Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love

by Beverly Barton

  There would be some within his circle, fellow Federalists, who would protest another killing, the ones who had cried over the deaths of the first three people. But they were weak men who could not be told the truth. Men like Diego Fernandez.

  A brilliant idea formed in Hector’s mind. He snapped his fingers, then laughed. But of course. He would send an expert marksman and tell him to aim at Ramirez and when his little bodyguard got in the way, to shoot her.

  Diego could not complain if the target had been Ramirez. He hated his half-brother and probably longed to see him dead. He knew what he would say to Diego.

  Too bad that the phony fiancée had gotten in the way.

  Diego was gullible enough to buy that explanation. And Ramirez would be destroyed, knowing she had given her life to save him.

  The moment Miguel entered the small room at the studio, his friends surrounded him, patting him on the back, congratulating him on a fine speech, telling him how brave and fearless he was. Did they not understand that because they were here, supporting him, loving him, cheering him on, that they were in danger, that their very lives were at stake?

  Trying his best to act appreciatively as he made his way through the well-wishers, Miguel sought the one person who understood him, the one person who knew what tonight’s speech had cost him. Where was she?

  And then he saw her, coming through the crowd, coming straight to him. Their gazes met and locked. He moved away from Roberto, who had been shaking his hand, and met Jennifer in the middle of the room. Surrounded by his supporters, Miguel reached out and pulled Jennifer into his arms. She hugged him fiercely and laid her head on his chest. A resounding cheer rose from the group. Jennifer lifted her head and looked around them, then gazed up at him and smiled. Tears filled her beautiful violet-blue eyes and cascaded down her alabaster cheeks.

  All he wanted now was to take this woman home, to go upstairs to his room with her and close out the whole world for the rest of the night.

  As if she had read his thoughts, she stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. “We can’t leave yet. All the workers from campaign headquarters are outside in the parking lot, along with a large group of your supporters. You’ll have to put in an appearance.”

  “You, querida, are a very understanding fiancée.”

  She clasped his hand. “I’m ready to face the crowd when you are.”

  Dom came up on the other side of Miguel as they approached the front entrance of the television studio. Although it was unlikely he would be targeted, judging by recent events, his bodyguards would be stupid to take any chances with his life.

  If only each person in his entourage had their own personal bodyguard. If only he could ensure their safety. Tonight. Tomorrow. And in the days ahead.

  He could not provide everyone who supported him, who worked tirelessly for his cause, a personal bodyguard, but he could see that Emilio, Roberto, Juan and Aunt Josephina had protection. And even his sister, Seina, now that she had publicly claimed him. They were the people most likely to become targets. Later tonight, he would speak with J.J. and Dom about making arrangements to call in more agents.

  With his senses at full alert, Miguel exited the studio, and with his arm around Jennifer and Dom practically attached to his other side, he marched across the street.

  Followed by the group who had come from inside the studio, Miguel made his way to the parking lot where an enormous crowd waited. The moment they saw him, they cheered and began rushing toward him.

  Dom Shea cursed under his breath.

  Jennifer clutched Miguel’s arm to halt him. “This is bad,” she said. “If they overrun us, there will be no way we can protect you.”

  Yanking away from her, thinking fast on his feet and yet not considering all the risks, Miguel crawled up into the bed of a parked pickup truck and lifted his arms in a gesture that requested his supporters to cease and desist. Within seconds, Jennifer and Dom had joined him in the truck bed, followed shortly by Emilio and Roberto.

  “You’re an easy target up here,” Jennifer told him. “You can’t stay here.”

  “Only for a few minutes. Just until I speak to these people and give them a few minutes of my time. That’s all they want.”

  He motioned for the cheers and shouts to stop, but it took a good three or four minutes before anyone could hear him over the noise. Finally, he managed to make himself heard. He said a few words of thanks and asked for their continued support. Then, when J.J. and Dom escorted him down from the truck bed, the applause started anew. He wrapped his arm around Jennifer’s shoulders and together they headed straight for Dom’s rental car. Several people followed them, mostly his closest friends. He shook hands with Emilio and Roberto again, then hugged Aunt Josephina and held out his hand to Seina and when she placed her hand in his, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it.

  “Thank you for being here tonight,” he said.

  “You’re welcome, Miguel.”

  He then shook hands with Juan. “I will depend on you to take good care of my little sister.”

  “I vow to you that her happiness means more to me than anything else.”

  Miguel turned around and, with his arm still draped across J.J.’s shoulders, they walked toward Dom’s car. Suddenly, before Miguel had any idea what was happening, Dom barreled into him, knocking both him and J.J. to the ground. J.J. rose up quickly and threw her body over Miguel’s.

  Reaching out, he grabbed her shoulders and began rolling her over to his side. He would not allow her to die for him. He would not!

  The sound of a rifle shot was almost muffled by frightened screams as people ran in every direction.

  J.J. gasped. Once.

  With his weapon drawn and his gaze scanning the area, Dom hovered over them. “Are either of you hit?”

  “I am fine,” Miguel replied, then looked over at J.J.

  When she stared at him, her face chalk-white, he saw the pain in her eyes.

  “Jennifer? J.J.?” he cried her name as he ran his hands over her body.

  She groaned. He withdrew his hand from her side. His fingers dripped with blood. Jennifer’s blood.

  Chapter 15

  Miguel paced the floor, like a caged tiger, his teeth bared, his claws ready to rip apart the first person who dared to cross him. Dom had tried to help him moments after the shooting, but Miguel had clung to J.J. as if he thought letting go of her would mean her death. Then later, Dom had tried to persuade Miguel to allow the paramedics to take J.J. from him, but to no avail. In the end, Juan Esteban had worked out a compromise that Miguel had agreed to reluctantly—they had allowed him to sit at her side in the ambulance. Dom had driven directly behind them, all the way to St. Augustine’s, praying as hard as he’d ever prayed in his life. When he’d been a navy SEAL, he’d seen comrades killed, their heads blown off, their guts hanging out. But he’d never gotten used to the sight of death, the loss of a human life. Since going to work at the Dundee Agency, he had been faced with the injury of a fellow agent a couple of times. Both had survived.

  As they waited now for word on J.J.’s condition, he knew what Miguel was thinking and understood part of what he was feeling. He was thinking how small and delicate J.J. had looked lying there on the street, blood covering her beige jacket. He was thinking that if the bullet had hit a couple of inches over, he would be the one in the operating room right now.

  Dom loved J.J. like a little sister. He liked to kid her, enjoyed how she could take a practical joke and the fact that she always understood that his ribald sense of humor held no prejudice or malice. In many ways, he knew J.J. far better than Miguel Ramirez did. At least he’d known her a lot longer. But he wasn’t in love with J.J. and he suspected that Miguel was. If he wasn’t a man in love, he sure as hell was giving a good imitation of one tonight.

  Miguel had been inconsolable and unreachable after they had arrived at the hospital and the attendants had wheeled J.J. directly into an elevator to take her to the operating room. He had bell
owed like a wounded bull when they’d told him that he could not go with her. If it had not been for Dr. Esteban finally being able to calm Miguel, the security officers would have taken him into custody.

  Juan’s aunt had arrived with Seina Fernandez, both of them having ridden to the hospital with Emilio. Roberto had come separately, two campaign staff members with him. The ten-by-twelve waiting room was filled to capacity and to a person, they had each tried to talk to Miguel, to reassure him, to give him hope. He had not responded to anyone, ignoring them as if he were deaf, dumb and blind. Part of the time, he paced the floor, looking neither right nor left, but straight down, as if he found the floor utterly fascinating. The rest of the time he stood and stared out the windows into the dark night. About an hour ago, it had started raining, and just now Dom saw streaks of lightning crackling through the black sky.

  They had been waiting for three hours—the longest three hours of Dom’s life. When he’d first arrived, he’d stayed outside long enough to call Vic and tell him what had happened. Vic had made him promise to call him once J.J. came out of surgery.

  “She’ll pull through,” Vic had said. “She may look like a fragile china doll, but our little J.J. is as tough as nails.”

  He’d been acquainted with Vic long enough to realize the guy didn’t make friends easily. He was a loner and although everyone at Dundee liked and respected him, no one could say they really knew him. J.J. had come closer than anyone to breaking through that impregnable wall surrounding Vic Noble, probably because she wasn’t intimidated by him. God knew most women were. Intimidated and attracted. Vic had that mysterious Clint Eastwood gunslinger thing going for him that kept other men at arm’s length and intrigued women.

  “If she dies, so help me God…” Vic had left the rest unsaid. But Dom hadn’t needed to hear the words to know what Vic meant. If J.J. died, there would be no place on earth for those responsible to hide.

  But J.J. was not going to die. Dr. Esteban had told them that the bullet had entered her right side and his guess was that it was lodged in the lower rib cage.

  “I don’t believe the bullet hit any vital organs,” Juan had told Miguel. “But we won’t know the extent of the damage until we operate. Much depends upon the type of bullet that was used.”

  At seventeen minutes past eleven, Dr. Esteban, wearing green surgery scrubs, appeared in the waiting-room doorway. A hushed silence fell over the room. Miguel paused in his relentless pacing, looked at Juan and froze to the spot.

  Juan walked toward Miguel and when he was within a couple of feet, he paused and said, “She came through surgery quite well. We removed the bullet. There was no injury to any vital organs. She is resting comfortably in recovery and we will move her to intensive care shortly.”

  “She will live?” Miguel asked.

  “Yes,” Juan replied. “Barring any complications, she should recover fully in a few weeks and she should be able to travel in four or five days.”

  “I want to see her,” Miguel said.

  “She won’t know you are there. She hasn’t come out from under the anesthesia yet and when she does, we will keep her heavily sedated for the next eight to twelve hours.”

  “She will know I am there,” Miguel said.

  “It is highly irregular,” Juan told him. “Family is usually permitted only brief visits with a patient in the intensive care.”

  “Make arrangements for me to stay with her.”

  Juan sighed heavily, then nodded before patting Miguel on the shoulder. “Stay here. I will send someone for you very soon.”

  When Dr. Esteban left without saying a word to anyone else, and apparently no one was brave enough to face Miguel, Dom made the first move. He walked over to Miguel and paused at his side where he still stood in the middle of the room.

  “When she comes to, don’t start babbling a lot of nonsense about this being your fault,” Dom said in English. “That’s not what she’ll want to hear.”

  Miguel didn’t reply.

  Dom lowered his voice. “The way she’ll see it is that she was doing her job. Her first instinct was to protect you.”

  “Yes, I know.” Still Miguel did not look at Dom

  “When you’re thinking a little more rationally, we’ll talk. Until then keep one thing in mind—you might not have been the target.”

  Miguel snapped his head around and glared at Dom.

  When J.J. awoke, groggy and confused, she glanced around the room and realized she was in the hospital. Then she saw Miguel, sitting at her bedside, his head bowed, his eyes closed. Was he sleeping?

  What happened? her dazed mind asked. Then slowly, bit by bit, she recalled the events of last evening. The crowds. The cheers. Miguel and she walking toward Dom’s rental car. Dom knocking them off their feet. Her instincts taking over as she sought to shield Miguel with her own body.

  Had that happened only this past evening? Just how long had she been in the hospital? She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but she couldn’t manage to make a sound other than a gurgling gasp.

  Miguel’s eyelids flew open instantly and he came up out of his chair and hovered over her. “Jennifer? Querida?”

  She tried to smile at him, but she wasn’t sure whether she did or not. Then she tried to lift her hand, but couldn’t do it. What was wrong with her? Why was she so weak?

  Miguel grasped her hand tenderly and lifted it to hold over his heart. “Don’t try to talk. Just rest, querida.”

  She moaned, wanting desperately to communicate with him.

  “Are you in pain?” he asked, his voice edged with near panic.

  She managed to shake her head. She was uncomfortable, but not really in pain. I must be drugged, she thought. Doped up on some heavy-duty pain killers.

  She tried to speak again and this time managed to say one word. “Miguel.”

  “Yes, I’m here.” He kissed her hand, then placed it down by her side and leaned over to kiss her forehead.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Do you not remember?”

  “Some.” Then she recalled the searing pain hitting her in the side. “Was I shot?”

  “Yes, you…you were shot.”

  “Am I going to be all right?”

  He nodded. Tears pooled in his eyes.

  “Is everyone else all right? You? Dom?”

  “No one else was harmed. Only you.” Frowning as if he were in immeasurable pain, Miguel momentarily closed his eyes.

  “I guess I can’t leave Mocorito now, can I?”

  Caressing her face and looking at her with concern, he said, “You should never have come here in the first place. If I had known…I would die before I would put your life in danger.”

  “I know that.” She felt herself fading, as if this brief conversation had sapped all her strength

  “We have talked too much already,” Miguel said. “You must rest. No more talk.”

  “Stay with me.”

  “I won’t leave you. I promise.

  She sighed, then closed her eyes. “I love you.”

  The last thing she heard before she fell asleep was Miguel saying in an anguished voice, “Querida…querida.”

  Miguel spent forty-eight hours in the hospital, sleeping very little, eating only when Ramona came with food from home and threatened him with bodily harm if he did not eat. When Jennifer began staying awake for long periods of time, after that first night and day, she’d told him to go home and shower and shave, but he had refused. Then this morning, when a stranger arrived at the hospital and Dom Shea had brought the man in to see J.J., she had told Dom to take Miguel home.

  “This is Geoff Monday,” Dom had introduced the burly Brit, a rugged blond with bulging muscles and a friendly grin. “He will stay here and guard J.J. while you and I go back to your house.”

  Miguel had not wanted to leave, but J.J. had insisted, so, to please her, he acquiesced, promising to return in a few hours.

  No sooner had he and Dom exited the hospi
tal than a horde of reporters swarmed down on them. Behind the reporters, countless people carrying signs and shouting for justice crammed the parking lot and the street.

  “What’s going on?” Miguel asked.

  “It started yesterday,” Dom said. “These are your people, Ramirez. The citizens of Nava, up in arms over the second attempt on your life. They blame the Federalists and some have out-and-out accused President Padilla of plotting your death.”

  “Why did no one tell me what was happening? We cannot have rioting in the streets.”

  “Emilio and Roberto wanted to tell you, but I warned them that you had enough to deal with and that you’d find out soon enough. Besides, I don’t think there’s much you can do about it. You can hardly tell these people that they’re wrong, that their president is innocent.”

  “I am surprised that Padilla hasn’t sent out army troops to suppress the protests.” Miguel stood on the sidewalk, Dom at his side, while the hospital security just barely managed to keep the reporters at bay.

  “So far, these protests have been peaceful,” Dom said. “But I doubt they’ll stay that way. I think you’ll have to make a statement to the press right now. If nothing else tell them your fiancée is recovering nicely, that the police have not caught the shooter and you will have more to say later today.”

  “Yes, you are right about what I must do, what I must say. And later, when I have had time to think, I must come up with a way to defuse this ticking time bomb.”

  Miguel then spoke to the reporters, making the brief statement that Dom had outlined for him.

  “Okay, now that you’ve temporarily taken care of that problem, let’s get out of here,” Dom told him.

  “How do we do that?”

  As if on cue, the roar of a big black Hummer alerted the crowd to get out of the way or be plowed down in the monster vehicle’s path.