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

“Yes, señor. It is in the newspaper, on the radio and on the television. It is a miracle that you, too, were not taken ill.” She crossed herself. “We must thank the blessed virgin.”

“Yes, we must.” Although he hadn’t eaten a bite since yesterday’s luncheon at the country club, he wasn’t sure he could down a full breakfast, so to start with, he poured himself a cup of strong coffee. He knew it would be strong because that was the way he preferred his coffee and Ramona made sure things were done the way he wanted them done. “Has Señor Shea come down this morning?”

“Yes, he was down earlier, but went out. Carlos offered to drive him, but he took a taxi.”

Miguel nodded. “Hmm…Yes, Dom is a very independent fellow.”

“Will the señorita be joining you for breakfast?”

“No, she is still resting. Perhaps you would be kind enough to prepare a tray for her and I will take it up to her later.”

“Yes, of course.”

Only moments after Ramona disappeared into the kitchen, Miguel heard footsteps in the hallway. When he glanced up, he saw Dom Shea and Will Pierce.

“We came in the back way,” Dom said, in English. “No one saw us except the servants. I told them that Will was an old buddy of mine from the States.”

“Please, sit. Both of you. Have you had breakfast?” Miguel asked as he placed the cup and saucer on the table and pulled out his chair.

“Just coffee for me,” Will said.

Dom poured two cups, added a dollop of cream to his and brought both cups to the table. After handing Will the cup of black coffee, Dom sat down and took a sip from his cup. “J.J. still in bed?”

“Yes, she was still resting when I came down a few minutes ago.”

“I guess we should wait for her before Will gives you the results from the lab tests.”

“I would prefer to know now,” Miguel said.

Dom shrugged. “Sure thing. I’ll relay the info to J.J. and you can fill in your people.”

“My people?”

“Lopez and Aznar. I assume you plan to share the information with them.”

“Yes, of course.”

After Will joined them at the table, Miguel and Dom turned to him.

“The cocktail sauce was doctored with a non-lethal amount of dimethatate.” Will took a sip of coffee. “If ingested in large doses, it’s lethal. There was just enough mixed into the cocktail sauce to cause vomiting and diarrhea in anyone who ate a few teaspoons of the sauce.”

“Apparently the goal was not to kill anyone,” Dom said.

“And nothing was found in any of the other food?” Miguel asked.

“No, only in the cocktail sauce served with the boiled shrimp,” Will said.

“Then whoever poisoned the sauce knew that I would not eat any because it is a well-known fact that I have an aversion to shrimp.” Miguel’s worst fear concerning last night’s near-tragedy had just been confirmed. “I was not the target. At least not the target of the poisoning.”

“Just how many people know you won’t eat shrimp?” Dom asked.

Miguel shrugged. “My family. My closest friends. A few colleagues. Enough people that it would be impossible to track down a traitor, if that is what you are thinking.”

“Hm…Actually what I’m thinking is that you got hit with three warning messages in one day.” Dom shook his head. “They wanted to make their point as quickly as possible, didn’t they?”

“We have to assume that yesterday’s three events were staged to get your attention and that they were just the prelude to bigger and more deadly incidents.”

Will focused directly on Miguel. “You cannot allow them to frighten you into withdrawing from the presidential race.”

“Spoken like a man who does not love my family and friends and loyal supporters as I do. You would be willing to shed innocent blood in order to see me become president.” Miguel glowered at Pierce.

“Are you saying that they’ve already won?” Pierce asked. “A blown tire, a few harmless snakes at a luncheon and a couple of dozen people sick with what everyone assumes was food poisoning and you’re ready to throw in the towel? I thought you were made of strong stuff, Ramirez. I had no idea you’d tuck tail and run at the first sign of trouble.”

Before Miguel could form a reply in his mind, let alone utter a rebuttal, a feminine voice defended him. “Miguel Ramirez is not the kind of man to run from a fight,” J.J. said as she entered the dining room. “But neither is he a man who is willing to risk the lives of others, to run roughshod over his people for his own selfish reasons.”

“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.