Comanche Moon (40 page)

Banning’s part Comanch, ya know.”

“I heard. Thank you for my mail.” Deborah stuffed the envelope into her reticule and turned away, fighting the nausea that rose in her throat. She could imagine how the men had died, and though she didn’t blame Zack—in one way was glad—she still shuddered at the cold cruelty that could torture another human being. Another difference between them to think about, she supposed.

Zack would always battle between two very different cultures, between his white mother’s upbringing, and his Comanche father’s beliefs. He’d spent his first years at his mother’s knee, but the last years had been spent learning to live as a Comanche. Would he ever be able to find peace in either world?

She hoped so. She loved him. And she loved the child they had created between them, the small life that grew inside her and warmed her heart. It was all she had of Zack. All she would ever have of him. When her child was old enough, she would tell it of its father, and hope her child did not have the same decisions to make.

“Where you goin’?”

Deborah stopped and looked up at Dexter. His eyes were cold and dark, and she stilled the nervous flutter of her hands. He’d only brought her into Sirocco to sign legal papers in the courthouse, and had kept a close eye on her every movement. He treated her with icy contempt now, but she felt his gaze resting on her frequently.

“I thought I would step outside and wait for you on the bench in front of the store,” she said coolly. “I’d like to sit down.” Diamond grunted. “Go with her, Albright. See that nothin’ happens to my sweet little wife.”

His sarcasm warmed Deborah’s cheeks, but she didn’t comment as she opened the door to the jangling of the bell. Her nerves were stretched tautly, and she wished Judith had come with them. She would have served as a buffer between them. Dexter liked Judith, and there was an easy camaraderie between them that often made Deborah feel like an outsider. By her own choice, she realized.

She sank to the hard wooden comfort of the long bench stretched in front of the store and blankly gazed at the dusty street. The letter in her purse felt heavy, and she wished she was alone so that she could read it. Was it from Zack? Potter had said the woman was with him.

A pang struck her, and she felt suddenly foolish. As if she had a right to be jealous of him being with another woman when she was married to someone else. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the front of the store. She could hear the jangle of Albright’s spurs as he leaned against the wall beside her. Several minutes passed as she listened to the sounds of horses and wagons and people passing. Then Albright stirred, his spurs rattling as he straightened.

“Goddam,” she heard him say softly, then laugh. She opened her eyes, looking up as the doorbell jangled again and Albright stuck his head inside and called to Diamond. “Hey, boss—you might wanna come out here a minute.”

When Dexter stepped onto the porch, Deborah looked away from his quick glance at her. And saw Zack Banning.

Her heart rose in her throat as she heard Dexter’s low, vicious curse and saw Zack striding down the wooden sidewalk with that loose, easy stride she knew so well. His lean grace and dark good looks gathered more than one sidelong glance from feminine eyes, and Deborah felt her heartbeat escalate alarmingly.

However, feminine eyes weren’t the only interested looks he got, and several of the men paused to look after him. Zack didn’t look like most gunmen; his holster was worn and plain, the butt of his deadly revolver bore no notches on the smooth handle. He wore tan denims, a brown chambray shirt, and an open leather vest that had seen better days. The only detour from the norm was his boots—knee-high moccasins that made his step light and soundless. A dark brown hat shaded his eyes and covered the thick mane of glossy black hair. Deborah shut her eyes briefly and prayed that he would not approach them.

Her prayer went unanswered.

“Banning.” Diamond’s voice rang out, and Deborah saw Zack switch direction. She looked down at her hands and saw that her knuckles were white as she clutched her purse with an almost frantic grip.

Zack stopped only a few feet away, his voice cool. “Yeah?” Deborah could feel his eyes on her, and finally took a deep breath and lifted her head. She wasn’t prepared for the shock of seeing him again. Pain vibrated through her body like a jolt of lightning, and she steeled herself against it. She barely heard Dexter’s growling voice, or Zack’s raspy reply.

“Heard two of Don Francisco’s men got themselves kilt a few days ago,” Dexter was saying.

“I heard the same thing.”

“Reckon how that happened?”

“Sheriff Carpenter has some men working on it.” Zack shifted slightly on the balls of his feet, his voice wary. “I got the feeling you aren’t that interested in Velazquez’s men, Diamond. What do you really want?” Dexter took a step forward, and hatred scored his voice as he said softly,

“I want you dead, Banning.” Zack shrugged. “You’ve got a lot of company.” A small sound escaped Deborah, and she surged to her feet. Her voice was choked. “Dexter, please—I’d like to go home now.” She felt his hand on her shoulder, then lower on her waist as he pulled her up against him. Diamond’s voice was low and intimate.

“Sure thing, sugar. I just want to talk to your old friend here a minute.” His hand shifted upward, his fingers grazing her breast, and Deborah stood there like stone as he fondled her. She could see Zack stiffen, and heard Albright laugh softly.

Zack expelled a short, angry breath. “I don’t think we’ve got a lot to say to each other, Diamond. I don’t work for you anymore.”

“No. You never did collect your wages.”

“You sent the other horse back. That was enough.”

“Yeah, figured as how it was your lady-friend’s horse and all, it was the least I could do.”

“She appreciated it,” Zack said after a short pause. His voice was flat. He flicked a glance at Deborah, and she felt it all the way to her toes. There was a message in those dark blue eyes that shook her, and she must have made some sound, because Dexter was pulling her even closer, his hand openly caressing her breast.

Shaken, she gathered her courage and pulled away a bit, turning to face Dexter, her voice cool and composed. “I’ll wait for you in the wagon, if you like.” “Sure thing, sugar,” he said easily, but his dark eyes burned with anger.

“Albright will go along with you to make sure nobody bothers you.”

“Thank you.” She turned back to Zack and gave him a polite nod.

“Good day, Mr. Banning.” As she walked away with Albright at her side, she could feel his gaze on her, and wondered if she’d make it all the way to the wagon. She was shaking, and her knees were so weak she stumbled. Albright caught her, his gloved hand grabbing her arm.

“You all right, ma’am?” he drawled, and she caught the sardonic inflection in his tone. That served to straighten her spine, and she pulled away. “I’m fine, thank you.” Albright slid a sly glance back the way they’d come. “I hear Banning ain’t as fast as he used to be.” Deborah didn’t reply, and as Albright moved to help her up into the wagon, she shook away his hand. He stepped back and looked at her, this thin face angry.

“Any woman who hangs around with ’breeds shouldn’t get too uppity.

Miz
Diamond.”

“Is that so? Strange advice, coming from a man with your background, Mr. Albright.” Her voice was cool, and she sat stiffly on the wagon seat, staring down at him.

He took a step closer, his eyes pinpoints of fury. “You ain’t nothin’ but a lightskirt, the way I see it. Diamond’s my boss, but he done gone and got hisself hitched to a woman who likes lyin’ under some buck’s robes. It ain’t nothin’ but your claim to Velazquez lands that keeps you safe, and I reckon you know that.”

“I’m certain my husband would appreciate the fact that his hired hands gossip so freely about his business,” Deborah said in the same cool tone that seemed to infuriate him. “Perhaps I should tell him, so he can be sure to thank you properly.”

She saw Albright flush. He knew as well as she did that Dexter Diamond’s stiff pride wouldn’t allow him to stomach men who laughed at him behind his back. And he was just as likely to send a man into an ambush as he was to fire him. It was one of the things she’d learned about her husband that distressed her most.

Albright backed off, his voice a low snarl. “Maybe I’ll bring you back Banning’s scalp when I’m done killin’ him. I know a few Comanche tricks myself, and I can tell you, I’ll enjoy every minute of it.”

“I have the feeling that Zack Banning is not as easy to kill as you’d like to believe,” Deborah said. “If he was, he’d already be dead.”

“He ain’t got much longer, I can promise you that.” Deborah just looked at him, then lifted her chin and turned away. She saw Dexter striding toward them, and from the look on his face, she was certain he would be very unpleasant on the ride back to the Double D.

There was no moonlight
to betray him this night. He lay still and quiet on his belly. Not far away lay one of the guards, his throat cut ear to ear. Zack had no intention of taking any chances this time. This time, Don Francisco would have no warning of what was to come.

Rising to his knees, he reached for the large sombrero he’d taken from the dead guard. Stuffed into the deep crown, he felt the rough wool of a serape. He pulled it out, slid it over his broad shoulders, then tugged the hat on over his head and reached for his knife. It shone dully in the absence of moonlight, long and lethal and ready.

With the knife in one fist and half-hidden beneath the long wool folds of the serape, he picked up the rifle the guard would never use again, and walked calmly into the main courtyard of the Velazquez hacienda. Other guards nodded or ignored him, and he continued on his way.

“¿Quien es?”
someone growled at his side, and Zack half-turned.

“Pedro.” A common enough name. There were probably a dozen Pedros employed by Velazquez. The man grunted acknowledgment, and peered closely at Zack.

“¿Qué pasa?”

“Nada de particular.”
Zack shrugged carelessly and gestured with his stolen rifle.
“¡Yo soy hambriento!”
A faint laugh was his answer, with the mocking reply,
“Allá
haba—fríjoles.”

“¡Bueno!”

After an instant’s hesitation, the man moved on, and Zack continued walking toward the kitchens. It was a stroke of luck that he’d smelled the beans cooking, or he might have given himself away. With his dark hair and skin he could pass for a Mexican if no one got too close. And he didn’t intend for anyone to get too close.

Around the next corner, Zack saw three guards lounging casually just inside a doorway. Behind them, a curved arch divided a long walkway from a main
sala.
He figured it was a safe bet that Don Francisco would be inside on a chilly night like this one, and walked leisurely in that direction.

“¡Hola, compadres! Salir al encuentro de el jefe.”

“¿Hasta donde?”
one of them asked, and Zack shrugged.

“Por allí.”
He pointed back the way he’d come, and the men grumbled, but moved in that direction. This was easier than he’d thought it would be, and Zack stepped to the arch and stood in the shadows. Don Francisco sat inside, a pewter goblet in one hand, a map in the other. He sat with his back to Zack, bent over his desk and concentrating on the large map spread out.

With a last glance over his shoulder, Zack slipped into the room. He pulled the open door closed behind him, shutting it so softly Don Francisco never turned around. He did not turn around until Zack was right behind him, and then he turned angrily.

“¿Quin es?”

“Un amigo.”

He saw Velazquez stiffen, and the goblet lowered to the table as he barked,
“¿Qué?”

“I said, a friend. What’s the matter, Velazquez, don’t you have any friends?” Zack mocked. “Ah—that wouldn’t be wise. If you try to shout for help, I’ll have your throat slit before they get to the door.” He gestured with his knife, and lamplight skittered along the razor-sharp blade with splinters of reflected light.

Don Francisco wheezed slightly, his face paling. “If you do, you’ll never get out of here alive.”

“I’m dead anyway. Remember? And if you think I care about your threats, you’re wrong. Dead wrong. Come on, nice and easy. You and I have some talking to do.”

“What do you want with me, Banning?” Don Francisco was shaking.

“You intend to kill me. I know you do. I will not die like you killed Alfredo and Javier.”

“That’s not your choice. Your choice is if you die here, or if you take the risk and live a little longer. Anything can happen before you die. ¿
No es
verdad?”

“Sí,” Don Francisco moaned, “that is so.” He licked his lips, and at Zack’s quick gesture with the gleaming knife, put trembling hands in the air.

“It was a mistake. I never meant that you should truly die.” Zack’s voice was hard. “In case you haven’t noticed, my Spanish is excellent, Don Francisco. Now please—walk just ahead of me, so that none of your men will suspect anything. If you are asked a question and do not give an answer that I like, I will gut you like a dead pig and you can take the next three days to die. Think about it. Now, let’s go.” Don Francisco shivered as they stepped out of his
sala.
His thin shirt and dark pants would provide little warmth in the night wind. Zack stayed close behind him, nudging him with the tip of his knife when he faltered.

“Por favor,”
Velazquez gasped once when the blade dug into his skin, “do not cut me!”

“No whining,” Zack muttered. “And no talking. Just keep going, and I’ll tell you when to turn and when to stop.” No one delayed their progress, and in a few minutes, they had reached the adobe wall at the back of the courtyard. A wooden door was cracked open, and Zack pushed it wide with one foot.

“After you, señor,” he mocked, and Don Francisco hesitated briefly before the knife spurred him forward.

A creek ran behind the wall, and Zack forced him down into it. They walked for a mile, until the lights from the hacienda were behind them. In that time, no one had seen them, and Don Francisco was almost frothing with frustration, fear, and fury.