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“You genuinely care about people. Not just your family and friends, but everyone in Mocorito. The things you say come from your heart. They’re not just rhetoric, not just campaign psychobabble.”
“Psychobabble?”
“Another Americanism,” she told him.
“Ah.”
“You didn’t like me when Dom and I first arrived. Were you wrong about me?”
“Partially.”
She laughed.
“You are every bit the strong, independent woman I believed you to be, but you are not a man-hater. There is a softer, very feminine side to you.” He lifted his hand to her face and cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “For the right man, you would make the perfect wife.”
J.J.’s heartbeat accelerated. Not again. Don’t overreact to a simple compliment. He wasn’t implying that he is Mr. Right.
“Do you enjoy the ballet?” Miguel asked.
“Huh?” Slightly startled when he changed the subject so quickly, she shook her head.
“Juan and Aunt Josephina have asked us to join them tonight at the ballet and for dinner afterward. I accepted on our behalf. That meets with your approval?”
“As your fiancée, yes, that meets with my approval,” J.J. said. “However, as your bodyguard, I have to tell you that from now on, do not make any plans without checking with me first.”
The corners of Miguel’s sensuous mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. “That man—your future husband—he will have his hands filled keeping you in line.”
J.J. laughed. “He will have his hands full keeping me in line,” she corrected him.
His gaze traveled over her intimately, pausing on her breasts. “Yes, he will have his hands full.”
An undeniable current of awareness passed between them, the sexual tension vibrating like a live wire.
J.J. jumped up off the chaise. “I need to find something appropriate to wear to the ballet.”
“An evening gown,” Miguel told her. “And be sure to wear the diamond necklace and earrings.”
“I have only two evening gowns,” J.J. said. “One is purple and one is teal. Would you like to choose which one I should wear?”
“Wear the purple one.”
“Are you sure? Don’t you want to see the gowns?”
“Teal is a dark bluish green, yes?”
“Yes.”
“It is not the color for you. Wear the purple one. It will complement your beautiful violet eyes and flawless skin.” When she just stood there smiling at him like an idiot, he said, “I should give you some privacy while you bathe and prepare for this evening.”
When he headed toward the door, she called, “Miguel?”
“Yes?”
“Who else knows—other than Juan and his aunt—that we will be attending the ballet tonight?”
“Who else? Emilio, Roberto, Ramona and of course, Carlos. Why do you ask?” He shook his head. “No, do not think it. Not one of them would betray me. They are loyal to me and to the Nationalist Party.”
“Then nothing bad should happen tonight, should it? Your enemies don’t know where you will be this evening, therefore they can hardly plan a strike of some kind against you.”
“I will not live my life in fear. And I will not distrust people who have always been loyal to me.”
Miguel did not sound entirely certain in his convictions.
Chapter 10
Miguel had tried his best for many years to appreciate the ballet, but tonight was no different from the other times he had pretended to enjoy himself. Perhaps his lack of appreciation for both ballet and opera came from having been reared as a peasant, growing up with native music and dance, both vibrantly alive to him in a way that the more refined arts were not. He preferred a good soccer game or a bullfight or the racetrack in Colima, events he had attended as a boy with his grandfather, cousins and neighbors. He liked guitar music and songs sung in Spanish, with gusto and heart.
Just from looking at Jennifer, he could not tell if she was as bored as he and if she, too, wished they were somewhere else. Preferably alone together. Her placid expression gave away nothing, but she seemed to be totally absorbed in the performance.
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.”
