Blurring The Line. Kierney Scott

back stiffened. He had nearly been assaulted by a bunch of thugs because he had not made contact but he had the audacity to be angry with her. She was reminded again how much she disliked him, and really hated being dependent on him. That was the part she hated the most. She needed Torres.

      Beth placed her hand on his broad chest; her fingers shook as they fanned out over hard muscle. His heart beat under her hand, slow and strong, unfazed by the danger that engulfed them. He was either apathetic or cooler under fire than any human should be, either way it was what made him such a good field agent. Torres did not give a shit about anyone or anything beyond his own interests.

      His mouth opened on hers. She must have flinched because his hand was suddenly on hers, squeezing with a pressure that made her eyes water. It took all her focus not to cry out at the biting pain. But the message was clear: she needed to play along.

      Eventually Torres pulled his head away, his eyes narrowed, warning her not to speak.

      “Change of plans; we’ll leave in the morning,” Torres said. He spoke in Spanish, his heavily accented words coming quickly. In both English and Spanish he spoke like a native, an American accent in English, a Mexican accent in Spanish. His linguistic abilities had been a selling point when she recruited him; it made him a valuable asset, as did his ability as a leader. Admittedly those were both invaluable skills, but only time would tell if they were enough to offset the baggage that Torres brought with him.

      From the corner of her eye Beth saw Flores nod his head. Flores was second in charge. She already knew that, but she noted it again, already writing up her report in her head. Nothing happened that wasn’t written down, documented and analysed.

      Torres pulled her through the open door to the bedroom. The massive room was dominated by floor-to-ceiling patio doors that let in bright Texas light. In the centre of the room was a kingsize bed, a table on each side, one with a telephone, the other fresh cut flowers. It was picturesque, the kind of room for romantic getaways or recharging. And it was also their designated drop off.

      As soon as they were through the door Torres dropped her hand like it was a lead weight. He turned to her, his glare murderous, his eyes narrowed into angry slits, making his face even harsher than she thought possible. Suddenly a boulder settled in the pit of her stomach. Her heart picked up its already frantic pace. If they weren’t on the same side, she would be terrified; as it stood, she was far from comfortable. He was too much in every way: too aggressive, too unstable, too jaded, too damaged, too hell bent on revenge.

      “Do you have the—”

      Torres cut her off with a raised hand. “They’re listening,” he mouthed, his lips curling around every syllable. She wondered how a single movement could contain so much anger.

      He motioned her to the bathroom. Once inside he locked the door before quickly turning on the shower. The sound of the spray of water splashing against the tiles was enough to mute their voices.

      “What the hell are you doing here? Are you trying to get yourself murdered or just raped?” he demanded. His low voice was laced with anger and resentment.

      Beth shook her head, the fear in her replaced by her own resentment and indignation. God she hated him. He was trying to put this on her. She was many things, too many to list, but a bad agent she wasn’t. She had played by the rules here. “You said you would meet me tonight. You know the routine, if you don’t come, I’m to assume you have left me something here. And how was I to know you were going to bring the Zetas to our meeting spot?” The tautness in her muscles eased as anger spread over her.

      “Check your watch, Gatita.”

      Beth’s eyes narrowed. Gatita. She burned to ask him why he called her little cat, was it because of her reputation in the Administration for being uptight and in the company of her cat more than men? But she was not going to show her hand yet and let him know she spoke Spanish. She would get more information on Torres if he did not know she understood everything he said. Necessity meant she relied on him, but she did not trust him. Beth looked down at her watch. “It’s midnight.”

      Torres grabbed her arm and lifted it to her face. “Look again, Gatita. I still have two minutes. You were going to get yourself killed because you’re too impatient. I said I’d meet you by midnight. And I did, I was there. You weren’t. Maybe you need to rethink your career. Perhaps you can get the stick out of your ass long enough to figure something out.”

      Beth’s back straightened. This was not on her. Torres was the one who compromised their position. “Yes, because I knew you would be entertaining gang members at our drop off. That was a logical conclusion.” Beth shook her head in frustration. It was all she could do to keep from screaming at him. “And as for the stick in my ass, you had better pray I keep it there, or I will use it to beat you within an inch of your life.” She was properly angry now, angrier than she had been in a long time. Her hands twitched with the rage. She had never had the desire to hit another person, but now she was consumed with the desire to punch him square in the jaw. It was a combination of the unspent adrenaline racing through her body and indignation about having her abilities questioned.

      Torres surprised her by smiling, not a real smile, only half his mouth curled into a smirk, but still it was in the smile family. His face changed with the small action, softening just enough for him to look human. “You didn’t think I would come. Trust issues, Mami? Is it all men or just me? Did daddy leave you or did a man do you wrong?”

      Beth shook her head in exasperation. Again he was trying to make this about her, her failure, her shortcomings. This was about him. “We both know you will be gone as soon as you find the man who murdered Moses Archila. It’s only a matter of time before you don’t show up.”

      The muscles in Torres’ jaw tightened at the mention of his best friend’s name. He did not bother denying what they both knew: his tenure with the DEA would be over as soon as he hunted down Archila’s killer. She just hoped she was able to get what she needed from him before then.

      “Any word on El Escorpion?” Beth asked hopefully, remembering why she was there.

      A terse shake of his head was his response.

      Beth let out a stream of air. She didn’t expect him to have anything but she always hoped. The entire Administration was hunting for the head of Los Treintas and so far there were more verified sighting of the Loch Ness Monster than their elusive leader. “Eye witness” reports had him ranging in height between five feet and six foot six. Some people said he had straight black hair, others reported curly brown. Some said he was covered in tattoos, other people reported a single scorpion tattooed between the thumb and index finger of his left hand. One report said he was a married father of eight, though she took that one with a pinch of salt because it came from a prison informant desperate to cut a deal. It was like chasing a ghost, and the fact that no one could say for certain what he looked like, let alone knew his real name, only complicated things further. What the DEA knew about the man called El Escorpion fitted comfortably on a single page of paper: he was the leader of one of the most dangerous and heavily armed narco-terrorist groups to come out of Latin America. All details beyond that were speculation.

      “Last I heard he was in Sinaloa.”

      Beth nodded. She had heard the same thing, but again it had come from a prison informant, and it needed verifying. Not that knowing El Escorpion was or may be in Sinaloa narrowed it down enough to be of any use. Sinaloa was a large state. She could not exactly fly down to Mexico and start knocking on doors.

      A sudden thought crossed her mind. Her pulse picked up again. “We need him alive,” Beth blurted out. “We both know he ordered the hit on Archila but you can’t kill him. Do you understand?” She had worked too long and too hard to not get El Escorpion. She could not deny that Torres would get a pass on almost anything he did undercover. There was no doubt in her mind that if Torres found Archila’s killer before she did, the man would be dead. And the case would be forgotten before the body was cold. She would make sure of it. But she needed El Escorpion alive.

      Torres’ eyes narrowed, staring through her.