Dying for You. BEVERLY BARTON
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building faced the bay, and the tropical garden patio, shaded by enormous umbrella-covered tables and towering palm trees, was bright and airy and caught the afternoon breeze off the ocean.
In typical old-world macho style, Tomas ordered for both of them. She smiled indulgently, fully aware that objecting was not worth the effort. It was obvious that this man had no idea what it took to truly impress her. He ordered cream of prawn soup, a seafood mousse, veal chops with shitake mushrooms and an excellent wine to complement their meal. In true gentlemanly fashion, he complimented her in every way possible and refrained from mentioning business until the end of their delicious meal.
As they sipped on hazelnut daiquiris, he said, “Castillo, Incorporated has much to offer, far more than Delgado Oil. You received our initial proposal, yes?”
She smiled. “Yes, but I must admit that it lacked a great deal of what I need to see in such a monumental deal, one that will have long-range effects on both my country and yours, as well on both of our companies.”
Tomas frowned, but quickly erased the negative reaction, once again smiling cordially as he reached for her hand. What was it with this guy? Did he actually think that kissing her hand would affect her ability to reason?
As soon as he planted a featherlight kiss on the top of her hand, she eased out of his grasp.
“Simply tell me what you require and it will be done,” he said.
“Other than the fact that I don’t care for a few of the minor particulars about percentages and just whose oil tankers would be moving the product, my chief concern is that there are no provisions to provide any financial benefits to the people of Ameca.”
Tomas laughed, the sound hollow. “I promise you that regardless of what you may have been told about me, I care deeply for Ameca and want only good things for our people. If funneling some of our joint profits to Ameca is, as you would say, a deal breaker, then I will make sure my attorneys include a clause stipulating a generous percentage—say one-sixth of our profits—is to be invested in Ameca.”
“Invested in what way?” Cara asked.
He eyed her curiously, as if surprised she would question him about details. Hadn’t he ever dealt with a woman whose business sense was as sharply honed as any man’s? Was she actually a first for him? It was all Cara could do not to laugh.
“There are government agencies that could easily handle overseeing the funds,” Tomas told her. “As my personal friend, Emilio Ortega would exert his influence to make sure the money was channeled properly.”
Yes, of course, President Ortega would most definitely handle the money exactly the way Tomas told him to. He’d put it right into his own pocket! “I prefer that the profits we donate to Ameca be channeled through charity organizations such as Helping Hands, headquartered in the United States, and your country’s relief association, supervised by the church.”
Was that another vaguely disguised frown she saw marring Tomas’s handsome face. A smile twitched the corners of her mouth, but she managed to keep her expression placid.
“Now that I fully understand your desires, I am certain we can come to an agreement that will be good for both of us,” Tomas said. “I will need a few days to discuss all the particulars with my lawyers, but if you will be kind enough to grant me the necessary time, I am sure I will be able to make Bedell, Inc. an offer it cannot refuse.”
Interesting. Unless she had seriously misjudged Tomas Castillo, she didn’t think he would ever agree to turn over even a small percentage of his profits to his impoverished countrymen. No, he had something else in mind. The problem was Cara didn’t know what his next move would be.
“Of course, feel free to present Bedell, Inc. with an offer to equal Delgado Oil’s offer and I will certainly consider it,” Cara told him.
“Muchas gracias. Now that our business for the day is concluded, allow me to be your tour guide and show you around San Luis.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I have other plans,” Cara said, fabricating a white lie in order to escape an afternoon of pretending she enjoyed being with Tomas. “Perhaps some other time.”
“May I see you to your car?” he asked.
“No, thank you. I have my people here with me.” She inclined her head toward the table across from theirs where Lucie and Jason kept watch.
Tomas rose to his feet swiftly, bowed, forced a smile and said, “I shall count the hours until I see you again, senorita.”
After he left the restaurant, Cara finished her delicious daiquiri, then motioned to her bodyguards. “I have the afternoon free. I’d like to go shopping in the market. I know my being in the middle of a crowd is something y’all would rather avoid, but if I don’t take the opportunity now, I may not get to soak in any of the authentic atmosphere of San Luis before I leave Ameca.”
“You’re the boss,” Jason reminded her. “But I’d suggest you try to pass yourself off as a tourist.”
“I suppose that means ditching the Rolls and either walking or taking a taxi or bus, right?” Cara wanted a few hours free from business. Tomorrow would be soon enough to tell Felipe Delgado that Bedell, Inc. would be going into a lucrative partnership with his oil company. Whatever repercussions she’d have to face before leaving Ameca and then once back in Chattanooga, she didn’t have to deal with them today.
“I suggest that you and Lucie change clothes,” Jason said. “Go to one of the local boutiques first and buy items that tourists would buy and wear. Lucie can stay at your side and the two of you will appear to be two American women on vacation. I’ll keep a low profile, but remain close by. Lucie will be the frontline defense in case of trouble. I’ll be monitoring the crowd and alert her to any sign of trouble.”
“I want a floppy straw hat, some big sunglasses and flip-flops,” Cara said. “What about you, Lucie?”
“No flip-flops for me, but I’ll take a big straw hat and a colorful outfit.”
Cara draped her arm through Lucie’s. “Then let’s go. And buy whatever you want at the clothing boutique. Don’t even look at the price tags.”
WHEN HIS CELL PHONE RANG, Arturo glanced at the caller ID. Josue did not telephone him unless the matter was urgent.
“Good day, my friend.”
“The package must be obtained today,” Josue said. “The client insists that this matter cannot wait.”
“I will not take undue risks, but if it is possible to collect the package this afternoon, we will do so.”
“Our client will wish to be informed. Once the package is in your possession, please contact me and I will inform the client.”
THE PLAZA BAZAAR was two blocks south of the trendy boutique where Cara and Lucie purchased their new attire, so they walked to the open-air market that boasted a vast range of wares and supposedly the best bargains in San Luis. Cara had changed into a flowing, green cotton skirt, lemon-yellow blouse and cushioned green flip-flops. Lucie had chosen the same colors, but in reverse. She wore a yellow skirt, a green blouse and sandals in a soft yellow leather. She had removed her shoulder holster and placed it in the open-top shoulder bag she carried. As they weaved in and out of the crowd, stopping at various booths in the market, Jason kept a discreet distance, all the while staying in bodyguard mode. Anyone seeing him wouldn’t suspect he was tailing the two attractive American redheads in their bright attire and large sunglasses.
“Look,” Cara said. “There’s a booth with nothing but hats. Maybe we can find what we’re looking for there.”
Lucie followed her boss, who was acting more like a friend this afternoon, someone Lucie could learn to like a great deal. They had stopped at numerous booths—pottery, guitars, mirrors, rugs and wooden masks—but this was the first booth containing hats, and already Lucie saw the one she wanted. Yellow straw with a green grosgrain ribbon