Holding The Line. Kierney Scott
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.”
There was a dark constancy in the jungle, day in day