Blurring the Line Read Online Free PDF Page B

convincing. There was a science to manipulation, and lucky for her she was a quick study.
    Beth rang the doorbell again and followed it up with a knock but still no answer. She was about to give up when she heard the screech of a power saw coming from behind the ranch-style house. She followed the noise to the back yard where she found a man, presumably Torres, bent over a table saw, pushing through a piece of wood with his bare hands.
    He wore faded blue jeans, slung low over narrow hips and a T-shirt. His skin was a rich brown, the colour heightened by the contrast with his stark white shirt. She was surprised to see him working, he had only been released from the hospital 48 hours previously.
    She cleared her throat to get his attention but he did not hear her over the noise of the saw. She didn’t want to startle him by calling out so she watched him silently. The muscles in his arms and back contracted as he guided the wood beneath the rotating blade.
    “Mr. Torres,” Beth called when the saw went quiet.
    Torres looked up. He eyed her dubiously. For a painful moment he didn’t speak and once again self-doubt pounded at her. She could hear Patterson’s voice telling her it was a lost cause. Her partner preferred getting information the old-fashioned way, from snitches and prison informants, but their information was unreliable at best. Beth knew better than most to never trust a convict.
    The DEA needed someone on the inside. Someone they had trained. Someone loyal. Someone hard. Someone who could withstand the cesspool of a drug cartel and yet not be pulled under.
    They needed Torres. He was perfect…at least on paper. His military career was exemplary. He would probably still be serving today if it weren’t for the IED that decimated his platoon. The military’s loss was her gain. Once she trained him, he would be a perfect asset. He already had a vested interest in bringing Los Treintas to their knees and most importantly, no one would blink at him falling into drug culture. His best friend had been killed by gang violence, just like his two brothers. Torres could easily pass as one more marginalised soul sucked under.
    “I’d ask if you were lost but seeing as you know my name, I’d say you’re right where you want to be.”
    Beth cleared her throat again, this time just to give herself a chance to think. “Mr. Torres?” She needed to be certain she was dealing with the right person. He looked different to the photo in his file: harder, angrier. If she saw him walking down a dimly lit road, she would cross the street to avoid him. Actually she would probably turn in the opposite direction and run.
    His glance caught hers and with the small look the air deserted her lungs. She fought the urge to turn and walk away. She had not anticipated her own visceral reaction to him. In his military photo he was less frightening.
    Torres put down the piece of oak he was working with. “We established who I am. Who are you?”
    Beth forced her feet to stay firmly in place. She reached out her hand. “Sorry. I am Beth Thomson.”
    Torres took her hand. His palms were rough. His hard calluses scraped against her smooth skin. “Well Beth Thomson, what can I do for you?”
    Beth pulled her hand away and reached into her bag for her blue and gold shield.
    Immediately his body language changed, his back straightened, his eyes narrowed. He gave her a hard stare that left her cold before he turned his gaze away, staring off into the open horizon.
    “I saw nothing. I know nothing.” His voice was impossibly low, like a growl.
    Beth shifted her weight from side to side. “Really? You didn’t see the man who shot you?”
    Torres said nothing. He didn’t even bother to look at her.
    “I’ve already given my statement to the police. I have nothing to add to it.”
    She was losing him. She had to get him onside. She needed an emotional response from him, anything she could work with, any button she could push. “I can