Unlike his younger sister, Diego Fernandez did not have a soft heart. Handsome, charming and powerful, he could be a good friend. Unless you opposed him. Then he was ruthless. He hated his half-brother and would do anything to keep him from winning the presidency. She didn’t know for sure, but she suspected that he was somehow involved in the recent assassination attempt on Miguel Ramirez’s life.
The morning sun grew warmer by the minute. Even with the top down on her small sports car, Gala had begun to perspire. Seina had promised her she would be gone only a brief time, but she’d already been inside the hospital for nearly thirty minutes.
As she kept watch on the side entrance to the hospital, Gala’s cell phone rang. She knew before answering who the caller was.
“Hello.”
“Is she still with Dr. Esteban?” Diego asked.
“Yes.”
“I want a report the moment you take her home.”
“Very well.”
“And I have an assignment for you.”
“What sort of assignment?” Gala asked, her stomach tightening with apprehension. She could not refuse Diego. Her life was in his hands. He could, even now, see that she went to prison. If that happened, not only would her life be ruined, but her parents would be brokenhearted and disgraced.
“There is a luncheon at the Nava country club this afternoon in honor of Miguel Ramirez. I want you to attend. I’ve arranged for your name to be on the guest list.”
“But everyone knows that Seina and I are close friends.”
“Yes, I know. You will, however, publicly disagree with our family’s politics. And you can even imply that my sister secretly supports her half-brother, although she cannot publicly commit to him.”
“What purpose will this—”
“You are a beautiful woman, Gala. Ingratiate yourself to whatever man you can within the Ramirez camp, perhaps even Ramirez himself. I want you trailing the Nationalist candidate. Become a camp follower. Keep your eyes and ears open. I am especially interested in any information about Ramirez’s new fiancée, Señorita Blair.”
“You ask too much, Diego. It is bad enough that you have made me betray my best friend, but now you want me to work as a spy for the Federalists.”
“Of course, you have a choice.”
Gala swallowed the fear lodged in her throat. “I will do as you ask.”
“Good. You have made the right choice. I am good to my friends, as you already know.”
“I have to go now. I see Seina,” she lied.
“Ask her about her visit with Esteban, then take her home. If she gives you any interesting information, call me. Otherwise, show up at the country club at one-thirty, then I will contact you this evening.”
Miguel shook hands with everyone on staff at the television station directly following his fifteen-minute interview on the noon news. Afterward, with his fake fiancée at his side, he spoke at length to the huge audience crammed into the small auditorium at the station. He noticed the way she not only kept watch over him, but continuously surveyed the area around them. Everyone seemed as interested in meeting Jennifer as they were in him. But who could blame them? The woman even intrigued him.
The television station was owned by a member of the Nationalist Party who provided Miguel with a weekly interview as well as numerous free one-minute ads that ran often during each twenty-four-hour period. When the reporter doing the interview had asked about Miguel’s fiancée, he had been given little choice but to bring her on camera and introduce her to the people of Mocorito. His lovely Jennifer had surprised him. The ease with which she appeared on camera, a warm smile in place and her hand clasping his the whole time, told him that she had done this type of thing before today. She was what the Americans referred to as “a natural.”
When asked how she felt about her future husband being a candidate for president, she had replied without missing a beat, “I am very proud of Miguel and support him without reservation. I will do everything within my power to help him become el presidente because I know in my heart how much he loves Mocorito and all the people of this wonderful country.”
“Thank you, J.J. I am a fortunate man to have found such a loving and caring helpmate,” he had said as he’d gazed lovingly at her.
He had deliberately referred to her as J.J., the nickname that Domingo Shea had told him everyone close to her used. For half a second, she’d reacted, her eyebrows lifting ever so slightly, but then she had simply smiled and continued looking at him as if he were the sun and moon and stars to her.
If he had not known better, he would have believed every sweet word out of her mouth. The lady had been quite convincing, all that he could have asked for in a fiancée. Not only had she shown her support by word and deed, she had presented herself as a fashionable yet conservatively dressed lady. The simple purple suit she wore was accented with pearl earrings and necklace. Her shoes and handbag were a rich, dark purple leather. Everything about her whispered aristocratic sophistication. Understated and elegant.
After the interview ended, he told her in a quiet voice, yet loud enough for everyone around them to hear, “You were perfect.”
“Thank you, Miguel.”
She gazed at him with those incredible blue-violet eyes and he found himself unable to resist the urge to kiss her. Only at the last minute, with Roberto clearing his throat behind them, did Miguel manage to restrain himself and simply brush her cheek with a tiny peck.
“Miguel, my friend,” Mario Lamas, the TV station’s owner clamped his hand down on Miguel’s shoulder. “The phones have been ringing off the hook. Your lady is a huge success. The people love her.” Mario turned to Jennifer, took her hand and kissed it. “You, my dear Señorita Blair, are a definite asset in this election. You must accompany Miguel everywhere from now until election day.”
“I plan to do just that, isn’t that right, querido?” Jennifer slipped her hand into Miguel’s. A subtle yet effective sign of affection.
“Absolutely.” Miguel confirmed her statement.
“I don’t mean to rush you,” Roberto said, “but if we are to arrive at the country club at one-thirty, we must leave now.”
“Yes, yes, go, go,” Mario told them, waving his hands expressively. “And next week, you and your lady will come back here for another interview. Each week until the night before the election, you will speak to the people for an hour. Yes?”
“Yes. Thank you, Mario.”
Miguel shook Mario’s hand before slipping his arm around Jennifer’s waist and, following Roberto, escorting her outside to the waiting limousine. Roberto waited until they were safely ensconced in the back of the limo before he slid inside with them and closed the door.
Knowing what was next on Miguel’s schedule, Carlos shifted into Drive and headed the car away from the downtown television station and onto the main thoroughfare that would take them a few miles out of the city limits to Ebano, a suburb of Nava, where many of the up-and-coming middle-class and upper-middle-class citizens lived. Dolores and Emilio had purchased a home in Ebano only six months ago and Juan Esteban lived there with his aunt in one of the older sections of the area that had been updated in recent years.
Once inside the limousine, Miguel had expected Jennifer to move as far away from him as possible. But she didn’t. She remained at his side, although several inches separated them.
“You put on quite a performance, Señorita Blair,” Roberto said, an odd tone to his voice.
Miguel glowered at him.
“You object, Roberto?” she asked, using his first name, as she would have done had she truly been Miguel’s fiancée. “I would think you would approve