RAMIREZ'S WOMAN

by Beverly Barton

  "Apparently the goal was not to kill anyone," Dom said.

  "And nothing was found in any of the other food?" Miguel asked.

  "No, only in the cocktail sauce served with the boiled shrimp," Will said.

  "Then whoever poisoned the sauce knew that I would not eat any because it is a well-known fact that I have an aversion to shrimp." Miguel's worst fear concerning last night's near-tragedy had just been confirmed. "I was not the target. At least not the target of the poisoning."

  "Just how many people know you won't eat shrimp?" Dom asked.

  Miguel shrugged. "My family. My closest friends. A few colleagues. Enough people that it would be impossible to track down a traitor, if that is what you are thinking."

  "Hm… Actually what I'm thinking is that you got hit with three warning messages in one day." Dom shook his head. "They wanted to make their point as quickly as possible, didn't they?"

  "We have to assume that yesterday's three events were staged to get your attention and that they were just the prelude to bigger and more deadly incidents."

  Will focused directly on Miguel. "You cannot allow them to frighten you into withdrawing from the presidential race."

  "Spoken like a man who does not love my family and friends and loyal supporters as I do. You would be willing to shed innocent blood in order to see me become president." Miguel glowered at Pierce.

  "Are you saying that they've already won?" Pierce asked. "A blown tire, a few harmless snakes at a luncheon and a couple of dozen people sick with what everyone assumes was food poisoning and you're ready to throw in the towel? I thought you were made of strong stuff, Ramirez. I had no idea you'd tuck tail and run at the first sign of trouble."

  Before Miguel could form a reply in his mind, let alone utter a rebuttal, a feminine voice defended him. "Miguel Ramirez is not the kind of man to run from a fight," J.J. said as she entered the dining room. "But neither is he a man who is willing to risk the lives of others, to run roughshod over his people for his own selfish reasons."

  "Well, what lit a fire in your belly, Agent Blair?" Will scrutinized J.J. closely as she walked over to the buffet table and poured herself a cup of coffee.

  "You have no right to speak to Miguel the way you did," J.J. told the CIA agent. "This is his country and the people whose lives are at risk are his people. And it his decision and his alone whether to withdraw from the presidential race."

  A moment of complete, stunned silence followed J.J.'s declaration. In that moment, Miguel sensed a deep emotional bond with Jennifer Blair, something unlike anything he had ever experienced with another person. After knowing him less than forty-eight hours, she understood who he was and what he felt.

  In his peripheral vision, Miguel caught a questioning glance that Dom shot J.J., as if he were silently asking her what had brought about her staunch defense of a man neither of them really knew. But that was where Domingo Shea was wrong. He might not know Miguel, but J.J. did. He did not understand how it was possible for someone who had met him only the night before last to see inside his heart and mind so easily.

  "Sorry." Pierce's one-word apology broke the awkward silence. "I'm used to dealing with jerks who respond better when they're on the defensive. But if you decide to continue with your candidacy, you will have our full backing and if necessary we can bring in more Dundee agents."

  "To do what?" Dom asked. "It would take a small army to protect everyone who supports Ramirez."

  "I was thinking more in terms of protecting those closest to him. His family and best friends," Pierce said.

  "Before we start making plans on Miguel's behalf, perhaps we should find out what he intends to do." J.J. looked at Miguel, a softness in her gaze that told him she remembered those sweet, passionate moments early this morning.

  "I will speak with Emilio and Dolores, with Roberto and Juan and Aunt Josephina, as well as the servants, especially Ramona and Carlos, who have been with me for many years." Miguel would not continue his candidacy unless those dearest to him were willing to risk their lives for the Nationalist cause.

  "If they tell you that they do not want you to give in to threats, even threats against them, then you won't quit, is that right?" Pierce asked.

  Miguel thought about Dolores, a very pregnant Dolores. How could he ask her to risk not only her life, but the life of her unborn child?

  J.J. reached out and laid her hand over Miguel's where it rested on the table. "You should send Dolores away from Nava, perhaps even out of the country, until after the election. The Dundee agency can provide her with a personal bodyguard."

  Miguel turned his hand over and clasped J.J.'s small, delicate hand in his. It was as if she had read his mind, as if she knew his thoughts. She understood that his first concern was for his cousin, who was like a sister to him.

  "You do realize that since everyone in Mocorito believes you to be my fiancée, you, too, could be in grave danger? Perhaps in more danger than Dolores."

  "That may be true, but I am also a professional, a highly trained bodyguard," J.J. told him. "I know how to take care of myself, as well as others."

  Only when Dom Shea cleared his throat did Miguel realize that he and J.J. had been sitting there holding hands, staring into each other's eyes and speaking to each other as if they were alone.

  J.J. eased her hand from his grasp a couple of seconds before Ramona walked into the dining room carrying a silver tray. She took one look at J.J. and paused, then came straight to her, set the tray in front of her and removed the linen cloth covering the food.

  "Señor Ramirez asked me to prepare a breakfast tray for you, señorita," Ramona told her. "He intended to bring it upstairs to you himself." The housekeeper smiled warmly at J.J.

  "Thank you, Ramona," J.J. said in Spanish. "Miguel is very thoughtful, is he not?"

  "Oh, yes, señorita, he is the most thoughtful man I know." Ramona blushed. "He will be a good husband."

  Yes, he will. Had that been only an instant thought or a heartfelt knowledge? J.J. asked herself. Here she was once again buying into the fiancée fantasy, something she had to stop doing.

  "Ramona, will you ask all the servants to come into my study in half an hour?" Miguel asked the housekeeper. "I need to discuss something with all of you."

  "Do you want Carlos, too? And Pedro, the gardener?"

  "Yes, everyone. Please."

  Ramona scurried to do his bidding.

  Miguel shoved back his chair and stood. "If you will excuse me, I wish to move forward with my plan to speak to the servants and my family and close friends. I intend to do that this morning. I am going to telephone Roberto and Emilio and Juan right now."

  "You haven't eaten anything since lunch yesterday," J.J. reminded him. "Can't the calls wait until you've had breakfast?"

  Will rose from his seat. "I should be going. I'll be in touch soon." He looked at Dom. "Contact me when a decision has been made and we'll proceed from there."

  Dom stood. "Let me walk you out."

  Once Dom and Will left the dining room, Miguel turned to J.J. "I will eat if you will eat. Then we will go into my den and I will telephone my family and friends. I cannot make this decision alone, as you so wisely pointed out to me last night."

  * * *

  "I will not be sent away!" Dolores Lopez planted her hands on her hips and glared back and forth from her husband to her cousin.

  "Querida, you must go," Emilio told her. "Miguel cannot continue in his bid for the presidency unless you cooperate with us. He will do nothing to endanger your life and the life of our child." Emilio tenderly patted his wife's protruding belly.

  "I agree," Roberto added. "Once Padilla's people realize their scare tactics are not working, they could very easily target those of us closest to Miguel."

  "If that is true, then how can I leave you behind, Emilio?" She looked pleadingly at her husband. "And you Miguel?"

  "You will do what you know you must," J.J. said, hoping she could persuade Dolores to do the sen
sible thing.

  "Are you leaving, also, Jennifer?" Dolores asked. "No, you are not. You are staying with your man, not deserting him when he needs you."

  "But I am not pregnant," J.J. said. "By staying, I am not risking the life of my child."

  Dolores frowned, but she did not continue to argue. She sat there, on the sofa in the living room, and thought for several minutes before replying. "I will leave Nava, but I do not want to leave Mocorito. Send me, with the bodyguard you wish to hire, to Buenaventura. And no one except Emilio will know exactly where in Buenaventura I am. Will that be acceptable?"

  A collective sigh of relief reverberated throughout the room.

  * * *

  By early afternoon the decision had been made that Miguel would not withdraw from the presidential race. And plans had been made to send Dolores to the northern seacoast village of Buenaventura with a Dundee bodyguard. J.J. wondered if, when Sawyer McNamara had told Lucie Evans he was sending her to Mocorito to guard Miguel's cousin, she had pointed out to him that she spoke only "tourist" Spanish. If she had, knowing Sawyer, he'd probably sent along a Learn Spanish Overnight CD and companion workbook on the flight with her from Atlanta to Caracas.

  Chuckling softly to herself, J.J. didn't hear the door to the bedroom suite open. When she sensed someone in the room with her, she whirled around, prepared to defend herself. Then she saw Miguel and immediately relaxed.

  "You were so deep in thought that you did not hear me, did you?" he asked.

  "You caught me falling down on the job."

  "What an odd expression. You Americans say the strangest things."

  "Yes, I suppose we do."

  "What did you find so amusing in your thoughts?"

  J.J. smiled. "Just thinking about Lucie Evans, the agent my boss is sending to guard Dolores."

  "There is something amusing about Señorita Evans?"

  "No, not really. It's just that she and our boss, Sawyer McNamara, have this ongoing feud and have had for as long as I've worked at the Dundee Agency. They cannot be in the same room together for more than two minutes without arguing."

  "They have never been lovers?" Miguel asked.

  "No. At least not as far as anyone knows. They were both FBI agents before they came to work for Dundee. We figure something must have happened between them way back when."

  "Way back when?"

  "Back when they worked for the Bureau. Two people don't dislike each other that much without a reason."

  "You disliked me before you even met me, did you not?" Miguel walked toward her and looked down at the chaise lounge where she sat. Without even asking her, he sat down beside her.

  She sucked in a deep breath, wishing there was room on the chaise for her to scoot away from him, so that his arm wouldn't brush up against hers.

  "I drew some conclusions from the information I was given about you," she admitted.

  "Was the information accurate?"

  "Yes, it seems to have been."

  "And were your conclusions also accurate?"

  "Partially."

  "Only partially? What have you discovered that tells you you misjudged me?"

  "Fishing for compliments?"

  He threw up his hands expressively. "Another silly Americanism."

  "You are the old-fashioned, macho type. But I don't believe you separate women into only two categories—lady or whore."

  "You forget there are also the nuns," he said.

  She smiled. "Yes, of course. I'd forgotten about the nuns."

  "What else?" he asked, as eagerly as a child.

  "You genuinely care about people. Not just your family and friends, but everyone in Mocorito. The things you say come from your heart. They're not just rhetoric, not just campaign psychobabble."

  "Psychobabble?"

  "Another Americanism," she told him.

  "Ah."

  "You didn't like me when Dom and I first arrived. Were you wrong about me?"

  "Partially."

  She laughed.

  "You are every bit the strong, independent woman I believed you to be, but you are not a man-hater. There is a softer, very feminine side to you." He lifted his hand to her face and cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "For the right man, you would make the perfect wife."

  J.J.'s heartbeat accelerated. Not again. Don't overreact to a simple compliment. He wasn't implying that he is Mr. Right.

  "Do you enjoy the ballet?" Miguel asked.

  "Huh?" Slightly startled when he changed the subject so quickly, she shook her head.

  "Juan and Aunt Josephina have asked us to join them tonight at the ballet and for dinner afterward. I accepted on our behalf. That meets with your approval?"

  "As your fiancée, yes, that meets with my approval," J.J. said. "However, as your bodyguard, I have to tell you that from now on, do not make any plans without checking with me first."

  The corners of Miguel's sensuous mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. "That man—your future husband—he will have his hands filled keeping you in line."

  J.J. laughed. "He will have his hands full keeping me in line," she corrected him.

  His gaze traveled over her intimately, pausing on her breasts. "Yes, he will have his hands full."

  An undeniable current of awareness passed between them, the sexual tension vibrating like a live wire.

  J.J. jumped up off the chaise. "I need to find something appropriate to wear to the ballet."

  "An evening gown," Miguel told her. "And be sure to wear the diamond necklace and earrings."

  "I have only two evening gowns," J.J. said. "One is purple and one is teal. Would you like to choose which one I should wear?"

  "Wear the purple one."

  "Are you sure? Don't you want to see the gowns?"

  "Teal is a dark bluish green, yes?"

  "Yes."

  "It is not the color for you. Wear the purple one. It will complement your beautiful violet eyes and flawless skin." When she just stood there smiling at him like an idiot, he said, "I should give you some privacy while you bathe and prepare for this evening."

  When he headed toward the door, she called, "Miguel?"

  "Yes?"

  "Who else knows—other than Juan and his aunt—that we will be attending the ballet tonight?"

  "Who else? Emilio, Roberto, Ramona and of course, Carlos. Why do you ask?" He shook his head. "No, do not think it. Not one of them would betray me. They are loyal to me and to the Nationalist Party."

  "Then nothing bad should happen tonight, should it? Your enemies don't know where you will be this evening, therefore they can hardly plan a strike of some kind against you."

  "I will not live my life in fear. And I will not distrust people who have always been loyal to me."

  Miguel did not sound entirely certain in his convictions.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  Miguel had tried his best for many years to appreciate the ballet, but tonight was no different from the other times he had pretended to enjoy himself. Perhaps his lack of appreciation for both ballet and opera came from having been reared as a peasant, growing up with native music and dance, both vibrantly alive to him in a way that the more refined arts were not. He preferred a good soccer game or a bullfight or the racetrack in Colima, events he had attended as a boy with his grandfather, cousins and neighbors. He liked guitar music and songs sung in Spanish, with gusto and heart.

  Just from looking at Jennifer, he could not tell if she was as bored as he and if she, too, wished they were somewhere else. Preferably alone together. Her placid expression gave away nothing, but she seemed to be totally absorbed in the performance.

  With Juan and Aunt Josephina, there was no doubt. Both loved the ballet and the opera and often invited Miguel to go with them. Usually he came up with a good excuse to decline, but occasionally he accepted out of love for them. He enjoyed their company, although more so at other functions. And dinner tonight would more than make u
p for the time he felt was wasted at the ballet. Both Juan and his aunt were delightful dinner companions and always chose excellent restaurants. One of their favorites—where they would dine tonight—was Maria Bonita, where the colorful atmosphere and live music was almost more delectable than the delicious, authentic Mocoritian food.

  If he could endure a few more minutes of this torture, they could escape to Miguel's waiting limousine and go directly to Maria Bonita. Good wine, good food and good friends. And a beautiful woman at his side. What more could a man ask for and not be considered selfish and ungrateful?

  He glanced at his fiancée. No, not his fiancée, only the woman masquerading as his fiancée. Why was it, he wondered, that it was so easy to think of Jennifer as his betrothed? It was not as if she were perfectly suited for the job of First Lady or a perfect match for him. Indeed they were too much alike, both forceful and aggressive. And passionate about the things that mattered to them. He had always pictured himself married to a gentle, demure woman who looked to him for guidance in everything, from her choice in clothes to the way in which they would rear their children. Although capable of playing the part, Jennifer was not that woman.

  His gaze traveled over her appreciatively. Her beauty took his breath away. Tonight she out-dazzled every woman there. The bodice of her purple silk gown crisscrossed over her breasts and hugged her tiny waist, then flowed downward, caressing her hips and swaying at her ankles as she walked. The diamonds he had given her sparkled at her ears and neck, their beauty mere accents to hers.

  He reached over and grasped her hand resting in her lap. She entwined her fingers with his, but didn't look his way. Leaning toward her, he brought his mouth to her ear and whispered, "I hate the ballet."

  She smiled, then moved her head, inadvertently brushing her cheek against his lips. A jolt of sexual energy shot through him. Perhaps she had intended to arouse him? The little tease. She would flirt with him in a place where he could do little about it. But later … ah, yes, later.