Blurring The Line: A steamy romantic suspense novel that will have you on the edge of your seat. Kierney Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      “To be fair, if you were screwing me, you wouldn’t have this problem.” His voice was thick and low, his face impenetrable as always. He was teasing her again. He was, wasn’t he? He was still looking at her intently, why she could not begin to fathom, she knew first-hand that she really wasn’t that interesting.

      Beth shifted on the bed. Her palms were suddenly slick. It was hot in here; hotter than it should be for Texas in April. God she needed a drink, something strong that would make her forget this particular exchange. “We’re done with this conversation. Don’t forget I’m your superior.” Beth reached into the minibar and grabbed a small bottle of single malt scotch and a can of 7 Up. She poured the contents into a glass before swirling it round. She would have preferred a nice mojito or a lemon drop, but this would have to do.

      Torres’ mouth curved into a smirk. “Do you feel superior right now, Beth?”

      Beth let out a stream of air. Now he even sounded like a therapist. Now that she knew the game, she could beat him at it. “I feel tired and annoyed right now. How do you feel, Torres?” She asked with a saccharin sweetness that did little to conceal her sarcasm.

      Torres shrugged his shoulders. “Actually I feel better than I have in a long time. It’s been awhile since I laughed. Thanks for that.”

      “So glad I could be of some service,” Beth said before she threw back her head and downed the contents of her glass. She reached in the refrigerator and made herself another drink. “Do you want anything? Uncle Sam is paying tonight.”

      Torres shook his head. “No thanks. I don’t drink.”

      Beth turned to face him. “Like ever?” Why didn’t she know that about him?

      He nodded.

      Great. He didn’t drink. In her experience the only men who did not drink were recovering alcoholics. She would add that to the list of things about Torres that made fieldwork especially dangerous, an alcoholic, most likely suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, hell bent on revenge. How could that possibly go wrong? “Well I’ll have your share then.” Beth took another drink. “Geez, when are they going to go home?” Beth pointed to the door. As if on cue, there was another burst of laughter from the other side of the door.

      “They’re nocturnal. It could be a while.”

      “Great. Should we pretend to have sex again? That passed the time nicely.” Beth finished her second drink before she moaned. “Oh Torres, that’s right. Just like that.”

      Torres stood up. “That’s better, but who shouts someone’s last name? You’re a freaky little thing, Gatita.” His eyes were smiling again.

      Beth’s eyes narrowed. Torres’ first name. She could not remember ever using it, or even seeing it written down. Of course she must have, it would be in his file along with his social security number, his life history, and the results of his psychometric tests. She knew for a fact he lied on those tests because his answers were too perfect, too normal. He was smart enough to cover up his crazy but she still saw it. She had his number, this man, this — Torres. Christ, if she could remember his first name. “Is it Miguel? No that isn’t right. Santiago?” She scrunched up her nose as she tried to remember his name.

      “Armando,” he said finally.

      “Armando? Are you sure?” Beth asked dubiously.

      Torres nodded.

      “Armando,” she said again trying the name on for size. “Armando.” She tongue-rolled over the R in exaggeration. “Armando Torres. Was your mother hoping you would star in a telenovela?”

      “I think she was hoping I would do anything other than run drugs for Los Zetas.”

      “Well it could be worse. You could be running drugs for Los Treintas. Those are some mean sons of bitches.” Beth leaned over and poured herself a third drink. There was no whisky left so she switched to vodka and Coke. She wasn’t driving tonight and the more she drank the less she worried about making an ass of herself or about her mom. Shit, her mom, she needed to phone her sister and check on her mom. Beth glanced at her watch. It was too late, even in California, which was two hours behind. Her sister would have gone to bed by now. She would have to call in the morning, which was fine by her. It gave her another night to pretend nothing was wrong. Denial was a powerful thing.

      Beth kicked off her shoes and sat back down on the bed beside Torres. God she was tired, and not just from today. She had not slept properly for over a week. Most nights she had been up until two looking up her mom’s symptoms and trying to decide which disease she was going to pray it was. None of them were great options, and they were past the point of being able to ignore it. Beth sighed. So much for alcohol helping her forget about her mom.

      She closed her eyes and began to rub her temples. She had been awake too long and her head was paying the price for it now. She had ten minutes left and then she would call a cab and go home to her lovely comfy bed. No looking up symptoms tonight, just sleep.

      “Beth?” Torres whispered just to make sure, but there wasn’t any need, it was fairly obvious she was sleeping. The first clue was that she had stopped talking; the second was the soft snoring. She looked slightly less agitated in her sleep, but she still had the deep furrow between her brows, which made her look like she was concentrating even in her sleep. She was always so serious, no laughs or jokes with her, always working, and frowning.

      He should wake her up and take her home.

      He should…but he didn’t. He could not remember the last time he had been in the company of someone he did not detest. And he didn’t hate Beth. He couldn’t quite stretch to liking her but he did not loathe her. He actually kind of enjoyed spending time with her, but to be fair he would have enjoyed any company at this point. It felt normal. Bizarrely he looked forward to their meetings. He could always depend on her for a dose of normality, a small reminder of how people were supposed to behave.

      The last two years had been spent on autopilot, trying to tune out everything but finding Moses’ killer. He was no closer now than he was a year ago but every day he sank to new lows, witnessing acts of depravity he could have only imagined before. The one perk of being in charge was he rarely had to pull the trigger. It was a small consolation, but he would take it. It wasn’t like he minded killing people, but he minded that he didn’t care.

      Torres studied her features and wondered how old she was. His guess would be thirty. She wasn’t a beauty by any stretch but she was pretty enough. She had dark blonde hair that fell just past her shoulders. Usually she wore it tied back in a ponytail, but today it was down. Her hair smelled of apples, which suited her: sweet and wholesome but also a little bit tart. She had just enough of an edge to her to make her interesting, but at her core she seemed like a nice person. Whenever she heard the details of a crime, she flinched a little. She always tried to cover it up, but he saw it. Even though she tried not to react, her body would betray her, if only for an instant. There was something nice about that, not that he could ever hope to explain it.

      He didn’t know many nice people any more. Selfishly he wanted to be around it for a few minutes longer, it was a nice reminder that not everyone was a pathetic piece of shit out to take as much as they possibly could. He was already looking СКАЧАТЬ