?” Beth smiled. Patterson briefly looked up. A quick shadow of a smile flashed on his lips. When he didn’t respond with a comment that verged on sexual harassment, Beth knew whatever he was holding back, wasn’t going to be something she wanted to hear. “We just got a call from Mexico City.” Beth waited for him to finish but he didn’t. “Uh huh… And?” They liaised with the Mexico City office on a daily basis; it was hardly a reason for concern. “And it’s Torres. Look, I don’t know how to say this.” Patterson looked up. “He’s dead.” Beth’s heart stopped in her chest. For a suspended moment, there was nothing. No beating of her heart, no rise and fall of her chest, nothing. In that moment she was gone, her body belonged to someone else, she felt and saw nothing. And then she came crashing back. Her heart attacked her ribs, thumping like it was trying to break free. Torres. It wasn’t a name she had heard in a long time, four years. She would be lying if she said she didn’t think of him. She did. Not as much as she did in the beginning but she still did and it still stung like alcohol poured in a fresh cut. For a brief, intense period, Torres was her world, her rock, her reason to believe. But then he left. No looking back, he just left, without a word, he was gone. Beth struggled to get her breath. Something was squeezing her chest, sucking the air from her lungs. The pain was fresh again. Just hearing his name was enough to take her back to that day. Oh God, it hurt. It shouldn’t still hurt like this but it did. Beth squeezed her lids together and forced air deep into her lungs. She needed to get it together. Torres was in the past. He was just a memory. “Beth are you OK? I know you two were close.” Her head snapped up. “I slept with him, that’s it. I’ve slept with lots of people. I’m fine.” It was a lie. He wasn’t just some guy she slept with. He was Torres. He was the only man she had been stupid enough to trust, to love. Her legs buckled and she fell to her seat. Her head dropped to her hands. How? No he couldn’t be dead. She would have felt something, anything. No. “Beth, take the day.” She held up her hand. “Don’t. I don’t need the day. He wasn’t even my agent any more. I’m fine.” She waited for the news to sink in. Why didn’t she feel something? Where was her anger? Her sadness? Shit, she would settle for any emotion. No there was one emotion left: confusion. “How? When? How do you know? Who told you? Torres left the DEA four years ago. Why would the Mexico City office still keeps tabs on our agent?” Patterson’s gaze did not lift from the blue carpet. “He was still undercover.” Beth’s mouth dropped. She tried to speak but no words came to her. She shook her head. She must have misheard him, Torres left the DEA four years ago when he left her. “He was still looking for El Escorpion when he was killed.” Patterson looked up only to look for her reaction and then his gaze fell to the carpet again. The coffee stain must have been pretty damn interesting because he could not tear his eyes away. Beth stood up. “Bullshit. I am head of the Treinta Task Force. He was my agent. He walked.” Patterson shook his head. “I don’t know. All I know is what Jessop told me this morning.” Beth leant against her desk. Confusion was drowning her. “I need to see him.” “He’s in his office.” Beth shook her head. “No. Torres. I need to see his body.” Patterson looked up. “No. No, you don’t want to see that.” “I need to see him. He was my agent.” He wasn’t just her agent. He was Torres, the man she thought about more often than she would ever admit. “Beth, no. The Treintas killed him,” Patterson said. She knew what that meant. Torres would have been decapitated, that was their signature. The head would have been sent to his family and his body left on the side of the road somewhere to be found or eaten by scavenging animals. “Do you have his head or his body?” she asked. The words sounded cold even to her. At one point she would have considered him her family. Had it been four years ago, she would have been sent his head because she was the closest person in his life. The thought was strange and perverse, but she couldn’t shake it or the sadness she felt when she realized they never were as close as she thought they were. She had imagined it all, the intimacy, the passion, the bond. “We have his body. Take the day.” Beth held up her hand. “I don’t need the damn day. I need to see his body. Where is it?” “You don’t want to see his body.” “Don’t tell me what I want. I need to see his body.” Her mind was swimming again, being pulled down by fast currents of questions. “How? How could he still be undercover?” It was impossible. Beth read every file ever written on the Treintas. She had written most of them. She knew every agent working in Mexico, by name and face. She would have known if Torres was still undercover. Patterson lifted his shoulders again. “Where is his body?” “The morgue in Laredo. His body was shipped up from Mazatlan yesterday. There is going to be a service tomorrow. Something small. His family is gone. Mom died last year.” Her breath caught. Oh God. It was real. This was real. Torres was dead. She should feel something. She was empty. Nothing, there was nothing in her. “I need to see him.” “Let me drive you.” Beth shook her head. “No, I’m fine. He isn’t the first agent we have lost. And he probably won’t be our last.” “But you –” “Yeah I slept with him. I have slept with a lot of people. I’m fine.” Chapter Two (#u8ad3f949-ac25-53cc-aa3b-67d4b8626fe3) There was a dark constancy in the jungle, day in day out, always shadows. If he looked straight up until his head hit his back he could see tiny pockets of light amongst the leaves. But the rays never hit the ground. There was always another leaf there, competing for it, stealing it, hijacking the light. Was the sun shining somewhere above the canopy? Was is raining? He would never know. Hell, there could even be a tornado up there and the sad fuckers on the ground would never know. The bottom got shadows and damp. He was one of those sad fuckers. Torres pulled against the rusty chains that bound him to the trunk of a kapok tree so he could lie down. He had lost feeling in his arms. Chaining him was unnecessary. Where the fuck was he going to go? A mile away there was a clearing. All the trees had been cut and burned to the ground to make way. That is where heaven was: acres and acres of clear land, not a single tree to block out the sun, just a field of coca that went on forever. Next time he was there, he was going to stand and let the sun warm his skin until a soldier came and whipped him. Every lash would be worth it to feel the sun on his face again. His back might drip with blood but that would be OK too, it would give him an excuse to keep his shirt off – more sun. And the pain wouldn’t last long anyway. They were allowed to chew coca as they worked. It tasted like tea but it made everything tolerable. Wounds hurt less, the smell of shit became merely an annoyance, the smug faces of the guards all merged into one, his muscles relaxed and his hatred lessened to an angry simmer. It was a good plant, this cocaine. He could see how people became addicted. Torres rested his head on his arm. He was careful not to pull too hard on his chains. The rusty links tore into his flesh. He only knew he was injured because of the slow oozing trickle of hot blood. He couldn’t feel it. It was a blessing and a curse. He was going to get back to the fields. Tomorrow he would be more compliant. When he wanted to spit in the guard’s face he would smile. When he wanted to rip out his throat, he would rub the open wounds on his hands and remember why he needed to be unchained. He couldn’t work the fields with bloody hands. He picked up the rock, his rock, and dug it into the bark, marking the passing of another day. He would have lost count by now, probably would have lost count after the weeks became months. And then the months had become years… three years. ***** Torres rubbed his wrists. The skin was open again, not just blood this time, now it was yellow pus streaked with red. The scabs never had a chance to heal because every night, in his sleep, he pulled against his chains. They needed to heal so he could go back to the fields. He needed out of the dark. He needed the sun. He needed hope. He carefully stretched his hands up. His head itched. He had fleas but it was worth it because at least Torres had a plan. That wasn’t true, he had always had a plan, since the night he woke up in the jungle of Colombia, but now he had the means to execute his plan, thanks to a mangy flea-infested dog. The bitch pushed her wet nose into his side. “I don’t have anything for you tonight,” Torres apologized. He strained to stroke her but his hands would not reach. “Sorry, girl. I’ll save something for you tomorrow.” The dog seemed to understand. She lowered her head again, rubbing it along Torres’ face. “That’s my good girl. You’re a clever girl, aren’t you?” The dog looked up at him with sad eyes. Torres moved his head back and forth so he was effectively petting her. “Good girl.” Torres hadn’t given her a name. She was just “Girl”. He couldn’t give her a name when he knew what was going to happen to her. She was his way out. If he wanted to, Torres could have broken through his rusted chains, but there was nowhere to go. The cocaine fields were surrounded with landmines. They weren’t the kind he had seen in Iraq. These were more primitive but just as effective. The bombs here were loaded with shrapnel and human feces. If the nails didn’t get you, the shit would, days or weeks later when your wounds turned septic and poisoned you from within. That is why he needed Girl. It had taken months for her to learn to trust him. It had happened slowly, excruciatingly so, a single scrap of food at a time and then a pet or stroke along her matted fur. And then, he was able to train her, all it took was time. Lucky for Torres, he had plenty of that. After the dog had come, the guards had brought another prisoner. Torres looked over at the whimpering boy chained to the tree across from him. He looked like he was about eighteen, twenty at the oldest, just a boy. Torres had been alone for a long time, for over three years, he knew because he kept a tally carved on the trunk of his tree. Three years with no one to speak to but the guards and the mangy dog. The guards always kept him separate from the other prisoners. Everyone else slept in a clearing at the other side of the fields. He couldn’t see them but he preferred it that way. When he was well enough to work the fields he saw the other prisoners, poor miserable fuckers, all of them, with all their crying and praying and promising Christ they would be better if they ever got out. Torres wanted to tell them all to shut up. Moaning just made it worse. But he didn’t because that would mean speaking to them and he wouldn’t. He wanted no part of them, the guards or the prisoners. He hated them both equally, the guards for the sadistic pleasure they took in beating prisoners until they pissed themselves and the prisoners for giving them the satisfaction of crying out when the lashings began. The boy cried out again. Torres lifted his head. He wished the guards would take him back to the clearing. He needed to be with the other prisoners, where he could scream and cry. “Please!” the boy screamed. “Please! Come back!’ Torres clamped his mouth shut to keep from telling him to shut the fuck up. No one was coming for him, or any of them. “Please! Come back,” he screamed. A sob tore through his body, like an axe through a rotting carcass. His slim body shook with it. “Please!” Torres closed his eyes and focused on the sound of the frogs. He could pick out the individual sounds, like an amphibian orchestra, the low resonant bass, reedy croaks, and then a higher silvery timbre. But he couldn’t hear them tonight over the screams. The screams turned to sobs and then finally a whimper. ***** The boy was screaming again. Every night for a year it was the same: pleading screams that turned to tears and then finally an exhausted sleep. If Torres could reach him, he would kill him. He would do it when the boy finally lost himself to sleep. He would lay his forearm against his throat and press until the life drained out of him. The boy wouldn’t know it happened, he just wouldn’t wake up. There would be no more screaming then, no more suffering. “Please!” the boy moaned. Torres closed his eyes. He could feel his arm on his scrawny neck, pushing down until his frail body gave itself over to death. Five minutes, that is all it would take. If the boy knew, he would probably thank him, for giving him the only freedom he could hope to achieve. The boy thrashed against his chains. A year and the boy still thought he could break free. Where the fuck did he think he was going to go? “Stop pulling, you’re going to wear away your skin and you’ll never get back to the fields.” “What?” The boy’s voice was pierced with shock. Torres never spoke to him, not even to tell him to shut up, so the boy had stopped trying to talk to him after a few weeks. “Don’t pull on your chains. If your skin rips you’ll get an infection. Just lay still.” “I can’t,” he whimpered. “I want to go home.” Torres closed his eyes. The boy wasn’t going home. But Torres wouldn’t torture him further by telling him that. “Just close your eyes and think about your home. Think about everything waiting for you. Think about what you are going to do.” The boy was going to die here, either at the hands of a soldier, or an infection, or, if he were lucky, Torres would do it himself. Torres would provide him the only humane ending out of the three so he hoped for the boy’s sake he had the chance. “I can’t,” he cried. “I can’t remember.” He started to cry again, sobs tearing through his slim body. Torres adjusted himself so he would see him but it was too dark to see anything beyond a dark shadow. “Yes you can. Close your eyes and take a deep breath. You just got home. Who is there waiting for you?” After a moment the boy responded. “My grandmother is there. She waited for me. She knew I would come home.” “Good,” Torres encouraged. “She hugs you. Feel her arms around you. Everything is fine now, you are home. Feel it. She is happy you’re home and she makes you a big meal. What does she make you?” “Pork with chili and fresh tortillas.” “Good. Taste them. The meat is tender. Feel it melt in your mouth. Taste the sting of the chili. It is hot but it doesn’t burn it just makes your mouth warm. Can you taste it?” “Yes,” the boy answered. His voice was eager, almost frantic with the need to believe. “Good. Think about your grandmother. Think about being home.” The boy was quiet for a long time. Torres thought he was finally asleep but eventually he asked. “What do you think about?” Torres did not answer right away. The place he went to in his mind was private; it belonged to him alone. The tastes and smells were his. Sharing them would taint them, make them part of this ugliness. He wouldn’t do that. “Home,” he said simply. “Who is waiting for you?” Torres’ gut clenched. That was a question he only asked himself when he was strong enough for the answer. He wasn’t sure who was waiting, maybe no one, but he lied to himself and let himself see her. He saw the deep crevice between her eyes that appeared when she frowned. He felt himself rub his thumb over the deep ridge and felt it smooth as her face relaxed into a smile. He smelled the apple scent of her shampoo. He felt her arms wrap around his neck and heard her voice saying “welcome home”. He closed his eyes. “Are you awake?” the boy asked. “Yeah.” “What do you think about?” he asked again. This time he did answer because the boy would be dead soon. “My woman,” he answered. “Is she pretty?” Torres smiled. “She is beautiful.” He vaguely remembered that there was a time when he didn’t think she was pretty. He thought she was plain, now he could not remember for the life of him how he had been so blind. How had he not seen it all along? She was beautiful. Even when he tried to be objective, he could not think of a more beautiful woman. “What is she like?” His smile deepened, requiring muscles he had not used in a very long time. “She’s not very tall but you wouldn’t notice because she is strong. Pound for pound she could take most men. You wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of her. She has a right hook that could shatter a jaw.” He warmed when he remembered her punching him square in the face, or more to the point the frantic needy sex that followed. “What’s her name?” Torres hesitated. That part he wouldn’t share. That was his. She belonged to him alone. He wouldn’t share her. “I call her Gatita,” he said instead. “Because she reminds me of a wild cat.” The boy seemed satisfied. No more questions followed and no more crying, just the cacophony of the nocturnal jungle coming to life. Torres closed his eyes and thought about Beth, about holding her, about her smile, about her laugh. If he were lucky, he would dream about her. He didn’t very often but every night he thought about her and hoped he would. It was almost time to make an escape. Girl was trained. He had one chance. Tomorrow. ***** His skin burned. The sun sat directly above him, radiating heat across his shoulders. Torres willed the sun not to move. Once the morning capitulated and let itself be conquered by the afternoon, his time in the fields would be over for the day. Coca leaves were supple in the morning when they were still wet. As the day wore on they dried and it became harder to pull them from the branch without tearing your skin in the process. When he was first brought to the jungle, he had to wrap his hands in scraps of material to protect them. Even then, they blistered and bled but now he did it with his bare hands. It only hurt if he caught a branch the wrong way and it ripped off a callus, even then he rarely noticed until he saw the blood dripping from his hands. It was worth it, the blisters and blood, just to feel the sun, but it was always over too soon and he was moved back into the jungle, under the dark canopy to continue the process of turning the simple coca leaf into the deadly white powder that entrapped millions. A guard shouted that it was time for Torres to prepare yesterday’s leaves. They were dry now, ready for the powdered cement to be sprinkled over and then put into the 50-gallon drums and soaked in gasoline. That part wasn’t so different than his time in Los Zetas. They used 50-gallon drums and gasoline too – to burn bodies. At least the cocaine didn’t have the stench of burning flesh. “El Capitan is coming. I think tomorrow. I heard them talking,” the boy said. He followed Torres around more closely than the dog. He couldn’t shit without the boy. He was by his side in the field, as they stood over the drums, and at night. His name was Ignacio. Torres didn’t want to know his name, but he told him anyway. He also told him the name of his grandmother and his sister and the girl at the supermarket that Ignacio was sweet on. Torres didn’t give a fuck about any of it but he listened because the talking meant Ignacio had stopped crying at night. There was no more screaming just incessant talking. Occasionally Torres would nod but he wasn’t even sure that was necessary, Ignacio just wanted to talk. “I think they’re scared. No one has ever seen him. What do you think he looks like?” Torres shrugged his shoulders. There was always talk of El Capitan coming. The guards would get worried when a visit was imminent, the beatings would become more brutal, more frequent, but the time would come and go without an appearance. It was a cycle that played out every few months but Ignacio was too new to appreciate that El Capitan had the same chances of appearing as the Easter Bunny. Like Ignacio, Torres had been anxious the first time he learned of an impending visit. He had not been able to sleep as he waited for the elusive leader to appear. Torres had waited a long time to come face to face with him. He knew him by another name: El Escorpion, but there was no doubt that it was the same man. Torres wondered if he knew the DEA called him El Escorpion. He wouldn’t like it. He clearly had illusions of being a great military leader, that is why he called himself the captain and made his guards wear camouflage. They weren’t soldiers; they were gang members. The time had come. All the other prisoners had been taken away to be fed. It was just Torres and Ignacio and the two guards that watched over them. Torres still wondered if he had made the right choice in asking that Ignacio be allowed to help him with the clean-up. The job of dumping hundreds of gallons of toxic chemicals into the water supply belonged to Torres for no other reason than he was the strongest. He could lift the drums so he got to help destroy the fragile ecosystem of the Amazon. The chemicals had to go somewhere; making cocaine was a dirty business, so why not pour them directly into the river? It wasn’t like mothers got water for their babies out of the rivers, or farmers got water for their fields…but actually they did. And it was all poisoned thanks to a demand for an addictive white powder. He hadn’t told Ignacio his plan, he had only said his back hurt and he needed his help to dump the waste. It showed just how stupid the guards were that they thought nothing of Torres asking for the scrawny boy to help him. The prison camp was full of men but he would ask for the runt to help him? Idiots. When it came to Ignacio, Torres had two choices: he could murder him in his sleep or he could take him with him. He couldn’t leave him behind. Leaving him to fend for himself would require a cruelty he didn’t have. He could shoot people at point-blank range, but he wouldn’t leave anyone to suffer. He might very well get the boy killed in the process, but at least he wasn’t leaving him behind. Torres took out a piece of meat from his pocket and fed it to Girl. Her time had come. He gave her a quick pat on her head. She was a good dog. He shot a backward glance at the guards. They were sitting on the ground smoking cigarettes. Their machine guns were slung behind their backs, out of the way. Torres patted his pockets, making sure he had everything. There was no point in trying if he didn’t have everything. He needed to be fast. Speed was the only thing that separated him from freedom, that and hundreds of miles of jungle and several dozen landmines. “Here,” he said to Ignacio. “Help me pick this up.” He pointed to a blue drum filled with chlorine. The gas burned when it hit the lungs. He was careful to turn his head to the side so as not to breathe it in directly. The boy nodded. Together they bent to pick up the container. Torres waited until Ignacio’s fingers were below the drum and then he dropped it, crushing his fingers. The boy screamed. Now was his moment. As he hoped, Ignacio’s cries were enough to distract the guards. He pounced. In an instant he was behind the first soldier. He took the man’s knife and slit his throat. He tried to scream but there was just a strangled gargle. Before the other soldier could react Torres was behind him. With one slash of the blade, his artery was cut. Blood spurted from his neck in pulses. Every beat of his heart brought him closer to death, and Torres closer to freedom. Torres wiped the knife on his trousers and then slid it into his waist band. He may need it later. He searched through the soldiers’ pockets, taking everything he could find. There was no telling what he would need. Ignacio continued to scream. Torres had to shut him up or the other guards would come. “Stop,” Torres commanded. The boy’s eyes were wide. His jaw shook. He thought Torres was going to kill him too. Torres lifted his hands, palm out. “I’m not going to hurt you. Stop screaming or the guards will come and they’ll kill us both.” The boy nodded his head. His mouth remained open like his body was not sure what to do next. His hands were still trapped under the drum. “I’m going to move this off you. It will probably hurt more as your blood flow returns. Don’t scream. If you scream, you’re dead. Do you understand?” Torres did not specify who would be killing him if he screamed but they both knew it would be Torres. The boy would be dead before the soldiers even registered his cry. The boy nodded. Torres lifted the drum off him. Ignacio whimpered but he didn’t scream. “Good. We’re getting out of here. Stay behind me. There are landmines everywhere around the coca fields. Don’t make a move unless I tell you. Do you understand?” he asked again. And again the boy nodded. For once Ignacio was quiet, no screaming or crying or incessant chatter. If Torres had known all it would take was seeing two men murdered to shut him up, he may have been tempted to do it long before now. Torres reached into his pocket and produced a long piece of string and a bolt. He made sure the bolt was firmly attached before he turned to Ignacio. “Follow me. Come on, Girl.” He motioned to the dog whose ears went up when she heard her name. Torres ran towards the coca fields. There was no need to need to tread lightly until they reached the far side. He only looked behind him once to make sure Ignacio was following him. If he did something stupid that would get them caught, Torres would pull out the knife and slit his throat. They ran until his lungs burned, Girl beside them. Torres pulled out another piece of meat and gave it to her. “Sit.” Torres surveyed the land that lay ahead of him. The most treacherous part would be the hundred feet that surrounded the coca field. After that, they would hit jungle again, and the IEDs would be less of a fear. Torres took the bolt and threw it, holding the end of the string so he would not lose it. Once it hit the ground, he slowly dragged it back to trip any wires attached to the landmines. Once he had pulled the bolt back they were ready to move. “Go,” he said to Girl. The dog ran ahead, stopping in the exact spot the bolt had fallen. “Good girl.” Torres turned to Ignacio. “Stay behind me.” “OK.” The first step was the hardest, when Torres’ stride took him from the safety of the coca fields to the uncharted periphery, but after that he was committed. There was no question: they were going. When they reached Girl, Torres through the bolt again, repeating the process. It was painstaking; they only gained another ten feet with each treacherous cycle. “They’re going to come for us,” Ignacio whimpered. Torres shook his head. “We have an hour. They won’t look for the guards until they don’t show up for the handover.” He had planned it. This escape had been months, no, years in the making. First was training Girl, and then he had to find the bolt and string. He would have preferred metal wire, but that was in short supply in the jungle. The hardest part of the plan was getting the guards to trust him enough that their guns were not always trained on him, that part had taken years. They were right to be wary of him. “But,” Ignacio began again. “Shut up,” Torres snapped. He pulled the string back slowly. Again the ground was clear. But just in case, he had Girl. “Go,” he said. “I can hear them,” Ignacio whimpered. Torres shook his head. “You don’t. That’s just your mind fucking with you. Stay focused. They’re not looking for us yet.” Ignacio began to cry. It was a quiet pathetic sound like he was trying to swallow the sobs. Torres put his hand on the knife. The blade was already sticky with drying blood. “Keep walking,” Torres commanded. “I can’t.” “We’re almost back to jungle. It will be safe there.” He was lying of course. There could be landmines anywhere. But he would tell Ignacio anything to shut him up. “I hear them!” Torres’ head snapped round. “You don’t.” He spoke as calmly as he could. He didn’t want to kill Ignacio; he was just a kid. But he would. “Keep walking. Follow my footsteps. Put your feet exactly where I put mine.” Ignacio’s lip trembled. “No. No. Focus. We are getting out of here. We are going home. We have people waiting that love us; that want us back. We need to get back for them. Your grandmother. Tell me what your grandmother is going to make for dessert.” “I can’t.” His face crumbled. “Yes you can. We have twenty feet left. Stay strong. Is your grandmother going to make flan? Or maybe a tres leches cake.” What Hispanic grandmother didn’t have a recipe for those desserts? “I can’t.” Ignacio began to shake. “I can’t.” Before Torres could stop him, Ignacio began running for the jungle. “Fuck.” Torres should have killed him. He was going to die anyway and at least Torres would have made it painless. Ignacio was almost back to the jungle when an IED exploded. “Fuck!” Torres screamed again as he ran to the boy. Fucking idiot! Ignacio’s screams reverberated through Torres’ chest. They were a guttural sound; unlike anything the boy had produced before and unlike anything Torres had heard before. Except in Iraq… “Oh, fuck. What did you do?” Torres dropped to his knees. There was blood everywhere. Girl barked madly. “Oh, fuck,” Torres said again. It was Ignacio’s leg. It had been blown clean off, just above the knee. No, clean wasn’t the right word, it was messy as fuck, bits of bone and muscle hung off him with nails and shit imbedded into what was left. He screamed louder and the dog matched the intensity with her bark. They were going to get caught. Torres reached into his waist. In seconds he cut the dog’s throat before he turned to Ignacio. The boy was as good as dead. The explosion hadn’t killed him; the human feces in the bomb meant the wound would be septic in days if he did not bleed to death first. Ignacio was going to die. How he died was up to Torres. Chapter Three (#u8ad3f949-ac25-53cc-aa3b-67d4b8626fe3) The room was cold. It was August in Texas but Beth wished she had a coat. She could not stop shivering. Her whole body shook with it, even her fingers. She pushed her hands into the pockets of her suit pants to keep them still. Was there a reason morgues were always in the basement? Like coroners’ jobs weren’t depressing enough, they got stuck in the icy bowels of buildings. This wasn’t her first morgue or her first body. She was somewhat of a professional at this point. When she first started at the DEA she could not even look at crime scene photos without flinching. She vomited when she had to identify her first body…and her second one…and all of them until she met Torres. She stopped flinching at photos when he left. She had no idea if the two events were related, but she no longer felt like she was going to be sick when she saw a dead body. She was hardened but not apathetic. She still wondered about their lives and the families they had left behind, she just didn’t feel anything any more. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been?” Alan smiled at her over his bifocals. He had a clipboard in one hand and a Styrofoam cup filled with coffee in the other. Beth no longer questioned how he could casually have a cup of coffee amongst the corpses. She could do the same, honestly now it just reminded her she really wanted another cup of coffee. “I’m good. I have been more focused on money laundering these days. How about you?” Beth was at a morgue most months. Running drugs was a dangerous occupation, a lot of the men ended up here or in morgues in other border towns. “Good. Good. My youngest just graduated.” “Longhorn?” “That’s right. Good memory.” Not really. This was Texas, there was a good chance he would be a Longhorn. “Excellent. What are his plans?” Small talk, surrounded by dead people… She really had grown. Once upon a time she didn’t do small talk. She was in a hurry then, racing for a final destination. She didn’t have time for small talk then, but she wasn’t in a hurry any more. Days passing just meant Alejandra getting older and her mom’s condition getting worse. Alan lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “God knows. He majored in American History, apparently. I never saw any evidence of studying of any description, unless you count studying the bottom of beer bottles.” Beth smiled. “Sounds about right for college.” “What about your little girl?” “Alejandra. She is great. Today was her first day of kindergarten.” Alan sighed. “Already? It passes so quickly. You blink and they are getting their driver’s licence. Too fast.” Beth’s smile faded. She already knew how right he was. The last four years had been a blur. Luckily her sister had been there to document everything with her camera. At least Beth could look back and pretend to recall everything. A lot of it had been spent in survival mode; first was the shock of Torres leaving and then it had been dealing with her mom. Her Alzheimer’s had progressed quickly over the last few years. Beth pushed thoughts of her mom to the back of her mind. She could only deal with one horrible thing at a time. “I’m here to formally identify a body.” One bushy eyebrow shot up above his glasses. “Are you here in a professional or personal capacity?” He asked because formal identifications were usually done by family not Law Enforcement. Beth glanced at the silver wall of bodies. “Neither…both. He was my agent. I recruited him six years ago. I haven’t seen him in four years but he has no living family.” The answer was longwinded and unnecessary. She could have simply said she was here in a professional capacity. But nothing about her time with Torres was professional. It seemed an insult to his memory to pretend it was. Why she still cared was beyond her, he had been gone for a long time. “Name?” Alan asked. He sat down his coffee and thumbed through the papers on his clipboard. “Armando Torres.” The name barely made it past her lips. She never called him by his Christian name. He was always Torres to her, whether she was swearing at him or calling his name in bed, he was always just Torres. Her Torres…her scary, scarred, tattooed man. She bit her lip to keep the memory from hitting her. She had pushed it down for years. She wasn’t about to let it come out now. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it did to think about him. It shouldn’t still sting. She shouldn’t still cry. Alan’s eyes narrowed. “It is just a torso?” Beth’s breath caught. For an instant she lost the distance she’d fought so hard to achieve. For a second this was all real. She would let it be real later. She just needed to get through this. She nodded. “That’s fine. I don’t need his head to make an identification.” Beth closed her eyes. She knew his body as well as she knew her own. She was losing ground again, getting closer again to reality. She bit into her lip again until she tasted the metallic tang of blood. Alan opened the door and pulled out the body, or what was left of it. Beth closed her eyes again. She sucked in as much air as her lungs would allow, she kept forcing down oxygen until her chest burned. She counted to ten. He is a detail in your life. Just a detail… She opened her eyes and looked down at the stump. That was all there was left, a stump, no head, no arms, no legs. Everything from the hips down had been removed. Her gaze ran the expanse of his chest, traced the lines of the Santa Muerta tattoo that covered the left side of his body. Her eyes narrowed. The skin was smooth, too smooth. Before she could think she reached out and ran her hand along the margins of his chest, between his ribs. That is where the scars had been the most pronounced. Torres’ skin was knotted and raised. This skin was smooth. She pulled her hand away. Suddenly she realized she was touching a dead body. From the corner of her eye she could see Alan staring at her. She turned to face him. She considered her words carefully. “The tattoo is consistent with Armando Torres,” she lied. Her eyes lowered again to the body. It wasn’t Torres. Someone wanted the world to believe it was. Someone had gone to the trouble of tattooing a dead body to make it look like Torres – at least she hoped the person was already dead before he was chosen – but they could not replicate the burns. “I need to go,” Beth said. She needed to get out the there. She glanced down at her watch. She needed to speak to Jessop and figure out what in the hell was going on. Shit, she needed to pick up Alejandra. She wouldn’t be able to speak to him today. Beth threw her purse onto the passenger seat. She needed to speak to Jessop tonight. This wouldn’t wait until tomorrow. She dialed her sister’s number. Maybe Paige could pick up Alejandra. Having her sister in Texas was a godsend, not only for the co-parenting, but also because her baby sister kept her sane like no other. “Oakdale Veterinary, Yvonne speaking.” “Hi, Yvonne, this is Beth. Is my sister free to talk?” Beth asked the receptionist. “Good timing. She just got out of surgery.” Yvonne transferred her call through to the operating room. “Hey, what’s up?” her sister’s bright voice answered. There was a loaded question. Hell if she knew what was up, but she was going to figure is out. Beth pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “Can you pick up Alejandra from school? Something has come up at work.” Paige didn’t hesitate and she didn’t ask any questions. “Yeah sure.” Beth breathed a sigh of relief. When it really mattered, Paige never asked questions, she just manned up. God she loved her sister for that. She couldn’t do it without her, raise a child, do her job, keep up the appearance of sanity. “I don’t know what time I’ll be home. Kiss Ally for me, if I don’t get there before she goes to sleep.” A sharp pain stabbed at her conscious. It wouldn’t be the first time Paige put Alejandra to bed, and she did not kid herself that it would be the last. Chapter Four (#ulink_f5ed1caf-bf94-50d1-987b-ed165b30c27b) Beth’s hands were wet with perspiration by the time she made it to Larry Jessop’s house. Her boss wasn’t at work and he wasn’t returning her phone calls. She had worked under Jessop for over a decade and he had never taken time off work. Something was going on. She stood at Jessop’s door just long enough to rein in her emotions. Too many thoughts were racing through her mind to think clearly. She needed to get to the bottom of this. Andrea Jessop opened the door. Jessop’s wife was beautiful in the South Texas way Beth had grown to appreciate: big frosted-tip hair that defied humidity, and lips that were never without gloss. “Hi, Beth.” Andrea smiled at her. “What brings you round these parts?” Andrea reached out and embraced Beth, genuinely happy to see her. When Beth had first moved to Texas, Andrea Jessop had done her best to make her feel comfortable, inviting her over for Sunday dinners and setting her up on blind dates. For a long time, the Jessops were the closest thing Beth had to family in Texas. “Can I get you some ice tea?” Beth shook her head. “No thank you. I really need to speak to Larry. Is he here?” Andrea nodded. “He’s in his office. Go ahead and go in. Holler if you need anything.” Beth didn’t wait to be shown to his office. Jessop was sitting behind a large mahogany desk, reading over something. Above his head was a stag, permanently staring into the distance with its glass eyes. Like most offices in Texas, the walls were covered in the busts of animals. The taxidermy business was alive and kicking in the red states. Jessop was nearing retirement but he still started every morning with an eight-mile run and it showed in his trim physique. There was no middle-age spread for Larry Jessop, the only thing that betrayed his age were the lines that fanned around his eyes and the silver streaks in his hair. Beth skipped the pleasantries. “This morning’s brief, about a captured agent.” She glossed over the part where she missed the morning meeting because she was running late, it wasn’t pertinent to the conversation and she more than made up her hours. “Where did the intel come from?” she demanded. Jessop looked up from the pile of papers on his desk. Pale blue eyes stared back at her. “What?” he asked nonchalantly. He had a good poker face, a bit too good. He knew exactly what she was talking about. Beth’s back straightened. “My agent who infiltrated Los Zetas. There was a report that he was – is dead. Where did it come from?” For a long moment she held his stare. He knew something. Damn it, she wasn’t going to be sidelined, not again, and not on this. She had been shut out once before when the shit hit the fan in Culiacan, when Alejandra’s family had been ambushed. Five people had been murdered and they needed someone to blame. Jessop pushed back from his desk and stood up, moving closer to her. Beth shook her head. Next he would gently put his arm on the small of her back and guide her to the door, knowing the conversation would naturally be briefer and less intense at the threshold of a room. She anticipated his movement and sat down in the chair opposite his desk. He was good, but so was she. She had been in the game long enough to know when she was being played. “My agent,” she said again. “Where did you get your intel?” Jessop glanced at the door. He took a deep breath and let it out with an audible sigh. “It’s hard being a single parent.” For the first time she saw a crack in the fa?ade. The muscle in his jaw twitched. It was over in a second, he was probably unaware that he did it, but it was there. “But if you make it to work on time you won’t need replays.” Beth bit her lip to keep from saying anything. He was trying to hit a nerve to knock her off her stride. Later she would remind him that she still put in more hours than anyone else on the team, motherhood had not changed that. But right now she was going to get answers. “Who wrote the report?” Jessop looked from her to the door but didn’t say anything. Beth let out a stream of air. “I need a copy of the report.” She was done playing games. “Beth. Torres was a good asset and I know you were…friends.” Beth’s heart pounced against her ribs at the mention of his name. Everyone in the office knew she and Torres were more than friends. Jessop couldn’t put her off by implying that motherhood made her work suffer so he was throwing her relationship with Torres in her face. But she would throw it right back. “Yeah, Torres and I were close. Really close actually, but you already know that. We were close enough for me to know his body. Even without a head. I would know his body.” Her eyes narrowed on Jessop who was still standing above her. For a long moment, silence reigned. “Did you identify it as Torres?” There was a hitch of concern in his deep voice. “Of course I did. I knew someone wanted me to think he was dead. I’ve been in this game a long time.” Too long. Jessop let go of the breath he was holding. He gave her a hard look as if he was trying to decide what to say. Again he looked from her to the door, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. “He’s alive. No one in Administration knows and we need to keep it that way.” Beth’s breath caught in her throat. He really was alive. Her heart raced, elation pushing its already frantic pace to a dangerous level. He was alive. Gratitude and relief washed over her. He was alive. Torres was alive. Her mind swam with questions. Where was he? Where had he been for the last four years? Why did he leave? As if Jessop was reading her mind he added, “Someone set him up. Four years ago he got a message supposedly from me, ordering him back to Colombia to search Martinez’ apartment. Someone wanted him gone.” Martinez was a name she hadn’t heard in a while. Javier Martinez was the reason Torres had joined the DEA and infiltrated Los Zetas. Martinez was a member of a rival gang, Los Treintas. He had shot Torres and murdered Torres’ best friend Moses Arcila. Beth’s throat tightened. “Four years?” she murmured. Four years ago, Torres was meant to meet her. They were going to leave the DEA together and start a new life…but he never turned up. He just left. No calls. No explanation. Nothing. “No.” Beth shook her head. It didn’t make sense. Jessop nodded. “He was ambushed in Bogot? and was held somewhere in the jungle. Looks like near Salento but still not certain exactly where. Won’t know for sure unless we get him back down there and even then there is a lot of virgin land. Plenty of places to hide.” Beth shook her head again. “No. No agents have been captured. There haven’t been any ransoms or negotiations.” She would know. She was the head of the damn task force. If her agent had been captured, she would know. “No, there were none. He wasn’t ransomed. No one made contact. Not clear if Los Treintas know he is DEA. That’s one of the reasons we need the world to think he is dead.” “That doesn’t make sense. The Treintas don’t take prisoners. That’s FARC’s MO. Treintas don’t do that.” Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia (FARC) also known as: The Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia routinely took prisoners, kidnapping and ransoms helped fund their regime. “Apparently they do.” “No,” Beth said. Anger and frustration coiled in her along with emotions she had long ago abandoned like regret and betrayal. Her mouth was suddenly dry. “I don’t believe it. Is this the shit he is spouting to cover where he was for the last four years?” This didn’t make sense, none of it. Jessop shook his head. “No Beth, I’ve seen him. I went to the consulate in Bogot? myself. I saw him when he was still in the hospital. Some sick sons of bitches held him for the last four years. I’m still amazed he is alive. And Christ that he was able to escape…” Jessop’s voice trailed off. “No,” Beth said again. She shook her head; too many questions were pounding against her temples for her to be able to think properly. “No,” she said again. “When? How long have you known?” She had seen a corpse that had been tattooed to look like Torres. Some time had been put into this operation. Jessop didn’t just find out today. “Eight days.” Beth’s eyes widened. “You have known Torres is alive for eight days and you didn’t tell me. And then you let me think he was dead. You let me identify a corpse.” “No one can know he is alive until we find out who sent him to Colombia.” “Eight days,” Beth repeated. She wasn’t going to let this go. “You have known for eight days. Why didn’t you tell me? He was my agent. I trained him.” Jessop’s watery blue eyes trained on her. “The email came from your computer.” Beth gasped. She thought she was done being surprised about things where Torres was concerned, but clearly she was wrong. She drummed her fingers along the solid surface of the table while she did her best to push down her anger. “You think I sent the email?” She tried to keep the edge from her voice but she couldn’t. Jessop took a deep breath and then let is out slowly before he answered. “It was a possibility I couldn’t ignore. I wasn’t going to tell you at all but he was adamant you had nothing to do with it.” “He? He who?” Beth demanded but she already knew the answer. “Torres. He insisted on you knowing. He wants to see you.” Her heart stopped. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls were inching their way in as the ceiling dropped. Oh God, she couldn’t think. She could barely breathe. “Where is he? When will I see him?” “He’s here. He’s in the guest house at the back of the property. You can’t see it from here. No one can know he is alive,” Jessop stressed. Beth’s breath caught in her throat. She expected Jessop to say he was in a safe house, not say he was staying with him. Her heart raced. She tried taking deep breaths to slow its frantic pace but it pounded against her ribs like it was trying to break free. “Do you want to see him?” Beth opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out; her lungs burned, her lips were too dry. Did she want to see him? Oh God, did she? Yes. No. She couldn’t breathe. Four years was a lifetime ago. She was a different person then. What would she say to him? In the weeks after he left, she thought about it a lot. It was all she thought about. She even wrote letters to him because it was easier to remember everything when she wrote it down. There was so much she wanted to say to him then. But now? What was there to say? She used to want answers but now all she wanted was to be able to breathe again. For too long she had pushed the feelings down and now they were pushing back and threatening to strangle her in the process. Her legs were leaden, holding her down in place, making it hard for her to move. Undoubtedly it was her body’s way of protecting her. Jessop led her outside, down a steep hill, past a barn and a field with three horses, to a tiny cottage. It was far enough away from the main house to provide complete seclusion. She doubted Andrea even knew they were hosting an undercover agent on their property. Beth couldn’t hear what Jessop was saying. She saw his mouth moving but all she could hear was the pounding of blood in her ears. She ran a hand over her hair. Suddenly she felt self-conscious, about the way she looked, about her life since Torres, about the choices she had made since he left. She stopped just short of the door. “I’ll leave you to it,” Jessop said putting himself between her and the black lacquered door. “Unless you want me to come in.” A paternal concern laced to his tone. Like most relationships in her life, the dynamic was complicated. As her boss, Jessop was ruthless, but there were times like now when his guard slipped, and he acted more like a protective father. Mindlessly Beth shook her head. “No. Its fine.” “Are you sure? I can wait outside. Take your time. I don’t mind.” Concern knitted his dark brows. She shook her head again. She needed to do this alone. She watched as Jessop walked away, returning to the main house, before she turned again and stared at the door. Torres was here. Every molecule in her body vibrated. She wanted to run. Her muscles contracted, ready to sprint, as soon as she chose the direction. That was the question. Did she want to run towards Torres or away? Her heart screamed at her to leave and never look back. She would be an idiot to invite that level of pain back into her life. But her head needed answers. She had a million questions. Where were you? What happened? What was it like? How did they treat you? How did you get out? Why did you leave me? Would she go with her head or her heart? That was always the question when it came to Torres. She made the wrong choice last time and paid the price. She was still paying the price. She closed her eyes and thought about the consequence. Her hands balled into tight fists. Slowly she reached out and turned the handle. She held her breath. Time slowed down until she was suspended in it like an ant caught in amber. “Beth.” Torres’ deep voice surrounded her; she could physically feel it on her skin, warm and potent, reaching into every pore. She fought the temptation to close her eyes and give herself over to the sensation. Torres stood up from the bench where he was sitting. She forced herself to look at him and really see him, the man who had shattered her dreams. He looked different. His hair was long now. He always had short hair. When they first met he had a military cut but later when he joined Los Zetas he shaved his head. But now his hair was thick and long, tied at the base of his neck. Even his clothes were different. He always wore T-shirts and jeans but now he was wearing a button-up shirt. He looked like he was on his way to a funeral or about to be arraigned. It wasn’t him. He was different. No doubt she looked different too. Older maybe, sadder… Her gaze lowered to his broad shoulders: still strong and heavily muscled. That part was him. It was Torres, only different. Tentatively she took a step forward. There was a raw and brutal beauty to him that inhabited a place where masculinity became intimidating. His features were too harsh to be handsome but too overpowering to be anything but. Quite simply he was the most attractive man she had ever met but she would never have the words to describe why. She reached up and traced the scar that slashed the left side of his face from below his eye to the corner of his mouth. The skin was raised in two parallel lines. This was the face she loved. This was the face she tried to forget. The memories of the night he got the scar flooded back, the blood-soaked sheets: the way his presence had filled her bedroom. He had stepped between two gang members to prevent an attack and had been wounded in the process. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “I cant…I just can’t…” Her knees threatened to buckle. It was too much. Beth turned and ran. Chapter Five (#ulink_f5ed1caf-bf94-50d1-987b-ed165b30c27b) Beth pulled in behind her sister’s pickup truck. She stared down at her clenched hands on the steering wheel. The full moon provided enough light for her to watch the color drain from her fingers. She needed to get it together, change gears, go inside and be a mommy again. Her life was complicated, but it was compartmentalized, that is the only way it worked. When she was at work she was one person, when she got home, she was another. Those were her rules. Everyone followed them, except Torres. He crossed every line. There was nothing neat or ordered when Torres was around. There was no divide between work and home life; he filled both worlds completely. He couldn’t be back. Not now. It was time for some sugar therapy. Beth reached into her glove box and found her emergency supply of M&Ms. A more adjusted person would talk her feelings through with Adam Frazer, the department psychologist, but Beth was past pretending, M&Ms were as adjusted as she got. She popped a green candy into her mouth and sucked on the hard shell until it dissolved. She took a deep breath and allowed the sweet to work its magic. When the chocolate had completely dissolved, she popped another, and then another. Slowly the knot in her stomach loosened. Thirteen pieces later, she was ready to face the world again. “Hey, I’m home,” Beth called when she opened her front door. “Mama!” Alejandra squealed. She ran to Beth and jumped into her arms. She was still wearing the blue plaid pinafore that was her school uniform but the neat braids she had this morning had given way to a mass of tangled ringlets. Combing that out wasn’t going to be fun for either of them. “Oh Pretty Girl. Am I glad to see you.” Beth gathered her in close and breathed in the clean scent of her hair. “Mama, can I show you the picture I painted? I made you a princess butterfly. Do you wanna see?” She sat her down. “Of course I want to see your picture but tell me about your day first.” Beth spent a lot of time worrying about Alejandra, but she didn’t need to. Ally took most things in her stride. Beth often worried if the trauma of her early childhood would impact her but so far there was no sign that it had, probably because Alejandra had only been a year old when her parents had been murdered. She had no recollection of them, which was a blessing but on some small level it also made Beth feel guilty. She loved her child as if she had given birth to her, but she hadn’t. Another woman had carried her and loved her. Beth was sad for her, Alejandra’s first mother. She just hoped that if her first mom could know how well Alejandra was loved, she would be all right with the way things turned out. Alejandra ran to her room and returned seconds later with a painting, complete with bold strokes of pink and orange, her favorite colors. “Do you like it, Mama?” Her wide eyes were bright with anticipation. Beth admired the picture. “I love it. But now I need to decide which painting I should take off the refrigerator to make room for this one.” Their house was filled with Alejandra’s paintings. They were stuck to every flat surface. Her sister called the decorating practice “Preschool Chic”. “No, Mama. It’s for your office so you can remember me now that I’m at big school.” Beth leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “This will look perfect on my desk but you know, Pretty Girl, I never forget you.” Alejandra smiled, clearly pleased with that response. “Where is your Auntie Paige?” “I’m in here,” Paige called from the kitchen. “I am cutting the cake. You have had dinner, right? Ally had pesto chicken and carrots.” Her sister appeared carrying two plates with wedges of cake big enough to be doorstops. Her sister was still dressed in surgical scrubs with the name of her practice embroidered on the top. “That is far too big. Alejandra can have a quarter of that,” Beth said. Paige smiled. “That is your piece.” “Well in that case.” Beth sunk her fork into the layers of sponge and whipped buttercream frosting. She relaxed as the sugar high took hold. “Mmm I needed this.” The M&Ms had only whetted her appetite. “I bet you do. What happened today? You had a longer day than me.” Beth put down her fork. She glanced and Alejandra and then back at her sister. “I am working on a big case.” That much wasn’t a lie. She was always working on a big case. In her line of work she had to keep lots of secrets and she was fine with that, but she hated outright lying. “You going to catch the bad guy, Mama?” Alejandra piped up. Beth wiped a streak of frosting off her little girl’s face. “I always do.” The doorbell rang. Beth looked up. She wasn’t expecting anyone. “Alejandra, finish your cake and then go brush your teeth. It’s late and you have school tomorrow.” In her mind, Beth started listing all the chores she needed to get done before sunrise. She already knew 6am would come too soon. Beth opened the front door. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw him. “Stop opening your door without asking who it is,” Torres scowled. He was wearing the same clothes but his hair wasn’t tied back any more, it fell loose around his shoulders. She fought the urge to touch it. She never knew him to have more than a shadow of hair. “Lucky for you I didn’t ask because I’m not sure I would have answered.” She hadn’t yet adjusted to the changes in his appearance. She wondered how long it would throw her to see him with hair. She had once thought that his menacing appearance was due in large part to his shaved head but his thick dark hair did nothing to soften him. “Who is it?” Paige called. Beth froze. “You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered. “It’s not safe.” “I’m dead, remember? Nobody is looking for me.” Torres still stood in her doorway. He was too big for her small house, his presence too much. He had only been to her house once, four years ago, before they had become lovers. It felt different know, he was a stranger, a stranger that knew her intimately. “Beth?” Paige called again. “Just a minute.” She turned again to Torres. “My sister is here. She lives here now. Not in my house but in Texas.” So much had happened since he left, details he knew nothing about, some small and some life changing. She felt protective over both; they were her details from a life she had created without him. “Tell her I’m a friend.” His words hit her hard, internally knocking her off balance. Beth took a breath to steady herself. “We’re not though are we?” A look of pain flashed across his dark features. Beth couldn’t be sure if she had really seen it because it was gone in an instant. “Tell her we work together then.” Bitterness pierced her heart. “I’d rather not have to tell her anything. You were supposed to meet her the night you left. Remember that? I wouldn’t have to tell her anything if you had met her that night.” Pain surged in her, as new and fresh as the night he left, so much anger and regret and sadness. And under it all was a layer of shame and remorse that gnawed at her. “Beth,” he said softly. He reached out and touched her bare arm. His palm was rough and callused. They always were, that part of him hadn’t changed. Beth pulled away. ‘Don’t. You don’t get to touch me any more.” This time there was no doubting the pain, it was written clearly across his face. Her heart clenched at the realization she had hurt him but then she remembered all the hurt he had caused her. And she realized it would hurt him even more if she gave him false hope. She needed him to understand, even if it meant hurting him. He needed to know why she couldn’t pretend that things would ever be the same. “Hey.” Paige came in, still holding a piece of cake. She stopped suddenly when she saw Torres. Her brows knitted together in concern. She looked to Beth for an introduction or an explanation, anything to explain the menacing stranger standing in her doorway. Beth cleared her throat. God she hated lying to her sister, but she had to. “Paige, this is Armando. He is working with me on the case I told you about.” The use of his first name sounded strange to her. She had never called him Armando. He didn’t even look like an Armando to her. Paige sat her plate on the hall table and then extended her hand for Torres to shake. A strange sensation washed over Beth as she saw her sister meet Torres, like two worlds colliding. She had wanted so badly for Torres to be able to meet her family, the night he disappeared Torres was meant to meet them for dinner. Then there was nothing more that she wanted than for Torres to become fully part of her life and meet her family, but now it felt like an icepick being stabbed between her shoulder blades. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Paige. Your sister has told me so much about you.” Beth watched as Torres’ gaze scrutinized her sister. He was taking in each of her features. For a long moment no one spoke, then Torres shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You look so much like your sister. I wasn’t expecting that.” Paige smiled. “Yep, those Thomson genes are strong. Have you worked with Beth long?” Beth coughed. “Um, no,” Beth answered for him. “He just started.” “Cool. I don’t usually get to meet the people Bethy works with. It’s really nice to meet you, Armando. Hopefully I’ll get to see you again so I can ask you all the gory questions Beth refuses to answer.” Alejandra came running through from the kitchen. “Mama, I can’t find my toothpaste. There is just your stingy kind.” The little girl stopped short when she saw Torres. “Hi,” she said. Alejandra stood back, no doubt weary of the scary-looking stranger in her home. “Hello.” Torres’ eyes narrowed as he looked at Alejandra. Beth could see his mind racing, putting together pieces of the puzzle. A look of realization spread over his face dark face. “Alejandra?” he asked in disbelief. His shock was palpable. His head snapped to Beth, searching for answers. Beth nodded. He recognized her. She had been little over a year old the last time he saw her but he recognized her. Her heart constricted painfully at the realization. It was another connection she couldn’t deny. Beth turned her attention to Alejandra. “I bought you new toothpaste yesterday. It is still on the counter in the kitchen.” “OK. Thanks, Mama. I am going to brush my teeth and then Paige is going to read me a book. Right, Auntie Page?” “No,” Paige said as she scooped her up. “I am going to read you four books.” Alejandra’s giggles filled the hallway as Paige carried her off to brush her teeth. “You still have Alejandra,” Torres said. Shock was clear in his deep voice, the sound resonated in her. Alejandra was a tangible connection to the past they had shared. Torres had been with her the day the little girl’s family had been murdered. He was the one that brought them to safety. Beth nodded. “Yes, I adopted her. My life went on. Lots of things happened after you left.” She stressed the last part. Torres needed to know things had changed, decisions had been made; things had been done that she could never take back. Torres shook his head. “I didn’t leave you, Beth. I didn’t choose to be gone.” Beth shifted from one foot to the other. “Why are you here, Torres?” “I need to speak to you, Beth.” He took a deep breath. “I just need to see you.” Beth looked down the hall to make sure Ally and her sister were out of earshot “Why? There is nothing to say” Beth shook her head. She had lots of questions but she couldn’t handle the answers, not yet, maybe someday. Her throat was burning. Tears threatened in her eyes, ready to fall as soon as her body gave permission, but Beth wouldn’t. She had cried enough over Torres. “No,” she amended, “actually there is a whole hell of a lot to say but nothing I want to hear.” Torres reached for her hand and this time she didn’t pull away. “You need to understand what happened. I didn’t leave you, Beth.” She held up her hand. She didn’t care that he left because of an email. The end result was the same, he left and her life went on without him. She wouldn’t waste time being angry or wishing things were different or feeling guilty about the choices she had made. She had made some shit choices, but they had gotten her through. “It will all be in a report. I will read it then. Look Torres, I’m glad you’re OK,” She took a deep breath to fortify herself and give her the strength to continue. He needed to know there was nothing left of them. “But I’m not glad you’re back. Please leave. I can’t deal with this now.” The words stung her but they needed said. If he stayed any longer, she might not have the strength to make him go and he had to, too much had changed. They weren’t the same people. Once upon a time she would have let herself pretend that things could work. It was how she got by, pretending, but that was a luxury she didn’t have any more. Beth tried to shut the door but Torres didn’t move, his solid form would not budge. There was a sadness to him she could not bear. It hurt to look at him. Her pain was reflected and magnified in him, and she couldn’t fix it. “I’ll go once I explain,” he said. She closed her eyes and refused to let herself cry. “No, Torres. I’ll read it in Jessop’s report.” “No, Beth. I’m not a detail. You told me once you like to think of the shit in life as details that you choose to ignore. That’s what you want to do, read the report and pretend it is someone else’s life. My life is not a fucking detail you can ignore,” he rasped. His grip bit into her wrist. She would have winced but she would not let him know it hurt. Anger ignited in her, burning with an intensity that threatened to consume her. Her eyes narrowed into angry slits. “You became a detail the moment you crossed the border into Mexico. You had a choice, Torres. You could have called me.” Every choice she made had been determined by that decision. She was as angry about that as she was about him leaving. Things would have been so different if he had just stayed. But he hadn’t. “I thought you knew. Christ, Beth, just listen to me. I know this a lot for you but for fuck’s sake just let me explain. I know you’re scared. You’re always scared but stop running.” Beth’s hands fisted. She wasn’t scared, she was angry and she had every right to be. And Torres had a right to be hurt and angry, there was just nothing she could do about it other than add it to her list of regrets. Paige came around the corner holding up a pair of footie pajamas. “You OK?” Paige said. She glanced down at Beth’s wrist, still encircled. “Ally said these pinch her toes.” Beth nodded. “I’m fine.” She pulled her hand from Torres’ and this time he let her go. “Yeah, those are too small. She has a pair on the back of the chair in her bedroom.” “Are you sure everything is OK?” Paige asked again. No everything wasn’t OK. It hadn’t been OK in a long time but she was just about managing to pretend it was before Torres came back. She wanted to scream and shout and tell Torres how much he had hurt her. She wanted to feel everything she had pushed down for so long and then never feel it again. She wanted it to be over. “Yes everything is fine. I just need a favor. I am going to need to go back out tonight. I know it is a big ask but can you take Alejandra to your house tonight?” She needed to get it all out with Torres and then be done. Paige gave her a dubious look. “Of course I can take Ally. But wouldn’t it be easier for me to stay here? She is almost ready for bed.” Beth shook her head. She couldn’t look directly at her sister. She would know she was lying. “Please can you take her? I don’t know what time I’ll be home. I’ll get her in the morning and take her to school.” Paige looked uncertain. “I would really appreciate it. Armando and I have a few loose ends we need to tie up.” Would his Christian name ever sound normal to her? “Yeah OK, sure,” her sister said at last. “Call me if you need anything.” Paige shot her a knowing glance. Beth watched her sister’s car pull out of the driveway. She turned to face Torres. “You can’t come here again.” She needed to establish the boundaries right away. When it came to Torres the lines always became blurred. But this was one line they couldn’t cross. For her sanity, they could not cling to the past or pretend they had a future. He nodded. “No. I mean it. It’s not just because it is unsafe. I don’t want you here. I don’t want lots of strange men around Alejandra. I’m someone’s mom now. I have changed.” She listed her excuses, but there was only one reason why: Beth could not live through the pain again. Once was enough to last a lifetime. Once Torres knew the truth, he wouldn’t want anything to do with her anyway. The realization should have comforted her, she wanted closure after all, but it hurt in a way too painful for her to even acknowledge. Torres nodded again. He stared down at his hands. She was being rude. Jesus, the least she could do was offer him a drink. “Do you want some coffee?” She would offer him some of the wine she was about to pour herself but Torres didn’t drink. “No. I don’t want coffee. I want you to tell me you know that I didn’t leave you.” Beth uncorked a bottle of red wine. She shook her head. She couldn’t look at him. Torres was here, in her house. The number of times she had prayed he would come back, and now he was there. It was too much. His presence overwhelmed her. “It doesn’t matter, Torres. You left and I moved on.” She poured herself a glass right to the top and took a sip. Cake and wine weren’t the most nutritious meal she could have picked, but she needed it tonight. “Of course it fucking matters,” Torres said incredulously. “Please sit down.” Beth gestured to the sofa. From the corner of her eye she watched the muscles in his jaw tense, and the silver slash of his scar grow taut over his bronzed skin. Beth squeezed the stem of her glass to keep from running her hand over his scarred face. He was so close. Close enough now to touch, his broad shoulders, his solid chest, and the thick muscles of his arms, the arms that were once her favorite place. “You are making me nervous.” “I always did. I always scared you.” Beth was about to object but he was right. Torres scared everyone. She chose the seat opposite him. She needed the physical distance to be able to look at him without giving in to the need to touch him. He was beautiful and scary and utterly masculine. She loved the way he looked and she wasn’t going to deny herself the pleasure of looking at him one last time. “Yes you did. I thought you would hurt me and you proved me right. Moral of the story is: trust your gut.” Beth took another long sip of wine. Torres shook his head. His hair was long and thick now, not shaved close to his scalp, but his features were just as harsh. How could she have ever thought that he was only terrifying because of the way he looked? It wasn’t the shaved head or the scars or the tattoo. The fear came from something deeper. It was him, who he was, the things he had done; the things he was capable of. Torres’ stare bore down on her. “No, I think the moral of that story is once a chicken always a chicken.” There was no mistaking the bitterness in his voice. She disappointed him. Best for him to know now, that she always would. “No, I never trusted you because I knew you would hurt me.” She paused, she didn’t want to give him any more power but she needed him to know. “And you did. So well done to you for living up to expectations.” She raised her glass as if to toast him and then brought it to her lips. “I knew loving you could only end in tears. But I did it anyway. So here is to my stupidity.” She toasted the air again and then took another long sip. Her skin was warming. “I only went to Colombia to protect you.” “No!” she scoffed. “Your reasons for going to Colombia had nothing to do with me. Maybe you tell yourself they did, but we both know you went to find El Escorpion. I should have known. You needed blood. Stupid me. You didn’t get to kill Martinez so you went after El Escorpion. Stupid, stupid me.” She downed the last of her wine and then stood up. “Are you sure you don’t want some, Torres? Drinking alone is pathetic even for me.” “Then don’t drink.” His voice was curt. He reached for her glass but she pulled it away. “I need a drink. I deserve a drink.” She walked back into the kitchen and poured herself another glass of wine. She returned minutes later with the glass in one hand and a bottle in the other. “Let me tell you about my day. It has been pretty shitty. It started with my partner telling me that the agent I recruited was dead.” Beth took another drink, this time straight from the bottle. “No, he wasn’t just my agent. He was the love of my life.” The effects of the alcohol must have kicked in because she was able to admit that out loud, and it didn’t even sting. It was just a statement of fact. “Then I find out he isn’t actually dead, he was held captive by the same cartel I recruited him to dismantle. Is that ironic or just pathetic?” Beth raised her hand to cut him off. “Don’t interrupt me. You said you wanted to talk. Well I’m talking, Torres. So now I am torn. I feel like he just reached into my chest and ripped out my heart. I say he but I mean you, Torres. You hurt me. I hurt for a long time.” She closed her eyes. “I want to hate you.” She shook her head. “No, I need to hate you. But I see you and I want to hold you and want to know every single detail so I can feel them too. I want to know what you went through. I just want to be able to give you comfort because when I see you in pain I can feel it and I need it to stop. I need it to stop, Torres.” “Oh Christ, Beth. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” “No. Don’t. It’s too late for apologies.” She took a long sip of wine. Torres shook his head. “It’s not too late. It’s never too late until one of us dies. It’s not too late to fix this, to fix us.” Torres stood and crossed to her. “It’s not too late.” “Everything has changed, Torres.” The tears were threatening to spill from her eyes. She took another drink to numb herself. “I’m a mom now.” There was so much she could tell him but it would be cruel. She wished he could just understand without her having to spell out what she had done. Torres smiled. Only half of his face rose. Beth closed her eyes. “Don’t do that. I missed that,” she admitted. “No one smiles like you.” “I can’t help smiling, Beth. You make me happy even when things are shit between us, I’m still happy to be around you. I smile because I’m happy to be in the same room with you again. I’ve wanted this for a long time, just to be in the same room as you. And I love that you adopted Alejandra. I don’t know why I was surprised. Of course you would adopt her. That’s just you. That’s why I am smiling. You’re a good woman.” His words tore through her like shrapnel. “I’m really not.” Beth finished her glass of wine and then poured another before she set the bottle down on the floor. Tomorrow her head was going to hurt like hell but tonight she might just achieve numb. “I really wish you knew how far off the mark you are. There are things I could tell you.” Torres put his hand on her. His palm was rougher than she remembered, even more callused. Her skin warmed under his touch. “Don’t tell me then. I don’t need to know. You need the lies you tell yourself; maybe I need mine too. You’ve moved on, I know. I see it, I don’t need to hear about it.” “Please don’t stand so close to me.” She couldn’t breathe. He was too close. She remembered this, his smell, the way she was drawn to him even when she fought it. There was a safe zone with him, where rationality prevailed, but once he was close, all higher reason broke down and she was propelled by something primal. “Torres. We can’t go back.” Beth stood. She needed to create space between them again. But instead of moving further away, Torres used the opportunity to close the gap between them. “I don’t want to go back,” he assured her. His breath was hot on her neck. She shivered at the sensation. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch him. My God how she wanted to stroke his skin and run her hands through his hair. He was too close for her to think. “Things have changed,” she said again. Half his mouth rose in a grin. “Not the way I feel. Not the way you make me smile. Not the way my body responds to you.” He stepped closer. She could feel his body pressed against her. He was too close but she wanted him closer. For a long moment she couldn’t move. He was so close. Torres was back, here with her. Her lids gently closed as she breathed him in. Her body softened…reflex…muscle memory…instinct. But then she remembered. Beth pulled away. “No. I can’t do this.” She picked up her glass and took another drink. She wasn’t anywhere close to numb yet. She couldn’t do this. Their time had passed, that bridge had been well and truly burned. Torres took the glass from her. “Getting drunk isn’t going to solve anything.” Beth clenched her hands into fists to keep herself from reaching for him. He lowered his head and kissed her neck. The caress of his tongue on her delicate flesh sent a bolt of desire to her core. She needed to stop. But she wanted him. She tried to push him away but her arms would not listen. “It might make me feel better.” It might make me want you less. He shrugged. “No it won’t. It will just give you something different to feel shitty about.” Beth’s eyes flew open. If he only knew. “Trust me, I have plenty to feel shitty about.” She pushed away from him and grabbed her wine glass. “Beth, stop it! I’m not going to let you do this to yourself. You’re not even enjoying it. You’re just drinking to get drunk.” Beth laughed but there was nothing joyful about the sound. “Now you’re here to save me from my mistakes. Where were you all the other times? Where were you when I let my mom be institutionalized? I needed you then. Where were you?” She threw her head back and downed the contents. Her throat burned. “I’m sorry.” She held up her hand to cut him off. “No, there is more. You’re back and you think we can go back to the way it was. Before, you would just have to look at me and my panties would come off. That is how it was then. But it can’t ever be that way now. You wouldn’t want me if you knew. Ask me why, Torres!” she demanded. “Stop. You’re drunk. Don’t say things you’re going to regret.” “Ha! I wish words were all I had to regret,” she scoffed. “Maybe if you had been here, I could have limited my regrets to only stupid drunken words. Where were you when I needed you, Torres?” She pushed him. Her hands struck into the solid wall of his chest. He didn’t budge but his strength only served to ignite her smoldering anger. The pain was fresh as the day he left, like acid on a paper cut. “Where were you when I was fucking Patterson?!” There, she’d said it. It was out there and she could never take it back. Torres’ face changed, went impossibly dark, his eyes glazed over. She struck her hands into his chest again. “Where were you? I needed you then.” Beth struck him again. “Say something, you son of a bitch. Where were you all the times I was fucking Patterson?” Torres pinned her arms to her sides. “Shut up,” he seethed. His voice was ragged. “Don’t say any more.” His body shook as he tried to control his anger. There had never been any love lost between Torres and Patterson; they hated each other actually. Her partner had been against recruiting Torres from the beginning, he thought he was too unpredictable, too emotionally invested, too much of a liability. And for Torres, any shred of goodwill towards Patterson had been lost when Patterson let Beth take the blame for the ambush in Mexico. Beth knew sleeping with Patterson would hurt Torres, more than if she had slept with anyone else. And maybe that is why she picked Patterson. Or maybe because it was because he looked at her the way Torres once did. Or maybe it was because she knew it would never be messy with Patterson. He made her feel good, desired. Sometimes he even made her forget. And Patterson knew the rules; what happened off the clock would never affect their professional relationship. She pulled against him but she was overpowered. “No, you need to hear about it. Four years is a long time. Did you expect me to be waiting for you? Ask me when the first time was.” “Stop it,” he commanded through clenched teeth. The muscles in his jaw knotted. He pushed her against the wall, pinning her in place. “I don’t want to hear it.” The air was being squeezed from her body; every breath was a battle. Her body ached. It took all her strength to fill her lungs enough to say, “Two days. Two days before he was fucking me. Two days.” “I told you to stop.” Torres pulled her away from the wall. She could finally breathe, but not for long. He gathered her against him. “I told you to stop,” he said again. He pushed her back until her knees hit the couch. She fell back. His hands reached for his zipper. In an instant, his cock was free, long and hard. Beth opened her mouth to speak but Torres covered it with his hand. “No more,” he rasped. “I can’t hear any more.” With one hand he clasped her mouth, with the other he yanked up her skirt. He pulled at her panties. She bucked her hips. The movement was enough for the satin to give under the strain. Over his ragged breath she heard the fabric rip and then she felt the rush of cool air against her naked flesh. With a single stroke he penetrated her, filling her completely. Her eyes widened with pain as the head of his cock battered against her cervix. He took his hand away from her mouth. “No more talking,” he said. Wordlessly she nodded. He withdrew slowly until just the tip of him sat poised at the entrance of her body. “I’m here now,” he said as he slid into her again. Her legs spread to make room for him. “I’m here now.” Beth’s hands went to his hair, fisting in the dark length. Slowly he moved in and out of her, claiming her. In that moment she belonged to him. Her body wasn’t ready, but she didn’t fight him. He was here now, with her, in her. She could worry about things later. Tomorrow their relationship would still be over, tomorrow she could still drown in regret. She could cry tomorrow. Right now he was inside her and that was all that mattered. It was the thing she had trained herself to stop wishing for. But her body still craved it, still knew how to respond to his touch. His pace grew faster, less restrained. Her hips bucked to match his thrusts. With a final powerful thrust, he came, his cock pulsed as warmth filled her. He collapsed on her. They lay together, him still inside her, his cheek pressed against hers. The only sounds were his ragged breaths. Neither dared to speak. Once one of them did, it would be over, this moment, this reprieve. His heartbeat was strong against her chest. He was heavy on top of her but she didn’t want him to move. She would gladly give up breathing, to have him close for another moment. He sat up. His hand reached up to his cheek. His face was slick with her tears. His eyes narrowed in confusion. And then his face contorted in horror as realization sank in. He ran a hand through his hair. “Oh fuck, Beth.” In his hand he held the remains of the underwear he had ripped from her body. “Fuck, Beth, I’m sorry.” His voice broke from the strain of the emotion. Beth pushed herself up on her elbows. “It’s too late to apologize. For any of it. That is what I was trying to tell you.” She hung her head. They couldn’t take back anything that had been said or done. “Fuck,” he said again. “Oh Christ. I’m sorry.” Beth swung her legs around so she could sit up on the couch. “Don’t, Torres. I don’t want to talk about it. It happened, it’s fine. I just don’t want to talk any more. I’m done.” He ran a hand through his hair and swore again. “Let me run you a bath.” Beth shook her head. “No. Don’t you see? It’s over. If it wasn’t over the minute you crossed the border, it was over when I slept with Patterson.” Torres flinched at the mention of her partner’s name. The small movement was enough for her to realize why she had picked Patterson: because it gave the control back to Beth. It was Beth’s way of closing the door forever. “It’s over, Torres.” “Fine.” Torres buttoned his pants. “But I can’t leave you like this after what just happened. Let me take care of you. Let me run you a bath.” “No. It’s over. I don’t want you to run me a bath. I just want you to go.” “Beth, I’m sorry.” Shame marred his dark features. She shook her head again. “Stop saying that. Apologies won’t fix anything. They aren’t going to make us better. They’re not going to rewind the clock. It’s over.” “I shouldn’t have done that to you.” Beth’s head snapped up. “You didn’t do anything to me. We did something together. We said goodbye, Torres. I knew what was going to happen when I sent my sister and Alejandra away. We have a lot of history. We needed that closure. So don’t apologize for that. If you want to apologize for anything, apologize for leaving in the first place. Or better yet apologize for letting me fall in love with you.” Torres reached for her hand and she didn’t pull away. “I won’t apologize for that.” They sat in silence until Beth leaned over and kissed the slash on his cheek. “What are you going to do now? I mean not tonight. I mean in general with your life.” Torres looked down at the ripped panties in his hand. “I don’t know. I’m stuck. I’m dead after all.” Beth shook her head. This was one time when she hated her job. She hated knowing what was going to happen next. “Armando Torres is dead. Jessop will probably already have a cover chosen. It’ll take a few weeks to get everything in place but then you can start a new life somewhere. If you have any preference for state or preferred name, best to let him know now. Any idea where you want to go?” Torres laughed bitterly. “I don’t want to go anywhere. For four years, you were the home that I fought to get back to.” Beth’s breath caught in her throat. Pressure built behind her eyes. It was her turn to apologize. “Torres…” Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry too. About all of this. About everything. I’m sorry for all the mistakes I made. I’m sorry for your pain. I’m sorry I’m not the person you hoped I was.” She bit her lip to keep from crying. “I’m sorry that someone took our chance away.” Torres stood up. “Is this goodbye?” Beth grabbed his hand. She needed him to be in her life for another minute. Just sixty seconds that no one could take away. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his scar again. She didn’t dare kiss his lips, she wouldn’t be able to say goodbye if she did. But she had to say goodbye, because it was over. There was no coming back from their mistakes. They might be able to pretend for a while, but they would always be there, hanging between them, mocking their attempts at happiness. “Take care of yourself, Torres.” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/kierney-scott/holding-the-line-a-romantic-suspense-that-will-get-your-puls/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.