nodded. “I am working on acquiring a copy of her itinerary, but as you know, information such as that does not come cheap.”
“Do not squabble over money. Pay whatever is necessary.”
“Yes, of course.”
“She will be in Ameca for two weeks, yes? That has not changed, has it?”
“No, not as far as I know. Her plans remain unchanged. I have heard that President Ortega plans to have a ball in her honor while she is here. And there is speculation that she may meet with Naldo Salazar, as well as Tomas Castillo.”
“Good. Good. This means she will not remain in seclusion at Felipe Delgado’s estate. At some point during her stay here in Ameca, she will become accessible to us. It’s only a matter of choosing the right moment.”
“The only way to do that is by keeping her under surveillance.”
“Do not try to tell me how to do my job,” Arturo said, a tinge of anger in his harsh voice. Josue knew better than to upset his friend. Where he, Josue, was a businessman, a lawyer, merely a deal broker who was smart enough to keep his own hands clean, Arturo was a killer. He enjoyed what he did. He was truly a man without a conscience.
“I would never tell you what to do, old friend. I spoke out of turn. Forgive me.”
“You are forgiven.” Arturo rose to his feet. “Contact me as soon as you have her itinerary and any other information of importance.”
“Yes, of course.”
Josue stayed for fifteen minutes after Arturo left the church. This time, when he closed his eyes, he prayed in earnest. Despite how lucrative his business association with Arturo was, there were times when he wished he could free himself of their arrangement. He feared that someday, in some way, he might offend his old friend and not be forgiven.
FOUR DAYS INTO her trip to Ameca, Cara attended a gala ball at the presidential palace, an invitation she could not refuse because she was the guest of honor. She knew that for her security team of two, a social engagement such as this one could be a nightmare; but with security already at maximum for the president and other officials, that reduced the responsibility for her bodyguards to a minimum. Keeping an eye on her, the surroundings and anyone with whom she came into contact was essential. Understanding that bodyguards needed to fit in and be inconspicuous, especially at gala events such as this one, Bedell security guards dressed according. Male Bedell guards wore a simple black tuxedo with a plain white shirt. Female agents wore black, unadorned, floor-length gowns and carried their weapon in an evening bag.
Cara had chosen a pale yellow silk sheath with a side leg slit that ended midthigh. Yellow was a color she wore often, because it complemented her red hair and hazel eyes. She wasn’t overly bosomy, but her breasts were full and high, so she could wear gowns such as the one she had on tonight, cut to her waist in the back and draped in folds across her collarbone in front. She had chosen her golden topaz and diamond earrings and matching bracelet and a small bag covered in topaz crystals as her accessories. She wore flats tonight, as she often did because of her nearly six-foot height.
President Ortega was short and stout, with jet-black hair and a pencil-thin mustache. He spoke English with a heavy accent and danced as if he had two left feet. Cara had danced the first dance with the man who insisted she call him Emilio, and not Mr. President, and found him to be rather charming. She guessed his age to be somewhere around fifty, but estimated his wife, the luscious first lady, to be no more than twenty-five. When she had seen her in the receiving line, Cara had mistakenly assumed she was the president’s daughter, but he had introduced her as his wife, Carmela. Later in the evening, Suelita Delgado explained that the president’s first wife had been discarded, along with his two daughters, when the present Mrs. Ortega became pregnant with Emilio’s son, now four years old. Cara had discovered that Suelita was a fount of San Luis gossip. The lady knew everyone and delighted in sharing dirty little secrets and scandalous rumors.
During the past two hours, Cara had met the crème de la crème of Ameca society, the wealthy and powerful. Just as she finished a second glass of excellent champagne and had downed two shrimp-and-crab canapés, Emilio approached her, but not alone. His companion was a tall, elegant gentleman in his early forties. He was rather handsome in a sleek, slick, dark and dangerous sort of way. Clean-shaven, his black hair salon-styled and his bronze skin natural and not the result of a tan, he had rich Latin Lover written all over him.
“Senorita Bedell,” the president said. “May I introduce my good friend, Tomas Castillo.”
Senor Castillo bowed curtly, then reached out, took her hand and kissed it before she could say “pleased to meet you.”
“Senorita, I am honored,” Castillo said, his accent discernable but light. “How is it possible that someone so young and beautiful can command all of Bedell, Inc.?”
She realized he’d meant his comment to be a compliment. First of all, she might be young, but she was not nor had she ever been beautiful. Passably attractive thanks to the trappings of great wealth, but short of plastic surgery on her face and body, beauty was unobtainable for a large-boned, wide-hipped, freckle-faced redhead whose greatest asset was her brains. But she was willing, up to a point, to play along with Mr. Smooth and pretend she’d bought his line of bull.
“Why, thank you, senor. You’re too kind. And I am in charge of Bedell, Inc. because, as I’m sure you know, I inherited the family business.”
“As did I.” Tomas Castillo smiled, revealing a set of perfect sparkling white teeth.
“Would you honor me with a dance?” he asked, and without giving her a chance to respond, he slipped his arm around her and waltzed her onto the dance floor.
Apparently Senor Castillo was a man accustomed to having his way, especially with the ladies.
“Ah, the rumba. A sensuous dance, is it not? Perfect for us, yes?”
For you, maybe, Cara thought.
If his intention had been to impress her and possibly titillate her, he had achieved the first and failed at the second. His dancing was as smooth as his tongue and by the end of the hot, tempestuous rumba, Cara was thankful she had chosen to wear topaz crystal-encrusted sandals that matched her evening bag. Not the most graceful person in the world, she might not have managed to keep up with Tomas’s passionate dance steps if she’d worn heels.
As far as arousing her, unless you counted being damp with perspiration, a bit out of breath and having a face flushed with warmth as titillation, then he hadn’t accomplished that goal. She supposed if she hadn’t already experienced being infatuated in her past with a suave, sophisticated, egomaniac by the name of Grayson Perkins, she would be more susceptible to Tomas’s undeniable charm. But her taste in men these days ran to the strong, rugged, hard-working type, like a certain Chattanooga police detective.
For the remainder of the evening, the handsome oil tycoon showered attention on Cara, but not once did he mention business. If she hadn’t known better she would have sworn that he was infatuated with her. But despite his expertise as a seducer, she knew that what he wanted was a deal between Castillo, Inc. and Bedell, Inc. If he thought bedding the CEO of Bedell would gain him the upper hand over Delgado Oil, he would make mad, passionate love to Cara whenever she snapped her fingers.
Four hours into the gala, Cara had had more than enough. But when she said good-night to Tomas, he begged her not to go, then begged her to allow him to escort her home.
“I have my own transportation,” she told him, then glanced from Lucie to Jason. “And my own private-duty guards to escort me.”
Tomas grasped her hand, kissed it and looked longingly into her eyes. “Tomorrow night, you must dine with me on my yacht. Or better yet, pack a bag and we’ll take a short cruise.”
Easing her hands from his possessive hold, she smiled warmly. “I’m afraid this trip to Ameca is more for business than pleasure. Instead of dinner tomorrow evening, why don’t we meet for a business