Blurring the Line (3 page)

Though she could see how women could forget themselves with him. Her gaze drifted to the white cotton fabric that strained to cover the expanse of his biceps. Beth was fairly certain she could smell testosterone under the clean scent of aftershave. Once she got past the fact that his physical presence was completely terrifying, she could see in an objective way why women found him attractive, there was something primal about him. And the taut muscles that sculpted his body didn’t hurt either.

Beth cleared her throat, remembering where she was. “Right…of course. We should give it some time…” Beth looked down lamely at her watch but her eyes did not register the numbers. She cleared her throat again. It had been a long day. “Um…how long exactly were you thinking?”

If she wasn’t mistaken, Beth saw a flash of a smile crack over his full lips. It was hard to tell because it was gone so quickly, and the curve of his lips made it look as much like a snarl as a grin.

“I don’t know,
Gatita.
How long does it take with Neil?”

Beth let out a sharp breath. The mention of Neil in the context of sex temporarily put her on the back foot. She had not had sex with Neil yet but she was not about to tell Torres that. It would mean explaining that she hadn’t gotten around to sleeping with Neil because she fully expected it to be another lacklustre sexual experience. She was putting it off so she could pretend a little bit longer this would be the guy who made her see stars. “Um…you know, I don’t know, the normal amount of time. Now let’s go. I need a drink from the minibar.” Beth tried to push past him, but the wall of muscle that was Torres’ body did not budge.

“No, I don’t know. It’s been a while. Remind me how long sex should take.”

Beth dropped her hands to her sides and forced herself to look Torres directly in the eye. His mouth was not smiling but his dark eyes certainly were. The sides crinkled in amusement. He found her amusing. Her sex life amused him. She forced a confidence into her tone she did not feel. “Thirty minutes should be adequate if everyone knows what they are doing.” Yep, thirty minutes was usually enough time for her to realise it wasn’t working for her. Half an hour was how long it took for the guy to stop trying.

Torres nodded his dark head. “OK then. Showtime,” Torres said and then turned off the water. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

Beth’s eyes narrowed in question, but the only answer she got was a quick flash of a smile. Like before, his lips curled up so it looked more like an act of aggression than a smile, but this time she could see his teeth, two perfectly straight rows of white. Clearly any initiation he endured had not involved having his teeth pulled, which must have been a relief for him because he really did have nice teeth. She wondered if he had had braces and then she wondered why she cared.

“Ready?” Torres asked but he did not wait for an answer. He opened the bathroom door, kicked off his shoes and pulled back the duvet on the bed. “We’d better make this believable.” He gave her a warning glance so menacing that it shot a bolt of fear down her spine. Her hands were suddenly wet and her mouth dry. What was he doing?

“Right side or left?” Torres asked but he was already making his way toward the far side of the room.

Beth glanced at the chair in the corner. She expected to spend the next thirty minutes drinking cocktails made from minuscule bottles of overpriced alcohol. Clearly Torres had other plans.

Beth raised her hand in protest but before she could say anything Torres smiled. He was teasing her. Her brain could not make room for the new information. In the long list of characteristics she attributed to Torres, playful was not one of them. He was cold and calculating and lethal when he needed to be. He wasn’t…whatever this was.

“Just play along. You know what they’re expecting. Make them think that you are in here having the time of your life.” The crinkles around his eyes deepened, it was almost like he was smiling but his mouth had forgotten to play its part.

Beth cleared her throat again. “Can’t we just go out in half an hour…maybe high five Flores and then let me go?”

Torres shook his head. “They have not seen me with a woman. It’s going to take more than half an hour to make up for two years of celibacy.”

Beth bit her cheek to stop from asking if it had really been that long since he had been with a woman. It was none of her business. And she didn’t care. “How much time would it take to make up for two years?” she asked instead when her curiosity would not be abated.

A slight smile tugged at his lips. “Why, is there somewhere you need to be?”

Again she forced herself to look him in the eyes. Lucky for her she was a good liar. “As a matter of fact I do. So the thirty minutes starts now.”

This time he rewarded her with a genuine smile. “Well if we only have thirty minutes, we’d better make it one hell of a half hour.” Torres folded the floral cover and laid it across a stool at the foot of the bed before he stretched out. He looked completely relaxed like a lion lying down for his afternoon nap, or like a crocodile ready to snap the bones of a small bird and devour its tattered carcass.

Beth suddenly thought of Torres having sex, no doubt he could accomplish a lot in a half an hour. She sat down on the bed. “Has it really been two years?” She could not stop herself from asking. The question was rude and entirely unprofessional but she was curious.

Torres nodded but did not elaborate.

Beth’s eyes narrowed as her gaze moved over his solid form. Their contact had been limited since Beth had recruited him just shy of two years ago. They met up every eight weeks or so to touch base, but other than their initial meeting and the time she had trained him, their conversations had been brief and to the point. They did not have much to say to one another beyond work, but thirty minutes would pass more quickly if they weren’t just staring at one another. She tried to think of another question to ask him, anything to pass the time, but her mind was mercilessly blank. Well that wasn’t true exactly, she could think of several follow-up questions about his sex life but she wasn’t about to ask those.

Beth tapped her fingers against the scratchy cotton sheet. “So,” she began lamely. “How have you been?” She whispered so as not to be heard through the thin walls. She could tell by the coarse laughter that Flores and his partners in crime were still in the other room. She remembered she needed to ask Torres the names of his associates, though she doubted they would get her any closer to El Escorpion, and the elusive leader was all she cared about. Everything else was detail, and Beth didn’t do details unless they served her.

Torres opened his eyes but did not look at her. “How have I been?” He shook his dark head. “I thought you wanted credible deniability.”

“Yes – I mean no – I mean how are you other than anything that pertains to criminality?” The question sounded stupid even to her. Apparently she had forgotten how to make small talk.

“Other than being the head of a Sicario and being personally responsible for bringing 100 kilos a month of cocaine and marijuana into Laredo every month, I’m great. How are you, Beth?” Torres turned and looked at her, pinning her in place with his dark eyes.

A bolt of ice ran the length of her spine. There was a caustic sadness in his deep voice, it was tinged with a deep regret. She never really stopped to think how Torres was handling things his end; her focus was always on dismantling Los Treintas. Everything beyond that was filed with the other minutiae of her life, somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind. Beth liked to think of her work in abstract nebulous terms, because the reality of it was quite ugly. Sometimes what they had to do was amoral and illegal but it was also necessary, it served a greater good.

But sometimes she remembered that the names in reports were people. Those were the moments she hated her job, but they were also the moments that reminded her why someone needed to do it.

Torres did not have the luxury of distancing himself; he was part of a Sicario, a hit-man squad. She would never ask for details because she did not need to know and selfishly she did not want to know, those were details that she didn’t let exist.

“You know I…I mean all of us appreciate your sacrifices. We couldn’t do it without you.” It wasn’t a platitude; it was the truth. If she never had contact with Torres again after tonight, which is what she suspected, he still would have been one of the best assets the Administration had ever had. They now knew the exact route drugs were entering the US in Texas and California and they had identified six border patrol agents on the Zetas’ payroll. Once Torres was out of the field they could act on the information and in the long run the country would be safer because of his service. “You have done Archila proud.”

Torres sat up. “Don’t. I’m already whoring myself for the cause. Don’t make it worse. It must be so nice for you, not needing to bother yourself with details.” He ran a hand over his smooth head. She could tell there was more he wanted to say but something stopped him. A stab of guilt pierced her gut. Not for the first time she felt the twinge of a conscience asking if she was taking advantage of him. It would be incredible for anyone to think that of the powerful man in front of her, but she had read his file. She knew every gruesome detail that led him to this point, and she had used it all against him, manipulated him into joining the DEA. She appealed to his honour and his need for revenge. She had been calculating and mercenary, and she would do it again in a minute but it still didn’t make it any less of a dick move.

“I’m sorry,” Beth whispered.

Torres was quiet for a long time. “Me too.” His voice was so low she would have not known what he had said had she not been looking at him.

He glanced down at his watch and sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger before he said, “Time to make it convincing. Show me your acting skills,
Gatita
.”

Beth raised a brow in question.

“We’re having sex not studying in a library. Make some noise, Beth.”

Beth shook her head.

Torres smiled and then rocked the bed back and forth in a slow cadence, the headboard hitting the wall at a steady pace. “Now,” he said in a tone that warned her not to argue with him. She doubted anyone argued with him…about anything…but no, she was not going to make any noises. “No,” she mouthed.

“Now. I have to deal with these people. Just do it,” he said and she knew this was an argument she would not win. She reminded herself she didn’t care what Torres thought of her.

Beth took a deep breath. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She closed her eyes and let out a small moan, it was a pathetic sound, something like a cat meowing.

She opened her eyes to find Torres staring at her with a combination of amusement and disbelief. “What was that?” he mouthed.

A rush of hot blood crept up her neck. “You said to make noise. I made a noise.” She tried to ignore the embarrassment that was stretching its fingers around her neck.

Torres shook his head. His eyes were smiling again. “I didn’t think I needed to specify a sex noise. You have had sex before right, Beth?”

“Yes!” she shouted a bit too forcefully. Of course she had had sex. Many times. Did he think there was no one who would sleep with the pathetic cat lady?

Torres bit back a laugh. “Attagirl. That’s what I’m talking about. Give it more of that and we’re golden.”

He was teasing her again. She really wished he would stop doing that. She could just about come to terms with the terrifying Torres, the teasing version was a step too far. “Why can’t you make the noise? I don’t see why I am the one who has to make an ass of myself.”

“Because if we were really having sex, my mouth would be otherwise occupied.”

Beth’s eyes widened as she realised what he was saying.

Torres smiled again. “Try again. This time more passion, less wounded animal.”

Beth shook her head. He had to be kidding her. This was definitely not in her job description. She needed a new job…or a raise. She took another deep breath and let out a moan. This time it was lower, a guttural sound that surprised her, it wasn’t anything that resembled sensual…unless a mooing cow was your thing. God she was pathetic. She wouldn’t believe anyone would willingly sleep with her after that effort.

She opened her eyes to find Torres staring at her in disbelief. “Seriously? That is the sound you make in bed? Your poor neighbours.”

“No that is not the sound I make in bed. And screw you.” Beth’s cheeks burned. Too bad punching wasn’t a sound usually associated with sex because she would gladly smack Torres in his smirking mouth.

Torres nodded in a patronising way. “What sound do you make?”

“Screw you, Torres.,” Beth said again, barely remembering to whisper. She clutched her hands into tight balls. So much for shaking the pathetic cat lady image.

“Oh…I see,” Torres said almost apologetically.

Beth’s head snapped round. “What?!” she demanded. “What exactly do you see?”

“It’s fine, Beth. You don’t have to be embarrassed. I mean I think your boyfriend should be embarrassed—”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’ve never had an orgasm. Nothing to be ashamed of, you just need to pick better men to share your bed with,” he said with a confidence that left no question about the satisfaction he provided his partners.

“Don’t be an ass. I’ve had orgasms, plenty of them, thank you very much. Just quiet ones. So again, Torres, just…screw you.” Beth threw up her hands in exasperation.

Torres smiled again. “I see, the well-known silent orgasm. Like the kind of orgasms you have by yourself. Those are fun too.” He was staring at her again, in a way she could feel. Heat from his stare pricked her skin.

Beth’s cheeks burned as her embarrassment turned to mortification. She could not believe she was having this conversation. She opened her mouth to explain that it was possible to have thoroughly enjoyable yet relatively quiet sex but then she realised she didn’t have to justify herself to anyone.

A long silence followed. She wished he would stop looking at her so intently. It was like he was studying her, taking in every small action. She felt scrutinised and judged, and the long gaps in conversation made her eager to speak, just to fill them. Therapists did the same thing; they would leave long pauses to force the client to talk more to ease the uncomfortable silence. He was doing it on purpose, to back-foot her. Clever, but it wasn’t going to work on her. She had already told him more than enough about herself. She liked a very clear line between her work and social life. “Just screw you, Torres,” she mumbled.