It was Thanksgiving tomorrow, not that they celebrated in Monaco, maybe she would have a turkey sandwich in honor of the pilgrims; her babies would appreciate the protein.
Beth had been here two weeks. Her team was starting to get antsy. They wanted to be home with their families. They never voiced it but she could tell. They had reached the monotonous part of the investigation, where the only thing to do was wait. There were frantic moments of activity when El Escorpion sent an email. It was all hands on deck trying to trace the IP address, but each time they failed to locate him and it was back to twiddling their thumbs while they waited for the next message.
Essentially they were on the most luxurious stake-out in the history of the Administration.
Beth loved watching police procedurals where serial killers were apprehended and tried in the space of an hour. She would give a few years off her life for that reality. Instead she had a case that had lasted more than seven years. Try fitting that neatly in a primetime slot.
Slowly they were making progress. Zayat was systematically working the plan. Every day he chipped at the Treintas empire. They had gotten El Escorpion’s attention sooner than she expected. The day the money wire was scheduled, he emailed when it didn’t come. As instructed, Zayat ignored the first three emails. After the fourth Zayat wrote back giving a flimsy but plausible excuse for not being in touch or wiring the money: he was on vacation and did not have access to the required documents.
El Escorpion’s emails became more frequent and less polite every day. They were definitely wearing him down, but there was nothing they could do until he initiated contact.
Until then, they would wait.
Torres spent his days shadowing Zayat. Every move he made was OK’d by Torres first.
Her team found their own way to pass the time: soaking in the hot tub and drinking European beer and watching soccer. She had had worse vacations.
Beth had fallen into a routine; she spent her day reading glossy magazines she bought in town. She had never been one for celebrity gossip, she couldn’t care less who made a sex tape and who had what done to their face, but it reminded her of Paige. Her sister loved that kind of stuff. She was a brilliant woman but she did love her lowbrow entertainment, girl lived for Real Housewife marathons. God she missed her.
Beth Skyped Alejandra every day before she went to school, they talked about everything and nothing. Every night she walked into town and had dinner. Alone. She tried a new restaurant every night, her only criteria were that it was cheap and it didn’t have any loved-up couples staring doe-eyed at each other, it was hard enough keeping down meals without that to contend with.
Alejandra was still loving her time with the Jessops. Yesterday when she called Andrea and Alejandra were wearing matching pink aprons. Across the front their names were embroidered. Andrea’s said Big Chef and Ally’s said Little Chef. Andrea had made them in her spare time. “Oh they’re nothing, just a bit of old fabric I had laying around.” Beth was fairly certain that one of these days she would call and Alejandra would inform her that Miss Andrea had discovered the cure for the common cold. “This old thing. Just a little vaccination I have been working on after I tuck your child into bed.”
Zayat ran into the sitting room. “He called. He just called.”
Finally. Beth closed the magazine, she would have to read about the rapper caught with his pants down in a public park later. “Good. You didn’t answer, right?”
“No.”
“Did he leave a message?”
“No.”
“OK. Let him call twice more. Remember he has to initiate contact. He needs to think he has figured it out or we’ll spook him.”
He nodded.
It was time to turn the screws. “Stop the payment to the bank staff in Sinaloa too. Let them make the noise for us. Keep following the plan. Just keep selling. OK?”
“Yes.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He still had the same deer in the headlights stare.
“Hold tight.” Beth laid her hand on his arm. The more time she spent with him the more she realized he really didn’t have the temperament for the cartel life; this was taking years off his life. He really should have stuck to legit accounting.
“Beth, you have a call.” Torres came into the room. His calloused fingers brushed her palm as he handed her his phone. Her skin prickled at the slight contact. It was the first time he had touched her in two weeks, the first time he had spoken her name in as long. She was as good as dead to him. There was no need to worry about it being awkward between them, because she didn’t exist.
“Hello?”
“It’s Jessop. Your phone’s off.”
“Yeah. It’s charging in my room. Is everything OK? Is Alejandra OK?” Her heart picked up speed.
“Yeah she’s fine. Andrea just took her to school. She’s great. A really good kid.”
“Good.” She let go of the breath she was holding. There would never be a day when a phone call did not induce a panic. She would always worry something was wrong. It was an occupational hazard.
“Um…listen, Beth.” Jessop cleared his throat.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood taut. Something was wrong. She could feel it. She had more experience than any person should have receiving bad news. She knew the signs; her body responded before even her mind could. “Say it,” she demanded. She didn’t need sugar coating or sympathy. She would deal with whatever crap life threw at her the way she always did, with denial and a bag of M&Ms.
“Your mom’s rest home called. They couldn’t get a hold of you.”
She closed her eyes. She knew what he was going to say next. She willed him not to say it, prayed that he would say her mom had made a miraculous recovery from Alzheimer’s and was ready to come home. She bit into her lip to keep it from trembling.
“I’m sorry, Beth. Your mom passed.”
She nodded. He couldn’t see her but she nodded anyway. Passed. What a funny expression. Passed where? She was all too familiar with the many euphemisms for death, she heard them all after Paige died: at peace, at rest, in a better place. Very few people could actually come right out with it and say “dead”. Bizarre, people were weird. Just say dead, her mom was dead. Paige was dead.
“Beth, are you there?”
“Yeah. Yeah I’m here. Thanks. Thanks for calling.” She hung up the phone without saying goodbye. Maybe it was rude, but there was nothing left to add to the conversation.
She handed the phone back to Torres. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “I’m tired. I’m going to go to bed.” It was only 8:00 but she was done with today.
*****
Beth stared at the numbers on her digital clock; it was almost midnight. She had come to bed hoping to relive memories of her mom and sister, but they never came, not even one. She tried to remember all the good times they had together, there was so much love there, so much acceptance and support, but her mind refused to comply.
Because she was a horrible egocentric person, all Beth could think about was how she was alone now, really alone. She had Alejandra, of course, her perfect daughter that she had done absolutely nothing to deserve, but that was different. It was Beth’s job to be there for her, provide for her and support her and love her. It was Alejandra’s job to grow into the wonderful person she was destined to be.
There was no one left to take care of Beth. Not that she needed anyone; she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but the realization that no one was there for her made her heart hurt, it ached, a pain she could feel in ever nerve in her body.
There was no one who had her back. Even Raghad had Zayat. He was a sad little incompetent man, but he loved her and he tried to protect her in his own misguided way.
A wave of nausea hit her. Her usual three o’clock summons from the porcelain god had come early tonight; at least she hoped it was early and did not mean she would be up again. She couldn’t face a whole night of vomiting and feeling sorry for herself. She held her hand over her mouth as she ran to the bathroom.
When she was done, she ran the tap and washed her face and rinsed out her mouth. She didn’t bother looking at her reflection in the mirror; she knew she looked bad. She didn’t need a mirror to confirm that.
Beth walked back into the bedroom. The light was on and at the door stood Torres. His dark muscular form filled the doorway. He didn’t wait to be invited in. He closed the door behind him.
“Torres.” His name came out in a whisper. “What—”
“Callate, mujer,” he commanded in Spanish. Shut up, woman.
His stony face was set in anger and something else. “Don’t say anything. I didn’t come here to talk. There is nothing left for you to say.”
Beth nodded. There was no warmth left in him. Self-preservation heightened her senses, made her acutely aware of his hard body and the angry stare fixed on her. Mindlessly she took a step back. “Why are you here?”
“I’m sorry about your mom.”
His words robbed her of her breath. Beth swallowed past the lump in her throat. Torres had been so good with her mom. He had only ever known her when she was sick, but he was so patient and kind. He would sit with her for hours and feed her and talk to her even though she could not speak. Hot pressure built behind her eyes. Her throat burned. “Did Jessop tell you?”
“No, your face did. I’m sorry, Beth. We both knew it was coming but you’re never prepared to lose a parent.”
She nodded. He was speaking from experience. His mother had died when he was a prisoner in Colombia. He never had the chance to tell her that he wasn’t a gang member like his brothers. Silvia Torres died estranged from her only living child because she could not bear to see another son lost to gang violence. Torres never got to tell her he was one of the good guys.
Beth squeezed her lids together. She didn’t want to cry. Not now, not in front of him.
“Nothing has changed between us.” His deep voice was hard, there was no kindness there; no sign of even a shadow of the connection they once shared. He was a stranger, a terrifying stranger. “Tomorrow we will hate each other. All the anger and resentment will still be there.” His voice a warning, his words a threat. Why was he telling her this now? Why? Just to be cruel? To hurt her as badly as she had hurt him?
He took a step towards her. The fine hairs on her arms stood taut. Fear and hurt collided in her. She muscles in her legs coiled tight, ready to run.
“But tonight I’m going to hold you while you cry.”
In an instant his strong arms were around her. Effortlessly he picked her up and carried her to the bed. He laid her down and then stripped off his shirt. Through the blur of unshed tears, her eyes traced the dark lines of his tattoo as he took off his holster and laid his gun on the bedside table. There was no place safe to keep a gun here so she always had to wear hers too. Torres must have been of the same mindset, because he had never taken his off since he arrived.
“Why?” she asked, the word nearly swallowed by tears.
He ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed. “I don’t know, Beth. Because I loved you once? Or maybe because you need somebody right now. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Just let yourself grieve. I’m here.” She watched the hard lines of his muscles contract as he walked across the room and turned off the lights.
He climbed in bed beside her and pulled her against his hard chest. She could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. His strong arm created a cage around her, keeping everything out. She closed her eyes. This was her safe place, or at least it had been. Nothing could hurt her here.
“Nothing has changed,” he warned.
“I know.” She stopped fighting the tears. True to his word, he held her as she cried. One by one the memories came. Her body shook as grief overtook her. Torres didn’t say anything. He didn’t lie to her and tell her everything would be all right, because they both knew it wouldn’t. He just held her and for that moment she felt like she had someone.