Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love

Chapter 5

“Phase one has begun,” he told his comrade. “I just received a phone call telling me that Miguel Ramirez’s limousine has wrecked. It seems a tire blew out and the vehicle is now in a ditch.”

Hector Padilla smiled broadly, the corners of his thick black mustache lifting. “Perhaps if Miguel is not afraid for himself, he will soon realize that those near and dear to him are in danger. Since we have no proof his fiancée is a fraud, we can’t use that against him. Not yet. And now that she has appeared on television with him, the people seemed to be quite taken with her.”

“If Miguel truly cares more for others than himself, then convincing him that the lives of others are in danger because of him could be more effective than trying again to eliminate him.”

“With the American bodyguards on duty around the clock, it will be more difficult to strike Miguel himself, so your plan to show him how vulnerable others are was quite brilliant.”

“Thank you, Hector. You know there is no one in Mocorito who wishes to see you reelected more than I do.”

Hector laughed. “Despite our being friends, I am no fool. What you want, more than anything else, is to see Miguel Ramirez defeated.”

“The man does not deserve to be president. He is an upstart. The bastard son of a whore, a man with delusions of grandeur.”

Placing his hand on his good friend’s shoulder, Hector asked, “And when is the next incident set to occur?”

“There will be a minor incident at the luncheon, if Ramirez makes it to the country club. I have arranged for an unpleasant surprise for his guests. But tonight, at Anton Casimiro’s party, we have something more significant planned.”

J.J. found herself on top of Miguel after the crash. Everything had happened so quickly that it took her a couple of seconds to get her bearings. The first thing that struck her was her awkward position—her body intimately pressed against Miguel’s and his arms securely holding her, one hand cupping her hip.

“What the hell happened?” Miguel spoke first.

“I believe a tire blew out, Señor Ramirez,” Carlos said.

“Is everyone all right?” Roberto asked. “Miguel? Señorita Blair?”

“I am unharmed,” Miguel replied. He ran his hands over J.J. with gentle familiarity, as if the two were actually a couple. “How are you, Jennifer?”

Looking him square in the eyes, she lifted herself up and off him. Then when she had firmly planted her behind in the seat beside him, she responded. “None the worse for wear.”

“I think perhaps we should call a wrecker,” Miguel said.

“Good idea.” J.J. scooted across the seat and opened the door. “Everyone stay put. I’m going to check the tires, see if one of them did blow out and try to determine the cause.”

“Do you suspect foul play?” Roberto asked.

“I assume this limousine is kept in excellent condition,” J.J. said. “That being the case, the odds that a tire just blew out are slim to none. I’ll bet money that someone using a long-range, high-powered rifle shot the tire.”

“If that is the case, then why aim at the tire and not at me?” Miguel asked.

“These windows are tinted.” J.J. swirled an index finger around, indicating the darkened windows. “Firing into the vehicle could have resulted in a death, but not necessarily your death.”

J.J. hopped out of the car and onto the rocky, uneven ground. Immediately the heels of her shoes dug into the soft, sandy soil. Damn! On any other assignment, she’d be wearing a pair of sensible shoes, but here she was dressed to the nines and forced to climb out of the ditch in two-and-a-half-inch heels. After briefly inspecting all four tires and taking a closer look at the one flat tire, she surmised that her theory about a rifle shot blowing the tire had been correct.

But something didn’t add up here. Carlos had been driving the speed limit, which wasn’t much more than a slow crawl in afternoon traffic. Why would anyone shoot out a tire and cause a minor accident that was unlikely to result in any major damage to the occupants of the limo? If Miguel was the target, why not shoot at him while he was entering or exiting the television station? Unless “they” knew he was being protected by a bodyguard, who might have taken the bullet in his place. How was it possible that Miguel’s enemies knew she was his bodyguard and not his fiancée? She had been told that only Miguel and his two closest associates knew the truth. Roberto was here with them, but that didn’t rule him out as a suspect, did it? And Emilio was family. However, family had been known to betray family.

Of course, her theory that Miguel’s enemies knew who she really was and why she was posing as Miguel’s fiancée was only that—a theory.

As J.J. mulled over the possible scenarios and scanned the area, trying to figure out from which direction the bullet had come, she suddenly noticed that dozens of cars had stopped on the highway and people were heading in their direction. She cursed under her breath.

A rapid barrage of questions flew in her direction. Insistent, concerned questions that demanded answers.

“Is Señor Ramirez all right?”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Has an ambulance been called?”

Before J.J. could respond, Miguel did exactly what she’d told him not to do. He emerged from the limousine, climbed out of the ditch and came straight to her. Putting his arm around her waist, he faced the crowd of concerned citizens.

“We are all well,” Miguel told them in his most charming, yet authoritarian voice. “J.J. and I appreciate your concern. Our limousine had a flat tire and my driver was unable to stop the car from going into the ditch. We have called a wrecker, so everything is under control. I am afraid we are causing a traffic jam, so I want all of you to return to your cars and clear the roadway.”

One by one, the people returned to their vehicles, all except an elderly man who approached Miguel. J.J. moved to stand between them, but Miguel held her to his side. She glowered at him and whispered, “Let me do my job.”

“I know this man.” Miguel held out his hand to the silver-haired gentleman. “Uncle Tito, how good to see you. What brought you into the city today?”

“I am returning from a doctor’s visit,” Tito replied. “Señor Miguel. You are not harmed? You and your lady?”

Miguel shook hands with the old man. “We are fine.” He tightened his hold on J.J.’s waist. “Jennifer, I would like to introduce you to an old family friend, Tito Lopez. He is Emilio’s great-uncle. Uncle Tito, this is my fiancée, Señorita Jennifer Blair.”

Tito’s wrinkled face brightened. He nodded and smiled at her cordially. “It is my great pleasure to meet Miguel’s lady.” He looked to Miguel. “You are on your way to the club for a luncheon, are you not? Our little mother, Dolores, is hosting the event today. It is all she has talked about for weeks now. You cannot disappoint her. Please, allow me to drive you and the señorita to Ebano.”

“Thank you, Uncle Tito. We would be honored to have you drive us.”

J.J. grabbed Miguel’s arm and whispered, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Nonsense,” he replied in a hushed voice so that only she could hear. “I trust Uncle Tito implicitly.”

Groaning, J.J. accepted defeat, knowing that without creating an unpleasant scene—which would probably accomplish nothing—she had little choice but to go along with what Miguel wanted.

By the time they arrived at the Ebano Country Club, only ten minutes late, everyone there had heard about the accident, which was the story Miguel had told Roberto to issue to the media. Dolores met them at the entrance, tears glistening in her large, dark eyes. She waddled toward them the minute they exited Uncle Tito’s old car.

“Tell me that you are unharmed.” Dolores threw her arms around Miguel and hugged him as closely as her round belly would allow.

“I am fine.” He held her away from him, far enough to kiss her first on one cheek and then the other. “Jennifer and I are both unharmed. It was only a flat tire. I left Roberto with Carlos to wait for the wrecker.”

“Only a flat tire?” Dolores looked at J.J. “Is he telling me the truth?”

Miguel put his arms around Dolores’s shoulders and then J.J.’s. “Come along, ladies.We have kept our guests waiting long enough.”

Dolores did not protest, but she glanced in J.J.’s direction, the look in her eyes telling J.J. that the two of them would talk later.

When they entered the main dining room of the Ebano Country Club, the hundred-plus women assembled rose to their feet and applauded. J.J. found herself immediately swept up in the moment, becoming a part of the enthusiasm, reluctantly seeing Miguel through his admirers’ eyes. Their adoration was real, almost worshipful. How could this many women admire and support a man unless he had numerous redeeming qualities? Had she misjudged him? Or had he simply enchanted his female followers with his good looks and charm? Surely this many women weren’t all susceptible to such superficial qualities. But then again the Mocoritian women were different from American women. They were more old-fashioned, more accustomed to men ruling the roost, so to speak.

The group consisted of women of various ages, ranging from the early twenties to elderly ladies with white hair. But, to a woman, they looked at Miguel as if he could walk on water. No wonder he possessed such an air of confidence, even cockiness. This kind of adoration could easily go to a man’s head.

When they reached the raised podium where Miguel’s table had been placed, J.J. noted there were five chairs and five place settings. Two women were already seated at the table. One she instantly recognized—Zita Fuentes, the auburn-haired beauty who had been at Miguel’s home when J.J. and Dom arrived last night. The lovely widow watched J.J., not Miguel, her dark eyes studying J.J. as if she were a specimen under a microscope.

Sizing up the competition? Was Señora Fuentes more than a friend and political supporter? Did she see J.J. as a rival?

Reaching down to grasp J.J.’s hand, Miguel paused and spoke to Señora Fuentes. Nothing more than a cordial hello and thank you for being here today. J.J. sensed an odd tension between the two and knew she had guessed correctly. If there wasn’t something intimate between these two, then one or both of them wished there was.

Miguel led J.J. to the other side of the table where an elderly woman, rather regal in appearance, sat. When they drew nearer, a warm smile appeared instantly on her weathered face.

“Dear Aunt Josephina.” Miguel leaned down and kissed the woman on the cheek.

She grasped his hand and looked directly at J.J. “And this must be your fiancée. Introduce us, dear boy.”

“Aunt Josephina, may I introduce my betrothed, Señorita Jennifer Blair.” He lifted J.J.’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “Querida, this is my friend, Juan Esteban’s aunt, Señora Josephina Esteban y de la Romero viuda Santiago.”

“I am delighted to meet you.” Josephina inspected J.J. closely. “You have done well, Miguel. She is lovely.” The good doctor’s aunt concentrated her sharp gaze on J.J.’s face. “I assume you are madly in love with our Miguel, as we all are. He is irresistible, is he not?”

“Yes, Señora Santiago, I am madly in love with him and I found him irresistible the moment we first met.”

Nodding approval, Aunt Josephina laughed. “You are a brave woman to marry such a beloved man. You know you will have to share him with his people for the rest of your lives.”

“I’m not jealous of Miguel’s love for his people.” J.J. said what she thought this old woman would want to hear. “Knowing how deeply he cares for his country, for his people, only makes me love him all the more.”

“Ah-ha! Now, I know why you have chosen this rare gem to be the first lady of Mocorito.” Aunt Josephina reached out and grasped J.J.’s hand. “Take good care of him, dear child. He is the hope for the future of this country. Give him many fine sons.”

J.J. had to struggle to keep her smile in place. This dear old lady had no idea that her last comment had struck a nerve in J.J., reminding her that men like Miguel—and men like her own father—wanted sons. Appreciated sons. Loved sons.

Miguel wrapped his arm around J.J.’s shoulders again. “Every man wants a son, Aunt Josephina, but I want a daughter, also.”

“Of course you would want a daughter, wouldn’t you?” Josephina smiled. “Jennifer, my dear, if you give him a daughter, beware. A little girl will wrap this one around her little finger.”

J.J. felt as if a huge boulder had been lifted from her chest and she was able to breathe freely again. She had never expected Miguel to express any desire for a daughter or that this old woman who seemed to know him so well would believe Miguel could be beguiled by a little girl of his own.

“Sit down, sit down.” Dolores motioned to them. “I will introduce you and then you must introduce Jennifer as you did on the newscast earlier today.”

The next hour seemed surreal to J.J. from the second round of unrestrained applause for Miguel, to his glowing introduction of her as his fiancée. Because he appeared to be besotted with her, his loyal supporters accepted her wholeheartedly. She couldn’t help wondering how their breakup, after the election, would affect his popularity with his constituents. The best thing for him to do would be to lay all the blame at her feet, to accuse her of not being the woman he’d thought she was, of running off and leaving him when he needed her most. If he did that, he’d probably have women coming out of the woodwork eager and willing to offer him comfort.

Although everyone had been exceptionally nice to her, J.J. felt uneasy. With her stomach muscles tied in knots and her mind swirling with unexplained apprehension, she nibbled at her delicious lunch. Call it a sixth sense or just gut instinct, but she had the strangest feeling that something was wrong—or soon would be. But nothing seemed out of place. She did her best not to be obvious as she surveyed the dining room, the women in attendance and the numerous waiters and waitresses. This entire event was a security agent’s nightmare. But without a staff of agents and a client willing to accept his vulnerability, there was little she could do except stick to Miguel like glue.

As she picked at her dessert, some elaborate chocolate concoction, and listened while Miguel made small talk with the others at their table, a sick feeling hit her in the pit of her belly. Like an animal whose hackles had risen, she sensed danger.

Then it happened.

Someone screamed.

J.J.’s first thought was to protect Miguel.

She shot out of her chair and prepared to hurl herself at him and knock him out of his chair and onto the floor. However, he grabbed her and pulled her down into his lap, as if he intended to protect her, not the other way around.

“Wait.” He spoke only that one word.

Another scream echoed from the back of the room. And then another.

“Snakes!” several women cried out.

“There are snakes crawling around on the floor,” Dolores cried. “Look. See them. There.”

“My God!” Josephina gasped. “Are they poisonous snakes? Does anyone know?”

“There must be at least a dozen of them,” Zita Fuentes said. “Someone must do something immediately.”

Before she could stop him, Miguel came up out of his chair and planted J.J. on the floor, then barreled off the podium and into the audience. Standing quickly, J.J. jumped off the podium right behind him, landing haphazardly on her high heels. She almost smacked into his back when he stopped abruptly to study one of the slithering creatures near his feet.

With women screaming, some climbing on their chairs, a few already on top of the tables and others trying to escape through the nearest exits, which seemed blocked by even more snakes, Miguel picked up one of the reptiles.

Smiling as he held the cold-blooded creature in his hand, Miguel called out in a loud, clear voice. “They are not poisonous. Please stay calm. These are hognose snakes. They’re harmless.”

“They’re not poisonous?” J.J. eased out from behind him and, avoiding the snake he still held, came to his side.

He shook his head. “Completely harmless, but they seemed to have served their purpose.” He glanced around at the panicked women. “Someone released these snakes to make a point.”

“To show you how vulnerable you are, how easily they can get to you,” J.J. said. “The same reason they shot out the tire earlier today. Scare tactics.”

The country club’s manager and male members of the staff rushed into the dining room. When they saw the snakes slithering around on the floor, several men balked, but when Miguel assured them the reptiles were harmless, they set about capturing the creatures. Miguel handed over his captive to the manager.

In her peripheral vision, J.J. caught a glimpse of a tall, slender brunette in a striking hot-pink dress as she bent down and grasped one of the snakes and handed it to a waiter. Only after the fact did J.J. realize that Miguel had seen the incident, and now the attrac tive woman was smiling at him as she walked toward him.

“A fearless woman,” Miguel said to her as she approached them.

“Señor Ramirez…” She held out her slender, well-manicured hand to Miguel. “What a shame that someone had to play such a dreadful prank and ruin the luncheon for everyone.”

Miguel kissed the woman’s hand. She batted her long eyelashes at him and smiled coyly.

“A day is never ruined when I make the acquaintance of such a lovely and brave lady. I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” Miguel said. “You know who I am, but I do not know who you are.”

“I am Gala Hernandez.”

“It is my pleasure, señorita. It is señorita, is it not?”

She giggled. The silly woman actually giggled. J.J. glared at her.

“I’m Jennifer Blair, Miguel’s fiancée.” J.J. stuck out her hand.

Gala glanced at J.J.’s hand, but quickly returned her attention to Miguel. “I must tell you, before someone else does, that I have ties to the enemy camp.”

Miguel lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.

J.J. tensed.

“Your sister…your half-sister, Seina, is my oldest and dearest friend.”

Getting close enough to brush her shoulder against Miguel’s, she lowered her voice to a whisper, making it difficult for J.J. to hear what she was saying. So J.J. pressed up against Miguel’s other side.

“Your sister secretly supports your bid for the presidency,” Gala told him. “She does not dare speak publicly on your behalf. I am certain you can understand. So, she has sent me in her place.”

Miguel eyed the woman suspiciously. Good for him, J.J. thought. At least he’s not buying her story hook, line and sinker. For all they knew, Gala Hernandez could be a spy for the enemy camp.

“Please tell Seina that I appreciate her support and when I am president, I hope that she will be able to publicly acknowledge me as her brother.”

“I am sure that is her heartfelt wish,” Gala said.

“Miguel, querido…” J.J. tugged on his arm. “I do not mean to take you away from a new convert, but you really should make a statement to the ladies who are still here, then we need to contact Roberto and Carlos to make arrangements for a car to pick us up. We’re due at St. Augustine’s in less than an hour.”

“Oh, please, allow me to drive you back to Nava,” Gala said. “It would be my honor.”

J.J. groaned internally. Bad idea, she wanted to shout, but kept quiet. Surely, Miguel would decline the woman’s offer.

“How very kind of you, Señorita Hernandez. Thank you. But I am sure my driver has arranged for another car and will soon arrive to pick us up.”

J.J. breathed a sigh of relief and looked at Miguel with new respect.

A crew of news people had followed Jennifer and him as Juan introduced them to the children at St. Augustine’s. His lovely fake fiancée had shown genuine compassion and caring for the residents of the pediatric ward and somehow he had not been the least surprised to find that the lady had quite a way with children. The little ones had responded to her warm smile and gentle touch.

After returning home, both of them weary from the events of the long day, J.J. had gone upstairs to his bedroom suite and was now soaking in his marble bathtub. But he was not alone. Per J.J.’s instructions, Domingo Shea stayed at his side.

“Whenever I can’t be with you, Dom will be. After all, he is supposed to be your cousin and there’s no reason for anyone to be suspicious when he’s often with you.”

Miguel had called in Emilio and Roberto to discuss the two possibly unrelated incidents that had plagued him today. A rifleman shooting out one of the limousine tires and someone releasing a dozen hognose snakes at the Ebano Country Club luncheon. Neither had been life-threatening, although each had been momentarily unnerving.

“What information do you have for us about the limousine?” Miguel asked Roberto. “You kept the incident confidential, as I asked.”

“We took the car to a trusted auto shop,” Roberto replied. “The tire has been replaced and some of our people are running a check on the bullet. Señorita Blair was correct about the tire being shot by a rifle.”

“For what purpose?” Miguel glanced from one man to the other.

“To scare you?” Roberto suggested.

“To make a point,” Dom said.

“And that point is what? That they could take a shot at me anytime they choose and there’s nothing I can do about it. We already knew that.”

“Dolores was very upset by what happened at the club,” Emilio told them. “If shooting out the tire on the limo was to scare you, to make a point, what did they hope to accomplish by letting a dozen hognose snakes loose in the dining room during your luncheon?”

“Once again, to make a point,” Dom said.

“And perhaps to make a laughingstock of you,” Emilio added.

“No, there is more to it than their wanting to show me that they can reach out and touch me at their will. The assassination attempt already proved that is possible.” Miguel feared the real reason was far more frightening, but he hesitated voicing his thoughts aloud.

“You can’t have overlooked the obvious,” Dom said as his gaze connected with Miguel’s, the two men sharing a silent acknowledgment.

“And that would be?” Roberto asked.

“They already know that I am willing to put my life on the line, that they cannot frighten me into withdrawing my candidacy,” Miguel said. “But what if, now, they want to see if I’m willing to risk the lives of others?”

“You can’t mean that you think—” Emilio’s eyes widened in shock.

“I think only that it is a possibility.” Miguel grimaced. He prayed he was wrong. What if he had to choose between the presidency and the safety of the people he loved? What would he do if he was forced to make that kind of decision?

Chapter 6

J.J. had intended to soak in the tub for no more than ten minutes. But she had stayed twenty before reluctantly getting out, drying off and putting on her silk robe. Now, she had to choose the proper attire for tonight’s dinner party. Miguel had told her that it was not a formal affair, that he wouldn’t be wearing a tuxedo, only a suit and tie and suggested she wear something suitable for a cocktail party. As she stood inside the huge walk-in closet, flipping through her choices that hung alongside Miguel’s numerous suits, she thought about today’s events. While she’d been soaking in the tub, she had deliberately erased all thoughts from her mind, concentrating on total relaxation. If the blown tire and the fiasco with the snakes were any indication of how tonight’s dinner party would play out, then she had to be prepared for just about anything. It appeared that Miguel’s enemies were trying a new tactic.

Perhaps the first assassination attempt had been solely to frighten him into withdrawing from the race—which it hadn’t— and now they were showing him they could get to anyone at anytime, could easily harm his friends and family. That was the most reasonable explanation for what had happened today. But what if they also knew Miguel now had a bodyguard, posing as his fiancée? There would be no way they could prove such an accusation, even if they knew it for a fact. And if they knew the truth about J.J., that meant someone very close to Miguel had leaked the information. She felt certain that if she mentioned her suspicions to Miguel, he would defend Emilio and Roberto with every breath in him. Being a loyal man himself—and she instinctively felt this—Miguel would trust his two closest friends, would never question their allegiance to him. But she would and did question their loyalty. After all, it was her job, wasn’t it, to distrust everyone associated with Miguel?