With so many supporters around them—everyone from Roberto and Emilio to Juan, Aunt Josephina and Seina—J.J. felt suffocated. And muffled. She couldn't say what she wanted to say to Dom, couldn't vent her frustration and anger at the top of her lungs. If only she could scream. Just once.
Dom took her hand and gave it a good squeeze, then released it. "God forbid anyone should think I'm flirting with my cousin's fiancée."
"Yes, God forbid." Knowing he had hoped to gain a smile from her, J.J. failed him. The best she could do was to stop frowning for a brief moment.
"You've gotten in over your head on this one, haven't you?" Dom said.
She pinned him with a be-quiet glare. "You have no idea," she whispered. Both Roberto and Emilio spoke some English and although both men knew who she really was, she didn't want to share her private feelings with either of them.
Lowering his voice, Dom said, "I never in a million years thought you'd fall for a guy like Ramirez."
J.J.'s mouth curved into a self-deprecating half smile. Thinking what a fool she must seem to Dom, she replied, "I didn't see it coming. It caught me totally unaware. Attraction is one thing, but…"
"You're in love with him." Dom looked at her, sympathy in his black eyes.
She didn't respond. She didn't need to.
"It is time." Emilio signaled to the group by fluttering his hands. "Quiet everyone. The future president of Mocorito is about to speak to us."
J.J. said so softly she wasn't sure Dom heard her, "Take care of him when I'm gone."
Dom mouthed the words. "I promise."
Mario Lamas, the Nationalist Party sympathizing owner of Nava's television station faced the in-house and at-home audience. First he cleared his throat. Then in a loud, distinct voice he announced that tonight Miguel Cesar Ramirez would be speaking to the people, speaking to them from his heart. Mario went on to praise Miguel, to recount his humble beginnings and brag about him as a teacher might a favorite student. As Mario's introduction continued, J.J.'s thoughts escaped from this place, from this moment in time, to the most glorious two hours of her life. Two hours spent with Miguel in his bedroom suite, shut off from the rest of the world. For those one hundred and twenty minutes, she had been in heaven. The heaven she and Miguel had created together.
These next fifteen minutes would be pure hell for Miguel and if they were that agonizing to him, then they would be to her. His pain was her pain. But once the deed was done, once he had made his stand, drawn his line in the sand, there would be no turning back. All they could do was wait for Hector Padilla and his Federalist cohorts to make their next move. Her instincts told her that they would strike again and soon. Another murder? The death of someone else near and dear to Miguel? But when would it happen? And to whom?
Hating the helpless feeling of knowing there was nothing she could do to prevent another tragedy, J.J. stood and paced around the room. As she passed by Aunt Josephina and Seina, the two women flanking Juan, she offered them a weak smile, doing her best to reassure them that all was well. What a damn lie!
This small room at the studio was filled with people who loved, admired and respected Miguel. Having realized upon their arrival tonight what a perfect time this would be to kill those closest to Miguel in one fell swoop, she and Dom had thoroughly searched this room and then Dom had excused himself and gone over every inch of the television station.
"Mind if I take a couple of your security guards with me to check things out?" Dom had asked Mario. "I just want to make sure my cousin is safe tonight for the broadcast."
Mario had not only given Dom his permission, he'd sent four security guards with him and given them orders to follow Señor Shea's every command.
"Best I can tell, this whole place is clean," Dom had told her. "If the bad guys are planning something, I don't think they're going to blow this place sky-high. At least not tonight."
"They must know what Miguel plans to say tonight. Whoever the traitor in Miguel's camp is, he or she must already have shared the information with Padilla."
"You said he—or she. Do you think the traitor could be female?"
"I don't know. If it is, we can rule out Dolores, of course. So that leaves only Ramona and Aunt Josephina and both of them seem devoted to Miguel."
The moment Miguel appeared on screen, everyone congregated in the small room at the station broke out in applause. J.J. clapped the longest and the loudest, a part of her wanting to whistle and stomp her feet and shout, "Viva Ramirez! Viva el presidente."
God, what love could do to a woman!
From the very second Miguel spoke his first word, J.J. kept her gaze focused on the television screen mounted on the wall. He looked so handsome. He had chosen his suit, she his shirt and tie. Clasping her hands in her lap to prevent them from trembling nervously, she recalled buttoning his pale blue shirt and wrapping the gray, navy and white striped tie around his neck, then tying it. He had kept kissing her while she knotted his tie and she had laughed as she struggled to keep her mind on the job at hand. What she had truly wanted, just as he had, was to go back to bed and make love again.
Tonight, she told herself. Tonight when this is over, when we go home, when we are alone in his bedroom suite. They would make love all night long.
And in the morning she would leave. Tonight might well be the last time she would see Miguel, the last time they would be together. Neither of them knew what the future would hold.
* * *
Diego sat in front of the television in the wood-paneled study of his father's home. Even though his mother now owned this fine house, which would one day be his, he would always think of it as his father's home. Reminders of Cesar Fernandez were in every room. Diego's mother had altered nothing since her husband's death. His favorite pipes remained on the desk in this room and the smell of his tobacco still permeated the upholstery and drapes. The liquor cabinet contained his preferred liquors and every article of clothing he had owned remained in the closets and chests upstairs. An oil painting of Cesar in his youth hung over the fireplace here in the den and another of him, in his prime, hung over the mantel in the front parlor. And Diego's mother kept her wedding photograph of a smiling young couple in a silver frame on her bedside table.
As Diego downed another swig of his father's aged brandy, he wondered how a man who had been loved so devotedly by a woman such as Carlotta could have lowered himself to sleep with the likes of Luz Ramirez, a gutter whore from the Aguilar barrio.
Looking at Ramirez on the television screen, Diego saw his father's fine features. The nose, the mouth, the bone structure identical to their father's. Yes, damn it—their father. Miguel looked far more like Cesar than either Diego or Seina. Diego had been told by many people that he was a cross between his parents. And who had not heard numerous times that Seina was the image of her grandmother Fernandez, for whom she had been named.
"I have come to you tonight to pledge my life to you, the people of Mocorito," Miguel Ramirez said.
Diego lifted his glass and saluted him.
The man had the eyes of a jungle cat. Yellow-brown. Cunning. Dangerous.
When Diego had arrived home today, his mother had met him at the door, ranting and raving about Seina having packed a bag and left home. He had done his best to soothe his mother and assure her that, in time, Seina would come to her senses and return home. He knew better. His sister would never return home. And it was all his fault. His evil deeds had run her off.
"Everyone in Mocorito is aware that my chauffeur was murdered, but what you do not know is that threats have been made against others, against those closest to me," Miguel said. "I have no proof against anyone. We do not know who killed Carlos or who might perpetrate other crimes against my family, my friends and my supporters.
"But I say to you—and to them—if their purpose is to force me to withdraw my candidacy, then they have failed. I will continue campaigning, continue seeking your vote. No matter what happens, I promise I will give you, the good
people of Mocorito, the choice between two candidates. Between Hector Padilla and Miguel Cesar Ramirez!"
"And I'm going to vote for you, you bastard," Diego saluted Miguel a second time with his now nearly empty glass of brandy. "If you live to election day."
* * *
Hector Padilla seethed as he listened to Miguel Ramirez address the people of Mocorito. Damn fool, Hector thought. Or was the man a heartless bastard? Yes, that was how they should play this. The man was willing to let innocent people die, murdered by some unknown madman intent on keeping Ramirez from becoming president. Of course he would do nothing himself, say nothing. But his publicity people could spin an ugly little tale and share it with the newspapers, as well as broadcast it from person to person, like juicy gossip.
He had ordered the chauffeur's death, had even specified that he wanted it to be particularly bloody. But three deaths had obviously not been enough to convince Ramirez that he should do the right thing. Perhaps another death would be necessary. A fourth death, even closer to home.
Such a pity that Miguel had feelings for his pretty little American bodyguard. It would be doubly tragic when she was struck down. The country would mourn for Miguel and he would be devastated. Then, if he insisted on continuing his candidacy, the people would know him for the heartless bastard he was. How could he put his own ambition above the lives of others?
There would be some within his circle, fellow Federalists, who would protest another killing, the ones who had cried over the deaths of the first three people. But they were weak men who could not be told the truth. Men like Diego Fernandez.
A brilliant idea formed in Hector's mind. He snapped his fingers, then laughed. But of course. He would send an expert marksman and tell him to aim at Ramirez and when his little bodyguard got in the way, to shoot her.
Diego could not complain if the target had been Ramirez. He hated his half-brother and probably longed to see him dead. He knew what he would say to Diego.
Too bad that the phony fiancée had gotten in the way.
Diego was gullible enough to buy that explanation. And Ramirez would be destroyed, knowing she had given her life to save him.
* * *
The moment Miguel entered the small room at the studio, his friends surrounded him, patting him on the back, congratulating him on a fine speech, telling him how brave and fearless he was. Did they not understand that because they were here, supporting him, loving him, cheering him on, that they were in danger, that their very lives were at stake?
Trying his best to act appreciatively as he made his way through the well-wishers, Miguel sought the one person who understood him, the one person who knew what tonight's speech had cost him. Where was she?
And then he saw her, coming through the crowd, coming straight to him. Their gazes met and locked. He moved away from Roberto, who had been shaking his hand, and met Jennifer in the middle of the room. Surrounded by his supporters, Miguel reached out and pulled Jennifer into his arms. She hugged him fiercely and laid her head on his chest. A resounding cheer rose from the group. Jennifer lifted her head and looked around them, then gazed up at him and smiled. Tears filled her beautiful violet-blue eyes and cascaded down her alabaster cheeks.
All he wanted now was to take this woman home, to go upstairs to his room with her and close out the whole world for the rest of the night.
As if she had read his thoughts, she stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. "We can't leave yet. All the workers from campaign headquarters are outside in the parking lot, along with a large group of your supporters. You'll have to put in an appearance."
"You, querida, are a very understanding fiancée."
She clasped his hand. "I'm ready to face the crowd when you are."
Dom came up on the other side of Miguel as they approached the front entrance of the television studio. Although it was unlikely he would be targeted, judging by recent events, his bodyguards would be stupid to take any chances with his life.
If only each person in his entourage had their own personal bodyguard. If only he could ensure their safety. Tonight. Tomorrow. And in the days ahead.
He could not provide everyone who supported him, who worked tirelessly for his cause, a personal bodyguard, but he could see that Emilio, Roberto, Juan and Aunt Josephina had protection. And even his sister, Seina, now that she had publicly claimed him. They were the people most likely to become targets. Later tonight, he would speak with J.J. and Dom about making arrangements to call in more agents.
With his senses at full alert, Miguel exited the studio, and with his arm around Jennifer and Dom practically attached to his other side, he marched across the street.
Followed by the group who had come from inside the studio, Miguel made his way to the parking lot where an enormous crowd waited. The moment they saw him, they cheered and began rushing toward him.
Dom Shea cursed under his breath.
Jennifer clutched Miguel's arm to halt him. "This is bad," she said. "If they overrun us, there will be no way we can protect you."
Yanking away from her, thinking fast on his feet and yet not considering all the risks, Miguel crawled up into the bed of a parked pickup truck and lifted his arms in a gesture that requested his supporters to cease and desist. Within seconds, Jennifer and Dom had joined him in the truck bed, followed shortly by Emilio and Roberto.
"You're an easy target up here," Jennifer told him. "You can't stay here."
"Only for a few minutes. Just until I speak to these people and give them a few minutes of my time. That's all they want."
He motioned for the cheers and shouts to stop, but it took a good three or four minutes before anyone could hear him over the noise. Finally, he managed to make himself heard. He said a few words of thanks and asked for their continued support. Then, when J.J. and Dom escorted him down from the truck bed, the applause started anew. He wrapped his arm around Jennifer's shoulders and together they headed straight for Dom's rental car. Several people followed them, mostly his closest friends. He shook hands with Emilio and Roberto again, then hugged Aunt Josephina and held out his hand to Seina and when she placed her hand in his, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it.
"Thank you for being here tonight," he said.
"You're welcome, Miguel."
He then shook hands with Juan. "I will depend on you to take good care of my little sister."
"I vow to you that her happiness means more to me than anything else."
Miguel turned around and, with his arm still draped across J.J.'s shoulders, they walked toward Dom's car. Suddenly, before Miguel had any idea what was happening, Dom barreled into him, knocking both him and J.J. to the ground. J.J. rose up quickly and threw her body over Miguel's.
Reaching out, he grabbed her shoulders and began rolling her over to his side. He would not allow her to die for him. He would not!
The sound of a rifle shot was almost muffled by frightened screams as people ran in every direction.
J.J. gasped. Once.
With his weapon drawn and his gaze scanning the area, Dom hovered over them. "Are either of you hit?"
"I am fine," Miguel replied, then looked over at J.J.
When she stared at him, her face chalk-white, he saw the pain in her eyes.
"Jennifer? J.J.?" he cried her name as he ran his hands over her body.
She groaned. He withdrew his hand from her side. His fingers dripped with blood. Jennifer's blood.
* * *
Chapter 15
« ^ »
Miguel paced the floor, like a caged tiger, his teeth bared, his claws ready to rip apart the first person who dared to cross him. Dom had tried to help him moments after the shooting, but Miguel had clung to J.J. as if he thought letting go of her would mean her death. Then later, Dom had tried to persuade Miguel to allow the paramedics to take J.J. from him, but to no avail. In the end, Juan Esteban had worked out a compromise that Miguel had agreed to reluctantly—they had allowed him to sit at her side in the
ambulance. Dom had driven directly behind them, all the way to St. Augustine's, praying as hard as he'd ever prayed in his life. When he'd been a navy SEAL, he'd seen comrades killed, their heads blown off, their guts hanging out. But he'd never gotten used to the sight of death, the loss of a human life. Since going to work at the Dundee Agency, he had been faced with the injury of a fellow agent a couple of times. Both had survived.
As they waited now for word on J.J.'s condition, he knew what Miguel was thinking and understood part of what he was feeling. He was thinking how small and delicate J.J. had looked lying there on the street, blood covering her beige jacket. He was thinking that if the bullet had hit a couple of inches over, he would be the one in the operating room right now.
Dom loved J.J. like a little sister. He liked to kid her, enjoyed how she could take a practical joke and the fact that she always understood that his ribald sense of humor held no prejudice or malice. In many ways, he knew J.J. far better than Miguel Ramirez did. At least he'd known her a lot longer. But he wasn't in love with J.J. and he suspected that Miguel was. If he wasn't a man in love, he sure as hell was giving a good imitation of one tonight.
Miguel had been inconsolable and unreachable after they had arrived at the hospital and the attendants had wheeled J.J. directly into an elevator to take her to the operating room. He had bellowed like a wounded bull when they'd told him that he could not go with her. If it had not been for Dr. Esteban finally being able to calm Miguel, the security officers would have taken him into custody.
Juan's aunt had arrived with Seina Fernandez, both of them having ridden to the hospital with Emilio. Roberto had come separately, two campaign staff members with him. The ten-by-twelve waiting room was filled to capacity and to a person, they had each tried to talk to Miguel, to reassure him, to give him hope. He had not responded to anyone, ignoring them as if he were deaf, dumb and blind. Part of the time, he paced the floor, looking neither right nor left, but straight down, as if he found the floor utterly fascinating. The rest of the time he stood and stared out the windows into the dark night. About an hour ago, it had started raining, and just now Dom saw streaks of lightning crackling through the black sky.
RAMIREZ'S WOMAN Page 19
