Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love

by Beverly Barton

  “I know that Seina is slipping around seeing Juan Esteban,” Diego had told Gala. “I will, of course, put a stop to that relationship, when the time is right. But for now, it may be of use to me. To us.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought that if you found out, you’d be furious.”

  “I am displeased, but I trust you to keep me informed of what is happening with my sister and Dr. Esteban. If you think she is on the verge of sleeping with this man—”

  “Seina is still a virgin. I swear she is.”

  “Good. I know that you two share everything. She tells you what she is feeling, what she is doing. You know more about her than either I or our mother, and that is why I want you to report to me every time she sees Esteban. I want to know every word she says about him. I want to know what they talk about, who they discuss.”

  “You think they discuss Miguel Ramirez?”

  “It is possible. Especially if you were to encourage Seina to ask Esteban about his good friend. Encourage her to learn more about her half-brother. She is curious about him, and she has said that she believes we should get to know him. I’m afraid my little sister has a soft heart. Use your powers of persuasion to gain whatever information you can.”

  Unlike his younger sister, Diego Fernandez did not have a soft heart. Handsome, charming and powerful, he could be a good friend. Unless you opposed him. Then he was ruthless. He hated his half-brother and would do anything to keep him from winning the presidency. She didn’t know for sure, but she suspected that he was somehow involved in the recent assassination attempt on Miguel Ramirez’s life.

  The morning sun grew warmer by the minute. Even with the top down on her small sports car, Gala had begun to perspire. Seina had promised her she would be gone only a brief time, but she’d already been inside the hospital for nearly thirty minutes.

  As she kept watch on the side entrance to the hospital, Gala’s cell phone rang. She knew before answering who the caller was.

  “Hello.”

  “Is she still with Dr. Esteban?” Diego asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I want a report the moment you take her home.”

  “Very well.”

  “And I have an assignment for you.”

  “What sort of assignment?” Gala asked, her stomach tightening with apprehension. She could not refuse Diego. Her life was in his hands. He could, even now, see that she went to prison. If that happened, not only would her life be ruined, but her parents would be brokenhearted and disgraced.

  “There is a luncheon at the Nava country club this afternoon in honor of Miguel Ramirez. I want you to attend. I’ve arranged for your name to be on the guest list.”

  “But everyone knows that Seina and I are close friends.”

  “Yes, I know. You will, however, publicly disagree with our family’s politics. And you can even imply that my sister secretly supports her half-brother, although she cannot publicly commit to him.”

  “What purpose will this—”

  “You are a beautiful woman, Gala. Ingratiate yourself to whatever man you can within the Ramirez camp, perhaps even Ramirez himself. I want you trailing the Nationalist candidate. Become a camp follower. Keep your eyes and ears open. I am especially interested in any information about Ramirez’s new fiancée, Señorita Blair.”

  “You ask too much, Diego. It is bad enough that you have made me betray my best friend, but now you want me to work as a spy for the Federalists.”

  “Of course, you have a choice.”

  Gala swallowed the fear lodged in her throat. “I will do as you ask.”

  “Good. You have made the right choice. I am good to my friends, as you already know.”

  “I have to go now. I see Seina,” she lied.

  “Ask her about her visit with Esteban, then take her home. If she gives you any interesting information, call me. Otherwise, show up at the country club at one-thirty, then I will contact you this evening.”

  Miguel shook hands with everyone on staff at the television station directly following his fifteen-minute interview on the noon news. Afterward, with his fake fiancée at his side, he spoke at length to the huge audience crammed into the small auditorium at the station. He noticed the way she not only kept watch over him, but continuously surveyed the area around them. Everyone seemed as interested in meeting Jennifer as they were in him. But who could blame them? The woman even intrigued him.

  The television station was owned by a member of the Nationalist Party who provided Miguel with a weekly interview as well as numerous free one-minute ads that ran often during each twenty-four-hour period. When the reporter doing the interview had asked about Miguel’s fiancée, he had been given little choice but to bring her on camera and introduce her to the people of Mocorito. His lovely Jennifer had surprised him. The ease with which she appeared on camera, a warm smile in place and her hand clasping his the whole time, told him that she had done this type of thing before today. She was what the Americans referred to as “a natural.”

  When asked how she felt about her future husband being a candidate for president, she had replied without missing a beat, “I am very proud of Miguel and support him without reservation. I will do everything within my power to help him become el presidente because I know in my heart how much he loves Mocorito and all the people of this wonderful country.”

  “Thank you, J.J. I am a fortunate man to have found such a loving and caring helpmate,” he had said as he’d gazed lovingly at her.

  He had deliberately referred to her as J.J., the nickname that Domingo Shea had told him everyone close to her used. For half a second, she’d reacted, her eyebrows lifting ever so slightly, but then she had simply smiled and continued looking at him as if he were the sun and moon and stars to her.

  If he had not known better, he would have believed every sweet word out of her mouth. The lady had been quite convincing, all that he could have asked for in a fiancée. Not only had she shown her support by word and deed, she had presented herself as a fashionable yet conservatively dressed lady. The simple purple suit she wore was accented with pearl earrings and necklace. Her shoes and handbag were a rich, dark purple leather. Everything about her whispered aristocratic sophistication. Understated and elegant.

  After the interview ended, he told her in a quiet voice, yet loud enough for everyone around them to hear, “You were perfect.”

  “Thank you, Miguel.”

  She gazed at him with those incredible blue-violet eyes and he found himself unable to resist the urge to kiss her. Only at the last minute, with Roberto clearing his throat behind them, did Miguel manage to restrain himself and simply brush her cheek with a tiny peck.

  “Miguel, my friend,” Mario Lamas, the TV station’s owner clamped his hand down on Miguel’s shoulder. “The phones have been ringing off the hook. Your lady is a huge success. The people love her.” Mario turned to Jennifer, took her hand and kissed it. “You, my dear Señorita Blair, are a definite asset in this election. You must accompany Miguel everywhere from now until election day.”

  “I plan to do just that, isn’t that right, querido?” Jennifer slipped her hand into Miguel’s. A subtle yet effective sign of affection.

  “Absolutely.” Miguel confirmed her statement.

  “I don’t mean to rush you,” Roberto said, “but if we are to arrive at the country club at one-thirty, we must leave now.”

  “Yes, yes, go, go,” Mario told them, waving his hands expressively. “And next week, you and your lady will come back here for another interview. Each week until the night before the election, you will speak to the people for an hour. Yes?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Mario.”

  Miguel shook Mario’s hand before slipping his arm around Jennifer’s waist and, following Roberto, escorting her outside to the waiting limousine. Roberto waited until they were safely ensconced in the back of the limo before he slid inside with them and closed the door.

  Knowing what was next on Miguel’s schedule, Car
los shifted into Drive and headed the car away from the downtown television station and onto the main thoroughfare that would take them a few miles out of the city limits to Ebano, a suburb of Nava, where many of the up-and-coming middle-class and upper-middle-class citizens lived. Dolores and Emilio had purchased a home in Ebano only six months ago and Juan Esteban lived there with his aunt in one of the older sections of the area that had been updated in recent years.

  Once inside the limousine, Miguel had expected Jennifer to move as far away from him as possible. But she didn’t. She remained at his side, although several inches separated them.

  “You put on quite a performance, Señorita Blair,” Roberto said, an odd tone to his voice.

  Miguel glowered at him.

  “You object, Roberto?” she asked, using his first name, as she would have done had she truly been Miguel’s fiancée. “I would think you would approve of the fine acting job I did. We don’t want the people to suspect that I’m not only a fraud, but that I am Miguel’s bodyguard.”

  “I apologize if it appeared I was criticizing,” Roberto said.

  “It sounded that way to me, too,” Miguel told him.

  “Then I apologize to both of you. I meant it as a compliment, although I admit I was surprised that an American woman, especially one trained as a bodyguard, could so effectively present herself as a lady of breeding.”

  Jennifer’s laughter stopped Miguel from chastising his friend. Undoubtedly she found Roberto’s comment amusing.

  “You can thank my mother for that aspect of my personality. You see Lenore Ashford Whitney is a lady of breeding and nothing would please her more than to know I am capable of presenting myself as a carbon copy of her when the situation calls for it.”

  Miguel studied her closely. Those seductive blue-lavender eyes. That mane of shiny black curls. The pouty pink lips. The oval-shaped face, the tiny nose and the translucent, creamy complexion. If he allowed himself the luxury, he could easily fall under her spell. And if other matters were not far more important in his life, he would set about seducing the beautiful Jennifer.

  Suddenly, without any warning, a loud bang reverberated through the limousine. The car bounced, then skidded off the road, onto the shoulder and crashed into the ditch. The wreck happened so quickly that there was no time to think, only to react. As the limo came to a jarring halt, Miguel reached out and grabbed a tumbling J.J. seconds before his left shoulder slammed painfully against the crushed back door.

  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.