Holding The Line. Kierney Scott

      “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 Bogotá 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