Comanche Moon (41 page)

“My guards are not as vigilant as I was told,” he said once, and Zack laughed.

“Some of them were. Those are dead.” Don Francisco shuddered, and didn’t offer any more comments. He said nothing until Zack tied him to a horse, then mounted his own.

“Where are you taking me?” Zack didn’t bother to answer, but spurred their mounts into a hard gallop. He rode across the rolling hills and rocky ridges, leading Velazquez’s horse, not caring how hard it was for the Mexican to stay on. He felt a grim sense of satisfaction. One lone man had done what an army of men could not have managed, and that was go into the sanctuary of the hacienda and take Don Francisco out without a single shot being fired. It was incredible, and had been so easy as to be laughable. He wondered why Diamond hadn’t thought of it.

Finally, he reined in his horse and dismounted, walking back to the obviously nervous Don Francisco. He swept off the sombrero he wore, and shrugged out of the wool serape, then reached up to pull Don Francisco from his horse.

The Mexican shot nervous glances around him when Zack set him on his feet and untied his hands. “Where are we?”

“Doesn’t matter.” With a deft twist, Zack unsheathed his knife and threw it so that the blade sliced into the ground between Velazquez’s feet.

He gave a sharp cry and leaped back. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you a chance. That was more than you gave me.” Zack eyed him. There was very little light. Dark shadows surrounded them, and in the distance a coyote howled to the night sky. Don Francisco stared at him, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the murky light.

“I cannot fight you!”

“Let me explain it to you this way, then. You can go for that knife and have a chance, or you can wait for me to pick it up and start slicing you into pieces too small for the coyotes to find.” There was a thread of menace in Zack’s tone that not even Velazquez could miss, and he quivered with fear. Zack saw him glance around desperately as if looking for help, then suck in a deep breath. Zack smiled, and knew from the sudden look of terror on Don Francisco’s face that he must look at least as savage as he felt at this moment.

This was vengeance, pure and simple, and he relished every moment of it. He waited, muscles relaxed, eyes intent, and when Don Francisco finally made a move for the knife, Zack took a step forward. His foot slashed through the air and caught the Mexican in the face, sending him staggering backward. The knife still jutted up from the gritty desert floor, the handle gleaming an invitation in the night. Zack didn’t even glance at it. He waited for his quarry to get up and try again.

Groaning, Don Francisco lurched to his feet, one hand held to his face.

He wiped his sleeve over his bleeding nose and straightened slowly. His eyes glittered with hate this time, and Zack smiled.

“Come. Try again. You are so fierce, no? You are such a brave man, you hit others who are tied up and helpless, and you terrorize women. Come on, Don Francisco. Show me what a man you are. Show me how you can die bravely.”

“You are a damned half-breed!” Velazquez spat.
“Mestizo bastardo!”

“Yes,” Zack answered coolly. “See if you can kill either half. I know I am not tied up, but you might manage to frighten me a little, eh?” Velazquez dove for the knife, and again Zack kicked him back, his foot catching him in the throat and driving him to his knees, gasping and retching.

When he got to his feet, Zack taunted him into trying again and again, each time kicking him away from the promise of the knife. Finally, Don Francisco lay bleeding and half-conscious in the dirt, his face battered almost beyond recognition.

Zack felt a sense of justice. Crouching down beside the dazed Velazquez, he jerked his head back by his hair and gazed at him dispassionately. He could only blink and gasp for breath as Zack studied him.

“You are a pathetic excuse for a man, Don Francisco,” he said softly.

“You prey on the weak and helpless, but cannot defend yourself.” He drew the tip of the knife along the curve of Velazquez’s cheek, watching him shudder and whimper at the blade that chilled but did not cut.

Velazquez began to sob, tears mixing with blood and running down his face, and Zack felt a surge of disgust.

“I should kill you, but you are not worth the trouble it would cause.” With a swift slash, he brought the blade through the air and buried it in the ground beside Don Francisco. “If you value your life,” he said softly, “you will not be foolish enough to come near me again. Nor will you cause Deborah any more trouble. If I hear that you have—and I will—I will come after you. And this time, you will die by inches, do you understand?”

“Sí, sí! Do not kill me, and I will do anything you say to do, I swear it!”

 Zack’s lip curled slightly. “I am sure of it.” He stood up and went to his horse, and when he stepped back to Don Francisco, he held a piece of paper in one hand. He hunkered down on his heels beside him. “I have something here for you to sign, Don Francisco. When you have signed it, I will put you on your horse.”

Without bothering to read it or ask what it was, the Mexican signed with the pen Zack gave him, scrawling his name across the bottom of the paper.

Then he looked up.

“Are you taking me back to my hacienda?” Zack folded the paper and tucked it into his saddlebag before replying.

“No. I have a pleasant surprise for you, Don Francisco. I am sure you will like it.”

Blanching, the Mexican babbled protests as Zack put him atop his horse, tying his hands again.

It was almost daylight when Zack left Velazquez behind, and a grim smile curled his mouth. When he reached the crest of a rocky ridge, he reined in the gray and looked back.

Don Francisco Hernando Velazquez y Aguilar was stripped and gagged and tied to a post like a sacrifice. He would be the first thing Dexter Diamond saw when he stepped out of his ranch house that morning. Zack wondered what the rancher would think—and what he would do with such unexpected bounty. It should be interesting to find out.

Laughing, Zack wheeled his gray and rode down the other side of the crest. What a temptation for Diamond to resist.

Chapter 26

“Dexter, you can’t!”

“Why not?” His tawny brow rose, and a malicious smile curled his mouth. “It’s a gift.”

Deborah shook her head. “It’s murder.”

“It’s too gawddammed good to be true, is what it is,” he said gleefully, raking a hand through his hair and looking back at Don Francisco.

Velazquez cowered in a parlor chair, keeping a wary eye on Frank Albright’s drawn pistol. “She’s right, you know,” he dared to say. “If you kill me, you will be arrested for murder and probably hung.”

“Damn, Velazquez, you’re here on my property! Who in the hell do you think would arrest me for shootin’ a man that’s trespassin’? Carpenter? Naw, I don’t think so.”

“Aren’t you curious about how I got here?” Velazquez licked dry, split lips and peered up at Diamond through his one good eye. Bruises and gashes distorted his once handsome face into an unrecognizable mess. Someone had given him a pair of trousers and a shirt, but they were too large and hung shapelessly.

Deborah shuddered and looked away. Part of her felt no sympathy for the man, but the humane part recognized that he should be dealt with by the authorities.

“Yeah, tell me who brought you here,” Diamond was saying with a grin.

“Must be a good friend to risk doin’ this for me.” Velazquez gave a short, sardonic laugh. “Perhaps. And perhaps he is a better friend of your new wife.”

“Just what the hell do you mean by that?” Diamond growled, and Deborah felt a chill trickle down her spine at the glitter in Don Francisco’s eyes. His gaze moved to her, malevolent, dark, and bruised. “I mean, señor, that Zack Banning was the
amigo
who thought you might like to be made a present of me. So you see, if you do what he intends that you do, it will get rid of me and you both. He is very diabolical, Señor Banning, no?” Diamond swore horribly, and Deborah winced. When he slammed a fist against the wall and bellowed, “I’ll get that damn ’breed if it’s the last thing I do!” she stood up.

“I’m going to my room now,” she said quietly, but he moved to stand in her way.

“Did you know about this?” She met his angry glare calmly. “No, of course not. How would I? I’m not allowed more than a foot from any of your watchdogs.” For a moment she thought he intended to make her stay, but then he swore again and signaled to one of his men to go with her, and Deborah left the parlor. She was aware of the man behind her, following at a discreet distance. At least it wasn’t Albright. She hated him. He made her feel dirty.

This man was fairly young, but wore a well-used pistol slung low on his hip as so many of the other gunmen her husband employed.

She turned at her bedroom door, and he paused. A chair stood in the wide hallway, and she gestured to it. “Make yourself comfortable. I intend to go back to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am. I hope you rest easy.” Deborah had started into her room, but turned back. He sounded as if he meant it, and his voice was quiet and respectful. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Lonny King.” He had his hat in his hands, and he bent the brim as he stood there watching her. Deborah smiled.

“Well, Mr. King, I thank you for being so polite. And I shall try to rest well indeed.”

She shut the door softly behind her and crossed to her bed. She’d dressed hastily that morning, hearing the commotion and not wanting to be left out. Judith had gone inside abruptly upon seeing Don Francisco, and she supposed she was still in her room. Hiding.

Poor Judith. It was obvious she was falling in love with Dexter, and he didn’t seem to notice. Deborah sighed. She had never dreamed life could become so complicated when she was in Natchez, never thought beyond marriage and babies and long, lazy days. What a simple little fool she’d been.

Deborah knelt beside her bed and felt under her mattress for the letter she’d been given in Sirocco. She’d read it so many times she should have memorized it. Yet she still savored the words, reading them again and again as if they came from Zack.

The handwriting was neat and spare, feminine. Deborah wondered about the writer, and if she loved Zack. She must, or she would never have written a letter like this. The page crackled as she unfolded it, scanning the lines with an eager need for reassurance.

Mrs. Diamond,

You don’t know me, but I’m a friend of Zack Banning’s. He doesn’t
know I’m writing you, and I’d rather he didn’t. I just want you to know, he 
has not forgotten you. If you truly care for him, you need to remember that. I
cared for him when he was wounded, and he spoke your name over and over.

He loves you. I do not want to see him ride off again without knowing how
you feel. Please, if you care, tell him.

It was signed,
Sally Martin.
Deborah stared down at the words for a while, trying to envision the woman who cared enough about Zack to interfere. Then she folded the letter and tucked it back beneath her mattress for safekeeping. She could imagine Dexter’s anger if he ever discovered it.

Deborah sat on the edge of her bed for a while, gazing out the window.

In the distance, she could see the ridged hills that seamed the horizon. She thought of the Comanche camp sometimes when the wind blowing through the cottonwoods sounded like the music of tall pine trees. Had the people survived the effort of the government to put them on reservations? She hoped so. She was tired of killing and war and death.

Her hand moved to rest on the gentle swell of her abdomen, and she wondered if she should try to tell Zack of his child. He had a right to know, but it would only make more trouble. Dexter would not release her, and Zack would come for her. There would be shooting, and someone would be killed.

No, she could not risk it. It was better if he left thinking she didn’t love him, than to know she did and they could not be together.

Closing her eyes, Deborah sat on the edge of her bed for a long time, and thought of the way things might have been.

Judith stuck her head in the door.
“Deborah. Dexter wants to see you.” It took a moment for her to wake. She hadn’t realized she’d been sleeping, and glanced at the window. Afternoon shadows slanted across her bedroom walls.

Deborah sat up. “What does he want?” A frown creased her brow, and Judith shook her head. “I don’t know, but he seems pretty agitated. I think he’s still mad about having to let Don Francisco go.”

“Surely he’s over that by now. It was a week ago.” She pushed at the hair in her eyes, and tried to keep her eyes open. She slept so much now, as if her body was greedy for the rest.

“Maybe so,” Judith was saying, “but he’s been talking about it to some men out there.”

Alarmed, Deborah burst out, “He’s not planning on anything dangerous, is he?”

“Worried about him?”

“I’m worried about an all-out war,” Deborah shot back, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing. “If you will remember, two more of our men were killed in a gun battle yesterday.”

“I remember, all right. I’m the one Dexter talks to at night while you hide here in your room.” Deborah looked up at her. “Censure, Judith? You must know how I feel.” “Yes,” Judith said softly, “I know. But Deborah, you need to understand Dexter. He’s not as harsh as he sounds to you, he’s only hurt.” Deborah saw the distress in Judith’s eyes, and realized that she had grown very fond of Dexter. Too fond. When had it happened? She’d not noticed because she hadn’t cared, and she knew that her cousin would never want to admit it to her. It would be a betrayal, and though Judith had betrayed Hawk, she’d done it for love of Deborah. God, what a mess. She wished she could tell Judith to beware of Dexter, but she knew she wouldn’t listen.

“I find it difficult to believe that Dexter Diamond is hurt because of me,” she said slowly. “Worried about losing his claim to the Velazquez lands, yes, but not me.”

Judith made an irritated sound. “Are you still angry because he hit you and said all that about getting rid of the baby?”