Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love: Ramirez's Woman / Her Royal Bodyguard / Protecting the Princess

With Juan and Aunt Josephina, there was no doubt. Both loved the ballet and the opera and often invited Miguel to go with them. Usually he came up with a good excuse to decline, but oc casionally he accepted out of love for them. He enjoyed their company, although more so at other functions. And dinner tonight would more than make up for the time he felt was wasted at the ballet. Both Juan and his aunt were delightful dinner companions and always chose excellent restaurants. One of their favorites—where they would dine tonight—was Maria Bonita, where the colorful atmosphere and live music was almost more delectable than the delicious, authentic Mocoritian food.

If he could endure a few more minutes of this torture, they could escape to Miguel’s waiting limousine and go directly to Maria Bonita. Good wine, good food and good friends. And a beautiful woman at his side. What more could a man ask for and not be considered selfish and ungrateful?

He glanced at his fiancée. No, not his fiancée, only the woman masquerading as his fiancée. Why was it, he wondered, that it was so easy to think of Jennifer as his betrothed? It was not as if she were perfectly suited for the job of First Lady or a perfect match for him. Indeed they were too much alike, both forceful and aggressive. And passionate about the things that mattered to them. He had always pictured himself married to a gentle, demure woman who looked to him for guidance in everything, from her choice in clothes to the way in which they would rear their children. Although capable of playing the part, Jennifer was not that woman.

His gaze traveled over her appreciatively. Her beauty took his breath away. Tonight she out-dazzled every woman there. The bodice of her purple silk gown crisscrossed over her breasts and hugged her tiny waist, then flowed downward, caressing her hips and swaying at her ankles as she walked.The diamonds he had given her sparkled at her ears and neck, their beauty mere accents to hers.

He reached over and grasped her hand resting in her lap. She entwined her fingers with his, but didn’t look his way. Leaning toward her, he brought his mouth to her ear and whispered, “I hate the ballet.”

She smiled, then moved her head, inadvertently brushing her cheek against his lips. A jolt of sexual energy shot through him. Perhaps she had intended to arouse him? The little tease. She would flirt with him in a place where he could do little about it. But later…ah, yes, later.

They held hands until the end of the performance, then she pulled free and applauded along with the rest of the audience. Miguel clapped half-heartedly and smiled when the house lights came up and Aunt Josephina, who sat to his right, patted him on the arm and asked how he’d enjoyed the performance.

“Very much,” he lied. “As always.”

Her broad grin told him that on some occasions, it was not a sin to lie. Especially when the lie spared a kind old woman’s feelings.

As the foursome made their way out of the Nava Civic Center, Miguel spoke to numerous people, but did his best to avoid being waylaid by anyone who would demand more than a moment of his time. This evening was not about politics; it was about relaxation and camaraderie with friends.

Once outside, while they waited for their limousine—only one in a long line of limos—Jennifer pulled the purple shawl that matched her gown up and around her shoulders.

“Are you cold?” Miguel put his arm around her shoulders and brought her up against him.

“No, not really. But the wind is a bit chilly.”

“We should not have to wait long. I believe our car is fourth in line.”

“Do you really hate the ballet?” she asked in a hushed whisper as she leaned her head closer.

He glanced over at Aunt Josephina, who was chattering away with the couple behind them. And although Juan appeared to be listening to the conversation, Miguel knew his friend’s mind had wandered off somewhere. He’d seen that look in Juan’s eyes before and it usually meant he was thinking of a woman.

“Yes,” Miguel admitted. “I fear that I have very plebeian tastes in entertainment. I prefer soccer games and bullfights and horse races. And watching movies. I especially like the old American gangster movies with Edward G. Robinson and James Cagney.”

“I’m not surprised that you like sports, even something as bloody as a bullfight, but I never pegged you for an old-movie buff. I used to watch those old gangster movies with my dad when I was a little girl.”

The smile vanished from her face, replaced by a wistful, bittersweet expression. Why did thinking of her father make her sad? he wondered. “Your father is still alive, is he not?”

Her smile returned, but it was a sarcastic smirk. “Oh, yes, General Rudd Blair is very much alive and quite well. His life couldn’t be better. He recently remarried, for the second time since his divorce from my mother.And to a woman only five years older than I am. Or at least that’s what I hear. But what makes his life truly worth living is the fact that my eighteen-year-old half-brother has just graduated from military school and even though I don’t know for sure, my bet is that he’s already been accepted at West Point.”

“You do not have a close relationship with your father now?”

“Close? No, not for years and years.” Probably without even realizing it, she changed from Spanish to English when she said, “Well, actually, we were probably never close, except in my mind.”

“Was this rift between the two of you your choice or his?” Miguel asked, in English, then thought perhaps he should not probe deeper into a subject that might be painful for her.

“I’d say it was mutual. He never did have much use for me because I was just a girl. But I wised up. I finally realized that no matter what I did—even joining the army straight out of college—I would never be the one thing he wanted most.”

Miguel kept silent, having no need to ask what her father had wanted most. What a foolish man this General Rudd Blair must be to not appreciate having a daughter such as Jennifer.

“He had a son and that’s all he ever wanted. As far as he was concerned, my mother and I were simply mistakes in his past.”

“Idiota!”

“Yes, you’re right, he is an idiot.” Jennifer laughed, the sound genuine.

Miguel loved her laughter. He would very much like to fill her life with such joy that she would laugh often and live well. She needed the right man to show her what a priceless treasure she was, a man capable of loving his daughters as much as his sons and taking as much pride in them, also.

“Is that your car, Miguel?” Aunt Josephina asked.

“Yes, I believe it is,” he replied. “Are we all ready for a fabulous meal at Maria Bonita?”

“You will simply adore Maria Bonita,” Juan told Jennifer. “It is one of my favorite restaurants, perhaps my very favorite.”

Carlos pulled the limo to the curb, hopped out and opened the back door. After everyone else was safely inside and out of earshot, Miguel pulled Carlos aside and asked, “You did not leave the car unattended, did you? Not even for a few minutes?”

“No, Señor Ramirez, I have stayed with the car every moment.”

“When we arrive at Maria Bonita, I will stay with the car while you take a break, if you would like.”

“Thank you. All I require is a few moments, sir.”

“You understand why I—”

“Yes, yes. Someone could tamper with the car—the engine, the gas tank or even place a bomb. I understand and I stay vigilant at all times.”

The wharfs along the coast of Colima were dotted with numerous bars. Seedy, dangerous hellholes from the looks of them. What better place to meet an agent working undercover without anyone recognizing either of you or giving a damn who you were. The minute Dom entered Pepe’s, loud music and even louder customer clatter engulfed him. As he moved deeper into this filthy den of iniquity, searching for Vic Noble, the stench of body odor and the haze of cigarette and cigar smoke assailed him. After searching for several minutes, he spotted Vic at a back corner table, a scantily clad señorita standing at his side, rubbing his shoulder and giving him a glimpse of her ample breasts as she leaned over him.

“Mind if I join you?” Dom asked in English.

Vic shoved the bosomy woman aside and gestured to the wooden chair across the table from him. The dismissed lady grumbled loudly in Spanish, most of her words a combination of curses, as she walked away to seek other prey.

Dom sat. He eyed the half-filled shot glass in front of Vic. “Tequila?”

“Want one?”

“Nope.”

“Pierce is at the bar now, getting a bottle for the three of us.”

“Will Pierce is sitting in on this meeting?”

Vic nodded. “Our government is going to want to know what I found out.”

“And what would that be?”

“Wait for Pierce,” Vic said. “But I’ll tell you right now that once the big boys in D.C. hear about this, they will move heaven and earth to get Ramirez elected.”

Pierce made his way through a bevy of client-seeking prostitutes and a couple of staggering drunks, barely managing to keep hold of the bottle of tequila and the two shot glasses he held.

When he reached their table, he slammed the bottle and glasses down, then yanked out a chair beside Vic, turned it backward and straddled the seat with his long legs. “Lovely place you chose for our meeting.”

“Thanks,” Vic said. “I thought the two of you would appreciate the decor and the atmosphere.”

“So, what’s this important information you’ve unearthed?” Dom asked.

Pierce removed the screw-on cap from the cheap tequila and poured the liquor into the two empty shot glasses, then added enough to Vic’s glass to fill it.

Vic leaned over the table and said in a low voice. “If the current president is reelected, he and his people have big plans for Mocorito.”

“What sort of big plans?” Pierce asked.

“The kind that involves taking over the military and local law-enforcement agencies nationwide.”

“That sounds like the current el presidente has plans for a dictatorship instead of a democracy.” Dom rested his elbows on the table as he cupped his fingers together.

“Bingo. Give the man a cigar.” Vic turned to Pierce. “Padilla has some rich and powerful supporters, but most of them aren’t aware of his plans to return the country to a dictatorship. One of his most loyal followers, a man who is using his money and influence to help Padilla, is Diego Fernandez, Ramirez’s half-brother.”

“That’s not a surprise,” Pierce said.

“Fernandez is being kept in the dark about the president’s plans for the future. He’s being easily manipulated because his hatred for Ramirez has blinded him to the truth.”

“Are you defending Fernandez?” Dom asked.

“Nope. Not me. Just stating facts. If Fernandez could be convinced that he’s being played for a fool, then he might turn against Padilla.”

“And just who is going to convince him?” Pierce scanned the bar, especially the tables nearest them.

“I’d say nobody here speaks enough English to understand anything we’ve said,” Vic told them. “Besides, the music is so damn loud, I can barely hear myself think.”

“What if we could place this information in the hands of Fernandez’s sister, Seina?” Dom suggested. “If we were one hundred percent sure we can trust Dr. Esteban, he could be given the information and we could ask him to feed it to his lady love.”

“Do we trust Esteban without reservations?” Vic looked at Pierce.

“Probably not. I’m not sure it would be wise to trust Esteban or Lopez or Aznar. We are almost certain that one of those three could be a traitor.”

“Almost certain? Could be?” Vic’s brow furrowed. “I haven’t dug up any dirt on Esteban, at least so far. His only sin seems to be having clandestine meetings with Seina Fernandez.”

“Then you think we should trust him with the information and ask him to pass it along to SeĊorita Fernandez?” Pierce glowered at Vic.

“I think Dom should talk it over with Ramirez,” Vic said, “and if he says do it, then we do it.”

“Ramirez is too close to Esteban to be able to—”

Dom interrupted Pierce in mid sentence. “It’s Ramirez’s frigging country, not yours or mine. I think he has more right than you do to make decisions that will affect not only him personally, but his fellow countrymen.”

Vic coughed, barely suppressing a grin.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Pierce said. “Sometimes I just need to be reminded that I’m not always right.”

The tension between Pierce and Dom subsided. The three men lifted their shot glasses and each took a hefty swig of the tequila.

Maria Bonita reminded J.J. of an upscale Mocoritian home, lavished with handmade tiles and what appeared to be miles of decorative wrought-iron. A mariachi band played traditional music and a dance floor was available. Not only did the members of the band dress in native costumes, but so did the waiters and waitresses. J.J. decided within minutes after their arrival that the food at this restaurant could not possibly surpass the incredible ambience.

Apparently Miguel was well-known here because the staff kowtowed to him as if he were already the president. Other customers waylaid him as their party passed by, everyone wanting to speak to him, shake his hand, kiss his cheek and wish him well. And as his fiancée, the attention spread to her.

Overwhelmed by the enthusiastic adoration showered on them, J.J. didn’t realize that the maître d’ was escorting them through the building, which was, in fact, an eighteenth-century hacienda, and out onto an enclosed patio. Their table for four was one of six tables placed around a central fountain.

“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.

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