They had been waiting for three hours—the longest three hours of Dom's life. When he'd first arrived, he'd stayed outside long enough to call Vic and tell him what had happened. Vic had made him promise to call him once J.J. came out of surgery.
"She'll pull through," Vic had said. "She may look like a fragile china doll, but our little J.J. is as tough as nails."
He'd been acquainted with Vic long enough to realize the guy didn't make friends easily. He was a loner and although everyone at Dundee liked and respected him, no one could say they really knew him. J.J. had come closer than anyone to breaking through that impregnable wall surrounding Vic Noble, probably because she wasn't intimidated by him. God knew most women were. Intimidated and attracted. Vic had that mysterious Clint Eastwood gunslinger thing going for him that kept other men at arm's length and intrigued women.
"If she dies, so help me God…" Vic had left the rest unsaid. But Dom hadn't needed to hear the words to know what Vic meant. If J.J. died, there would be no place on earth for those responsible to hide.
But J.J. was not going to die. Dr. Esteban had told them that the bullet had entered her right side and his guess was that it was lodged in the lower rib cage.
"I don't believe the bullet hit any vital organs," Juan had told Miguel. "But we won't know the extent of the damage until we operate. Much depends upon the type of bullet that was used."
At seventeen minutes past eleven, Dr. Esteban, wearing green surgery scrubs, appeared in the waiting-room doorway. A hushed silence fell over the room. Miguel paused in his relentless pacing, looked at Juan and froze to the spot.
Juan walked toward Miguel and when he was within a couple of feet, he paused and said, "She came through surgery quite well. We removed the bullet. There was no injury to any vital organs. She is resting comfortably in recovery and we will move her to intensive care shortly."
"She will live?" Miguel asked.
"Yes," Juan replied. "Barring any complications, she should recover fully in a few weeks and she should be able to travel in four or five days."
"I want to see her," Miguel said.
"She won't know you are there. She hasn't come out from under the anesthesia yet and when she does, we will keep her heavily sedated for the next eight to twelve hours."
"She will know I am there," Miguel said.
"It is highly irregular." Juan told him. "Family is usually permitted only brief visits with a patient in the intensive care."
"Make arrangements for me to stay with her."
Juan sighed heavily, then nodded before patting Miguel on the shoulder. "Stay here. I will send someone for you very soon."
When Dr. Esteban left without saying a word to anyone else, and apparently no one was brave enough to face Miguel, Dom made the first move. He walked over to Miguel and paused at his side where he still stood in the middle of the room.
"When she comes to, don't start babbling a lot of nonsense about this being your fault," Dom said in English. "That's not what she'll want to hear."
Miguel didn't reply.
Dom lowered his voice. "The way she'll see it is that she was doing her job. Her first instinct was to protect you."
"Yes, I know." Still Miguel did not look at Dom
"When you're thinking a little more rationally, we'll talk. Until then keep one thing in mind—you might not have been the target."
Miguel snapped his head around and glared at Dom.
* * *
When J.J. awoke, groggy and confused, she glanced around the room and realized she was in the hospital. Then she saw Miguel, sitting at her bedside, his head bowed, his eyes closed. Was he sleeping?
What happened? her dazed mind asked. Then slowly, bit by bit, she recalled the events of last evening. The crowds. The cheers. Miguel and she walking toward Dom's rental car. Dom knocking them off their feet. Her instincts taking over as she sought to shield Miguel with her own body.
Had that happened only this past evening? Just how long had she been in the hospital? She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but she couldn't manage to make a sound other than a gurgling gasp.
Miguel's eyelids flew open instantly and he came up out of his chair and hovered over her. "Jennifer? Querida?"
She tried to smile at him, but she wasn't sure whether she did or not. Then she tried to lift her hand, but couldn't do it. What was wrong with her? Why was she so weak?
Miguel grasped her hand tenderly and lifted it to hold over his heart. "Don't try to talk. Just rest, querida."
She moaned, wanting desperately to communicate with him.
"Are you in pain?" he asked, his voice edged with near panic.
She managed to shake her head. She was uncomfortable, but not really in pain. I must be drugged, she thought. Doped up on some heavy-duty pain killers.
She tried to speak again and this time managed to say one word. "Miguel."
"Yes, I'm here." He kissed her hand, then placed it down by her side and leaned over to kiss her forehead.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Do you not remember?"
"Some." Then she recalled the searing pain hitting her in the side. "Was I shot?"
"Yes, you … you were shot."
"Am I going to be all right?"
He nodded. Tears pooled in his eyes.
"Is everyone else all right? You? Dom?"
"No one else was harmed. Only you." Frowning as if he were in immeasurable pain, Miguel momentarily closed his eyes.
"I guess I can't leave Mocorito now, can I?"
Caressing her face and looking at her with concern, he said, "You should never have come here in the first place. If I had known… I would die before I would put your life in danger."
"I know that." She felt herself fading, as if this brief conversation had sapped all her strength
"We have talked too much already," Miguel said. "You must rest. No more talk."
"Stay with me."
"I won't leave you. I promise."
She sighed, then closed her eyes. "I love you."
The last thing she heard before she fell asleep was Miguel saying in an anguished voice, "Querida … querida."
* * *
Miguel spent forty-eight hours in the hospital, sleeping very little, eating only when Ramona came with food from home and threatened him with bodily harm if he did not eat. When Jennifer began staying awake for long periods of time, after that first night and day, she'd told him to go home and shower and shave, but he had refused. Then this morning, when a stranger arrived at the hospital and Dom Shea had brought the man in to see J.J., she had told Dom to take Miguel home.
"This is Geoff Monday," Dom had introduced the burly Brit, a rugged blond with bulging muscles and a friendly grin. "He will stay here and guard J.J. while you and I go back to your house."
Miguel had not wanted to leave, but J.J. had insisted, so, to please her, he acquiesced, promising to return in a few hours.
No sooner had he and Dom exited the hospital than a horde of reporters swarmed down on them. Behind the reporters, countless people carrying signs and shouting for justice crammed the parking lot and the street.
"What's going on?" Miguel asked.
"It started yesterday," Dom said. "These are your people, Ramirez. The citizens of Nava, up in arms over the second attempt on your life. They blame the Federalists and some have out-and-out accused President Padilla of plotting your death."
"Why did no one tell me what was happening? We cannot have rioting in the streets."
"Emilio and Roberto wanted to tell you, but I warned them that you had enough to deal with and that you'd find out soon enough. Besides, I don't think there's much you can do about it. You can hardly tell these people that they're wrong, that their president is innocent."
"I am surprised that Padilla hasn't sent out army troops to suppress the protests. Miguel stood on the sidewalk, Dom at his side, while the hospital security just barely managed to keep the reporters at bay.
"So far,
these protests have been peaceful," Dom said. "But I doubt they'll stay that way. I think you'll have to make a statement to the press right now. If nothing else tell them your fiancée is recovering nicely, that the police have not caught the shooter and you will have more to say later today."
"Yes, you are right about what I must do, what I must say. And later, when I have had time to think, I must come up with a way to defuse this ticking time bomb."
Miguel then spoke to the reporters, making the brief statement that Dom had outlined for him.
"Okay, now that you've temporarily taken care of that problem, let's get out of here," Dom told him.
"How do we do that?"
As if on cue, the roar of a big black Hummer alerted the crowd to get out of the way or be plowed down in the monster vehicle's path.
"What—?" The one questioning word was all Miguel said before Dom grabbed his arm and, shoving through the reporters, raced with him to the Hummer.
Once safe inside, Dom said, "Vic Noble sent some of his friends to pick us up."
* * *
J.J. awoke later that afternoon, feeling more human than she'd felt since the shooting. She figured Juan Esteban had lowered the dosage of her pain medication, which had helped her not only to stay awake, but also to be at least partially alert. She hated that woozy, drugged feeling, that sense of not being fully in control of her mind or body.
Geoff Monday had been in and out of her room all day. Every time a nurse came in for whatever reason, they had asked him to step outside. She had been bathed, fed, prodded and poked. Although she knew the nurses checked her vital signs only at regular intervals, she felt as if they were doing it every hour on the hour. How on earth did anyone get any rest while they were in the hospital?
When a pair of nurses shooed Geoff out, he smiled, shrugged and left willingly. But when they wheeled her hospital bed out into the hall, he stopped them immediately. They explained in rapid Spanish that they were taking J.J. down for some X-rays.
"My Spanish is a little rusty," Geoff admitted as he kept his big, meaty hand planted on the foot of J.J.'s bed, effectively blocking the path. "Did they say something about some X-rays?"
"They're taking me downstairs for some X-rays," J.J. told him. "I'm not sure why, but I suppose it's simply hospital procedure. Apparently, Juan Esteban issued the order."
"I'll ride down in the elevator with you," Geoff said.
"I'll tell them that my friend will be going with us." She then turned to the two nurses and spoke to them in Spanish.
They both nodded and smiled, so Geoff moved out of the way and followed them to the service elevator. With one nurse at the head of her bed and the other at the foot, they maneuvered the bed into the elevator, then one of the nurses hopped out of the elevator in front of Geoff while the other one hit the down button.
"What's going on?" J.J. demanded half a second before the nurse covered her face with a foul-smelling rag.
* * *
Dom received a frantic call on his cell phone from Geoff Monday, who referred to himself by every conceivable name in the book for allowing J.J. to be snapped up right under his nose. Almost simultaneously, Miguel's cell phone rang.
"Answer it!" Dom shouted. "J.J.'s been kidnapped."
* * *
Chapter 16
« ^ »
Miguel's heart stopped for a moment, a part of him dying on the spot. That brief hesitation gained him another shout from Domingo Shea.
"Answer the goddamn phone."
With robotic movements, Miguel removed his cell phone from his belt clip, flipped it open and placed it to his ear. "Yes, this is Miguel Ramirez."
"Are you missing a wounded fiancée?" the obviously disguised voice asked.
"Where is she? What have you done with her?"
Dom clamped his hand down on Miguel's shoulder and gave him a look that told him not to panic, to stay calm.
Laughter. He heard the person on the other end of the phone laughing. When he found this person, he would rip out his heart.
"She is well. For now," the voice said. "Whether she lives or dies depends on you."
"What do you want?" Miguel asked, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.
"We want you to make another appearance on television. Call your friend Mario Lamas and arrange for another national broadcast."
"I can do that," Miguel said. "What am I supposed to announce?" lie knew, but he had to hear the words said aloud, the demand made.
"If you wish to save Señorita Blair's life, you will withdraw from the presidential race. Make up any reason you choose to tell the citizens of Mocorito. If you do not do as we request, your American fiancée—" the man chuckled "—will die and her blood will be on your hands."
"I understand."
"You have until five o'clock today to speak to the people of Mocorito."
"And if I do as you request, you will release Jennifer unharmed?"
"Yes, of course."
The line went suddenly dead. Miguel gripped the phone with white-knuckled rage. He turned to Dom Shea. "They say they will kill her, if I don't—" He looked at his cell phone. "I have to call Mario Lamas and make arrangements for a few moments of air time."
"Tell me what the hell he said to you."
Miguel shook his head. "It does not matter. I know what I must do."
Dom grabbed Miguel's shoulders and shook him. The two men faced off, like two warriors preparing for hand-to-hand combat. "Don't try to handle this alone. Don't go all power-hungry on me. For God's sake, it's J.J.'s life that's at stake here."
Bristling, every muscle in his body taut, Miguel said," Do you think I do not know what is at stake?"
"Yeah, sure you do. Just fill me in," Dom told him. "You're not going to play God where J.J. is concerned. You're not making any decisions on your own. Do you understand?"
"They will kill her if I do not withdraw from the presidential race. There, I've said it. Does that change anything? No, it does not." He shrugged off Dom's hold and lifted his cell phone. "I must contact Mario and—"
Dom grabbed Miguel's wrist, effectively stopping him from making the call. "Hold on."
"I have only until five o'clock." Miguel glanced at his wristwatch. "It is now two-thirty."
"What proof did they give you that they have J.J.?"
"She is missing, is she not? Was she not kidnapped from the hospital, despite one of your Dundee agents being there to protect her?"
"There's no reason for you to go off half-cocked. You need to slow down and think. What assurance did they give that, if they actually have J.J., they will release her unharmed when you publicly announce your withdrawal from the race?"
An overpowering sense of total deflation hit Miguel, as if all the wind had been knocked out of him. "They gave me no proof that they have her and I have only one man's word that she will be released unharmed if I do as they say."
Dom squeezed Miguel's wrist, then released him. "Call Mario and ask for air time at four-fifty. Tell him to make some public service announcements, starting immediately, that Miguel Ramirez will again speak to the people of Mocorito. At four-fifty this afternoon. That will buy us some time."
"What can we do in two hours and fifteen minutes?"
"We can turn this city upside down and right side out and if we're lucky we'll find her. If not, then you'll go on TV."
* * *
J.J. came to in a darkened room, the smell of fish and seawater strong. If she had to venture a guess as to where her kidnappers had taken her, she'd say it was somewhere near the waterfront. And since she seriously doubted that they were keeping her in any of the luxurious condos and cottages with ocean views in Nava, that probably meant she was in Colima. Like Ebano, Colima was little more than a suburb of Nava, but much less upscale than Ebano.
J.J.'s side ached something awful, the pain bearable, but for how long? She'd been kept on painkillers for days now, but she didn't know how long it had been since her last injection because she had no
idea what time it was. Dim light came through the row of small, high windows near the top of the twenty-foot wall. That meant it wasn't nighttime yet.
When she tried to move, she realized her wrists were tied to the wooden arm rests on either side of the chair in which she sat. And her ankles were bound together.
While she was still trying to get her bearings and figure out what, if anything, she could do, a door on the far side of the room swung open, ushering in a bit more light which outlined the tall, menacing figure standing in the doorway.
"Good afternoon, Señorita Blair," the familiar voice said to her in Spanish.
When he walked into the room and came closer, close enough for her to see his face, she looked him right in the eye and said, "So it is you who are the traitor."
* * *
Diego went to the palace when Hector summoned him, and he sat there with the president and the secretary of state while Hector explained to Diego that some loyal Federalists had whisked Señorita Blair from her hospital room.
"She is being held now—quite safe you understand—in Colima, at the old abandoned Cristobal canning plant on the waterfront." Hector had smirked, thinking he was placating Diego by sharing every tidbit of information with him. "Since the assassination attempt several evenings ago went awry, our supporters were forced to improvise."
"If Ramirez withdraws his candidacy, you will free Señorita Blair?" Diego asked, doing his best to not appear at all concerned.
"Certainly. Of course."
Diego knew the man was lying to him. Lying now as he had been doing for the past year. He had flattered Diego, praised him and used his hatred for his half-brother to bring out the very worst in him. The dark, demonic side that lived deep inside every man.
"I know you have been concerned, my friend, about recent events." Hector Padilla looked remorseful, as if he truly regretted the horrible things that had been happening. "I, more than anyone, long for peace. But often the price of peace is the lives of innocent people. You understand, Diego, a man of your intelligence."
RAMIREZ'S WOMAN Page 20
