RAMIREZ'S WOMAN

by Beverly Barton

  "I was not aware that your family was attending the ballet tonight."

  "They did not see Miguel at the ballet. And if they had known he was dining here at Maria Bonita, they would have made reservations elsewhere."

  "Your mother and brother hate Miguel and because he is my good friend, they probably hate me, too. That is if they even know who I am."

  "Yes, you are right." Oh, my darling Juan, you have no idea how much my brother hates Miguel or to what lengths he is willing to go to prevent him from being elected president of Mocorito.

  "You should go back to your table," Juan told her.

  "We must find a way to be together again. Soon. I will make an appointment—"

  "No." He shook his head. "I cannot allow things to continue. It is unfair to both of us."

  In her peripheral vision, Seina caught a glimpse of her mother coming down the corridor. Oh, merciful God, her mother must not catch her with Juan. "Go to the men's room now. My mother is directly behind us."

  Juan did as she had told him to do only seconds before her mother approached her. "Is everything all right? You have been gone such a long time, I was beginning to worry."

  "Everything is fine, Mother." Seina managed a weak smile. "I am sorry if I worried you. I was on my way back to the table."

  "We are no longer on the patio," Carlotta said. "Once I saw that man sitting across from us with his friends, I lost my appetite. To think that they allow his kind in a respectable place like this." She made a sound of utter disgust.

  "Are we going home?" Seina asked.

  "No, certainly not. Diego asked the maitre d' to move us to a table inside, and, knowing who we are, he requested that another party exchange tables with us."

  So like her mother and brother not to consider the inconvenience of their request for the waiters or for the other guests. "Then we are staying?"

  "Of course we are staying. You do not think for one minute that I would allow the likes of Miguel Ramirez to force me to leave one of my favorite restaurants, do you?"

  "No, Mother."

  Taking Seina's arm and leading her down the corridor, Carlotta asked, "You were not speaking to that man, were you?"

  "What man?"

  "That Dr. Esteban. I saw him, you know. I thought there for a moment that he had paused to speak to you. He and his aunt have aligned themselves with the Nationalists, despite the fact that at one time Josephina Santiago was considered a lady of some standing in Nava."

  "I have heard that Dr. Esteban is a brilliant physician and a good man."

  Carlotta stopped and stared speculatively at Seina. "You heard this at the hospital, no doubt, when you have visited your doctor there."

  "Yes."

  "If he ever tries to make your acquaintance, you are to make sure he understands that you know of his association with Miguel Ramirez and that your family highly disapproves of that despicable man."

  "Yes, Mother."

  As Carlotta led Seina through the restaurant toward their table, they came face to face with Juan, his aunt, Miguel and his American fiancée. Apparently, they were leaving Maria Bonita.

  Carlotta froze to the spot.

  "Good evening, señora and señorita." Miguel looked Carlotta square in the eyes.

  She lifted her head, huffed indignantly and marched away.

  "Good evening, Señor Ramirez," Seina said. "Please excuse my mother's rudeness, but…"

  "We understand," Juan said, then ushered his party hurriedly through the restaurant.

  * * *

  What a perfectly horrible moment, J.J. thought, as they made their escape. Perhaps it was understandable that Cesar Fernandez's widow had hated Luz Ramirez and her illegitimate son, but it was hardly fair to blame Miguel for the sins of his parents.

  The night air seemed cooler than when they had arrived, so when Miguel lifted her shawl up and around her shoulders, she smiled and thanked him.

  "I don't understand why Carlos isn't bringing the car," Miguel said. "Surely he must see us from where he is parked."

  "Perhaps he has fallen asleep," Aunt Josephina suggested.

  "Why don't we just walk across the street instead of waiting for him," J.J. said.

  "I believe we shall have to," Miguel told her. "Apparently he is not aware that we are ready to leave."

  When they approached the limousine, an ominous feeling hit J.J. immediately. "Wait!"

  The other three paused on the sidewalk and stared at her.

  "What is wrong?" Miguel asked.

  "I'm not sure. Why don't y'all wait here and let me check things out?"

  Miguel glowered at her. "Certainly not! If you believe something is not quite right, then I shall go—"

  "We'll go together!" Dammit, she kept forgetting that she wasn't supposed to identify herself as Miguel's bodyguard. Her taking charge would be seen as highly inappropriate.

  "Very well."

  "What is it?" Aunt Josephina asked. "What is wrong?"

  "You two stay here," Miguel said to Juan and his aunt.

  "Oh my. Shouldn't Jennifer stay here with me and Juan go with—"

  Leaving Aunt Josephina still talking, Miguel and J.J. rushed over to the limo and inspected it from hood to trunk. She saw nothing unusual, nothing out of place. Not at first. The only illumination on this dark night came from two streetlights on either end of the block. On closer inspection, J.J. noticed what she thought might be drops of blood on the pavement outside the driver's door.

  "Unless you want them to see me draw my gun, then get behind me," J.J. said as she opened her purse and removed the Beretta.

  Placing his body directly behind J.J.'s, Miguel blocked her from the others. Holding the handgun in one hand, she reached out with the other and opened the limousine door. Her pulse raced. The moment the door came open, Carlos fell out, head first, his barely recognizable face covered with blood.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  « ^ »

  J.J. and Miguel spent over three hours at the police station, explaining several times the details of their evening before, during and after their discovery of Carlos's body. Juan and his aunt gave their statements, then were allowed to leave. The old woman had been nearly hysterical at the scene, but had calmed to a dazed stupor by the time she signed her statement and kissed J.J. on both cheeks before allowing her nephew to escort her outside to their waiting taxi.

  When the police had questioned J.J. about the Beretta 950 Jetfire automatic she had in her purse, Miguel answered for her.

  "The gun is mine," he'd said. "It is registered to me. As you well know, my life has been threatened, so we go nowhere without a weapon. The small pistol was easily concealed in my fiancée's purse."

  Since Carlos had not been shot, there was really no reason for the police to question them any further about a registered weapon. So, by the time Roberto arrived to chauffeur them home, Lieutenant Garcia had already thanked them for their cooperation and had given Miguel his condolences before asking if Miguel preferred to inform Carlos's family of his death himself.

  "Yes, I will go tonight and tell his family. He has two children who live with his parents here in Nava."

  "Very well, Señor Ramirez. Please tell them that we will notify them after the autopsy as to when they may claim the body."

  "Please, notify me also." Miguel closed his eyes. J.J. understood the pain was almost more than he could bear. "I will handle the funeral arrangements for the family."

  "Yes, of course, Señor Ramirez."

  A light rain fell softly against the sidewalk and street when they left the police station. Roberto snapped open a large umbrella and held it over them as they walked to his car. Miguel opened the front passenger door of the Mercedes and helped J.J. inside, then slid in beside her. Roberto got behind the wheel and once everyone had their seatbelts fastened, he started the engine and backed out of the parking space.

  For what seemed like hours, but was probably less than five minutes, they sat there in the fron
t seat in silence.

  Roberto focused on the road ahead of them and when the rain grew heavier, he turned on the windshield wipers. Miguel kept his arm draped around J.J.'s shoulders and she gladly rested her head against him, thankful for the warm strength of his large body. She could only imagine how Miguel felt, knowing that he blamed himself for Carlos's brutal murder. Miguel's chauffeur had not been shot or stabbed, not given a quick death. No, the poor man had been beaten unmercifully—probably with tire irons, the police had surmised. His skull had been crushed, his nose and cheekbones broken, as well as both arms and both legs.

  "You will have to give me directions," Roberto said, breaking the mournful silence. "I do not know where—"

  "Carlos came from my old neighborhood," Miguel said. "The Aguilar barrio. Take the turnoff on Carillo Avenue, go four blocks and take a right onto Santa Fe. Carlos's parents live in a second-floor apartment at 107 Santa Fe."

  "When we get there, if you would rather, I can go in and speak to Carlos's father," Roberto said.

  "No, I will speak to Carlos's parents. He was my chauffeur and faithful friend for many years and he was killed because of me. His parents have a right to know this."

  J.J. gasped. "You can't say that to his parents. No, Miguel. You mustn't."

  "No, not tonight. Tonight, I will tell them only that he is dead, that he was murdered. That alone will be more than they can deal with right now."

  She clutched his hand in hers and held it fiercely. "I'll go with you to speak to his parents."

  "That will not be necessary."

  "I'll go with you."

  He didn't reply, just squeezed her hand and tightened his hold around her shoulders.

  During the past forty-eight hours, her latest Dundee assignment had transformed from what she had thought would be nothing more than bodyguard duty—protecting a South American political candidate—to an imminent love affair with both a man and his country. Miguel's devotion to and love for his family, friends and employees was contagious. Sitting there snuggled against him, her hand in his, she felt what he felt, experienced every emotion as if it were happening inside her. The strong bond between her and Miguel could not be explained, not in terms that anyone could understand. She didn't even understand it herself.

  * * *

  Two hours later, at three in the morning, Roberto dropped them off at Miguel's home. He offered to come in and stay, but Miguel had dismissed him, telling him to get some rest because the days ahead would be difficult for all of them.

  When they reached the front door, it sprang wide open and there in the foyer stood Ramona and Dom. Ramona's eyes were red and swollen and even now they glistened with fresh tears. Dom looked J.J. over and then glanced at Miguel.

  "We need to talk," Dom said in English.

  "Can it wait until morning?" J.J. asked. "Miguel is exhausted. We have just come from Carlos's parents' home."

  "Señor Ramirez, our poor Carlos," Ramona said in Spanish.

  Miguel opened his arms and hugged Ramona as she wept on his shoulder.

  Dom pulled J.J. aside. "I met up with Vic and Will Pierce tonight over in Colima. Vic has unearthed some pretty nasty info and the sooner Miguel knows, the better."

  "Unless there is something he can do about it right now, I don't want you burdening him with anything else. He's fast reaching the breaking point. You know he blames himself for Carlos's murder."

  "I feel for the guy." When J.J. gave him a cynical look, he said, "I mean it. He's being put in a challenging situation to which there are no easy solutions. And what I have to tell him will only complicate matters more."

  "What is it? Tell me and if I think he needs to know, I'll tell him."

  Dom shook his head. "Sorry, but I'm telling Ramirez tonight."

  "No."

  "Yes, J.J., I am. He needs to know."

  "What do I need to know?" Miguel asked.

  J.J. jerked around at the sound of his voice and glanced behind him, searching for the housekeeper. "Where is Ramona?"

  "I sent her to bed." He grabbed J.J.'s arm. "Why are you two arguing?" Keeping a tight hold on her arm, Miguel glared at Dom. "Tell me now what it is that you think I need to know."

  "It can wait until later," J.J. said. "After you've had some rest."

  "We have another Dundee agent here in Mocorito," Dom said and even though J.J. shot him with a condemning glare, he continued. "He's a former CIA operative, with connections here in your country. He has found out something you need to know before you make any future decisions about whether or not to withdraw from the current presidential race."

  "After what happened to Carlos tonight, I have no choice but to reconsider my candidacy," Miguel said.

  "The decisions you make in the next few days will also decide the future of Mocorito." Dom huffed loudly. "I hate to lay this on you after what just happened to Carlos, but I don't want you making any decisions without having all the facts."

  "Just say whatever it is you have to say." Miguel kept his gaze focused on Dom as he eased his hand down J.J.'s arm and clasped her hand in his.

  She knew as surely as she knew her own name that Miguel was holding on to her not only for her support, but to draw strength from her. Helpmates. Soul mates.

  "Upon his reelection, Hector Padilla and his goon squad plan to take over the military and every law-enforcement agency in Mocorito," Dom said. "The Federalists plan to turn your country back into a dictatorship, even if it means civil war."

  J.J. caught her shocked gasp seconds before it escaped her mouth. Please, dear God, no! First she sensed Miguel's horror and then she saw it on his face.

  "And your half-brother, Diego Fernandez, is helping Padilla," Dom added. "But he has no idea what they are planning. They're using his hatred for you to gain his support, especially his financial support."

  "You were right," Miguel said. "I needed to know this and I needed to know it now. Padilla has declared war on me and is willing to kill those who are close to me.

  "And now I learn that if I withdraw from the presidential race in order to ensure that others won't die because of me, the Federalists will try to return Mocorito to a dictatorship and possibly throw the country into civil war, where thousands may die."

  "You're in what we Americans call a no-win situation." Dom bit down on his bottom lip as he hazarded a glance at J.J.

  "Later today, I will have a meeting with Emilio and Roberto and the leaders of the Nationalist Party." Miguel closed his eyes and groaned. "This is not a decision I can make alone."

  "I realize I can't tell you what to do, but I'm going to give you some advice," Dom said. When Miguel simply stared at him, he continued. "It's almost a certainty that you have a traitor in your camp, someone who knows every move you make and is in on every decision. I don't think you can afford to trust anyone. Not Dr. Esteban. Not Roberto Aznar." Dom hesitated. "Not even Emilio Lopez."

  Miguel glowered at Dom, his golden-brown eyes filled with anger. "You are telling me that I should not trust my closest friends, men who are like brothers to me? You want me to make a life-and-death decision for my country … for my people, without the advice and input of the three men I trust most in this world?"

  "One of those men does not deserve your trust," Dom told him.

  J.J. tugged on Miguel's arm. "You need rest. We can discuss this more later, after you've had a few hours of sleep."

  Miguel nodded. And without saying a word he allowed her to lead him up the stairs and straight to his bedroom suite. After kicking off her heels and tossing her shawl into the nearest chair, she helped him out of his tuxedo jacket and then loosened and removed his tie. When she started to unbutton his shirt, he grabbed her hands and brought them to his lips. After kissing her knuckles, he whispered against her folded hands. "What am I going to do?"

  "You are going to rest," she told him as she pulled her hands free and undid the top three buttons on his pleated-front shirt, then she removed his gold cuff links and laid them on the coffee ta
ble.

  "How can I rest, knowing what I know?"

  She turned him around as easily as if he'd been a child and herded him into his bedroom, not bothering to turn out the lights in the sitting room or turn them on in the bedroom. She led him over to his bed, shoved him down on the edge, then knelt at his feet and removed his shoes and socks. Reaching behind him, she yanked the coverlet, blanket and sheet down enough to reveal the big feather pillows.

  "Lie down. Right now."

  When she walked away, he called after her, "Where are you going?"

  "I'll be right back. I just want to get out of this dress."

  He scooted up in the bed and laid his head on one of the pillows, then closed his eyes. "After you do that, would you … would you lie down with me?"

  "Yes." She had given the answer no thought. There was no need. Miguel was not asking her for sex, not propositioning her. She understood what he wanted, what he needed.

  Once in the bathroom, she undressed hurriedly, removing everything, down to her silk panties, then she grabbed her robe from the wall hook where she'd left it, put it on and rushed back into the bedroom. Miguel lay there in the dark, not even a glimmer of moonlight to illuminate his face, only the faint glow from the lights still burning in the sitting room. At first she thought—hoped—he had fallen asleep. But when she neared the bed, he opened his eyes. Eyes like those of a jungle cat.

  "I usually sleep well on nights when it rains," he said. "I enjoy the sound of raindrops hitting the roof, pouring down onto the earth."

  J.J. went around to the other side of the bed and lay down alongside Miguel, a good three feet separating their bodies.

  He turned and held out his hand across the smooth cotton sheet. Without a moment's hesitation, she closed the space between them and when she did, he pulled her into his arms and held her as if she was his lifeline, as if without her, he would perish.

  His lips pressed against her forehead. Tender, sweet kisses. She wrapped one arm around him and cuddled as close as humanly possible.

  "I have been placed in an unbearable position." His warm breathed fanned the curls she had pushed behind her ear. "No matter what I do, my decision will cost the lives of innocent people."