“This place is unbelievable,” J.J. said in English.
“What did she say?” Aunt Josephina asked as she was seated.
“Oh, forgive me,” J.J. apologized in Spanish. “I was so impressed with this place that I reverted to my native tongue.”
“It is perfectly understandable, my dear Jennifer.” Aunt Josephina patted J.J.’s hand. “Maria Bonita has that effect on almost everyone the first time they come here.”
No sooner had Miguel and Juan taken their seats than a small, bearded man wearing what J.J. thought were the clothes of a cook—or in this case, a chef—came to their table and suddenly burst into song. Totally surprised by the man’s actions, J.J. gasped. Then, as she listened to him sing the romantic Latin ballad with such tenderness, she smiled at Miguel when he took her hand into his, showing her the appropriate affection a man would show his fiancée in a public place. No more. No less. After the little man sang two more ballads, he bowed, turned around and walked away.
“Who was that?” J.J. asked.
“That is Rolando,” Miguel told her. “He is one of the chefs here at Maria Bonita, but he once had aspirations of being a singer. Since he is half owner of the restaurant, he performs for the customers.”
“Especially customers he is fond of, as he is Miguel,” Aunt Josephina said.
For a brief period of time, J.J. almost forgot why she was here in Mocorito and that she was not really Miguel’s beloved fiancée. The wine was sheer perfection, the dinner conversation entertaining and the food was to die for. She ordered the boquinete Dulce Vita, which consisted of white snapper stuffed with shrimp and mushrooms and baked in a golden puff pastry. Sighing after finishing almost every bite, she shook her head when Miguel suggested dessert.
“But you must try the coconut ice cream,” Juan said. “They top it with Kahlua.” Laughing, he winked at her.
She had decided earlier that she liked Aunt Josephina very much and just this very second she decided she liked Juan, too, because she thought he was a genuinely nice person. Even though in her line of work, it paid to be suspicious of everyone, she wondered if she couldn’t mark Dr. Juan Esteban off her list of possible traitors.
“I would love to try the coconut ice cream,” J.J. said, “but I honestly don’t think I can eat another bite.”
“I will order the dessert.” Miguel smiled at her. “And we will share it.”
Flutters rippled through her stomach and trickled along her nerve endings. She longed to share more than dessert with Miguel.
“And we must order coffee, too.” Aunt Josephina glanced at the waiter, but like a well-brought-up lady of her day, she did not place the order.
Miguel ordered three servings of the coconut ice cream with Kahlua, and freshly brewed coffee for four.
As they waited for dessert and chatted pleasantly, Juan suddenly went silent and turned quite pale. J.J. followed his line of vision to where the maître d’ was seating a party of three on the far side of the patio. From the strong family resemblance the two women and one man shared, she assumed they were a mother, her son and her daughter. The mother was tall and thin, with a regal air about her that proclaimed she found most people far inferior to her. The son was also tall and quite handsome, with wavy black hair and a thin mustache, reminiscent of old Latin movie stars. The daughter was a few inches shorter than the mother and far prettier, with a round, soft face and bright black eyes.
Without realizing she had spoken aloud, J.J. asked, “Who are they?”
Juan did not answer, but Miguel turned his head so that he could catch a glimpse of whoever Juan was staring at so intensely. Miguel’s face turned ashen.
“That is my father’s widow,” Miguel said. “And his legitimate son and daughter.”
She heard and understood the bitterness in Miguel’s voice. Even though she was her father’s legitimate child, she felt every bit as much a bastard as Miguel did. She knew what it was like to be the unwanted, the cast-aside, the unloved.
“Perhaps we should leave,” Juan said.
“No!” Miguel shook his head. “If they are offended by my presence, let them leave.”
When J.J. reached out to grasp Miguel’s hand, he snatched it away, withdrawing from her. Oh, God, how terrible this is for him, how raw his emotions must be. If only he would accept her comfort.
“The señora is showing her age,” Aunt Josephina said. “She looks terrible. Not that Carlotta was ever a beautiful woman. Ah, but your mother, Miguel, she was beautiful.” Josephina reached out and patted J.J.’s hand. “Luz Ramirez was as beautiful as you are, dear girl.”
Miguel looked at Juan’s aunt and smiled. “I forget that you knew my mother, that she and my grandmother worked in your home.”
“They have seen us,” Juan said. “Diego is glaring at us and his mother is—”
“Dance with me.” J.J. scooted back her chair, stood and held her hand out to Miguel.
He stared at her with a questioning look in his golden eyes. Then without uttering a word, he stood, took her hand and led her from the patio, into the hacienda and onto the dance floor. Apparently the band was taking a break because the music came from a single musician, a pianist who was playing a soft and romantic tune. Miguel took J.J. into his arms and they joined the other five couples on the dance floor.
“You are very good at reading me, querida.” Miguel rubbed his cheek against hers as he held her close, but not too close.After all, they were in public. “You seem to know what I need before I do.”
“Then you did need rescuing, didn’t you? Juan and his aunt were making much too much over the arrival of the Fernandez family when you would have preferred ignoring them, as they have done you your whole life.”
Miguel slowed, bringing them almost to a standstill, and gazed into her eyes. “How is it that you know me so well?”
“I honestly don’t understand it myself,” she admitted. “It’s odd, but I feel as if I’ve known you forever.”
“It is not odd at all, my sweet Jennifer. I feel the same. As if perhaps in some other life you and I were soul mates.”
Yes, that was it. Soul mates. Never in a million years would she have thought she’d use that term to describe her relationship with any man, least of all a Latin lover who was “all man,” to the nth degree.
Perhaps we are soul mates in this lifetime, too, she wanted to say, but didn’t. Eternal soul mates fated to be together.
Seina excused herself to go to the ladies’room, hoping that Juan would follow her discreetly so they could have a few precious moments together. Stolen moments. She waited outside in the corridor that led to both the ladies’ room and the men’s room, feeling certain that Juan would show up at any moment. She waited and waited. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Had he not seen her leave her table? Did he not know that she expected him to come to her?
Finally giving up, she started to return to the patio. Then there he was, coming toward her. The joy of her heart. The love of her life.
She rushed to him. He stopped several feet from her. Then she, too, paused.
“I wish I could touch you,” she said.
“Seina, please. What if someone were to overhear you?”
“You were at the Civic Center tonight, weren’t you?” she asked. “I thought I caught a glimpse of you.”
“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 maître 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 front 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 bee
n 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.
Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love Page 15
