quiet, trying to not disturb her. He knew she had spent restless hours tossing and turning on the chaise lounge, just as he had in the massive king-size bed. He had finally fallen asleep sometime shortly before dawn and rested for a couple of hours. When he’d left his bedroom suite, J.J. had been awake, but she’d been pretending to be asleep. He understood that she was as reluctant as he to discuss what had transpired between them in the early hours of this morning.
He would leave things as they were. For now. In the clear light of day, he could think more clearly, more rationally. Having a love affair with his American bodyguard might give him immense physical pleasure, but at what price, not only to him, but to her? Was his life not already complicated enough without adding an ill-fated romance to the mix?
When he entered the dining room, Ramona, who was busy overseeing the dishes being brought into the room by the kitchen help, spoke to him.
“Good morning, Señor Ramirez.” He could tell that she wanted to ask him something, possibly question him about the dinner party last night.
“Have you heard about what happened at Anton Casimiro’s party?” Miguel asked. “About some of his guests having food poisoning?”
“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
