that beneath that handsome, stylish facade beat the heart of a deadly warrior.
“The master calls,” Lucie said. “You’d better run or he’ll threaten to send y’all to obedience school, along with me.”
Everyone chuckled, but quickly left Lucie with Daisy and headed down the hall toward the boss’s office. Once the three of them were inside, Sawyer closed the door and made introductions
“Will, these are the three agents I’ve chosen for the job,” Sawyer told their visitor. “Vic Noble is a former CIA contract agent.” Vic nodded. “Dom Shea is a former navy SEAL.” Dom smiled. “And this is J.J. Blair. She’s an expert marksman and is proficient in the martial arts. Dom and J.J. both speak Spanish like natives.”
Mr. Pierce studied the threesome for a full minute, then nodded. “I’m Will Pierce, with the CIA.” His gaze met with Vic’s for a split second. “You may or may not know that yesterday afternoon, someone tried to assassinate Miguel Cesar Ramirez, the Nationalist Party candidate for president of Mocorito. Unofficially, the United States government wants to see Ramirez elected. He’s a new breed of Mocoritian. A man of the people, but educated in the U.S. He graduated from Harvard Law School and has numerous American friends.”
“Our interest in this election wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that Mocorito is in possession of more oil than any other country in the western hemisphere, would it?” Vic asked.
Will pinned Vic with his pensive glare. “I don’t think I need to answer that question, do I?”
“Señor Ramirez needs a full-time bodyguard,” Sawyer said. “That’s where the Dundee Agency comes in.”
J.J. narrowed her gaze as she focused on her boss. “Why doesn’t he already have bodyguards?”
“Neither the presiding president nor his opponent have bodyguards,” Pierce explained. “In the past, before Mocorito was a democracy, the leader—either a president or a dictator or at one time the king—was always surrounded by a contingent of armed guards. President Padilla refuses to have bodyguards in order to show that he has nothing to fear from his people because they love him so much. Ramirez can hardly surround himself with guards and take the chance that he’ll be perceived as either weak or afraid.”
“Why send us? Why not U.S. undercover agents?” J.J. asked.
“We can’t send in any of our people,” Pierce said. “If it ever came out that we were backing Ramirez…well, let’s just say, we don’t want that to happen. And Ramirez has refused a regular bodyguard. The only way he’ll agree to having twenty-four-seven protection is if the bodyguard is female and is willing to pose as his lady friend.”
J.J.’s mouth gaped open. “Are you saying that I’m supposed to pose as this guy’s latest paramour? Are we talking putting on a show for the public only or are we talking about being loveydovey in private, too?”
Will Pierce frowned. All eyes turned to Sawyer.
“Only Señor Ramirez, Mr. Pierce and Ramirez’s two closest confidantes will know the truth,” Sawyer said. “As far as everyone else is concerned—and that includes family, friends, supporters and any servants working in the house—you will be Ramirez’s girlfriend.”
“His lover, you mean?” J.J. glared at Sawyer.
“If you aren’t comfortable in that role, then Señor Ramirez might be willing to present you to everyone as his fiancée,” Pierce said.
“Oh, that makes me feel a whole heap of a lot better.” J.J. bristled at the thought of having to fight off some Latin Romeo with whom she’d be forced to share a bedroom for the next few weeks.
Dom chuckled. “You can take care of yourself and we all know it. Just lay down some ground rules with this Ramirez guy first thing. If he steps over the line, show him a few of your best moves. You can kick his butt. You’ve proved you’re capable of downing a guy twice your size.”
“The election is in four-and-a-half weeks,” Pierce said. “Ramirez is the front-runner. We can’t allow anything to go wrong.”
“While I’m playing kissy-kissy with the future el presidente, where will Dom and Vic be?”
“Vic will be working undercover to help find out who tried to assassinate Ramirez.” Pierce glanced at Dom. “Mr. Shea will pose as a distant American relative who has come to Mocorito to cheer on his cousin in his bid for the presidency.”
“Dom will be close by if you need him,” Sawyer told her. “He’ll be living in the same house and his job will be to find out if there’s anyone inside Ramirez’s organization who can’t be trusted.” He pinned her with his imposing glare. “J.J., your sole duty will be to protect Miguel Ramirez. Do whatever you have to do to keep him alive and do it without seeming to do it. You understand?”
She nodded. “Cling to Ramirez’s arm, bat my eyelashes at him, giggle and smile and act all feminine, but if anyone tries to harm him, stop them without making it obvious that I’m actually a trained bodyguard who just saved the future president’s life.”
“You’ll fly to Caracas by Dundee jet, then go first class into Nava, the capital city,” Sawyer explained. “Arrangements have already been made for J.J. and Dom to fly together. Vic will go in separately. Dom, you and Vic go home, pack your bags and meet back here by noon.” He turned to J.J. “You go shopping. Buy whatever you need to look totally feminine. Daytime wear, a couple of evening gowns, sportswear and…” Sawyer cleared his throat. “Some negligees, underwear…”
“Say no more.” J.J. held up her hand in a stop gesture. “I get the idea.”
“When y’all come back into the office, I’ll brief you, as a group, on what your roles will be. J.J., you and Dom will use your own names. Our government will do whatever is necessary to make sure any inquiries about one or all of you are handled through proper channels.”
Understanding that they’d just been dismissed, Vic, Dom and J.J. headed for the door. Being the last of the threesome to exit, J.J. paused before leaving and asked, “What’s my budget for this wardrobe I’m supposed to buy during the next few hours?”
She had asked Sawyer, but it was Will Pierce who answered. “Spend whatever you think is necessary, Ms. Blair. And get whatever you feel you’ll need to adequately do your job.”
Miguel’s home in Nava had once belonged to his father’s cousin, Count Porfirio Fernandez, an extremely wealthy old man who had died unmarried and childless. Cesar Fernandez had inherited his uncle’s home, various properties throughout Mocorito and his millions. In turn, he had deeded the house to his illegitimate son and set up a trust fund for the child he hadn’t known existed until the boy was thirteen. Cesar had never acknowledged Miguel as his own flesh and blood, not legally or in any public way. He had taken care of him financially and sent him to the best schools, educating him in America, as generations of Fernandez men had been educated. But Miguel and his father had met only twice. The first time had been a brief visit at his father’s office in downtown Nava when Miguel was eighteen and leaving for Harvard. It was an unemotional exchange, with little said except an admonishment from his father to do well in his studies. Then, three years ago, when Cesar lay on his deathbed, Miguel had been called to the old man’s home. It was only then, on the day his father died, that Cesar’s legitimate son and daughter had learned of their half-brother’s existence. And it was only then that Cesar
