Dying for You. BEVERLY BARTON
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came into contact to feel comfortable. Although Lucie loved clothes—bright colors, frills, dangling earrings and heels that lifted her to a towering six-feet-plus—whenever she was on duty, she dressed accordingly. Today she wore brown dress slacks, a sleeveless, pale yellow tank and a beige cotton blazer, sensible brown flats, and no jewelry except tiny gold studs in her ears and a wristwatch. Her unruly curls were subdued in a thick, loose bun at the nape of her neck. By dressing in a nondescript manner, she didn’t draw attention to herself.
She and Jason had done their homework well in advance, familiarizing themselves with the layout of the airport and the route they would take to Senor Delgado’s home. They had requested and received a blueprint of their host’s hacienda and surrounding estate grounds. Although they had no reason to suspect that Cara might be in danger during her visit to Ameca, a woman worth billions should always be considered a target.
Senor Vito Aguilar-Vega, a small, dark man in his late forties, welcomed Cara to his country and presented her with a bouquet of white roses and lilies. After making a glowing speech in Spanish, he translated a few words into English, telling Cara that the president was eager to meet her and wished to host a ball in her honor during her visit.
A tall, distinguished gentleman, with thick salt-and-pepper hair and a generous mustache, spoke to Senor Aguilar-Vega, who frowned disapprovingly, but stepped aside to allow the older man to approach.
“Senorita Bedell, I am your host, Felipe Delgado. Welcome to Ameca.” He bowed with a quick snap of his head. “My car is waiting. I have arranged for someone to pick up your luggage later.” He glanced from Cara to Jason and Lucie, who were posted on either side of her, Jason slightly behind her, Lucie a few steps ahead of her. “There are three of you, yes?”
“Yes, thank you.” Cara took Senor Delgado’s arm. Lucie and Jason fell into step, Jason ahead of them and Lucie behind them.
Lucie slid into the backseat alongside Cara while Jason climbed in the front with the chauffeur. Once on the road, making their way through downtown San Luis traffic, Cara introduced her two bodyguards to their host. During the twenty-minute drive from the airport to his home, Senor Delgado kept the conversation light and casual, speaking of his wife, his three children and five grandchildren, his love of sailing, his hobby of stamp collecting and his stable of fine Arabian horses.
The estate bordered the ocean on one side, with the two-story, salmon-pink stucco, red tile-roofed hacienda built on the rocks overlooking the pristine beach below. The well-manicured lawns were a luscious green, no doubt watered daily. Bougainvilleas draped the fencing, a combination of stucco and black wrought-iron. Flowering shrubbery, neatly maintained, grew in abundance, adding to the tropical-paradise aura of the estate.
When the chauffeur parked the Rolls-Royce on the circular brick drive in front of the house, a small, plump woman with a mane of black hair arranged in a soft bun atop her head came out of the house and stood on the veranda. When Senor Delgado exited the car, he reached in to assist both Cara and Lucie.
“Your guards may relax somewhat,” Delgado said. “I have my own guards here at my estate and my home is quite safe for me, my family and my guests.”
The small woman, dressed impeccably in a lavender linen skirt and white silk blouse, came forward and draped her arm through her husband’s.
“My dear,” Delgado said, “may I present Senorita Cara Bedell, Senorita Evans and Senor Little.”
She smiled at each of them in turn, but her dark eyes returned to Cara when she spoke. “Mucho gusto, Senorita Bedell. Welcome to our home.” Her English was not as smooth as her husband’s, but fluent enough so that she didn’t struggle with her words.
“Senorita Bedell, this is my wife, Suelita.”
The mistress of the house herself showed Cara to her room, which turned out to be a beautiful suite with a balcony that faced the ocean. Jason was given a room across the hall and Lucie the room next to Cara’s.
“They seem very nice, don’t you think?” Cara asked Lucie when they were alone.
“Yes, quite nice.”
“I’m seventy-five percent decided about choosing Delgado Oil over Castillo, Inc.,” Cara said. “I hope you don’t mind my thinking out loud and using you as a sounding board. Wanda’s accustomed to listening and giving me her honest opinion. I hope you’ll do the same.”
“Yes, ma’am. If that’s what you want.”
“It is. And please, dispense with the ‘ma’am,’ and except when it seems inappropriate, call me Cara.”
Lucie smiled.
Cara retuned her smile. “I’ve received proposals from both Delgado and Castillo. On the surface they seem equal in benefits to Bedell, Inc., but from my reports, personally, the two owners are vastly different. Delgado grew up poor. He’s one of the people. And ever since he became a multimillionaire, he has helped with various charities, and in the last election, he worked to get Naldo Salazar elected president. Salazar is a reformist. Since the election, he has kept a low profile because there are rumors his life could be in danger. On the other hand, Castillo came from wealth and privilege. He’s a playboy who lights his cigars with hundred-dollar bills, as the old saying goes. He backed President Ortega and supposedly the two are very close. Ortega represents the status quo.”
“If your goal is profits for Bedell, Inc., and nothing more, than I’d say all things are equal.” Lucie wondered if Cara realized that by giving her permission to speak her mind, Lucie wouldn’t hold back or sugarcoat anything. “But if your goal is profits for Bedell, Inc. and to help the people of Ameca, then you have only one choice. Isn’t Senor Delgado proposing that his company and yours invest between a sixth and a fourth of the revenue from this joint deal in programs for the needy citizens of his country?”
“Yes, that’s part of the deal, and it’s tempting to simply sign the contracts with Senor Delgado now and deal with my board of directors later. But I think I owe it to my stockholders to at least meet with Senor Castillo and find out if he’s interested in making a counteroffer that includes a similar provision to help his fellow countrymen.”
“Is meeting with him your idea?” Lucie asked, somehow doubting it was.
“Actually, Gray suggested that my meeting with Castillo might appease the stockholders and the board, some who will definitely not be happy giving away such a large percentage of our profits.”
“I guess it’s true.”
Cara looked at Lucie quizzically.
“Enough is never enough. And you can’t be too rich or too thin.” Lucie chuckled. “Well, at least too rich.”
“I know that I make the Bedell board members sound like a bunch of greedy, heartless millionaires, but they’re not. At least most are not. But in order to do my job representing Bedell, Inc., I have to appease the board of directors and the shareholders, even if I am the majority shareholder.”
Lucie laughed. “Poor little rich girl.” Uh-oh, she’d done it now. Let her big mouth get in her trouble again. “I’m sorry. That just slipped out.”
Cara smiled. “Don’t apologize. I appreciate your honestly. Besides, that’s exactly what I am—a poor little rich girl. You have no idea how well that term fits me.”
JOSUE SOTO entered the church shortly before sundown. There were three other people there; one old man lighting a candle and a young couple kneeling in prayer. After slipping into one of the back pews, Josue sat, closed his eyes and pretended to pray. Ten minutes later, when the young couple had left and only the old man remained—he was now seated on the front row, his white head bowed reverently as he mumbled to himself—Arturo eased in beside Josue.
“She arrived today,” Josue said, his voice little more than a whisper. “She is staying with Felipe Delgado. As you know, his estate is practically impregnable. She brought two personal bodyguards with her, one man and one woman.”
“I