“Well, what lit a fire in your belly, Agent Blair?” Will scrutinized J.J. closely as she walked over to the buffet table and poured herself a cup of coffee.
“You have no right to speak to Miguel the way you did,” J.J. told the CIA agent. “This is his country and the people whose lives are at risk are his people. And it his decision and his alone whether to withdraw from the presidential race.”
A moment of complete, stunned silence followed J.J.’s declaration. In that moment, Miguel sensed a deep emotional bond with Jennifer Blair, something unlike anything he had ever experienced with another person. After knowing him less than forty-eight hours, she understood who he was and what he felt.
In his peripheral vision, Miguel caught a questioning glance that Dom shot J.J., as if he were silently asking her what had brought about her staunch defense of a man neither of them really knew. But that was where Domingo Shea was wrong. He might not know Miguel, but J.J. did. He did not understand how it was possible for someone who had met him only the night before last to see inside his heart and mind so easily.
“Sorry.” Pierce’s one-word apology broke the awkward silence. “I’m used to dealing with jerks who respond better when they’re on the defensive. But if you decide to continue with your candidacy, you will have our full backing and if necessary we can bring in more Dundee agents.”
“To do what?” Dom asked. “It would take a small army to protect everyone who supports Ramirez.”
“I was thinking more in terms of protecting those closest to him. His family and best friends,” Pierce said.
“Before we start making plans on Miguel’s behalf, perhaps we should find out what he intends to do.” J.J. looked at Miguel, a softness in her gaze that told him she remembered those sweet, passionate moments early this morning.
“I will speak with Emilio and Dolores, with Roberto and Juan and Aunt Josephina, as well as the servants, especially Ramona and Carlos, who have been with me for many years.” Miguel would not continue his candidacy unless those dearest to him were willing to risk their lives for the Nationalist cause.
“If they tell you that they do not want you to give in to threats, even threats against them, then you won’t quit, is that right?” Pierce asked.
Miguel thought about Dolores, a very pregnant Dolores. How could he ask her to risk not only her life, but the life of her unborn child?
J.J. reached out and laid her hand over Miguel’s where it rested on the table. “You should send Dolores away from Nava, perhaps even out of the country, until after the election. The Dundee agency can provide her with a personal bodyguard.”
Miguel turned his hand over and clasped J.J.’s small, delicate hand in his. It was as if she had read his mind, as if she knew his thoughts. She understood that his first concern was for his cousin, who was like a sister to him.
“You do realize that since everyone in Mocorito believes you to be my fiancée, you, too, could be in grave danger? Perhaps in more danger than Dolores.”
“That may be true, but I am also a professional, a highly trained bodyguard,” J.J. told him. “I know how to take care of myself, as well as others.”
Only when Dom Shea cleared his throat did Miguel realize that he and J.J. had been sitting there holding hands, staring into each other’s eyes and speaking to each other as if they were alone.
J.J. eased her hand from his grasp a couple of seconds before Ramona walked into the dining room carrying a silver tray. She took one look at J.J. and paused, then came straight to her, set the tray in front of her and removed the linen cloth covering the food.
“Señor Ramirez asked me to prepare a breakfast tray for you, señorita,” Ramona told her. “He intended to bring it upstairs to you himself.” The housekeeper smiled warmly at J.J.
“Thank you, Ramona,” J.J. said in Spanish. “Miguel is very thoughtful, is he not?”
“Oh, yes, señorita, he is the most thoughtful man I know.” Ramona blushed. “He will be a good husband.”
Yes, he will. Had that been only an instant thought or a heartfelt knowledge? J.J. asked herself. Here she was once again buying into the fiancée fantasy, something she had to stop doing.
“Ramona, will you ask all the servants to come into my study in half an hour?” Miguel asked the housekeeper. “I need to discuss something with all of you.”
“Do you want Carlos, too? And Pedro, the gardener?”
“Yes, everyone. Please.”
Ramona scurried to do his bidding.
Miguel shoved back his chair and stood. “If you will excuse me, I wish to move forward with my plan to speak to the servants and my family and close friends. I intend to do that this morning. I am going to telephone Roberto and Emilio and Juan right now.”
“You haven’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday,” J.J. reminded him. “Can’t the calls wait until you’ve had breakfast?”
Will rose from his seat. “I should be going. I’ll be in touch soon.” He looked at Dom. “Contact me when a decision has been made and we’ll proceed from there.”
Dom stood. “Let me walk you out.”
Once Dom and Will left the dining room, Miguel turned to J.J. “I will eat if you will eat. Then we will go into my den and I will telephone my family and friends. I cannot make this decision alone, as you so wisely pointed out to me last night.”
“I will not be sent away!” Dolores Lopez planted her hands on her hips and glared back and forth from her husband to her cousin.
“Querida, you must go,” Emilio told her. “Miguel cannot continue in his bid for the presidency unless you cooperate with us. He will do nothing to endanger your life and the life of our child.” Emilio tenderly patted his wife’s protruding belly.
“I agree,” Roberto added. “Once Padilla’s people realize their scare tactics are not working, they could very easily target those of us closest to Miguel.”
“If that is true, then how can I leave you behind, Emilio?” She looked pleadingly at her husband. “And you Miguel?”
“You will do what you know you must,” J.J. said, hoping she could persuade Dolores to do the sensible thing.
“Are you leaving, also, Jennifer?” Dolores asked. “No, you are not. You are staying with your man, not deserting him when he needs you.”
“But I am not pregnant,” J.J. said. “By staying, I am not risking the life of my child.”
Dolores frowned, but she did not continue to argue. She sat there, on the sofa in the living room, and thought for several minutes before replying. “I will leave Nava, but I do not want to leave Mocorito. Send me, with the bodyguard you wish to hire, to Buenaventura. And no one except Emilio will know exactly where in Buenaventura I am. Will that be acceptable?”
A collective sigh of relief reverberated throughout the room.
By early afternoon the decision had been made that Miguel would not withdraw from the presidential race. And plans had been made to send Dolores to the northern seacoast village of Buenaventura with a Dundee bodyguard. J.J. wondered if, when Sawyer McNamara had told Lucie Evans he was sending her to Mocorito to guard Miguel’s cousin, she had pointed out to him that she spoke only “tourist” Spanish. If she had, knowing Sawyer, he’d probably sent along a Learn Spanish Overnight CD and companion workbook on the flight with her from Atlanta to Caracas.
Chuckling softly to herself, J.J. didn’t hear the door to the bedroom suite open. When she sensed someone in the room with her, she whirled around, prepared to defend herself. Then she saw Miguel and immediately relaxed.
“You were so deep in thought that you did not hear me, did you?” he asked.