or less, whereas with a buffet, the guest list could swell to fifty or more. From the wall-to-wall people she saw when they first entered Anton Casimiro’s spacious penthouse apartment in the heart of Nava, J.J. surmised that there were already a good fifty people in the huge living room/dining room combined. There had been no way she and Dom could check out the apartment beforehand, which they would have done on any normal assignment. And with a crowd this size, they would have used at least two more agents disguised as guests to mix and mingle. Although a part of her mind was immersed in her role of playing Miguel’s fiancée, the protector side of her personality told her to stay alert, to be vigilant and prepared for anything.
Dom came up behind her and spoke quietly into her ear. “You stay with Miguel. I’ll start mingling and look things over. My gut tells me that we’re in for a surprise, and probably not a pleasant one, before the evening ends.”
She nodded and smiled. And kept her hand securely in Miguel’s. She had no intention of letting him out of her sight, not even for a minute. In a crowd this size, it would be easy to become separated. And that’s all an assassin would need—one unguarded moment.
As they entered the lounge, heads turned. Hushed whispers blended with the chatter, laughter and tinkling of wineglasses. Dom eased away from them and made his way practically unobserved into the crowd. Suddenly a hefty, bearded man wearing a flamboyant orange silk shirt burst through the crowd and, with arms outstretched, came zooming toward them. Thankful that she knew what their host looked like, J.J. tried to relax when Anton Casimiro encompassed both Miguel and her in a bear hug. When he pulled back, laughing, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief, Anton sized J.J. up and then grabbed her hand. After kissing her hand, he held it and while looking right at her, spoke to Miguel.
“You lucky devil, you,” Anton said. “Your fiancée is the most delectable creature I have ever seen.” He kissed her hand again, then told her, “If he ever disappoints you in any way, come to me, lovely lady, and I will be very good to you.”
Accepting Anton’s flirting in the good-natured way she was sure he had intended it, J.J. responded in kind. “I will certainly keep your offer in mind, señor.” She cuddled closer to Miguel. “But I know, in my heart, that Miguel will never disappoint me. In any way.” She winked at Anton.
The world-famous tenor laughed boisterously. “Come, come. Everyone is eager to see you. Both of you.”
When Anton led them from the edge of the foyer and into the lounge, the other guests applauded and several called out his name in a resounding cheer.
“You must say a few words,” Anton suggested.
Keeping his arm around J.J.’s waist, Miguel held up his other arm, signaling the guests to end their exuberant welcome. But only after he began speaking did the round of applause and cheering cease.
“Thank you, one and all, for being here tonight.” He gazed lovingly at J.J. “Jennifer and I look forward to speaking personally to everyone. But this is a dinner party, not a political rally. Let’s eat and drink and enjoy one another’s company.”
J.J. saw the woman halfway across the room, her gaze riveted to Miguel. Damn, how had she finagled an invitation? Her name wasn’t on the guest list. Undoubtedly she had persuaded some man—any man—to bring her here tonight as his date. If J.J. thought that Gala Fernandez’s interest in Miguel was only personal, she wouldn’t be as concerned. But all her instincts and training told her that there was more to Señorita Fernandez’s sudden appearances in Miguel’s life than met the eye. Although she’d been giddy and flirtatious this afternoon at the country club, the lady had also seemed slightly nervous. And tonight, as Gala gazed at Miguel, J.J. thought she saw something more than desire in the woman’s expression. But she wasn’t certain if that barely concealed emotion was fear, anger or concern.
When a waiter approached with a tray of champagne flutes, J.J. accepted a glass, as did Miguel. But before either could take the first sip, several people cornered them and immediately gushed and gooed over Miguel. They were true fans, pledging their allegiance to the Nationalist Party and promising their full support for Miguel, not only with their votes, but with their checkbooks.
While Miguel made small talk with his admirers, J.J. stayed right at his side, commenting occasionally when she thought it appropriate, always keeping in mind that she was playing the part of the demure, steadfast helpmate. In fact, while Miguel charmed the guests, she was worrying about the wine, the food and the catering staff. Emilio and Roberto had assured Miguel that the guest list, the caterers and the musicians for Anton’s party had been thoroughly checked out and, to-a-person, no one posed a threat. No one had any ties whatsoever to the Federalists Party.
No one except Gala Hernandez, who had not been on the guest list.
How easy it would be to poison Miguel’s drink or his food. And even though Anton had promised that each musician and caterer would be inspected before entering his apartment, it might be possible for one of the hired help for tonight’s shindig to manage to smuggle in a weapon.
What about the guests themselves? J.J. asked herself as she continued smiling graciously while Miguel shmoozed with his constituents. Gala probably wasn’t the only person here who had finagled her way in, coming along as the date of an invited guest. However, considering that the woman wore a skintight red dress, J.J. doubted there was a concealed weapon on her.
Glancing over the throng of celebrators, J.J. searched for anyone who looked the least bit suspicious.As her gaze surveyed the room, she noticed Dom mixing and mingling, doing just what she was doing—hoping to spot potential trouble. Preventing a disaster of any kind would have been so much easier if the Dundee agency was in charge. Having to placate Miguel’s ego and allow Emilio and Roberto to make decisions they were not trained to make undermined the Dundee agents’ efficiency. Having to do things Miguel’s way made their job ten times more difficult.
J.J. recognized only a few people. Roberto had escorted Señora Fuentes and the two seemed quite chummy where they stood in the corner, sipping champagne and gazing into each other’s eyes. Across the room, seated on one of the three sofas, Josephina Santiago appeared deep in conversation with her nephew, Juan Esteban. Here and there, J.J. saw a vaguely familiar face, a few women she’d met at the country club earlier today and some people from campaign headquarters this morning. Emilio had phoned to tell them he and Dolores would not attend tonight since Dolores was still quite shaken by the snake prank at the club.
For a man who knew his life was in danger, Miguel appeared calm, cool and collected. Was he really not concerned about his own welfare or did he think he was invincible? Perhaps neither. He was a man with a mission that apparently meant more to him than anything else on earth. Even more than his own life?
When Gala Fernandez walked straight toward them, J.J. tensed. She tried to tell herself that the knot in her gut was there because she didn’t trust Gala, that she feared the woman was dangerous. But when Gala smiled at Miguel and placed her hand on his arm, J.J. realized she was jealous. The idea hit her like a bolt from the blue. She did not want this woman—or any other woman—touching Miguel in a familiar way.
This is totally unacceptable, she warned herself. It was only natural to feel protective of a client, but what she felt went way beyond the norm. She felt not only protective, but possessive. The inner primitive female inside her was screaming, Hands off, bitch, he’s my man.
“Good evening, Miguel.” Gala all but purred as she ran her hand down his arm. “I am utterly delighted to see you twice in one day.” She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips.
Oh, get real, J.J. thought. How obvious could a woman be? She’d practically propositioned Miguel—and
