off work. Something was going on. She stood at Jessop’s door just long enough to rein in her emotions. Too many thoughts were racing through her mind to think clearly. She needed to get to the bottom of this.
Andrea Jessop opened the door. Jessop’s wife was beautiful in the South Texas way Beth had grown to appreciate: big frosted-tip hair that defied humidity, and lips that were never without gloss. “Hi, Beth.” Andrea smiled at her. “What brings you round these parts?” Andrea reached out and embraced Beth, genuinely happy to see her.
When Beth had first moved to Texas, Andrea Jessop had done her best to make her feel comfortable, inviting her over for Sunday dinners and setting her up on blind dates. For a long time, the Jessops were the closest thing Beth had to family in Texas.
“Can I get you some ice tea?”
Beth shook her head. “No thank you. I really need to speak to Larry. Is he here?”
Andrea nodded. “He’s in his office. Go ahead and go in. Holler if you need anything.”
Beth didn’t wait to be shown to his office.
Jessop was sitting behind a large mahogany desk, reading over something. Above his head was a stag, permanently staring into the distance with its glass eyes. Like most offices in Texas, the walls were covered in the busts of animals. The taxidermy business was alive and kicking in the red states.
Jessop was nearing retirement but he still started every morning with an eight-mile run and it showed in his trim physique. There was no middle-age spread for Larry Jessop, the only thing that betrayed his age were the lines that fanned around his eyes and the silver streaks in his hair.
Beth skipped the pleasantries. “This morning’s brief, about a captured agent.” She glossed over the part where she missed the morning meeting because she was running late, it wasn’t pertinent to the conversation and she more than made up her hours. “Where did the intel come from?” she demanded.
Jessop looked up from the pile of papers on his desk. Pale blue eyes stared back at her. “What?” he asked nonchalantly. He had a good poker face, a bit too good. He knew exactly what she was talking about.
Beth’s back straightened. “My agent who infiltrated Los Zetas. There was a report that he was – is dead. Where did it come from?”
For a long moment she held his stare. He knew something. Damn it, she wasn’t going to be sidelined, not again, and not on this. She had been shut out once before when the shit hit the fan in Culiacan, when Alejandra’s family had been ambushed. Five people had been murdered and they needed someone to blame.
Jessop pushed back from his desk and stood up, moving closer to her. Beth shook her head. Next he would gently put his arm on the small of her back and guide her to the door, knowing the conversation would naturally be briefer and less intense at the threshold of a room.
She anticipated his movement and sat down in the chair opposite his desk. He was good, but so was she. She had been in the game long enough to know when she was being played.
“My agent,” she said again. “Where did you get your intel?”
Jessop glanced at the door. He took a deep breath and let it out with an audible sigh. “It’s hard being a single parent.” For the first time she saw a crack in the façade. The muscle in his jaw twitched. It was over in a second, he was probably unaware that he did it, but it was there. “But if you make it to work on time you won’t need replays.”
Beth bit her lip to keep from saying anything. He was trying to hit a nerve to knock her off her stride. Later she would remind him that she still put in more hours than anyone else on the team, motherhood had not changed that. But right now she was going to get answers. “Who wrote the report?”
Jessop looked from her to the door but didn’t say anything.
Beth let out a stream of air. “I need a copy of the report.” She was done playing games.
“Beth. Torres was a good asset and I know you were…friends.”
Beth’s heart pounced against her ribs at the mention of his name. Everyone in the office knew she and Torres were more than friends. Jessop couldn’t put her off by implying that motherhood made her work suffer so he was throwing her relationship with Torres in her face. But she would throw it right back. “Yeah, Torres and I were close. Really close actually, but you already know that. We were close enough for me to know his body. Even without a head. I would know his body.” Her eyes narrowed on Jessop who was still standing above her.
For a long moment, silence reigned. “Did you identify it as Torres?” There was a hitch of concern in his deep voice.
“Of course I did. I knew someone wanted me to think he was dead. I’ve been in this game a long time.” Too long.
Jessop let go of the breath he was holding. He gave her a hard look as if he was trying to decide what to say. Again he looked from her to the door, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. “He’s alive. No one in Administration knows and we need to keep it that way.”
Beth’s breath caught in her throat. He really was alive. Her heart raced, elation pushing its already frantic pace to a dangerous level. He was alive. Gratitude and relief washed over her. He was alive. Torres was alive.
Her mind swam with questions. Where was he? Where had he been for the last four years? Why did he leave?
As if Jessop was reading her mind he added, “Someone set him up. Four years ago he got a message supposedly from me, ordering him back to Colombia to search Martinez’ apartment. Someone wanted him gone.”
Martinez was a name she hadn’t heard in a while. Javier Martinez was the reason Torres had joined the DEA and infiltrated Los Zetas. Martinez was a member of a rival gang, Los Treintas. He had shot Torres and murdered Torres’ best friend Moses Arcila.
Beth’s throat tightened. “Four years?” she murmured. Four years ago, Torres was meant to meet her. They were going to leave the DEA together and start a new life…but he never turned up. He just left. No calls. No explanation. Nothing.
“No.” Beth shook her head. It didn’t make sense.
Jessop nodded. “He was ambushed in Bogotá and was held somewhere in the jungle. Looks like near Salento but still not certain exactly where. Won’t know for sure unless we get him back down there and even then there is a lot of virgin land. Plenty of places to hide.”
Beth shook her head again. “No. No agents have been captured. There haven’t been any ransoms or negotiations.” She would know. She was the head of the damn task force. If her agent had been captured, she would know.
“No, there were none. He wasn’t ransomed. No one made contact. Not clear if Los Treintas know he is DEA. That’s one of the reasons we need the world to think he is dead.”
“That doesn’t make sense. The Treintas don’t take prisoners. That’s FARC’s MO. Treintas don’t do that.” Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia (FARC) also known as: The Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia routinely took prisoners, kidnapping and ransoms helped fund their regime.
“Apparently they do.”
“No,” Beth said. Anger and frustration coiled
