Blurring the Line Read Online Free PDF Page A

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