Authors: Kierney Scott
Beth was silent for a minute. She opened her eyes. “No,” she finally admitted. “But you wouldn’t have taken the job if Archila wasn’t murdered so I don’t know which is a better reason for a career choice, but we’re both here, so we may as well make the best of it.”
Torres considered her logic. “You’re a pretty good agent for not having your heart in it.”
Beth’s smiled at the small praise. “I’m going to let you in on a secret, I just fake it well.”
The corner of Torres’ mouth pulled into a smirk. “You really don’t. Remember I’ve heard your efforts at faking it.”
Beth covered her face with her hands. “Seriously Torres, must you keep bringing that up?”
“I don’t have to. But I’m going to honest with you, I think I might.”
Beth’s skin warmed. “Oh for the love of God.” Beth rolled down the window and let soft stream of air cool her burning cheeks. There was a smell of salt, both bitter and fresh.
Torres pulled up in front of a yellow stucco house. The small property was the only house on the beach. Like everywhere she had seen in Mazatlan, tall palm trees swayed in the gentle sea breeze. The white sandy beach seemed to stretch on forever. Red terracotta pavers formed a path to the arched opening of the front porch. On either side were ferns and bright orange poppies. The scene looked like a picture from a postcard.
“Is this where you live when you’re in Mexico?” she asked. She knew he divided his time between Mexico and America but she didn’t know anything about the particulars of where he lived because it wasn’t important to the case, it was just another detail.
The house was not at all what she would have expected. It wasn’t that she expected him to be living in a flophouse but she was surprised by the neat presentation. Someone obviously looked after the property.
“Do you have a gardener?” Beth asked.
Torres shook his head.
Beth followed him through the large arched doorway. Sun reflected off the gloss of the parquet floors. Tiny strips of wood were laid out in an intricate pattern she had never seen before. Beth set her bag down. “The floors are beautiful.” Beth turned and studied the décor. All the furniture was made of wood, from the coffee and dining tables to the cupboards and even the couch was a polished oak base with pristine white cushions covering it. The furniture was as beautiful as it was functional, each piece a distinct work of art.
“Thank you.”
Beth ran her hand over the smooth finish of the hall table. Neatly carved into the wood was an ornate letter T. It was subtle, almost merging with the scroll pattern. She then noticed the same emblem on the coffee table.
“T for Torres?” she asked. But she already knew the answer. “Did you make all the furniture?”
Torres nodded.
“And the floor?” Beth had never seen anything like it. The intricate design belonged in a gallery.
“Running drugs provides me with a lot of spare time,” Torres said, clearly uncomfortable with the praise.
“If you weren’t in the DEA would you go back to carpentry?”
Torres shrugged his shoulders. “I would teach. Before you contacted me, I was finishing my Masters degree in Education.”
Beth must have looked surprised because Torres smirked.
“That wasn’t in your file was it?”
“No,” Beth admitted. “I can’t imagine you as a teacher. You would have terrified me when I was in school.” He still scared her but she didn’t add that part.
Torres laughed. It was a deep and carefree sound that was incongruous to his physical appearance. “Admit it Beth, I terrify you now.”
“I think you terrify most people.”
He shrugged. “Probably. But that has its advantages.”
“Yes it does. I for one am grateful you are scary enough to infiltrate Los Zetas. It has made my life so much easier.” They both knew it was more than his menacing appearance that got him in. Torres was committed and fearless and willing to do anything to get the job done; that was the reason she recruited him.
Torres smiled. “Glad my ugly mug is good for something.”
Beth bit the side of her mouth to keep from saying anything. Ugly was not a word she would ever use to describe him. His features were harsh but he was not unattractive. He embodied masculinity, took it to frightening levels. She shifted from one foot to the other as she realised she was staring again. “Is there a place I can plug in my computer?” Beth asked to change the subject back to work, the place where she was in control.
Torres pointed to the solid oak door at the end of the hallway. “You take the bedroom.”
“Are you sure? I’m happy to set up on the couch.”
“It’s OK. I’m up early. I would just end up waking you up anyway.”
Beth nodded. “OK. I’m going to have a shower if that’s OK and then maybe lay down for fifteen minutes.” She struggled to stifle a yawn. It was Sunday morning and she had not slept since Friday night; the night she had fallen asleep beside Torres. And then woken up draped across him…not her finest hour.
“Sure. There are fresh towels in the bathroom. Help yourself to my robe.”
“Thanks.”
They had lots of work to do, but first she needed a few minutes to recharge her batteries. A half an hour should do it.
Beth laid her bag on the large chest of drawers. It had been made with several species of wood, each bringing a unique hue to the piece. Like the other furniture, hidden in the carving was a letter T. She turned and sat on the bed. It was a large kingsize sleigh bed. Beth almost missed the small letters carved into the swirls at the base of the bed. She ran her hand over the smooth wood. She wondered what women had spent time in the bed. Whoever they were, she was sure, they would have had a good time.
Beth shook her head. She really was tired if she was thinking about Torres’ sex life. She needed a shower and a nap, and not necessarily in that order.
Beth stretched her hands above her head and yawned. She rubbed her eyes and squinted down at her watch. She bolted upright when she saw the time.
“Shit!” It was 4:30. She had slept the entire day. So much for getting to work. Beth pulled back her hair and secured it with a rubber band. There was so much she needed to get done today. Time was of the essence and she had spent the day sleeping.
Suddenly her stomach rumbled and she realised her hunger must have been what woke her up because she would still happily climb back into bed and sleep another eight hours.
Something smelled good. Beth followed the earthy aroma of mesquite to a terrace at the back of the house.
Torres looked up at when he saw her. “I hope you like mahi-mahi.”
Beth nodded. She would love anything right about now.
Torres slid the fish from the grill onto two plates already dressed with roasted corn on the cob and a fresh tomato salad.
“Thank you,” Beth said when he handed her a plate. She sat down beside him on the terrace.
“Wow this is good.” Beth took another bite. There was an explosion of flavour in her mouth, lime and cilantro and a bit of pepper. “Did you make this?”
Torres smirked, pretending to look around. “It’s the maid’s day off.”
Beth shook her head. “I know you cooked it, but did you make the marinade? It’s delicious.” She wasn’t usually a massive fan of fish, but she could quite happily eat this every day for the rest of her life.
Torres nodded. “It’s really simple. I’ll give you the recipe.”
“Please do. You can cook and make furniture. I’m very impressed, Torres.”
“Don’t forget, shoot people in the face and bring millions of dollars’ worth of drugs into America. I’m a modern Renaissance man,” he remarked casually, but there was a hint of sadness in his tone. Most people would not have noticed but Beth knew people and she knew sad.
“Speaking of work, I really need to get started. I can’t believe I slept all day.”
“I can. You were tired. You didn’t sleep at all last night.”
“Neither did you. And here you are making the best fish I have ever had. This is really good.” Beth savoured the last bite. Hopefully he would make this again before she went back to Texas. She realised for the first time that she might actually miss Torres when he was gone. He was a bit of an enigma, both frightening and soothing. And anyone that could cook was someone she wouldn’t mind having around.
“It’s really not that great. You’re just easily pleased.” Torres’ trademark smirk tugged at his full mouth. “Strike that. You’re obviously only easy to please in some ways. Obviously food gets you going.”
He was talking about her inability to fake an orgasm again. Would he ever let it go? Beth stabbed the remaining piece of fish on his plate and transferred it to hers. If he was going to tease her, she was going to steal his food. It seemed a fair trade off. “So I don’t fake orgasms. The way I see it, it would be reinforcing negative behaviour. If a guy is not getting the job done, I’m not going to tell him how great it is or he will keep doing it. I owe it to all the women he will sleep with after me to be honest.”
“Very altruistic of you, thinking of his future partners. Have you ever thought, hey this is the man for me, maybe I should teach him how to get me off?”
Beth shifted in her seat. She considered his question for a minute before she shook her head. “No, I’ve never been with a man who I thought would be there for the long haul.” Geez, he really got to the heart of it, no dancing around the subject for Torres, but she appreciated that because she was the same way. She rarely wasted her time on small talk either.
Beth sighed for effect. “I live in hope that I will find one that I can honestly say I think will stick around when the going gets tough. But I have yet to meet one of these mythical creatures.” She tried to keep her tone light but there was still an edge to her voice because the topic was a bit too close to the bone.
“What makes you think they won’t stick around? Bad luck or are you purposefully picking guys to reinforce your beliefs?”
Beth held up her hand. “Obviously they get Dr. Phil in Mexico. Next you will be asking me ‘how’s that working out for you?’”
Torres laughed. “I don’t watch Dr. Phil. I just have a lot of spare time to think. You really would be surprised how much down time I have as a drug runner. As far as career choices go, I could have done worse.”
“But you’re not really a drug runner,” Beth reminded him, as much for her sake as for his. He was an agent, her agent, the man she had recruited and trained.
Torres stared at her. “The consequences are real though, not even you can pretend those away.”
Beth’s back straightened. He was right.
But she couldn’t dwell on that now. “This is a chapter in your life, albeit not a great one, but it will be over soon and then you can move on.”
“And what if this chapter is my life?”
Beth shook her head. “It’s not. Look, I don’t know you. But this isn’t you, not forever. It’s not me either but that won’t stop me being the best agent this side of the Rio Grande. Which reminds me, I need to get to work.”
Torres pushed his chair out and picked up the empty plates. “What do you want me to do?”
“Do you have a printer and internet access?”
Torres nodded.
“OK, I need to print some stuff out and start making phone calls.” Beth shook her head. “The biggest part of my job is organising other people.”
“Lucky you like that.”
Beth paused. She was about to protest but he was right, she did love being in charge. It meant success or failure was on her; she liked that control.
“What do you want me to do?” Torres asked again.
“Nothing. I need to get all the pieces in place first before I explain what we are doing. I work best alone.”
“Of course you do.”
Torres watched as she pulled a purple binder from her bag. The pages were divided into sections, each marked with a different colour. She opened her laptop and got to work, seeming to block out the entire world. Her face changed as she switched into work mode, the furrows deepening as she concentrated. The way she squinted at the screen made him wonder if she needed glasses.
He watched for a few minutes as she typed, quickly hammering at the keys, but left the room when she pulled out her cell phone. He was a third wheel. Beth had this under control. There was nothing he could add at this point. He would come back when it was time for action.
Torres kicked off his flip-flops and unbuttoned his shirt. He was going to take a page out of Beth’s book and ignore things. A swim was what he needed. For the next thirty minutes, there was nothing except the soft cushion of white beach under his feet and the warm surf.
He sighed as the water lapped against his ankles. He needed to do this more often, just pretend that the world was OK. It would be good practice for the future. He needed to learn to turn off survival mode; it was no way to live in the long run. It was a skill he was going to need when this was all over, and if he couldn’t fake it in paradise, he didn’t stand a chance back home.
Torres swam until his arms ached and his lungs burned. He wasn’t sure how long he had been in the water, but the sun had set and his fingers had wrinkled to the point where if someone found his dead body, he would have made it impossible to fingerprint.
When Torres returned to the house, Beth was sitting in the middle of a pile of papers. It looked like a mess but it was clearly her system. It was a good thing she liked to work alone because he didn’t know anyone else who could have put up with the cluster-fuck of highlighters and bits of folded paper.
She was orally running through a checklist, the same way she had before they left Texas.
“Hey,” he said to alert her to his presence. Her mind was racing miles away.
She looked up, were eyes widening in surprise. “Hey. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You were pretty engrossed.”
Beth nodded. “Yeah but I think I have everything in place. I mean I do. I just hope I have planned for all eventualities.” Beth picked up a piece of paper. “What if they enter from the south entrance? We need a man on the back door just in case.” Beth scribbled down something before returning the paper to the pile directly beside her. “I need to call Patterson again.” Beth reached for the phone.