Chapter Eight

Joshua looked around the big room. It was a private room in one of the best restaurants in Acapulco, tucked away in Acapulco Viejo, the ancient heart of the city. Two hundred or so guests were dancing and drinking after a stupendous wedding supper.

Josh was surprised by how many of the people he knew or recognized. Many of them were refugee Vistarians from Nick’s household. Some of the people in the room, however, were quite famous. He had watched their movies, seen their television reports or read their books...or seen their affairs splashed across the news. Others were more low-key but from the way they moved and mingled, the way they held themselves, Joshua judged they carried power of a different sort. Yet famous or not, none of them held center stage this night. Nick had seen to that.

Joshua smiled to himself as he recalled his fierce satisfaction as he walked his niece up the center aisle of Acapulco’s historic old cathedral. Two days to arrange a wedding...he had cheerfully cooperated with Nicolás Escobedo’s unwavering expectations. Nick’s demands had generated hysteria but despite the chaos, Joshua had worked his ass off because in his gut he had known this marriage was right. It was fitting.

That he would come to feel this way was the shocking part of the whole affair. Joshua had held a prejudice against the bastard Escobedo, for any man who used power for his own ends had always roused Joshua’s ire. In the last few weeks, though—since Nick had knocked on the front door of their apartment in Vistaria and pushed his way inside—Joshua’s prejudice had been turned on its head. The drive in the man, the determination and passion he had for his country and his people, had surprised Joshua. At first he thought it merely lip-service paid to disguise a deeper self-interest, but he’d had his mind changed.

Mostly, the change had come from watching Nick deal with Mexican and American officials—ambassadors, heads of government—and the handful of Vistarian officials and generals who had made it out of the chaos.

Joshua lifted his glass in a silent and solo toast to a long and happy marriage, feeling a bittersweet satisfaction.

* * * * *

Minnie’s dance partner was one of Nick’s younger officers. Like most Vistarians he was a good dancer, but she was incredibly grateful when the music halted and the perspiring band bowed to the dancers and slipped off stage for a necessary break.

The captain returned her politely to the head table. He was pleasant enough and proud of his new dress uniform.

That was partly the reason for the ache in her chest. The elegant dress uniforms reminded her strongly of Duardo and their first official date. That date had also been the first time they had made love.

Her father was still sitting at the table as she sat down and she saw his gaze linger on the oldest person at the table. She was one of the two guests who were the reason for all the paparazzi outside the restaurant and the church.

Minnie had been astonished to learn that Karen Lord was Carmen’s grandmother. Minnie’s father had been a silent but dedicated fan of Karen Lord from a young age. The self-contained blonde actress had been the adored darling of sophisticated American moviegoers in the fifties. She had starred in classy European films and the few times she had come home to work she had swept the Oscars. Even now she was still a glamorous, energetic woman.

She was accompanied by her son, Adán Caballero, Carmen’s uncle. Although Karen Lord attracted the adoration of the crowd, Adán was the reason for the hysteria. As a major Hollywood star, he was recognized the world over. He was also a stellar performer in the booming Mexican movie and television industry and beloved in his birth country too.

Unlike his mother, Adán stayed in the United States, appearing in big, sweeping epics and adventures and also on the lists of the best-dressed, best-paid and best-looking men in Hollywood, year after year.

Even though the wedding supper was held in a private room at the back of the restaurant, the sound of the fans still gathering in the street outside could be heard now that the band had stopped playing. Interspersed with the murmur was female screaming.

Carmen lifted a single smooth brow. “I see you’ve still got what it takes, Uncle Danny.”

Adán, on the verge of seating himself, cocked his head, listened, then winced. He straightened, walked around the table and dropped to his knee next to Calli’s chair and picked up her hand.

“Forgive me, signora. If I had been able to sneak in the back door and save you this ghastly demonstration, I would have, but there was no time.”

Calli gave him a small smile. “How do you live with it day in and day out? Doesn’t it drive you crazy?”

“There are tricks and dodges. Dozens of them,” Adán said soberly. “I would be pleased to teach them to you.”

“Me? I’ll never need them.” Calli gave a laugh. “But thank you.”

Adán leaned sideways to look at Nick, who wasn’t laughing at his joke. “You didn’t let her read the fine print did you, Nicky?”

“I think we’re still in the middle of writing it.” Nick laid his hand on Calli’s where it rested on the table. “Nothing can be assumed these days. Who knows what the future will bring?”

“You’re too much the fatalistic Vistarian for your own good,” Adán shot back. “You should follow the fine American credo. Expect the best, prepare for the worst.” He smiled at Calli. “For you, la dama fuerte, that means learning to live with adoration, just as I do. For it will become part of your life whether you like it or not.” His smile faded. “You are a most beautiful lady and when Nicolás becomes their leader, Vistarians will quickly take you into their hearts.”

“Now who’s the fatalistic Vistarian?” Nick said, sliding Calli’s hand from Adán’s.

Adán’s expression changed swiftly to one of horror and disgust. “I am Mexican, you son of an Irish lass.”

Nick smiled. “Half Mexican, you son of a shotgun wedding.”

Karen Lord gave a peal of laughter. “Oh, I have been away too long,” she said, then sighed. “Family...I’ve missed you guys.” She lifted her glass. “I was so thrilled to be invited and I’m very pleased to meet my new family.”

“Me, too,” Adán said, climbing to his feet and clapping Nick on the shoulder. He dropped back into his chair. “But everyone is so sober at this table and these two ladies...” He laid his hands on Minnie’s and Carmen’s shoulders. “They should be the life and soul of the party but they sit here as glum as last week’s porridge.”

“Adán,” Karen said softly and shook her head.

“What?” he demanded, his hands spread before him, looking innocent.

Carmen drank half her champagne in one swallow. “You mother is delicately trying to tell you that Minnie and I don’t get along and you should butt out. After all, this is a wedding, no?” She gave him a dazzling smile. “God forbid we spoil the celebration with something as banal as an argument.” She swallowed the last half of her champagne in one gulp and reached for the bottle sitting on the table.

Minnie bit her tongue and stayed silent. Carmen was spoiling for a fight and for Calli’s sake, Minnie would not start it.

Adán looked shocked. “You do not get along? Why on earth not?”

“I suspect it’s because they’re so much alike,” Karen said.

Minnie blinked, staring at the older woman. She was too shocked to do anything else.

Carmen had been leaning back on her chair. Now she let it drop back to the tiles with a thunk. “Wash your mouth out, Abuela.” The words were mild but Carmen’s expression was sour enough to pickle onions.

Minnie recalled then that Carmen had not once throughout the day let loose with one of her more pithy, vernacular-filled observations. Was graceful Abuela Karen the reason for this display of decorum?

Nick’s subterranean chuckle earned him a glare from Carmen, which made him laugh harder. Calli rested her hand on his forearm in warning and it just made him laugh harder still.

Adán stared at his cousin then grinned, too. “This is true?” he asked. “These two ladies are so alike?”

“I am a foot taller than her,” Carmen objected.

Minnie heard Karen whisper to her son, “Do not begin with physical comparisons, I beg you,” but Minnie kept her eyes on Carmen, who was watching Adán with strange intensity despite her unsteady, alcohol-hazed reactions.

Was it Adán who had the power to change Carmen’s spots?

Minnie thoughtfully sipped her champagne, using the drink as an excuse not to join the banter around the table.

Adán lifted his drink toward Minnie. “I did not think it was possible for there to be another like Carmen in the world. I am surprised to find her double comes wrapped in such an agreeable package. May I say, Miss Minnie, that you bestow a refreshing beauty upon this table?” He lifted his glass in salute to her and sipped.

Carmen stood abruptly, her chair scraping across the terracotta tiles with a sour note. She glared at Adán as he swiveled back to face her, surprise skittering across his face as he saw her thunderous expression.

“Why, what did I say, Carmen?” he asked reasonably.

“You drink to the health of this...this...American woman? You shame me.”

She turned on one heel, her head high. Minnie knew she intended to stalk from the restaurant, to make as dramatic an exit as she could manage, but a few steps from the table, she staggered. It was a tiny misstep, but enough to ruin the drama of the moment.

Adán watched her go then looked at Nick and chuckled. “She has not changed an inch.”

“You were seeing her good side,” Nick said, his tone one of agreement.

Karen winced and brought her fingertips to her temple. “Carmen at her worst would be an experience, I imagine.”

“For one, her vocabulary is considerably more colorful,” Nick said gravely.

Adán chuckled again. “I must see if I can get her swearing before I leave. It’s not a successful trip if I haven’t coaxed Carmen into showing her true nature before I go.”

Minnie dropped her gaze to her lap, feeling her cheeks burn. Adán’s compliments to her had clearly been empty ones, designed only to rouse Carmen’s ire. She wished she could sweep from the room like Carmen, her head held high.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up. Her father stood close behind her chair. “There’s a government official waiting to speak to us,” he said, murmuring close to her ear.

“Here? Now? It’s a family wedding, for goodness’ sake.”

He nodded. “I believe that was conveyed to him but he’s a bit insistent.”

“Have we done something? What’s it about?”

“He’s from the Secretaria de Gobernacion.”

Minnie shrugged. So what?

Her father smiled at someone across the table, clearly trying to keep up appearances. He lowered his head closer toward her. “Department of the Interior. The customs and immigration people.”

She had no idea why she went along with it but she gave him a small smile back and said in a low voice, “I thought the Departamiento de Migracion took care of that shit?”

“Apparently not. Let’s not keep the man waiting any longer, huh?”

* * * * *

Miguel Oquendo was a small, swarthy Mexican with little English. When Minnie and her father sat on the other side of the table from him, in the public section of the restaurant, he nodded shortly at both of them.

“Señor, señorita,” he murmured, sliding a business card in front of both of them. Minnie picked it up curiously. Miguel Oquendo. Director Ejecutivo, Industria Y Comercio. Secretaria de Gobernacion. She shrugged and looked up. Oquendo had physically swiveled on his seat to face her father directly and was preparing to speak. She had been dismissed.

So she deliberately stretched herself to make her breasts thrust forward and slid the card between them, tucking it inside her dress.

Oquendo didn’t react physically, but he did hesitate for the tiniest fraction of a second before launching into a speech in rapid Spanish.

Minnie’s Spanish had dramatically improved in the last few weeks so she had only a little trouble following the intent of his speech. They were American aliens in Mexico and although their passports and documentation were in order, it had come to his attention that they were actually working here in Acapulco, which was not permitted. They were no-inmigrante, the FM-3 document they held did not permit—

At this point, her father held up his hand and said in decent Spanish, “We have carried out no work for pay on Mexican soil.”

Señor Oquendo blinked. “But you are living in the big house on the edge of the Sierra Madre del Sur, overlooking the bay.”

Her father looked surprised and it was only because she knew him well that she knew he was faking the surprise. “You mean, the house that was occupied by Vistaria’s Consul to Acapulco and Guerrero State before the current hostilities broke out in Vistaria?”

Señor Oquendo’s officious manner subsided. “That is the house I speak of,” he said stiffly.

“That house and the property around it was and still continues to be recognized by the Mexican government as a Vistarian possession. While we are in that house, we are in practice in Vistaria. What we do there has no legal interest for the Mexican government.”

“Yes, yes, I understand this concept,” Oquendo said hastily.

“Evidently, as you saw fit to wait until we had stepped over that invisible border to harass us with this demand of yours.” Josh frowned. “What exactly are you demanding, anyway?”

Oquendo pulled a snowy white linen handkerchief from his suit pocket and blotted his forehead and upper lip. “I wished only to establish the truth concerning some irregularities in your stay here in Mexico.”

“Good evening, gentlemen. Is there a problem?” The voice was low and quiet, the words in Spanish. She looked up. Nick stood right next to the table, staring down at Oquendo. Adán was at his shoulder, all signs of mirth gone from his expression.

Oquendo jumped to his feet, rocking the table in his haste. “Señors...” He was flustered, his gaze jumping from Nick to Adán and back. “I... Good evening.” He bowed his head quickly.

“No problem,” Josh said easily, leaning back in his chair. “Señor Oquendo was under the impression we were illegal immigrants in his country. I was just pointing out that the FM-3 documents we carry are more than sufficient for the simple turista status we actually observe and that what we do for the government of Vistaria is none of his business.”

“Is that correct, Señor Oquendo?” Nick asked softly. His tone was gentle, his expression neutral, but Minnie understood why the Vistarian army had dubbed him The Red Leopard. His stillness, the wariness emanating from him, the impression that he was braced and ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation...it was just like a leopard stalking prey.

Minnie thought of the jaguar that had stalked her. She shivered.

Oquendo either sensed Nick’s wariness or knew his reputation, for he picked up his portfolio. “We have reached an understanding, Señor,” he said swiftly. “I thank you for your time during this most important occasion.” He bowed jerkily to everyone except Minnie and hurried out of the restaurant.

Nick turned and watched until he ducked under the barricades the police had erected to control the crowd out there, only then relaxing his stance. He cocked an eyebrow at her father. “Squeeze?” he asked in English.

“I believe so.” Josh shook his head. “It was remarkably inept, I must say.”

Nick smiled. “Give the word and I’ll report him to his department. They’ll have it out of his hide in blood, I promise.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” Josh said quickly. “No harm done. I knew just enough about diplomacy to see through it.” But despite his jovial wave-off, Minnie knew that something was bugging him.

Nick patted his shoulder. “Come back to the table,” he said. “I’ll buy you one of the smoothest fifty-year-old scotches ever distilled to celebrate your elevation to the powerful and rich.”

Joshua looked startled. “Yes, I suppose I might look that way to one like him.” He glanced at Minnie then back at Nick. “Thank you, but may I take a rain check for a few minutes? I want to have a quick word with Minnie.”

“Of course,” Nick said swiftly. “Hurry back, though.” He and Adán went back through the doorway into the private room again. Adán, Minnie noted, was careful to keep his face averted from the windows of the restaurant.

Her father pushed his hand through his hair.

“I haven’t seen you do that in quite a while,” she told him.

“Do what?”

“Push your hand through your hair like that.” She rested her hands flat on the table. “Shoot, Dad. What’s up? What’s bothering you?”

“You, to be frank.” He sighed and pushed his hand through his hair again. “Oqueno just confirmed an unpleasant fact that I’ve been putting off for a bit. I have to speak my mind, Minnie.”

She tried to hide her smile, for that was a phrase her father had used when she was twelve and had disappointed him in some way. “What’s up?” she said softly.

“I think you should go back home to your mother.”

The jolt delivered to her heart by his words felt just like someone had slammed a baseball bat into her chest. “What?” she whispered, incapable of speaking any louder.

“I do,” he confirmed. “This little officious man trying to hit me up for bribe money has made up my mind. If I am visible as Nick hinted, then that makes me a potential target.”

“Sure, a target for money-hungry bureaucrats,” Minnie agreed.

“Serrano has men crawling all over Mexico watching us. Nick hasn’t confirmed it but I know he believes this, too. Now that Nick and the people in the big house have been approached by the Mexican government to reopen diplomatic relations, Serrano is going to be pissed off and desperate.”

“We’re surrounded by army officers in the house.” Her heart was beating so hard it hurt. Adrenaline gave her the shakes.

“I’m down here for my company, Minnie. I’m helping haul our people out of the sea when they make it here and I’m helping Nick preserve our company’s assets in Vistaria. I have to be here. You don’t. I want you to go back home.”

There it was. The imperative. She took a deep breath to try to control her shakes and slipped her hands under her thighs to hide their tremble. “No, Dad.” She tried to make it just as firm as his demand but it sounded just like a twelve-year-old’s piping voice.

He pushed his hand through his hair again. “Look, I can’t pretend that I understand this thing between you and that officer of yours. Duardo seemed like a nice guy and I’m sorry he got killed but...” He stopped and held up his hand. “No, that’s not what I wanted to say. That’s not where I want this to go.” He laid his hand flat on the table. “I don’t know why you’re the way you are these days, Minnie. I don’t understand it. I do know you’ve changed so much I barely recognize you anymore. You used to be this empty-headed, flighty party girl—”

“Thanks,” she injected dryly.

“I guess they’re not the most flattering words a father could use but honey, I would almost prefer to have that flighty girl back than keep watching the sad shell that’s left move around the house looking lost.”

“I’m not lost.”

“Yeah, I think you are.” He sighed. “I think Duardo’s death and the flight from Vistaria have dropped you into a place where you don’t know your role or where you fit in. When you get back home, you’ll know where you fit. You can get back to normal. Hell, I’ll even give you the keys to the old Mustang again.”

He meant it as a joke but Minnie stared at him, unable to speak for the horror that gripped her. The noise of the diners around them, the crowd outside the restaurant, the clatter and clink of china and glass...it throbbed in her ears, crowding out everything but the horror.

She couldn’t leave Acapulco. Not unless it was to go back to Vistaria. Back to Vistaria and closer to Duardo. He was there somewhere.

Two days ago she had faced a fact; if she wanted to find Duardo again she was on her own, for everyone else believed he was dead.

Now, if she didn’t do something, her father would ship her back home to her mother.

She faced the last unpleasant fact. Time had run out.